lorannah

*waves* Hello all - am still unpacking around here (so much to do, so little time) but I thought I should kick this journal off so I come bearing fic. Quickly written silly fic that I finished at 3am this morning. So here goes, the inaugural mission of the... wait, sorry. Distracted.

Title: Drinking Games
Fandom: Star Trek 2009
Characters: I aimed for everyone (but I may have missed slightly)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2400 or there abouts
Summary: Kirk thinks the team need to bond. Disastrously.

Kirk walked into the bar like he owned the place. Of course, he always did that, but today the gesture was technically more accurate than normal and he was planning on enjoying the fact. He’d rented the whole place – bar, drinks, staff. It had cost a small fortune but, as it turned out, saving the Earth came with a hefty bonus.

The rest of the crew began to trail in behind him. A mixture of intrigued, excited, confused and nervous.

Hah! They were going to love this.

The bar had been set up exactly as he’d asked – well demanded - a large circular table taking up most of the room. Its centre was missing; leaving an empty gap for scantily clad serving girls could wander through with trays of drinks.

He winked at them and then, leaping onto the table, turned back to the crew.

“Welcome all,” he said, spreading his arms like an old-fashioned ringleader, a wicked glint in his eye. “As I’m sure you’ve all noticed, we’re grounded on this godforsaken rock until the morning and, as your new Captain, I think it’s time we all bonded.

“So I’m treating you to a drinking game... no think of it like a battle. Last man standing wins... or woman,” he added with a grin, spotting the scathing look on Uhura’s face.

Next to her, Gaila was grinning gleefully.

“You don’t get to win,” he told her sternly. He’d learned to his detriment that most Orion’s had the constitution of a whale. Gaila could easily drink till the sun came up without breaking a sweat.

She winked at him before trailing after Uhura. He watched them, his head tilting slightly as they disappeared into the crowd. When he looked back, Spock was stood beside the table, staring up at him impassively.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the purpose of this exercise, Captain,” he said.

“I think the crew should get to know each other. They need a chance to relax. So we’re going to drink alcohol.” Lots of alcohol.

“Vulcans do not imbide intoxicants,” Spock told him calmly.

“Well, Mr Spock, luckily for us you are half human and we certainly do,” Kirk replied without missing a beat, enjoying the words he'd already rehearsed.

That was the one good thing about logic, it was predictable.

“I fail to see -”

“This is an order, Mr Spock.”

Around them everyone was settling into their seats, all smiles and laughter. Kirk snatched a bright blue drink from a passing waitress and held it up with a holler to silence the crowd.

“And as I’m a heroic and benevolent leader,” he told them. “I’m going to give you a head start.”

He downed the drink in one go.

ONE – ROMULAN ALE

McCoy slid into the seat beside Jim.

“I feel obliged as the ship’s doctor,” he said, “to tell you this is a terrible idea.”

“Come on Bones, your office is practically a bar.”

“I could hardly be expected to face people like you every day without alcohol. Anyway, what about Chekov,” he gestured to where the boy was sat, quiet and wide eyed between Scotty and Lieutenant Gaila. “He shouldn’t even be in this bar. Legally. He’s only seventeen.”

“Well that’s a good enough reason to bring him here, kid needs an education.”

“He has an education.”

Jim shook his head.

“A real education. Can’t have any light weights on my crew.”

He leaned in conspiratorially close to whisper in McCoy’s ear.

“Anyway, don’t you want to know what the pointy eared bastard is like when he’s drunk?”

McCoy debated for a second trying to explain that Vulcan’s were legendary medically for their bodies’ resistance to alcohol and other intoxicants. Instead he shrugged and Jim wrapped an arm around him.

“This is going to end terribly,” McCoy warned him.

“Not with my best man at my back,” he said. His eyes wide and pleading, McCoy had seen him use that look on far too many women. “Anyway,” he continued, “You owe me after all that stuff on the Enterprise. Numb tongue?”

“Dammit Jim, it was the only way to get you on the bloody ship which, may I point out, saved the day. Anyway, it’s not my fault you are a delicate snowflake.”

This was war.

FOUR - VODKA

Chekov smiled at the clear drink the waitress pushed towards him. The others had been alright, but this one was his.

“Budem zdorovy,” he said, raising the glass for a second and then allowing the liquid to slide warmly down his throat. He sighed, disappointed, it wasn’t a great vodka.

Around him people were still sniffing their shot glasses uselessly or sipping the drink tentatively. Whilst one or two people, who had been a bit more reckless, were now spluttering.

Chekov’s eyes scanned the shelf behind the bar and settled on a bottle with a deep blue label – now that was a good vodka.

He glanced away again, wondering if he’d get in trouble if he asked for that instead of whatever the Captain had planned next, and met Scotty’s eyes. The man was grinning openly. His own glass had already joined the growing pile of empty ones before him.

“Tell you what,” he said, “why don’t we leave the bairns to their game and get proper drinks. You can teach me about vodka and I’ll introduce you to the wonders of whisky.”

SEVEN – KLINGON BLOODWINE

Gaila slid her foot up the back of Chekov’s leg, he flashed a quick slightly startled smile at her and then turned back to Scotty, who was explaining something in a way that required lots of hand waving – much to the annoyance of the cadet next to him as he was currently gripping a bottle of whisky.

That was alright, she could wait.

She finished her bloodwine, licking the last droplets off her lips. It was a disgusting drink.

Uhura was watching her with pursed lips, her own bloodwine untouched, she raised one eyebrow.

“Really?” Uhura asked. “He’s seventeen.”

Gaila smiled.

“Yep.”

Uhura seemed to be waiting for her to say something else.

“He’s cute and everyone on the ship knows who he -”

“You think everyone’s cute. Surely there’s someone less young on the ship you could molest,” Uhura said her eyes already scanning those left at the table. Several people had vanished, disappearing into some dark corner of future sobriety. Uhura’s eyes rested for a moment on where Kirk was beginning to slouch in his chair unsteadily.

“What about Sulu?” She suggested instead.

Across from them Sulu looked up with a grin, at least catching his name and most likely hearing the whole sentence. He raised his glass.

“Hmmm... yeah he was nice,” Gaila said distractedly, her eyes following the curve of Sulu’s lips.

“What?” Uhura asked and then muttered something else under her breath that Gaila didn’t understand – she was probably cursing in Klingon or Romulan or something. It didn’t worry her, it never did.

“He has a collapsible sword,” she told her, happy in the soft memory, “and when we were –“

“Can we talk about something other than men?” Uhura said suddenly as Kirk slapped the table with a barking laugh.

“Of course we can – in fact, we frequently do,” Gaila liked being around Uhura – it was nice being with someone so different from her. “I remember just last week we were talking about the intersectionality of linguistic, cultural and scientific interstices.”

Uhura smiled despite herself.

“I meant,” she said. “Can we talk about something other than men now.”

“Alright,” Gaila said shrugging.

She could feel Sulu’s eyes watching the movement of her shoulders and she wondered, distantly, if he’d consider a threesome – she’d hate to leave Chekov disappointed. Still, there was time to work all that out later.

There was a lengthy pause between the two of them and Gaila watched as Uhura’s eyes drifted towards Spock, still sat tall and motionless in his chair. There was another threesome she wouldn’t mind considering.

The other woman smiled to herself, a soft smile.

“So...” Gaila said, “Spock?”

Uhura turned to her sharply and Gaila laughed, rolling her eyes theatrically.

“I was reading his work on the possible benefits of hive intelligence and was thinking that...”

Around them more people slipped quietly away.

FIFTEEN – SAURIAN BRANDY

Kirk was staring intently at Lieutenant Commander Scott and Ensign Chekov. They were engaged in an animated discussion about the possibilities of the new transporter theories. Almost empty bottles of whiskey and vodka abandoned in front of them. The discussion was quite interesting, Spock had been following it for the last half hour.

“I think... I think...” Kirk tried again, “That they are drunk. Can’t understand a word they’re saying, gibberish. Lightweights. Off the crow... crew, mean crew.”

Spock looked at him in some concern. Of course, he reminded himself for the twelfth time, James Kirk had been born in the middle of battle as his mother grieved and his father died – it was understandable that he was a little illogical. Completely understandable, if frequently maddening.

He looked away again, preferring to focus on the conversation rather than the inconsistencies of his Captain and across the room caught sight of Nyota rising to her feet. She met his eyes and smiled. Spock glanced at the Captain, surely it would be reasonable to leave now.

The latest drink arrived as he climbed to his own feet. It was vividly green.

SIXTEEN - THE GREEN BLOODED HOBGOBLIN

Kirk reached out and grabbed Spock pulling him back into his chair.

“Where you going?” He asked. “Drinks.”

“I was going to retire, Captain. It is an important day tomorrow.”

Kirk felt a surge of annoyance at the calm voice. Surely he should be drunk by now. Must be. With an effort he pulled himself together, sitting up in the chair, he was going to look Captainly – goddamit.

“Mr Spock,” Kirk snapped, his pointed finger taking slightly longer than he would have liked to find its target. “May I remind you that we are setting an example for the rest of the crew.”

A slight pause.

“Yes, Captain. I believe we are.”

There was nothing different in the tone of Spock’s face or the blurred shape of his voice – but Kirk was definitely sensing an emotion. What was it? Yes, that was it – amusement.

There was something wrong with that but he brushed the thought aside. It felt like a victory.

“Hah!” He said. “See, you do get drunk.”

He slapped him on the shoulder, or tried to, the chair wobbling unhelpfully beneath him. Instead he ended up letting his hand settle on Spock’s cheek. Leaning closer until Spock finally swam into focus. Behind him he could almost hear Bones rolling his eyes.

“I have to emotionally compromise you,” he told him, “You said so.”

There was a brief silence.

“Very well, Captain. Do you believe that alcohol will help you with this mission?”

“Every time. Every girl. Always helps.”

Something wrong with that sentence too. Oh well. Now what was it Pike had said, his mind wandered for a second trying to locate the memory, it was something inspiring.

"Dare you," he said triumphantly a moment later, "Double dare you."

He watched as Spock raised a single eyebrow and then picked up the latest drink. Another victory. He let his hand fall back onto the table.

“I’m not sure I’m familiar with this beverage.”

It took a moment for Kirk’s eyes to settle on the glass. As he did, he laughed delightedly. It was a vague blur of acid green.

“New,” he told him, waving his hand to emphasise the magnitude of his next revelation. “| invented it. Called the Green Blooded Hobgoblin.”

A moment’s niggling doubt. He’d forgotten something. Then he remembered, that was a secret, the name. He pulled the hand back quickly, finger settling on his lips.

“Shhh... thas what Bones calls you.”

Beside him Bones sighed and Kirk turned to him with a smile, letting his head sink onto his shoulder.

“Forget it, Jim,” Bones said. “You’re on your own.”

EIGHTEEN – SAMARIAN SUNSET

Uhura watched in annoyance, it looked unlikely that Spock would be allowed to leave anytime soon. Instead it was Doctor McCoy who came to join her.

They shared an oddly sympathetic look. They were not used to being in unison. Their relationship was at best professional and distant and at worst mildly antagonistic. After all, Uhura thought, they both knew whose side the other stood on.

“At least you probably won’t have to carry your one home,” the doctor said grimly, she laughed and saw a fleeting moment of defensiveness pass across his eyes. “Well he has been drinking most of my drinks as well.”

TWENTY-ONE – ABSINTHE

“See the whiskey bottle is the ship and –“ Scotty explained to Chekov and then hesitated for a second, he needed... he needed...

“Does anyone have a shot glass?” He asked the room at large.

“I think,” Lieutenant Gaila said slowly, slipping into the seat between them, “I might be able to help you there.”

She was stunning.

He really loved this ship, he thought, distracted for a moment and then he focused again on the explanation.

TWENTY-THREE – CHECH’TLUTH

“Y’see,” the Captain was saying one hand pressed to Spock’s chest, mostly, the Vulcan suspected, to stop himself from falling over. “We’re supposed to be together. You and me. Forever. Or till I die. Or till you go back into the past – I don’t know - it’s difficult.”

“Indeed,” Spock said, not particularly listening, he doubted he would be required to remember any of this in the morning. His eyes were still upon Nyota. Her expression smoothing the edge from his sadness.

“It’s like... it’s like... it’s like...”

The staccato repetition pulled him back, his gaze turning back to the Captain, it was quite possible that the alcohol had destroyed a significant number of his brain cells; perhaps he should ask the doctor to return.

“It’s like...”

The Captain was staring at the latest drink, which was still smoking slightly on the table. He lurched towards it, barely lifting it as he drank. Finally he sighed, satisfied.

“S’good drink,” he said turning back to Spock with a smile, his eyes unfocused. “It’s all like King Arthur. I’m the King and this is my round table... no, the Enterprise is my round table and everyone’s knights. And you’re Murdoch... Merlin. And we’re going to be heroes. Again.”

Slowly Kirk toppled forward into his arms. Almost unconscious and certainly drooling.

“Think I’m going to regret this in the morning,” he mumbled incoherently against his chest. “Bloody Vulcans. Cheating.”

Entry x-posted to my livejournal.