So my friend ReWhite and I are just tickled silly by the idea that Kirk and Sulu have this Epic Friendship where they can commiserate about their relationship problems and then push each other off of cliffs. Naturally this means we must right about this Epic Bromance. So we've come up with this series. Future installments will be loosely linked together but can be read individually (probably) without any confusion.


Title: A Many-Splendored Thing

Authors: Aislin30a and ReWhite

Rating: This chapter T for language

Summery: The BAMF Adventures of Kirk and Sulu

Disclaimer: We own nothing and are just doing this for fun.

A Many-Splendored Thing


The BAMF Adventures of Kirk and Sulu


The Swings


It's 0100, station time, and they've just been kicked out of the only bar in Bracken ST12.

"Why is it," Kirk says to no one in particular. "That out of seventeen different mining stations-"

"Nineteen, Keptin." Chekov corrects.

"-that out of nineteen different mining stations in the Brack-Oflee asteroid belt, we get sent to the one staffed mainly by Baptists?"

"My mom's side of the family is Baptist." Lieutenant Mathews says a bit dreamily, but mostly drunk.

"I'm not saying they aren't a nice group of people, Cupcake." Kirk says, reaching out to pat the Lieutenant's shoulder. He misses, which sends both himself and Sulu (who has the Captain's other arm draped across his shoulders) off balance and into a wall. They bump into Mathews on the rebound. The three men manage to stay up-right and continue down the corridor leaning against each other for support. Chekov follows a little off to the side. "I'm just sayin', they could do with some more booze is all."

"We could have had more if you hadn't hit on the bartender's husband." Sulu points out. He's not nearly so drunk as the other two but he's got that relaxed expression that means he's more than a little tipsy.

"I couldn't help it," the Captain whines. "I'm drunk. Is one of those thingies. You know? It just happens."

"Like when random objects get randomly beamed up random people's asses and Scotty is nowhere to be found?" Mathews asks.

"No, no, no. Is natural. You don't think about it. Body has a mind of its own." Kirk stumbles as he looks up at the ceiling trying to find the right word. The group comes to a halt just off an open plaza to accommodate their Captain's current inability to walk and think at the same time.

"A reflex?" Chekov prompts.

"Yeah, one of them." Kirk smiles and looks back down, into the plaza. "Hey! A playground!"

Chekov follows the Captain's gaze out into the dimly lit area. There is a playground of sorts, back towards one corner. It has a slide, a swing set and some monkey bars that look like they've been put together using spare bits and pieces from various station systems.

Mining stations weren't really designed with families in mind, the general assumption being that most of the workers would be single or newlyweds, looking to build up a credit cushion for the future; or professional miners who weren't interested in starting a family. And for the most part that's what miners tended to be. They just didn't always stay that way. From the looks of it, this community had expanded to include families with children and had considerable affection for their youngest residents. Despite the thrown together look the playground was well built and given pride-of-place on a raised foundation with real-

"Grass..." Mathews murmurs.

"Yeah." Kirk sighs.

"It's beautiful."

"Steady on there, Lieutenant Cupcake."

"When I was little," Sulu states firmly, with the air of someone imparting an important insight. "My sisters and I used to have contests on the swings to see who could come closest to spinning themselves right up over the bar. We never could manage it."

There's a pause while they all consider this.

"Betcha I could do that." Kirk says in that special tone of voice that means he and the pilot are about to do something monumentally stupid.

"Twenty credits says I do it first." Sulu replies then makes a mad dash towards the swings, Kirk hot on his heels. They hit them still running and there's a brief tangle of limbs and chains and cursing before they're properly seated. They push off and pump their legs, working themselves up to the point where their heads are nearly above the bar on the back-swing.

"Those twenty credits are as good as mine, Lieutenant Tiny!"

"Oh. You are going down, Captain Man-Whore!"

"Oh, God! They're going to DIE!"

"Why am I always being stuck drinking with the light-weights?" Chekov asks, feeling more than a little exasperated with the whole situation.

"He's gonna kill me..." Mathews whimpers, covering his eyes then peeking through his fingers. "The Captain'll break something and there'll be blood everywhere and McCoy's gonna have fucking kittens and the rest of the guys won't have my back at all, cause we're all so fucking scared of him!"

"Чего вы сказали? " It doesn't really seem to matter that Chekov has switched to Russian in the face of that startling confession. Mathews doesn't seem to need Chekov to be an active participant in the conversation.

"You don't understand!" Mathews cries. "I'm Security! I'm supposed to keep that idiot safe! Only he's got the survival instincts of a gerbil and I'm drunk and he's drunk and there isn't a phaser setting for shit like this!"

"It is a swing set, Lieutenant." Chekov deadpans, speaking loudly so he can be heard over the trash talk coming from the swings and Mathew's paranoia. "You have not seen them on shore leave? They jump off cliffs, and climb rock walls, and race down canyons on glorified hull paneling! They once tried to catch Uruvian spiny-jackals with their bare hands because they saw locals doing it. Never mind the locals have scales on their hands! They are stupid! They don't think about safety parameters, or how the numbers in your head say 'exceed this speed, over rotate this percent, angle too wide, this margin of error is difference between adrenaline high and signal termination'. No! He is a pilot. He is inwincible! He is blind and not seeing how he breaks you!"

"Anyway," Chekov catches his breath, face hot, starring fixedly across the plaza to avoid Mathew's startled expression. "This is nothing. It is a swing set. How much damage can they do?"

Kirk has gotten to the point where the chains on his swing slacken slightly at the hight of his arch, causing it to jar when they extend fully again as the swing falls. He takes this as a personal affront and tries to pump his legs harder.

"What if they really do go over?" Mathews asks, his voice still a little high.

"They can't. There isn't enough centripetal force to keep the chains from going slack when they get too high." Chekov assures him. "The swing will just keep falling down. It is impossible for it to go over."

Sulu seems to have remembered that particular point as he's not pushing his own swing to that stage. He's stopped trading barbs with Kirk now that the Captain has become so frustrated with his own lack of progress. Instead Sulu's adjusting his grip on the chains, inching his hands up as he keeps his arch steady. He's watching the bar now and Chekov is wondering what he's up to when he acts. On his next swing back, Sulu pulls himself up with his hands, sets one foot onto the seat letting the other move with the motion of the forward swing. As he approaches the top of the next backward arch he pushes off with his foot, twists the other around the chain and reaches out with his hands. He grabs the bar, using his momentum to push his body forward, swinging his legs up and slightly apart as he balances himself in a handstand on top of the swing set, the swing dangling from one leg by its chain.

"Oh, you fucking cheater!" Kirk laughs as Sulu bends his leg out to kick the swing over the side. The pilot is grinning like a mad man as he lets himself fall back, letting go as he swings around the bar, out into a back flip. Chekov lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when Sulu manges to land on his feet, taking a few flailing steps forward but not falling.

"That will be twenty credits thank you very-" Sulu gets out before one of the chains on Kirk's swing breaks with a deafening snap. Sending the Captain flying straight into Sulu and pushing them both off the playground's platform, tumbling across the floor.

"Holy shit, Ensign Jail-bait! Comm Sick-bay!"

Chekov groans.