by Satin Ragdoll

Christine Chapel knelt by a little pool in the heart of a wooded glen, staring intently at the images playing therein.

It was McCoy's fault, really. When he was mad at Spock he would usually call him, "Green-blooded hobgoblin." Usually. This time Bones had called him something else, and the image had stuck. Chapel could not, could not, could not get it out of her head.

So when Chapel had beamed down to what was commonly called "Shore Leave Planet" with the intent on a fantasy including a castle, a dragon, and a certain half-Vulcan Science Officer, she soon noticed she had a little visitor. Sigh.

Christine held out her hand, and the tiny robotic creation lit upon it, daintily. Chapel examined it. Pretty, for coming out of her head. Ironic, too. She narrowed her eyes. There may be possibilities here, after all.

She knew that in this place, when it came to the robots, the eyes and ears of one were the eyes and ears for all. A few pointed questions to her little visitor gave her the information she needed. After a few thoughtful commands to same, she sent it on it's way.

As an afterthought, she envisioned the little pool. A few minutes later it materialized for her, and she was able to see what her little "ambassador" saw.


Spock and McCoy were just strolling. Bones was trying to get Spock to try an Andorian hot-spa. Just once. In McCoy's opinion, the First Officer had been working far too hard. He would get Spock to relax if it killed him.

So Bones almost bumped into Spock, to find him staring at a tiny little creature perched on a tree limb.

"What the blazes?" It was a fairy, with delicate blue wings, fanning softly in the breeze. It had antennae, slanted eyebrows, and tiny, delicate pointed ears. That wasn't the problem. The problem was, the face was familiar. Very familiar.

McCoy stared, "Sayyy, Spock. That looks just like..." Spock interrupted, "Do not say it, doctor. Please." It looked like T'Pring. Spock's would-have-been wife, who dumped him.

The tiny little thing spoke, "Hello."

Spock quirked a brow, and McCoy grinned, his southern charm coming out for any feminine form, even one this small. "Well, hello, little lady. What's your name?"

In a voice as delicate as bells it chimed, "My name is T'laya."

They began to question it, "Who sent you?"

"I don't know."

"Do you have a message?"


"Do you know why they sent you?"


"Can you describe the one who sent you?"

"I do not understand."

"Was it a man or a woman?"

"I don't know."

McCoy crossed his arms, frustrated, "What do you know?" It blinked at them, "I don't know much. I know my name, and I know what I am."

McCoy took a breath. Before he could tell Spock they were being baited, Spock took the bait, "And what are you?"

"I'm a green-blooded pixie!"

Spock rolled his eyes as McCoy rolled on the grass, roaring with laughter, "Hahahahaha! Oh, hahahahaha! 'Green-blooded pixie'! Oh, that's rich! Ha ha! If I ever find out who did this, I'm buying them a bottle of their preferred poison!"

Spock quirked a brow, "Why would anyone purposely ingest poison?" That just sent McCoy into a fresh gale of laughter.


Chapel rolled back and forth in the leaves. Oh, that had been too good, too rich! It had been so worth it! She had to cover her mouth to keep from cackling in laughter. Eventually she recovered herself enough to go and continue with her original fantasy, but found herself laughing throughout the day. She couldn't help it.


McCoy sat up in bed. Son of a gun! Now he remembered where he had heard that; it was out of his own mouth. He also remembered the only other person that was there to hear him say it, too.


Bones had a plan. He waited until Chapel was on her break, with a mouthful of liquid, "I wonder what excuse Spock will come up with to avoid his next physical. That green-blooded pixie!"

Christine almost choked on her tea.

McCoy grinned and bounced on his toes, "Aha! I knew it was you!"

She blushed and grinned, "Guilty as charged. But, hey! It was you that put that image in my head. I couldn't get it out."

He laughed, "So, what's your pleasure, my dear? Or should I say, what's your poison? I owe you one."

"Saurian brandy, of course. Only the best for this red-blooded pixie!"