Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Star Trek franchise or the characters in it.
It's Monday
"I'm so gangsta my pants sag."
"I'm so gangsta I don't wear pants."
"Ooh. You got me there." Sulu accepted his defeat.
Uhura looked smug.
"That was inwented in Russia."
"I'm afraid it was the Scots who did that, Lad" Scotty corrected Chekov.
Before the mild one-up-ing could lead to an argument the lift doors hiss-squeaked open, and Spock walked onto the bridge.
It was actually more of a shuffle than a walk.
"Another late night in the lab, Spock?" Sulu inquired. Spock had been working on a delicate, if not crucial, experiment for the past two weeks.
Spock grunted. His hair stuck up in multiple directions, like it had been caught by surprise with a combination of sea water and hair gel. There were deep green rings around his eyes. He looked terrible. Even his uniform was creased, like he had been wearing it for the past few days- and nights.
Chekov tried to be helpful. "I'm sure you weel find eet, Sir."
Spock didn't respond this time; he just slouched over to his station, then he slumped into his chair.
"If I read my Spock right, that would mean "no." From the looks of it, Scotty was right.
Turning their attention away from the unfortunate Vulcan with his overactive mind, they returned to the matter at hand.
"Do you think anything exciting will happen before lunch? My shift ends then."
"Sulu, it's Monday." Uhura shook her head, then walked up the steps back to her station.
"Oh," Chekov muttered disappointingly.
"Aye, Lad," Scotty agreed.
Spock's elbow slipped on his station sending his head on a direct one-way trip to said station. The resounding "Thunk!" was very impressive.
Uhura briefly tsked the purring Vulcan (he was drooling on the instruments) before turning back to her work, looking bored.
Hiss-squeak. Kirk twitched onto the bridge, in his jittery hand a scalding cup of coffee. "Wha'd I miss?"
Various voices called out "nothing" and "the usual".
Looking disappointed, Kirk plopped down on his chair -boy he loved his chair- and set about whipping his head every which way and twitching at random intervals.
Chekov cast his eyes heavenward (or as heavenward as you could get in space) and hoped Tuesday would come faster. Even after a week and a half of inactivity, Mondays were still the worst.
A/N: You know there are just some days... Mondays... You know what I mean. *sighs* I apologize for OOC-ness.
