Characters/Pairings: mainly Kirk, Sulu; Kirk/McCoy, Sulu/Chekov

Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (coarse language), and bros being bros (of the ridiculous, cracky variety).

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine.

The Epic Bro Story of Kirk and Sulu

"Though they had not been formally introduced to each other previously, preparing to embark on a joint suicide mission has a way of forging bonds between the participants on the spot." —Star Trek novelization

In another universe, Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Sulu are upstanding comrades on the starship Enterprise. Their relationship is one of mutual and cordial respect, and they diligently work together during missions and assignments.

In another universe, Jim Kirk first speaks with Hikaru Sulu when they're seconds away from space diving thousands of kilometers into scorching Vulcan atmosphere in a near-suicide mission to take out an alien drill of the future or die trying.

Sulu stabs a bitch. Kirk jumps off the drill.

Naturally, it only follows that Kirk and Sulu become punk-ass bros of the best kind.

Eventually. At the moment they're gasping for breath on all fours, thinking that the synthetic polymer of the transporter deck (compared to Vulcan cliffs and two splattered bodies) is the best thing they have ever seen.

Sulu breathes out a suitable response to his savior—"Thanks"—and Kirk replies just as casually—"No problem"—and the two exchange a glance, the unknowing first of many, that could stand in for the obligatory fist-bump after such shenanigans as kicking Romulan ass and blowing shit up with rapid-fire phaser rifles in proper Rambo style.

When Sulu's comm dings with Captain James T. Kirk's personal request for Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu to man the Enterprise as its primary helmsman, Sulu grins and signs on with zero hesitation.

In another universe, Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu is more reserved. Perhaps the twenty-something officer is carrying the weight of his flash promotion with solemn humility and respect like many other fresh Starfleet graduates, the cadet reds shed but not completely gone. Perhaps such was also his temperament, one that would mellow over time.

In any case, it takes Kirk a little longer to realize that Sulu is a hardcore badass in polite disguise.

Belatedly, Kirk realizes that he should have had sniffed out the clues early on back in the academy when he had glimpsed Sulu's name, bold and engraved on the founder's plaque right above the athletics room for the European Swordsmanship Club.

Kirk's ultimate moment of epiphany, though, comes quietly. In an impromptu chase of a fugitive ship dishing out slick feats of piloting to shake the Enterprise off, Kirk is cooly watching the bridge screen, confident in his helmsman to keep up with the tiny but devilishly nimble ship. He glances over at Sulu, and then he glances again.

Kirk knows that spark in Sulu's eyes. The same spark as his own. The same spark when staring down a sea of spears with Klingons at the other end, when snarling at the odds of a thousand to one, or when just facing a particularly bitchy cop feeling fussy about a traffic ticket—it's a poised, smug "Fuck you" served up to whomever they damn pleased.

Well fuck, Kirk thinks.

When Sulu corners the criminal with a flurry of phenomenal aerial maneuvers, pinning the ship amongst a planet's rings, Kirk whistles low and reminds himself to write a note of commendation into Sulu's record. Once the tractor beam is hauling in the ship, Sulu then turns to Kirk with a modest smile, but Kirk, rather than delivering his usual part of the script,"Fine piloting, Mr. Sulu", locks sly eyes with the man instead.

Then—because Spock would lecture about fist-bumping toeing the line of bridge command decorum—Kirk leisurely draws his mouth into a smirk, lifts his chin and drops it once, completing the universal gesture known among fellow gentlemen circles as the Man Nod.

Nice.

And Lieutenant Sulu, normally an easy-going man with a kind smile, stretches his mouth into the biggest, baddest smirk that reflects Kirk's own.

One and the same.

Sulu cooly acknowledges Kirk with the customary return nod.

No problem.

The first time that Kirk and Sulu fist-bump is made without fuss or ceremony, as was only proper between men with a burgeoning gentlemen's bond of the bad-ass variety. Kirk and Sulu are on their own, tramping through the dense, sweltering jungles of Gamma Trianguli II in a rescue attempt for none other than the ass of Ensign Cupcake-Hendorff.

"Still think plants are cute Sulu?" Kirk shouts as he strangle-holds a particularly feisty giant-flower (he thinks it's a flower...) before it chomps down on his head.

"Who said they're cute?" Sulu swings his katana down the flower head then dices the two halves into small chunks for good measure. He wipes the sweat off his brow with a forearm then turns to Kirk, grinning.

"Plants are awesome."

Kirk suddenly whips out his dagger and stabs in mid-air a chunk of the carnivorous flower trying to make a dash for Kirk's face. Kirk nods. "I can respect," he concludes.

They find Cupcake trussed up like the highlight of a festival barbecue, the bonfire roaring and the tribal people wildly dancing in a circle. The flames cast a red sheen onto their dark, purple skin, illuminating their bright body paint.

The ridiculous situation would have been funny, hysterical even, if the tribal group wasn't about to sacrifice Hendorff to the Vall—Ball—whatever dragon-snakey cave god thing.

Sulu rolls his eyes. "Baal, Kirk, Baal."

"Vaal has a better ring to it," quips Kirk, "They should rename their god."

Another eye roll, but with a good-humored snort, and then they're back to business.

Tactics and strategy are among Kirk's and Sulu's strongest mental ammo; in seconds their sharp eyes and minds analyze the surroundings and just how far they could stretch the bounds of the no-interference regulation (recently updated by a melodramatic admiral as the "Prime Directive").

They calculate various attack points, vulnerable sites, escape routes, potential aggressors, and backup plans B to H and counting. Sitting in the bushes, they glance sideways at each other.

This is how I die, is Cupcake's miserable, last thought when the tribe is overtaken by Kirk and Sulu—faces and bodies smeared with mud and screaming their heads off about, from what Cupcake can make out, angry ball gods and evil wraths to be had.

Cupcake would appreciate it if Kirk could chuck the explosive rocks a little less closer to him, but he can hardly complain over his incredible relief at seeing the tribal aliens scatter like frightened tribbles.

They don't bother cutting Cupcake free (Cupcake can forgive; the bastards had tied him up pretty thoroughly) and, instead, they lift him high over their heads, body-barbecue stick and all, and make a mad dash for the confines of the jungle.

They reach the designated transporter site in record time, a little singed from close calls with Baal's lightning bolts of fury, but Kirk and Sulu think they did damn good for a two-man rescue team into a tribal village filled with hyper-strung savages and coming out with nary a Prime Directive broken (mostly).

So when the three, all mud-covered and wearing more leaves than clothes, are beamed back to the Enterprise Kirk and Sulu simply gather their breaths, hand Cupcake-on-a-stick to the bemused med team, step off the transporter platform in a stylishly synchronized fashion, and wordlessly fist-bump the other before going about their ways.

A medical intern is momentarily distracted by the impressive decorum of his senior officers and murmurs in awe, "Like a boss."

Kirk can't get enough of how nearly everyone on the ship thinks that Sulu, Sulu, is this polite, helpful, sensible, cute gentleman.

Okay, Kirk thinks, so Sulu actually was all of those things. In fact, Sulu was a downright nice guy. Like, nicest guy ever— the kind you'd bring over to meet the parents to watch them coo and preen and plan out the wedding.

Kirk was the kind that brought a whole new level to the meaning of every teenage girl's dream and every teenage girl's mom's worst nightmare.

But those people so don't know about Sulu's illegal dueling stint at the academy with an over cocky Tellarite who had been determined to show up the punier members of the swordsmanship club. Illegal because it was way more fun to stage an underground face-off— "For honor, Kirk, honor."—without safety suits and blunted tips. Oh, and rules. There was just something about a gritty, dirty fencing match with nothing but a man, his sword, and possible dismemberment.

That and Sulu's mom. No one insulted Sulu's mom and got away with it.

But Kirk is pretty sure that Sulu had really just wanted to act out his pirate fantasy.

Kirk takes even more amusement in comparing different crew member eyebrows and their varying heights when it's down-time—when it's not Captain and Lieutenant but just Kirk and Sulu, merrily going about their epic bro friendship.

What? Jim Kirk? Hot-headed cocky son of a bitch with Hikaru Sulu? The Hikaru Sulu who's the epitome of what-a-nice-young-man and could make a line of the most crotchety stink-eyed mother-in-law's swoon over like dominoes? No way.

Then, just shortly into its five year mission, the Enterprise visits Psi 2000 in order to record the planet's natural decay as per a routine science mission. Later, Kirk thinks that "routine" is the new "crazy" and that their lives must be on some ridiculous holo-show because some of the crazy stuff that happened to them just couldn't be real.

At the end, though, Captain Kirk mercilessly unleashes Spock on the entire crew in implementing the most rigorous, brutalizing course refresher on proper away-team foreign-contamination safety protocols.

Then he signs Chekov up for the Enterprise men's choir because, shit, the kid could sing.

But to be fair, it hadn't helped that the majority of the Federation flagship's crew is incredibly young, and, just maybe, not completely over the whole raging hormones thing.

The ship had turned into a chaotic mess of inhibitions getting flung out of airlocks faster than one could blink at a sobbing half-Vulcan (They don't talk about that. Ever.) or a half-naked Sulu sprinting throughout the ship, swinging around a sword and roaring about treasure and fair maidens.

Needless to say, after some minor lacerations and profound apologizes from Sulu to his fellow crewmen (especially to a certain senior Communications officer whom Sulu may or may not have crushed on for the better part of his academy years), no one ever questions the friendship between Kirk and Sulu again.

"Wait, wait, wait, you. And Uhura. Uhura—"

"Oh, shut up Kirk!"

While Kirk may enjoy teasing Sulu about his lingering puppy-love for the Lieutenant, Kirk and Sulu both agree that Nyota Uhura is the finest archetype of human females to ever grace this side of the galaxy.

They also agree that Uhura could kick their asses to the delta quadrant and back with her gorgeously fiery eyes alone, never mind the heeled, harder than Gorn's teeth boots she favored. So they lean their heads towards each other conspiratorially as Kirk dishes the good dirt.

"She's a solid, upper-tier B," Kirk solemnly admits. He pauses and thinks. "Maybe even a C-cup. If the weather is humid."

Sulu's eyes widen. "Really? Damn, what about her—"

Kirk and Sulu suddenly propel themselves backwards and pretend that their sandwiches are, have been, and will be the most fascinating pieces of food architecture to ever exist.

Spock, however, does not move, and he continues to stand at the head of their table, looking forwards. Spock speaks as if he's giving one of his infamous academy lectures to a pair of exceptionally simple-minded cadets.

"Lieutenant Uhura is, indeed, one of the finest Communications officers in this region of the universe. In fact, her auditory skills at times far exceed even my own heightened Vulcan senses."

Spock strolls off. With a positive bounce to his steps once the familiar click of heeled boots grow closer and closer and closer.

Kirk and Sulu both also think that Spock is less of an emotionless "I feel no human emotions, hear my Vulcan, rawr"—"Rawr, Kirk?"—automaton and much more of a universe-class contender for a sharp tongue that could give McCoy a run for his sassiness.

Which the two did, most charmingly, sometimes multiple times a day. Spock tended to win most of the Spock-McCoy fisticuffs, a fact that Kirk had disagreed with to which Sulu had only rolled his eyes and muttered something about "blinding love."

In truth, no one was truly capable of winning a snark-off with Spock. Except for Uhura, which was a given. And Kirk. But Kirk more of pissed Spock off, rather gleefully, than returning a sarcastic comeback.

In short, Kirk and Sulu have long recognized the bad-ass punk just bubbling underneath Spock's cool Vulcan exterior. They just hadn't been so inclined to flock together just yet. Sulu is still a little sore over the whole inertial dampener thing, and Kirk is still a little sore in his general body parts.

But, eventually, it appears to Kirk that old Spock wasn't being senile when he had talked moon-eyed about universe constancy and entwining destinies and whatnot. Kirk and Spock soon realize that it was much more fun—"Logical, Captain."—to be awesome bitches together versus at each other.

Sulu had never doubted it though. As McCoy had once put it: there was no possible defense against the goddamn infectious disease that was Jim Kirk until the stubborn son of a bitch had squirmed his way deep into your chest for good.

Then the pieces start falling into place like it had been part of their entwining destinies all along, and the crew of the Enterprise is starting to shape up into a pretty awesome league of bad-ass ready to terrorize the galaxies in the name of the Federation.

The pool stick jerks to the side, knocking the cue ball askew, but Sulu doesn't care. Sulu turns to Kirk with wide eyes filled with just enough horror to make Kirk's grin falter.

"Cute? Cute?" Sulu had long accepted that "nice" and "cute" were words that tended to be associated with him, be it from a teasing Kirk or a gaggle of new crewmen interns on rotation.

But Chekov? Cute?

"Dude." Sulu is still incredulous, but he intends to set the record state.

"Pavel is the fucking devil. He's the definition of 'wolf in sheep's clothing'." Sulu pauses, lowering his brow gravely because Kirk still looks dubious.

Sulu jabs his pool stick towards him. "Don't let those baby eyes fool you. This is the guy who beat out all the upperclassmen and won the academy 40k; he could have gone for security chief and way more positions if he wanted to, but he chose tactics, and got it. Seventeen and he's a senior tactics officer."

Sulu pauses once more in order to really let Kirk work his so-called genius brain. To his credit, Kirk only takes a few seconds to connect all the dots.

Tactics: the specialization that only the most cunning cadets could pull off. And those who excelled in it tended to have a ruthless streak.

Tactics is Kirk's forte. And Kirk is a master of one particular gambit of the tactics world: sailing by with guile and charm, underestimated, until it was too late. Until Kirk devastates his enemies, ripping their throats out in one, calculated swoop.

Kirk suddenly gains a new appreciation for Chekov's too-big doe eyes.

He leans on his pool stick for support as his mind takes a time-out to stew over the latest shift to his reality. Sulu simply nods but then his eyes brighten mischievously.

"Oh, and Kirk?" Sulu grins with all his teeth.

"He's relentless with the ladies."

This makes Kirk squawk a protest.

Sulu quickly continues. "When he's not geeking out over theoretical physics and all that. Which is about ninety percent of the time, lucky for everyone."

Kirk clicks his mouth shut then grumbles like an older peer of twenty rather than five years their senior about damn "kids these days" and "lady-killer eyes."

Sulu snickers in agreement but then makes to continue.

"What the—," Kirk's mouth shoots back down, "There's more?"

Sulu waits. This one was the heavy-weight. The all-time killer.

"Pavel Chekov," Sulu states grimly, "can chug vodka like a mother fucking champ."

Kirk is now completely impressed. And completely convinced that Chekov and Sulu were undeniably perfect for each other.

Kirk leers, "Devil in sheep's clothing, huh? He's practically your perfect partner-in-crime."

Sulu laughs despite the blush flaring on his cheeks. He quickly turns it around by ribbing on Kirk's own secret-not-so-secret crush on the good doctor.

This time, Kirk's pool stick glances miserably off the cue ball.

"What? Seriously? No way!"

Sulu grimaces, shooting Kirk a look and stuffing fingers into his ears to defend them from Kirk's so-not-cool girly squeakiness and hand flailing levels. Kirk adjusts appropriately.

He crosses his arms and clears his throat. "I mean, no way. Seriously. Me and Bones are bros."

Sulu raises his eyebrows, neatly communicating just how much bullshit there was in proportion to the increasing distance between his eyelids and brow. Kirk shifts awkwardly, and Sulu sees that Kirk's about to use one of his chick-flick freebees to cross into sniffly-nosed territory about Kirk's issues involving the words "love" and "relationship" being together let alone existing.

Sulu makes it easier for him.

"Seriously? Bros don't nag on each other like 19th century housewives."

Kirk fumbles for a defense. "Dude, Bones is the most health conscious doctor there is and he'd happily shove fifteen tons of spinach down my throat if he could. And grumpy is his auto-pilot mode."

Sulu waves it all off dismissively and simply continues.

"And you guys clean stuff off each other's faces."

Sulu is specifically referring to Food Cleaning Incident #22 where Kirk had stopped midway a Captain's log specifically to reach over and delicately pluck a stray bagel crumb from the corner of McCoy's mouth before getting back to business as usual.

"...Shit."

"Yup."

On the other side of the Enterprise, McCoy is humming to himself as he takes a short but well-earned break, unaware that life-changing revelations were currently reshaping the very consciousness of his (not quite "just") best friend.

McCoy, for his part, had taken Kirk's whole boyish friendship thing with Sulu in stride; he had been amused even.

Kirk, though, for one possessive reason or abandonment issues or another, hadn't taken the whole Bones-has-a-life-and-other-friends-besides-me thing in stride. Kirk knows that he can be a "damn infant" about it, and he repeatedly slaps himself upside the head for it, sometimes physically. But at the end of the day, it still lingers—the selfish part of Kirk that wants to yank McCoy away to his chest and declare to all the other children in the sandbox that this one was his and his alone.

Some talks later, and ok maybe Sulu had been onto something, Kirk fiercely faces the truth about his man-crush being not so much of a crush but an actual...lo…—"C'mon Kirk, say it."—..lo..vuu-uhck thing. ("Eh, close enough.")

But that's ok.

And Kirk is finally ok with Bones and Buddies, and it means that Kirk and McCoy are really moving on in life, getting over their pasts of booze and regrets and the self-inflicted solitude that had shoved aside the slightest pity from anyone.

Kirk just hadn't expected Bones to get all BFF with Uhura. Like. Seriously. What the fuck.

"What the fuck Sulu?" Kirk growls without preamble, hand pulling at his hair and a scowl on his face. Sulu straightens once Kirk shoots up from his chair and starts pacing the floor. A pacing Kirk was a frustrated Kirk to the nth degree.

Kirk's pacing quickens as his face twists, pinches, frowns, and does other things that he doesn't bother hiding. It's Kirk's way of wordlessly spelling out everything that Sulu needs to know—all the possible scenarios flashing through Kirk's logistics-driven head, from a dewy-eyed Uhura swinging McCoy's hand to Uhura cackling over a tied-up and gagged McCoy with a willing Spock-accomplice in the background.

Sulu doesn't bother reminding Kirk that a Ferengi would willingly donate to charity first before Uhura would ever let go of Spock and vice versa.

Sulu just sighs because, like, seriously, Kirk needs to man up, throw McCoy onto the nearest horizontal surface and just have at it.

Kirk cuts a nasty retort because, like, seriously, Sulu wasn't exactly the best example for said actions of manning up and admitting one's undying love for one's best friend.

Sulu flusters, starts to get furious even, but he soon deflates alongside Kirk. The way the two look to passing crew members, one would think that there was an interstellar war crisis going on.

They decide to screw it all and just go for it. Fuck moping.

They're really gonna go for it. Fuck yeah!

Kirk and Sulu hype themselves up in all kinds of triumphant manners involving manly screaming into each other's faces and pre-gamed chest thumping. They're going to ask out their respective man-loves to the upcoming ambassadors formal ball ("It's perfect Sulu!") They're going to thoroughly woo their loves with the power of their swag alone.

They chicken out and go stag.

Kirk is glaring. Specifically, at McCoy and Uhura, the two of them dancing like the world's best couple.

When the song is reaching its final swell, Sulu clears his throat and fixes Kirk with a pointed look. Ballroom lessons with Spock, it says, make them fucking worth something.

Kirk darts his eyes back to the dance floor where the couples are now bowing to each other. The song is over. Kirk grits his teeth and flies from his seat, Sulu close behind.

Kirk politely taps Uhura's shoulder, and Sulu has already swooped in from behind and taken the hands of a pretty yeoman before she could reach McCoy. Good man.

But McCoy misguidedly assumes, giving Kirk a small, amused smile before gesturing genially towards his dance partner. Uhura raises a challenging eyebrow but is turning towards Kirk anyway as the next musical sequence starts playing. Spock suddenly swoops in—Kirk really has awesome friends—and whisks Uhura away at the same time as when Kirk completely sidesteps her and snatches McCoy's hand and hip instead.

McCoy's brow shoots up as Kirk leads them into an elegant waltz. His mouth parts to speak but it stills when Kirk fills the questioning silence with intense, smoldering eyes. Soon enough, the two are dancing nose-to-nose at the center of the ball room and over McCoy's shoulder Kirk flashes Sulu the accepted silent equal of a man's glorious victory cry: the single thumbs-up.

Five dances later, Kirk catches sight of the pretty yeoman from before—glowering and stalking away from a corner where a mess of curls and skinny frame is totally pinning a very willing Sulu against the wall. Somehow, even with his face mashing with Chekov's, Sulu still manages to wiggle an arm out and flash Kirk the victorious thumbs-up.

Names are a funny thing.

Like how Sulu knows that major shit is going down when Kirk, Kirk, bypasses unspoken bro code #120—dutiful calling of last names, with or without a towel snap to the ass—and softly says, "Hikaru." Or when it's Kirk lying down, coughing up blood like it's the next best fashion statement on hospital gowns, and Sulu eases him into a better position, keeps a steadying hand on his shoulder and calls him, "Jim."

How Kirk only leers when Uhura occasionally snipes "Yes, Captain" during a poker game, her own smirk wicked. Or how McCoy calls Kirk a million different variances of "big, stinkin' baby" come time for vaccination rounds.

How only Kirk calls McCoy "Bones", and how only Sulu calls Chekov "Pasha."

How only McCoy says "Jim" with two syllables like he's been saying it all his life; and how only, only Chekov knows and will be the only person to ever know about how Sulu's mom lovingly dotes on her son as her "little star."

Spock only raises his eyebrow higher when McCoy snarks "blasted hob-goblin" before countering with a very cool, oh-so-subtly-sarcastic "Of course, Doctor." Sheesh, Kirk thinks, Spock and Uhura really were the linguistic "Fuck you" masters—and they did it with class.

Spock's also the only crewman on the entire ship to address Scotty as "Mr. Scott" off duty, but it becomes a running joke in the end. Much the same as "Cupcake." Much to Hendorff's ire.

And, when there's any kind of crisis at hand, any great mission to achieve—every single crewman of the USS Enterprise snaps to without hesitation as one unified, resounding voice: "Aye, Captain!"

But the new crewman on board has yet to learn these things and more of the Enterprise. The newbie gets an amused smile when he asks about the Captain and the Helmsman, how they could possibly be such great pals if they still used last names even after some three odd years.

The officer gives the new crewman a knowing smile, one that the newbie is frustratingly coming across each crew member's face as if the entire ship were all in on some fantastic secret.

"It's Kirk and Sulu, always has been, always will."

[Extra]

"So, then, why does the Captain call you, uh..cupcake, Sir...?"

"Shut it."

Notes: Loosely referenced (twisted around a bit) TOS episodes "The Naked Time" and "The Apple", and a loving hat tip to the Bro Code from the television show "How I Met Your Mother."

Comments as well as critiques are welcome. :)