I'm terrible with titles, don't judge! So this is a piece I wrote over a year ago. I pulled it out of the depths of my hardrive when I should have been writing for NaNoWriMo. So now it's here.

Disclaimer! I don't own Star Trek or Twilight.

And just to clarify; I hate Twilight. This is supposed to make fun of the book and its fans. It's supposed to be cracktastic.

Kirk absently strolled in the antique shop. He was heartily enjoying shore leave on Regala 12, an M class planet that wasn't inhabited by any life forms until the federation set up a space station. The crew of the Enterprise had beamed down to the planet to a small old fashioned town. That was made to take hard working federation members, back to the simplicity of Earth's mid nineteen hundreds. Kirk, Spock, and McCoy strolled into a café. Instantly, their ears were flooded by tacky music. "Earth Angel" was being crooned over the speakers. Spock led them into a booth before his worst nightmare came true, and Kirk started dancing.

As soon as they sat down, Kirk addressed this, "Let's dance!"

"I would advise against that, Captain. You have a reputation as one of the most successful members of Starfleet," Spock requested.

"Please Jim, don't do that to me," McCoy begged.

"Alright," Kirk succumbed, "Just, because I wouldn't want you to have a heart attack, Bones, and Spock, its shore leave, you are permitted to call me Jim."

McCoy suddenly burst out laughing. The other two stared at him for a brief second, but this was not out of the ordinary for the Enterprise's chief medical officer.

"I wouldn't mind seeing Spock's reaction to that though," he managed to say through spluttering laughs.

They paused to tap their order into the food synthesizer at the counter in the front of the restaurant.

Spock's eyebrow went up, "Captain, I am finding it difficult to locate a card for anything that does not contain animal meat."

"Spock, we're at an old-fashioned burger joint. I thought you were an expert historian. They didn't have anything remotely healthy at these places," Kirk reminded him.

Kirk and McCoy walked to the table with their food as Spock still flipped through the disks. Finally, he came across an iceberg lettuce salad. Probably his last choice, but it would have to suffice. He brought his salad to the table, joining his friends (uh… well, friend and doctor). They discussed their current work as they ate. Kirk tried to get them to dance with every song change, and the others stopped him every time that the subject of music was brought up.

When they were done eating, they filed out of the restaurant and back into the street. They mutually decided that they wanted to go shopping, since there would be extra credits with Scotty buying provisions for the ship. They stopped into a supply warehouse to pick up some uniform replacements. Then they were free for the rest of shore leave to do as they pleased. The only job left to do was to keep Spock off the ship, who, like every shore leave, insisted he would just keep an eye on things. However, this trip, the engine room was getting updates that required the full engineer crew along with a small group of security guards. This rendered Spock's generic excuse useless.

Eventually they came across an antique shop, which was Kirk's favorite store. He insisted that they go in, so Spock and McCoy followed Kirk into a furniture filled, dimly lit room. Each item had been brought here by migrating humans for their homes, and they eventually left them here when they required technology graded furniture. Spock's fascination with history kept him entertained, as he attempted to roughly date each individual item. That left McCoy groveling in the corner.

Spock made his way to a desk. This one he couldn't figure out. He mumbled something about Kirk making him keep his tricorder in his quarters. Spock ran his hand across the desks surface trying to pinpoint the age of the wood. He figured it was from either the early twenty-first century or the late twentieth. He got on his hands and knees and crawled under the desk in an attempt to locate an inscribed exact date. He craned his head around and wasn't able to find it. Then he flipped himself onto his back, studying the whole surface. It was completely blank. He stood back up, looking at the sides, until he came across two parallel lines that punctured the wood. It was a drawer that was missing a knob. He slid it open.

"Jim," Spock called out.

Kirk came over to join Spock at the desk, "What is it. Did you find a copy of a Dickens novel?"

Spock shook his head and pointed at a worn out paperback copy of a book by the name of Twilight, which sat at the bottom of the drawer.

"I remember hearing about this in history in school," Kirk mused, "They were extremely popular around two-thousand nine. Then the government ordered them all to be burned. Nobody remembers why or what they were about. They may hold the answer to the meaning of life."

"I clearly remember this piece of Earth's history," Spock agreed, as he looked over the white hands and apple on the book's black cover, "We'll bring this back with us for examination."

Kirk agreed. They put the book back into the drawer and purchased the desk, hiding the forbidden book.

"Bones, get the other side!" Kirk ordered, as Spock grabbed one end of the desk.

They lugged the desk out the door, while McCoy muttered something about him always having to do the work. They brought the desk to Spock's quarters, and promptly forgot about the existence of the book.

XXXXXXXXXX

Four months later, the desk drawer still hadn't been opened. Spock paced around his room, trying to invent more math problems. There was nothing else to do on the ship. He just wanted to use a logical thought process. Sadly, this hadn't been needed in the past few days. He attempted passing time in the recreation room with the rest of the crew members, but their idle chatter just irked him.

For the first time in his life, Spock truly understood the meaning of being bored. He kept pacing, until the memory of how he came about his old desk came into his head. By now, the desk had become a familiarity, but he could still clearly recall why the desk was purchased. Spock slid the drawer open, and carefully lifted up the worn out book. He brought it to his desk and started reading.

The next day, Kirk sat at his captain's seat on the bridge, with a group of other senior officers.

"Receiving transmission from Starfleet," Uhura announced, "It outlines our next mission."

"Good, we've been sitting around for too long," Kirk replied, "Chekov, set course for Centari 6. I'll go get Spock to make all the necessary preparations."

Kirk strolled off the bridge. He departed the turbolift at the hall where Spock's quarters were and let himself into his first officer's room, sure that his friend wouldn't mind. The room appeared empty. Spock wasn't at his desk, as Kirk had expected him to be, and he wasn't in his usual meditating spot. He was about to turn around and head to engineering, when he caught something out of place in his peripheral vision: a person size lump under the covers in the bed.

"Since when did Vulcans sleep in, or get comfortable when they slept?" Kirk mused to himself.

He wondered if someone could have stumbled into Spock's quarters, mistaking it for their own quarters. Kirk walked over the bed and pulled the cover back. What he saw couldn't have surprised him more, even if there was a pile of tribbles under there, but it was Spock. His logical first officer was lying in a ball, entranced by a book. He immediately recognized it as the book they had found at the antique store. Spock looked up at him, surprised. Then his faced collapsed into one of resignation.

"Burn it!" he groaned, attempting to shove the copy of Twilight into Kirk's hands.

"We can't do that, it's historical," Kirk cried out.

"No, it's so addicting, yet so bad, you must stop this," Spock pleaded

Kirk eventually agreed he would, so he brought it into his own quarters. He set it on his desk, deciding to get rid of it when they reached the planet. He didn't know what would happen, and what repercussions this action would have.

It was only two days later when Chekov burst onto the bridge, practically shouting, "I call Edvard! He is mine mine mine! And vobody else can hev him!"

He sighed, dreamily, as he fell into his navigating seat.

Kirk looked around, desperately for Spock and McCoy. Neither of them were on the bridge. A quick scan of the ship was done to locate Spock, and he assumed that Bones was in sick bay. Spock was in engineering. Wonderful. Kirk flipped on the comm.

"Engineering," he instructed, "Scotty, send Spock up to the bridge."

"Aye Captain, ye need me for anything up there?" Scotty responded.

"No, just get me Spock."

Kirk proceeded to call Bones from sick bay. Kirk relied on Spock to analyze any breaches that could have caused neurological damage to his navigator, and Bones would determine what exactly had diverted in Chekov brain waves. In engineering, Scotty passed on the information to Spock. Spock just raised an eyebrow, hoping that it wasn't more of the captain's personal antics. He decided to just go, so Spock left sickbay and got onto the turbolift. He noted Doctor McCoy with a slight nod. Then he grabbed the handle and commanded to be taken to the bridge.

"Jim called you to the bridge too?" McCoy inquired.

"Indeed," Spock responded.

"I don't suppose you know what this is about?"

"No, contrary to what you possibly conjecture, the Captain doesn't inform me of things first, because I have a higher rank than you," Spock replied calmly.

"Rub it in, will ya?" McCoy fumed, sarcastically.

Spock was unfazed, "What I said was not intended to be rendered in that manner."

Before McCoy could start shouting, the doors of the lift slid open, revealing a bridge, appearing to be functioning normally.

"Jim! Whatever could be so important th," he was abruptly cut off by Chekov practically squeeing.

"Spock! I heard you read it too! What was your favorite part? Who's your favorite character? Ooh, I bet you like Rosalie!" Chekov piped, excitedly.

"Spock, are you aware of what this madness is?" Kirk pleaded.

Spock nodded solemnly, "I believe Lieutenant Pavel Chekov is suffering from a case of 'inner fangirl release'. This appears to have been prompted by the reading of a terribly written teen vampire novel, known as Twilight. This is obviously the reason it was banned. I, being a Vulcan, don't suffer from the side effects of the novel."

"I find it hard to believe that even a book of superb quality could elicit such emotions," McCoy doubted Spock, simply because that is his job.

"It is apparently, as the evidence presents, possible. Speaking of quality, this book strangely lacks it completely. It is possibly the 'worst' novel I have ever encountered," Spock replied, unfazed by McCoy's comment.

Kirk looked confused, "I don't understand."

"You must read the novel to fully comprehend the paradox," Spock answered.

McCoy jumped back into the conversation, abruptly, "So what do we do about the obsessed Russian?"

Spock didn't have an answer, despite him not wanting to admit it, "I see no way of reversing the effects."

"Well we should probably dispose of the book," Kirk suggested, and the others instantly agreed.

"NOOOOOOOO!" they hadn't noticed Chekov standing directly behind him.

They had to find a way out of this one, and Spock definitely wasn't going to lie his way around anything. He settled with raising an eyebrow and prodding the others to say to say something to rid them of Chekov.

"Chekov, of course we won't, but whatever we do, you must remember that we are your senior officers," Kirk comforted the young officer, who he had to remind himself was only twenty-three.

"Jim, let's bring this conversation to the briefing room," McCoy advised.

"Good idea, Bones."

The three of them left the bridge, after leaving Chekov to Sulu's charge.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Captain, it is best for the lad," Scotty instantly fought for ridding the ship of the book.

Spock sat, intently watching the conversation swing back and forth. His elbows rested on the table in front of him, and his chin lay on his hands, had his two index fingers sticking out and pressed together. Anyone would recognize this as his "pensive stance". McCoy, of course, was blatantly annoyed by the fact the Spock had his elbows on the table, which broke his number one law of gentlemanly Southern manners. The rest of the attendees of the meeting, Kirk, Scotty, Uhura, and Boma, lightly spun from side to side in their chairs.

"We have to know if this is right, before we do such a thing," Kirk mused.

Spock decided to input what he thought was most logical, "Yes, but it would be better if it was rid of before any other officers are affected. The need for us to cure Chekov, shrinks in comparison to the need of attempting to stabilizing the rest of the crew's emotions as much as possible."

McCoy was not happy with the way Spock phrased this, "Well, we're not trying to control anyone's emotions here."

"I did not say that, Doctor," Spock firmly responded.

Kirk, per usual, had to cut in before the conversation turned into an argument, "I think we need to get rid of the book."

Both Kirk and Spock sharply looked at him and said, "I agree."

Spock raised an eyebrow, while McCoy glared at him.

"Good, we should assist it to the transporter room," Kirk input.

"I will go and assure that the assignment is done, rather than have an ensign bring it back to his quarters," Spock decided.

Nobody protested, and they filed out of the briefing room, and headed to their posts.

Spock placed the book onto the transporter pad, while Sulu stood at his post, awaiting orders from Spock. He carefully inlaid the controls. Suddenly, Chekov burst into the room and ran towards the pending book. Spock's eyes widened, and he ran after Chekov. Chekov opened it and started devouring the words, attempting to memorize every last detail of Edward Cullen's face. Spock quickly nerve pinched him, and the young ensign slumped to the ground. The book was hurriedly beamed into bare space.

The helms station communicator beeped.

"Now Sulu," Spock instructed.

A phaser beam shot out of the Enterprise, and the book exploded. The relic was finally eradicated. The only thing left of the incident was poor Chekov's newfound fetish for pale and cold men.

~~~~~~Fin.