Summary: Fog machines and water fights? Plots to kidnap Chekov? Spock doing barrel rolls? Just another day on the Enterprise. (One-shot, pure crack)


OF HYDROPHASERS AND SPACE HOBOS


Although Spock was generally opposed to the principle that any puzzle, no matter how daunting, was unsolvable, he could privately admit to himself that if such a puzzle did exist in the universe, that puzzle was the thought process of human beings.

"No, I do not 'follow you', Doctor. What is the purpose of this exercise?" Spock glanced around the foyer filled with chattering crewmen, wondering what had possessed his shipmates to participate in this . . . waste of resources.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Oh, for god's sake, it's a game. Don't tell me that you hobgoblins don't play games. Too illogical?"

"There is no rational purpose in pretending."

The good doctor, absorbed in slipping on a waterproof slicker and mumbling something uncomplimentary under his breath, did not reply.

Captain Kirk, who was hovering nearby, supplied the answer with his usual ebullience. "Yeah, well, maybe games don't have an immediate reward, but they give us practice for real situations. I mean, there's no tangible reward when I kick your ass at chess, but it sure feels good."

Spock had learned long ago not to attempt to correct his captain about the exact numerical charting of their relative losses and wins at the chessboard; the captain seemed to think that one victory on his part equaled ten victories on his opponent's side. "Chess develops strategical thinking."

"And so there's a logic in preparing for real events through play practice, like drills."

"That is true," Spock conceded. "However, I cannot conceive of any situation in which we might need to call upon these particular . . . skills."

"You never know."

"Especially considering your habit of landing us on the weirdest damn planets in the Alpha Quadrant," McCoy said. "Only you, Jim."

The captain grinned as though he had been given a compliment, although Spock was fairly certain that the doctor had not meant the remark positively.

After zipping up his own slick-suit, the captain cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted over the din, "Alright, people! Everybody ready?"

There were howls of agreement, and Spock briefly wondered whether some sort of hallucinogenic gas had been accidentally filtered through the ventilation system.

"Awesome! Okay, Scotty, you and M'Ress pass out the goods, and then we'll start. You all know the rules, right?"

"There are no rules!" one ensign hollered.

"Exactly. Scotty?"

"Ready to go, laddie." Mr. Scott saluted once before he and Lieutenant M'Ress began to filter through the crowd with two large crates. The alpha shift crew crowded around to collect their equipment, and Spock flinched against the palpable wave of anticipation and giddy excitement that circulated through the room.

The officers were the last to receive their 'machinery', and Spock frowned down at the object in his hand as the crew scattered down the hall in groups of two or three.

The hydrophaser would have looked remarkably like a Starfleet-issue phaser if not for the garish stripes and lightning bolts painted on its handle. Spock curled his finger around the trigger mechanism and tugged -- instantly a jet of water issued from the weapon, splattering against the opposite wall, which had been covered with a skin of tarp to prevent damage to the electronic systems. Fascinating. It seemed unbelievable that someone would apply such technology to create a toy known more colloquially as a 'squirt-gun'.

"Well, we'd better find a good place to hide. I know about twenty people who are clamoring to hang my head up on the Rec Room wall," the Captain said, adjusting his own hydrophaser to the highest pressure setting. "Shall we team up, gentlemen? Safety in numbers and all that jazz."

"Fine, but don't expect me to take a hit for you or the space elf," McCoy grumbled. Kirk was already bounding down the hall, closely shadowed by the doctor -- Spock, after indulging in an inward sigh of exasperation, trailed calmly after them.


They'd found a pretty sweet corner to hide in, but Jim knew that his enemies were lurking around somewhere and waiting for their opportunity to strike.

Scotty had really rigged up Deck B -- the overhead lights were flashing crazily enough to induce epileptic seizures, and the simulated fog was an unexpected but classy touch.

He could hear screams and the whoosh of water from around the corner, and he allowed himself a small moment of smugness for arranging the ship-wide water fight. His people had dealt with some extremely sucky situations in the past few months, and they needed to run off some energy before the whole ship suffered. What better way than to tear through the Enterprise like maniacs, blasting the hell out of their coworkers?

So far he'd managed to avoid Cupcake, who had gotten a very predatory gleam in his eye when he'd picked up his hydrophaser, but there was always a danger of getting snipered by Sulu, who still hadn't forgiven him for accidentally setting half of his private botanical garden on fire. Jim almost expected his helmsman to drop from the ceiling, guns blazing, and bust out some of his freaky ninja moves. The man was sneaky like that.

Maybe he could find Chekov and hold the kid hostage. No way would Hikaru try to take him out if Chekov was in the crossfire. Not that Jim paid much heed to ship gossip, of course, but it was pretty much common knowledge that Sulu had an epic man-crush on the navigator. If he could only get Chekov on his side, then he would be safe . . .

"Jim, this is stupid," Bones growled from behind him. "Can we move or something, 'cause these pants are damn uncomfortable when they're wet. If they ride up any further, they're gonna commit an act of symbiosis with my ass."

"That is anatomically impossible, Doctor," Spock said dryly, his voice slightly muffled from having the side of his face pressed against the bulkhead.

"Shaddup, both of you. You'll give our position away." Jim peered back around the corner, searching the misty corridor for any sign of ninjas or bald security officers who held grudges for an uncommonly long time. "I'm trying to figure out how to kidnap Chekov."

"Kidn --? Never mind. I don't wanna know what's going on in that fool brain of yours. Just get us out of this corner, because frankly this position is making me a little too friendly with the space elf."

"I am in complete concurrence," came Spock's rejoinder. "I find this close proximity to Dr. McCoy most uncomfortable."

"Alright, we'll move out if it'll stop your whining. Wait for my signal, boys." Slipping his hydrophaser in his sleeve for safe keeping, Jim crouched down and tucked his legs underneath him, executing a neat barrel roll from one end of the hall to the other. He straightened up, flushed with victory, and saw Bones and Spock staring at him.

"Kid, what the hell are you doing?"

"Shh -- I can hear footsteps! Come on, hurry."

Bones stepped forward, only to stop a second later when Jim hissed, "No, not like that! Roll."

"What?"

"Roll, Bones. You can't let them see you."

"Jim, there's no way --"

"Do a fucking roll, Bones."

Gritting his teeth, the doctor got down and launched himself forward across the deck on his stomach.

"That wasn't a barrel roll," Jim observed as his friend sat up next to him.

Bones looked about two words away from apeshit, so Jim turned his attention to his last comrade. "C'mon, Spock! Roll over here before they catch up to us."

Spock didn't move, his hands still locked stiffly behind his back. "Captain, it seems somewhat unproductive to expend unnecessary energy on elaborate physical maneuvers when ---"

"Yeah, listen to the captain, Spock," Bones piped up, suddenly looking much less sour. "Do a roll."

"Captain --"

"That's an order, mister."

His expression set in a mask of disinterest, Spock jerkily crouched down and executed the universe's most awkward flip, landing heavily on his posterior right next to Jim.

Bones cracked up.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, and a spray of water erupted right over Spock's head.

"Abort, abort!" Jim hollered, leaping up and taking off down the hallway. Bones and Spock were right on his heels. Ducking into an alcove, the three men listened intently as the pounding boots hurried right past them and down to the turbolift.

Jim breathed a sigh of relief that was cut short as he turned around to find Bones's hydrophaser in his face.

"Traitor!"

With a cackle, his friend pulled the trigger.

Jim cringed, lifting his arms over his head in a hopeless defense, but the expected shock of water never came. There was a flurry of motion and color, a loud thump, and a smattering of startled gasps before the hall fell eerily silent. Cautiously Jim cracked open one eyelid and took in the scene.

Bones still stood in the doorway, his hydrophaser pointed at Jim and his jaw sagging in disbelief. Jim followed his friend's gaze down to his own feet, where Spock was sprawled across the tile. He was lying on his back, his blue uniform stained almost black over his chest. For one foggy, horrified moment Jim wondered if he was the first starship captain to lose a man in a water fight.

Considering his luck, it didn't seem that farfetched.

"Spock?"

His first officer opened his eyes and then closed them again just as quickly. Relieved, Jim's reasoning abilities returned, and with them two things came to mind: one, that Vulcans had green blood; and two, that Spock's face and hair -- and consequently, his clothes -- were drenched with water.

For a moment no one said anything. Bones was the first to recover his voice. "Seriously? You seriously just jumped in front of Jim to save him . . . from what? Wet shorts?"

"It was a reflex," Spock said stiffly. "I perceived a threat to the captain and reacted as I was trained to."

"Threat, my ass! It's a game."

The tips of Spock's ears were steadily taking on a green tint. "I am well aware of that, Doctor. Surely you are familiar with reflexive impulses. I could not control an inbred response."

"Funny, I thought you Vulcans could control anything . . ."

"Bones, enough," Jim cut in, unable to stop grinning. Hell, it was kinda flattering, in a freaky way. "Now, let's go pick up the whiz kid and plan the next prong of the attack -- without any further instances of mutiny, got it, Doctor McCoy?"

"Yeah, yeah, got it."

"Great." Jim hauled Spock to his feet, careful not to touch any bare skin. "You okay?"

"I am relatively uninjured, Captain."

"Glad to hear it -- and enough with all this 'captain' nonsense. This is a covert operation, so we need some good code names."

"Good God," Bones moaned.

After a moment's thought, Jim made his choice. "I want to be 'Magenta Tornado.'"

"For God's sake, why?"

"Because it sounds cool. Now what should Spock's codename be?"

Bones started grinning, and Spock stiffened up instinctively. "I've got one," he said slowly. "Fruit Bat."

Spock's glare could have drilled through titanium. "Captain, may I select another, more suitable ---"

"Fruit Bat it is!" Jim clapped his hands together gleefully. "And it's 'Magenta Tornado,' not 'Captain.' What about you, Bones? Your name has to have the word 'hypospray' in it somewhere. 'The Hypospray ---' What begins with an 'h' that fits Bones?"

"Since the doctor was so kind as to select my moniker, might I offer a suggestion?" Spock cut in, before Bones could reply. "If I may be allowed to use outdated Terran terminology, I find that 'The Hypospray Hobo' has a lyrical quality to it, and it gives appropriate homage to the doctor's slovenly physical appearance."

"Why you --!"

"Alright, we're all set," Jim interrupted, wedging his body between his officers. "Let's head out. Hobo, you'll take the flank while Fruit Bat and I scout out a path ahead."

"Captain, might I --"

"Captain who?"

Spock sighed. "Magenta Tornado, might I advise that we approach the mess hall, where Lieutenant Chekov is statistically most likely to be found?"

"Good thinking, Fruit Bat." Grinning back at his team, Jim led the charge, laughing to himself every time Bones shouted out a warning against stray fire or Spock crouched down behind a table to spray the fuck out of one of his own science officers.

It was official: Jim Kirk had the most awesome crew in the galaxy.


A/N: Man, I'm really on a Star Trek binge today. This is probably the crackiest thing I have ever written, so my apologies if it's merely stupid instead of funny. Let's have a show of hands: how many of you totally think Nu!Kirk would do something like this? ;)