katmarajade: Woman drinking coffee with words "wake up" over her face (xmas chris pine)
[personal profile] katmarajade
Title: Dr. McCoy and the Red Shirt of Doom
Author: [livejournal.com profile] katmarajade
Written for: [livejournal.com profile] secretsolitaire
Characters: McCoy, Sulu, and a red shirt named Berken
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1000
Summary: There's a transporter glitch when beaming down to the planet and the uniform shirts get switched around. McCoy is NOT okay with it. Total unapologetic crack!fic.
Notes: Lovely [livejournal.com profile] secretsolitaire, you are so great about reading and commenting on my stuff and I appreciate it so much. Your holiday drabble came in decidedly drabbly at less than 300 words. I tried to expand it, but I found I really liked it just how it was. So to make up for that, because you're so awesome and deserve much for being so supportive, this one's for you! You get BONUS McCOY-CENTRIC CRACK!FIC! that has absolutely nothing to do with what you prompted or anything else

It was Thursday. McCoy had never gotten the hang of Thursdays. He'd also never fully cottoned onto a stardate-exclusive date system, and liked to know when it actually was Thursday. He still got yearly calendars with a different cheesy holo of Joanna for each month that he hung in his office to keep track of the days. He wasn't a green-blooded computer after all and needed the reminder.

Kirk had been called into a super secret high-level bureaucratic meeting, which meant the captain was sitting in a cushy chair somewhere, sipping expensive local wine, eating fancy finger sandwiches and bon-bons, and chatting up the ambassador's daughter.

It also meant that Spock was in charge of away team assignments, and Spock considered fear of transporters "illogical". Which was how McCoy ended up beaming down to the planet alongside Sulu and a burly security officer named Berken.

There was a flicker and a wobble as they appeared on the planet's surface. Sulu's calmly surprised, "Oh my!" made McCoy look up anxiously.

Berken was coughing and gasping slightly, his broad shoulders immobile and his belly on full display. He was squeezed into an extremely snug gold shirt, Sulu's Lieutenant stripes shining up near his elbows.

Sulu pulled at the blue shirt that hung loosely on his lithe frame.

"Bit chilly for short sleeves, Doctor," he commented mildly.

Growing more frantic by the second, McCoy looked down to see an overly large red uniform shirt.

"What is going on? Get this off of me!" McCoy shouted, a tinge of panic lacing his words. He pulled at the shirt, but it got tangled.

"You've got a pretty big head," said Berken, the first words he'd uttered all day.

"Help!" yelled McCoy, pushing the shirt back down momentarily to meet Sulu's eyes. "Do you have a knife? Scissors? A focused laser beam?"

Sulu snorted, "Calm down. What's the matter? I don't think Berken here has cooties."

"What's the matter? What's the matter!" McCoy exclaimed, veritably shrieking in his distress. "I'm wearing a red shirt. A red shirt on an away mission on a strange, unknown, probably dangerous planet! Do you know what this means?"

"Well, the red doesn't bring out your eyes like your science blues do, but it's not a bad color on you," said Berken pleasantly.

"No, damnit! Something always happens to the red-shirt! Don't you ever look at mission reports?"

"Well, security is dangerous," Sulu said thoughtfully. "I suppose the risk is greater."

"Greater, schmater. I'm telling you, this shirt is like having a bulls-eye on my chest! Something always happens to the one in the red shirt! Once on shore leave in Risa I was out with a group of guys, all of us in civvies, and one of the guys was attacked by an escaped circus zebra! You know what he was wearing? Red!

"Sometimes we get reports logged about away missions and I end up declaring random red-shirted people dead—I don't even know who they are! You know why? Because they didn't exist before they showed up dead! I've had three of them who weren't even on our crew. I ran their biodata and Starfleet's database came up blank. It's like the universe just creates a lifeform to wear red just so they can take them out!"

"Wait, I don't remember getting that information in my briefing. Can I wear a different color?" Berken asked. Glancing down at his far-too-small gold shirt he amended, "And a different size?"

"I'll knit you a shirt in any color of the rainbow you want if you get this blasted thing off of me!"

Berken shrugged and tore off the shirt obligingly, leaving McCoy bare-chested and panting.

"Thanks," McCoy muttered, his usual irritated demeanor back now that the perceived threat of imminent demise was gone.

"Any time," said Berken. Sulu just watched with amusement.

"You know, I really feel those risks should have been better communicated during training," said Berken. "I was doing just fine for myself back on Earth. I was a drummer in an up and coming electra band. I was fixing luxury hover cars and making money. I had a family. I signed up for Starfleet to see the galaxy, travel, broaden my horizons. I sure as hell didn't sign up for this! Consider this my resignation, Mr. CMO."

Berken flexed mightily and Sulu's gold shirt tore open and drifted to the ground. He stalked away, ostensibly heading towards a town of some sort.

McCoy and Sulu watched mutely for a moment before McCoy leaned over to pick up the remnants of the gold uniform.

"So I'm going to let you explain this to Kirk and to the recruiting board. The Red Shirt of Doom might not be PR's first choice for a campaign slogan," said Sulu.

"Bah, leave Jim to me. What happens on strange, far away planets stays on strange, far away planets. And while a captain's log theoretically covers everything that happens, you'd be amazed at how Jim Kirk can spin facts. It'd be damn impressive if it weren't so scary."

Sulu just shook his head. "Let's get you back before Kirk thinks you're stealing his thunder with all that bare-chested speech-giving."

"You know, I think there's something in this gold material that makes it rip more easily. Jim goes through these like they're made of tissue paper too …" McCoy mused. When he saw Sulu roll his eyes, McCoy shifted gears, glaring and barking, "Just shut up, Lieutenant, and give me my shirt."

"Yes, sir," responded Sulu with a wicked smirk, peeling off the ill-fitting science blue and handing it back. He was clearing biting back laughter and McCoy's face grew increasingly red with frustration and embarrassment. Grumbling, he snatched the shirt back.

"Just get us out of here, Flyboy," McCoy growled.

Sulu let out a howling belly laugh. Then, giving McCoy a look of mock terror, he grabbed the discarded red uniform shirt, pulled it on, and chuckled again at McCoy's eye-bulging look of horror.

"Two to beam up, Mr. Scott," Sulu said brightly.


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