dedication: Sonya. Eleni.
notes: Chris Pine is a fox.
summary: In which Sulu is a total ninja and Jim is… super envious, actually. — Kirk, McCoy, Sulu.
"How does he do that?"
The two men stared in flabbergasted disbelief as they watched Sulu run through the motions of a fencing routine in the practise yards on the lowest (habitable) level of the Enterprise (no one really counted Scotty's dungeon as habitable. Er. No one except Scotty, that is).
Sulu was blithely oblivious to their scrutiny.
Jim wheeled around to stare at McCoy, eyes wide. "I wanna be able to do that, Bones!"
McCoy was not impressed. (This wasn't really anything new. The kid was gonna be the death of him.) All he said was "You'd cut your hand off."
"That's okay!" Jim replied, cheerful. "Gotta die sometime!"
"I never said anything about dying—"
"You'd fix me up anyway, Bones. That's your job!" Jim said.
"I'm a doctor, damnit, not a—"
McCoy broke off at Jim's wide grin. He'd walked himself right into a trap (which… also wasn't really anything new, either. Jim Kirk was always tripping people up, accidentally or not), again. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squinched his eyes shut, reminding himself to count to ten and not to throttle Jim when the kid wasn't paying attention all at the same time. But sometimes it was better to just finish the sentence and then watch Jim's face go slack.
"—not a fencer," McCoy finished. "And as your doctor, I'd advise you not to touch that sword."
Metal clanged against metal as Sulu sliced cleanly through the bars set up in the training yard. He ducked and swerved and did some weird thing that made his spine bend in ways that McCoy was positive that spines were not meant to bend.
Jim nearly salivated. "Why not?"
McCoy folded his arms. "Because you'll kill yourself."
"Details, details," scoffed Jim.
"And I'll be held responsible." The like always was left unsaid, but it hung in the air like gigantic, tattooed Romulan ass. McCoy stood his ground.
The kid pouted.
"But Sulu's allowed to!" Jim whined.
Sometimes, McCoy felt like he was trying to clarify something very simple to a very small, very stubborn child when he dealt with Jim. It was rather an accurate description of the Enterprise's (third) captain.
"Sulu knows what he's doing. You do not," McCoy explained patiently. "Jim, turn your head."
"Just do it."
And Jim did, and McCoy stuck him with a sedative. He'd taken to carrying them in his suit—the captain required them three times a week.
"I hate you," Jim managed, before he passed out.
Sulu blinked over at them, coming out of the reverie of his fence routine. "Is the captain alright?"
McCoy shrugged. "Maybe? We should probably let Spock know that the captain's gone and fainted again."
Sulu snorted. "Or we could just leave him here."
There was a silence as McCoy contemplated this course of action. He didn't even realize he was smirking until he noted that Sulu was mimicking the shit-eating grin.
"Or that," he said. "Let's find some grub."
Sulu nodded sharply, still grinning. The two men set off towards the mess hall, chatting amicably; it would be a good meal.
Jim drooled, unconscious, on the floor.