Title: Like a Little Green Wagon
Characters: Spock, Kirk, Bones
Warnings: Inadvertent drug use.
Notes: DK asked for Spock on E, a while back, and I just got off my lazy and wrote it. Yes, complete with "I love you man… I feel like a velvet couch…"
The sight of Spock running his fingers up and down his own arm, while sitting in dazed contemplation was, perhaps, not the strangest thing Jim Kirk had ever seen, but it sure was up there on the list. After a few seconds, Kirk started a timer on his PADD, to see how long Spock would take to recognise that he was in the room. After several minutes, the Vulcan looked up.
"Jim… I should apologise. I do not know what I was exposed to, during the ceremony on Gamma Draconis VII, but it has … altered my perceptions of sensory phoenomena. It seems to also have had some small emotional effect, as I now percieve everything as beautiful and relaxing, and am filled with a strange sense of well-being." Spock looked faintly confused, and his fingers moved from his arm to his cheek and nose.
"Spock, are you rolling?" Kirk looked terribly amused and slightly horrified.
"No, Captain. I am sitting right here. Perhaps you should have your own perceptions examined." Spock’s confusion deepened, but it did not appear to trouble him much.
Kirk opened his mouth, but then shook his head, deciding to let it go. "Have you talked to Bones, yet? I’m pretty sure he can figure out what this is. In fact, I’m pretty sure he already knows what this is, in an up-close and personal way…"
"I do not believe the doctor is responsible for my current condition. As I said, I was on —"
Kirk interrupted. "Gamma Draconis VII. I know. I didn’t say he was responsible; I said he was very familiar with it."
There was a long pause, as Kirk watched his first officer pet himself.
"Captain, I feel like —"
"A velvet couch. Get your ass to sickbay." Kirk stood in the doorway, gesturing for Spock to hurry up.
"I most definitely do not feel like a couch, velvet or otherwise. That is both a preposterous and illogical declaration." Again, Spock didn’t seem too upset at having his logic disrupted, as he stood and walked toward the door. "I may, however, feel like a sehlat."
"Doctor, have I ever recounted my extreme fondness for you? I am, in fact, extremely fond of you," Spock rambled, as he perched on the edge of a bio-bed.
"I can’t imagine why, you pointy-eared so-and-so," Bones grumbled. "Jim, what the hell is this? What did you do to the Vulcan?"
"Hey, hey, I didn’t do anything — for once — I just found him like that." Kirk held his hands up. "Is this what I think it is? Is he seriously … you know…"
The doctor’s eyebrow arced up, as he examined the tricorder readings. "Like he has wheels. Tie a string on him, and he’d be a wagon." There was a brief pause, in which Bones looked a little smug about that line. "Unfortunately, he’s full of Vulcan parts and a few other substances that I’m still working on, so I’ve got no idea how long he’s going to be like that."
Kirk stood a while in
uffish thought. "Let me see if the Dracines will share some of their ceremonial wine with us. It might get us a better idea of what we’re dealing with."
"I know exactly what I’m dealing with, Jim! I got to watch you do it more times than strictly necessary, all through the Academy. I just never anticipated the possibility of a Vulcan velvet couch!" The doctor pointed accusingly at Spock, but glared at Kirk. "Get the damned wine. If we can’t cure him, I’m going to bed, and you can join him. Don’t you dare wake me up with your shenanigans, Jim."
With a laugh, Kirk bowed out, to go ask after the ceremonial wine, leaving Spock to drive Bones mad, with his inane, but wholly logical, comments.
"I wonder if this methylenedioxymethamphetamine would have been as peace-inducing, during the wars, as the teachings of Surak. I wonder if such speculation is not in some way blasphemous."
It was going to be a long night.