Author's Note: Um, holy shit, I kind of wrote this. I just wrote Crack!Star Trek. Wow. This is what my life has become.

Warnings: Um... language? Highly embarrassing scenarios? Feeling Bones's pain?

Extra Note: Sammantha, who is surprisingly not me, is literally a Mary Sue (in fact, lemme jus' rename her Ebony, brb). I am a terrible person.

Jim is done. With his life.

Done.

Okay, so he perhaps is being a little too harsh at this point, but, hey, it's necessary. Necessary because Bones has just informed him that he may have, eh, "overlooked" something. This something would be, in fact, a highly dangerous, turns-you-into-a-complete-psycho virus that is currently filtering through the Enterprise, his baby, at this very moment. The good news? It doesn't affect any self-aware being aboard his ship. The bad news? It does affect Tribbles. And Tribbles are the most common "pet" kept by his crew.

In short, James Tiberius Kirk is facing an attack. Of Tribbles.

Could his life get any weirder?

The ship is on Red Alert. That's right, the ship is on Red Alert, and all because Bones thinks the Tribbles may spread the virus to the Enterprise's crew by... biting them. Tribble Rabies. Great.

"Bones, please tell me you have some good news," Kirk hisses into his Communicator.

"Dammit, Jim! There's an angry mob of Tribbles loose on the ship and you expect good news?"

Jim kicks the door to the turbolift he's currently residing (not hiding, not hiding) in.

"Do you have Spock's current whereabouts? He probably has some... useful insight. You know, with his logic. And stuff."

Jim can feel McCoy's eyeroll.

Physically.

In his bones.

Pun not intended.

"Your husband's in the turbolift next to you, Jim. He's apparently had the same genius idea to cower away from the oh-so-scary, furry beasts terrorising our ship."

Jim kicks the door again. "He's not my husband!" He pauses momentarily, after hearing a growl, and then resumes, "I'm not cowering, damn it! I'm just... conveniently residing in a safe area!"

"You're hiding away in a turbolift because you're too scared to face down a few dustbunnies."

"They may be dustbunnies, Len, but they are maniacal dustbunnies. I don't want to go down in history as the flagship captain who was attacked and killed by an otherwise harmless fluffball, okay?"

There's a loud crash against the door.

"Bones," Jim's voice raises to a painful, grating whine, "have they, by any remote chance, grown legs?"

McCoy doesn't reply. Another crash sounds.

"No, I'm serious. I am not, I repeat, I am NOT prepared to get into a fist-fight with a mutant Tribble."

"I may have underestimated the virus." At least McCoy sounds guilty.

Jim swallows. "So, they have grown legs, then?"

"No, Jim, they have not grown legs. They just... well, let's say they may be a little stronger than I originally predicted."

There's another crash. "It's going to break in! And I'll have to manually override the brakes on the turbolift to get moving again!"

Bones cringes. "I'm workin' on it as best I can, okay? You're just going to have to try your best to escape them for now."

Jim sighs and resigns himself to his fate... which is to look ridiculously stupid running from Tribbles. Wonderful.

"Alright, but you better hurry up! We can't run forever, you know! Kirk out."

The turbolift shakes violently as the Tribble-gone-zombie-gone-mutant smashes the full force of its body into the door once again. Jim punches in the (insanely) complicated override codes, and hopes to whatever luck he may have left that he can get the damned contraption moving before he gets eaten alive. By a mutant ball of fuzz.

Luckily, the lift comes to life in an awkward jolt, and Jim is safe from the Tribble-mutant. For now.

With everyone running like maniacs from mutant Tribbles, the ship has, unfortunately, fallen into a state of disrepair. It doesn't help that said Tribbles are nibbling at critical internals in Engineering at this current moment. It also doesn't help that the one thing they so brilliantly chose to ruin first was the functionality of the turbolifts. So, basically, Kirk is flying blind. He has no idea where he's supposed to be going, is stuck in a broken turbolift, and is at risk of getting eaten by rabid creatures. He is also very much alone right now, which doesn't help with the eerie atmosphere in any way.

He's not exactly scared, considering he's the captain, and also not a two-year-old, but he's... well, he's not exactly content and/or comfortable right now. And he kinda needs to take a leak.

Then, out of absolutely nowhere, the turbolift comes to a jarring halt.

"Shit."

That was probably the understatement of the year, right there, he thinks to himself.

"Kirk to Mr. Scott."

"I cannae exactly help ya right now, Captain!" Scotty's voice is muffled by static, and Kirk has to strain his ears to make out what he's trying to say.

"Scotty, do you still have any control in Engineering? I'm sort of stuck in a turbolift right now."

"No, Captain! I'm-" The signal cuts out.

"Scotty?"

He only gets droning static in response. So, yeah, okay. This isn't good. Looks like he's going to have to stay here for a while.

"Well, now what?"

Twenty minutes later, the famous Captain James Tiberius Kirk has accomplished nothing but breaking the strap on one of his boots. He really needs to stop fiddling with his clothing. Really, he's going to be wearing rags by the time he gets out of here.

Suddenly he gets a bright idea.

"Spock, come in Spock. You there?"

"Yes, Captain. Are you well?"

Thank God for small mercies. His First (not husband) is not only alive, but has a working Communicator.

"Yeah, man, I'm as fine as I can be for a guy stuck in a turbolift on a ship overrun by crazy Tribbles. What about you?"

"I am, unfortunately, in similar circumstances. The turbolift I have taken refuge in appears to have malfunctioned."

"Well, great. I guess I'm not the only one." Jim hums in contemplation. "Say, do you think that other members of the crew are stuck in the turbolifts? Surely we can't have been the only people to come up with the idea to use them as shelter."

"It is likely."

"Well, shit. I'm betting the people most qualified for fixing the ship and destroying the virus are stuck right here with us."

"That, too, is likely." Spock sounds surprisingly irritated.

"You're probably not having too great a time in there, are you?"

There's only silence at the other end. Jim figures Spock is probably trying not to entertain the possibility that he'll get eaten alive by Tribbles.

Jim sighs, no doubt audible on the other end of the line. He suddenly realises he can check the emergency terminal to determine the status of the, uhm, situation the crew has found themselves in.

Tapping away at the terminal thoughtfully, he doesn't notice the hissing, growling sound gradually getting louder. That is, he doesn't notice it until something, in a way vaguely reminiscent of half an hour ago, bangs on the door.

"Oh, God. Great. Just great."

Quickly glancing at the screen before taking out his phaser, he notices he's managed to make it all the way to Engineering, which means that, with any luck, he can stun the Tribble, make a run for it, stun some more Tribbles, hole himself up in Engineering, and save the ship.

It is a brilliant plan, if he does say so himself.

"Alright, you furry bastard, prepare to eat laser!"

Slamming his hands down on the open-door button, he shoots like a madman into the corridor, stunning the surprisingly harmless looking Tribble waiting impatiently outside. He then gets the hell out of dodge and rushes (equally as crazy-looking as before) down the hallway and into the heart of Engineering. Consequently, this appears to be the heart of Tribble activity, as well.

Just my luck.

He can't afford to lose to them now, of all times, so he sets his phaser just above stun and prepares for his inevitable humiliating death.

He actually manages to survive and not severely damage Engineering in the process. He's quite proud of himself.

Realising he has literally no time to spare, he seals the doors to Engineering off from the rest of the ship. Now there's no way he can get eaten alive, because that is not the dignified way Kirk intends to die. He's really quite pleased with the whole scenario, until he notices that Engineering is in a seriously... broken... state of affairs.

"Uhm," he mutters to himself intelligently. "I guess I'm going to have to, uh, do something about this."

A wire sparks and falls from the ceiling, which is essentially just the Enterprise's way of saying, "Hah, fuck you!"

Jim contemplates smashing his head against the wall. However, that probably wouldn't be any more of a dignified way to go than getting eaten by Tribbles, so he decides firmly against it.

Another wire sparks, almost menacingly, and Jim is roused from his philosophical thoughts.

"Alright, Enterprise, I get it, already! I'll get to work!"

Through his impeccable computing skills, Jim has managed to get the turbolifts working, if only barely. They're not exactly reliable, per se, but they work well enough to ship around highly-needed crew members. Engineering is soon the designated area of refuge and flooded with busy ensigns, which means Jim can get to harassing Bones for the antidote.

"Hey, Bones, you got any news I'll wanna hear yet?" He taps the Communicator restlessly.

"Dammit, Jim, that tapping is getting on my nerves! If you want me to make an antidote so fast, then you better stop distracting me!"

"Well, excuse me, princess! I apologise if my concern about the well-being of my crew is harshing your delicate sensibility."

Bones snorts rather unattractively. "I'm workin' on it, okay? Hold tight, and whatever you do, don't let anyone get eaten! Bones out!"

Jim rolls his eyes. "Aren't I supposed to be the captain here?" he mutters to nobody in particular.

An ensign proceeds to shake their head in frustration and shoo him away from a terminal. Apparently he's not the captain, after all.

It turns out that the one person who carries the ingredient necessary to complete McCoy's antidote is stuck in Engineering. Away from Sickbay. Far away, in fact.

James Tiberius Kirk is truly and utterly fucked.

He is now personally responsible for the duty of escorting (really? Really?) Nurse Sammantha Michaels to Sickbay, where she and Bones can hopefully save the crew from their terrible fate. On top of this, Nurse Michaels appears (rather obviously, by the way she's blushing like a ten-year-old schoolgirl) to have a huge crush on him. Now, usually, the Captain is fine with being the object of crewmember's affections, however, when he's trying to complete an insanely dangerous mission, he doesn't really have time for flustering and bumbling about, which is exactly what Nurse Michaels is doing at this very second. She seems to be so weak at the knees, she can barely even stand, let alone understand a word he's saying.

This, he can safely say, sucks.

"Nurse Michaels, you're going to have to listen to me if you want to get safely to Sickbay," he warns.

"Y-yes, sir!" she squeaks, snapping to attention.

He cringes at the look of embarrassment on her face. He can't exactly blame her, it's not like he's any more coherent with Spock around.

Wait, what?! Where the hell did that come from? He's perfectly focused when his first officer is actually noticing his existence. Totally.

Sighing at his inner turmoil (when did he begin to have freaking feeeeeelings anyway?), he ushers the young nurse to the only safe exit in Engineering, and attempts to map out the route they're going to have to take to get to Sickbay ASAP.

The exit leads out into a corridor which is currently being patrolled by the security team, so there won't be any need to run like madmen (...and madwomen?) for the beginning of their journey. However, the way to the Turbolift which will deliver them straight to Sickbay's doors isn't all guarded, which means Nurse Michaels is going to need quite the proficiency in phaser sharpshooting. Shit.

The exit doors open slowly and cautiously, Jim notes, as if the Enterprise is warning them of the dangers ahead. Great, even the ship is concerned.

"Michaels, do you, by any chance, have any experience in shooting a phaser?" Jim tries (he does, okay?) to keep the note of anxiety out of his voice. Nurses aren't usually the ones doing the shooting in away missions.

Jim, however, seems to have underestimated this particular nurse. Michaels almost literally lights up. "Oh, yes, Captain!" she beams. "Shooting is quite a hobby of mine!"

That will teach him never, ever, ever to make assumptions again. Damn.

"Well, that's fantastic! You're going to have to do a lot of precision shooting once we get out of the main corridor, since there aren't any security patrols along this route."

Michaels grins and fistpumps. "Awww yeah, the Tribbles are going to have a taste of some Michaels family glory. They won't know what hit 'em!"

Jim thinks he's starting to like this nurse quite a bit more than he expected.

Kirk and Michaels slink around the corner like panthers. Sexy panthers? Jim doesn't even know anymore. He's too slightly, mildly terrified to care about how absolutely ridiculous he and his friend(?) look right now.

"Okay, this officially marks the end of secure territory." He speaks in hushed tones.

"Captain, may I speak freely?" Michaels asks.

"Of course."

"I've fucking got this, man."

Before Jim has a chance to splutter, Michaels practically charges down the corridor, shooting madly (and kind of awesomely) at every Tribble in sight. She misses, like, two times. Holy shit.

Jim follows hastily behind her, shooting every once and a while at an unforeseen Tribble. They are probably responsible for genocide here. Seriously.

And, before Jim knows it, he and Michaels run straight into the turbolift.

He's pretty much completely taken aback. So much for first impressions. "You sure you're not a part of the security team? You should be a part of the security team."

Michaels looks sheepish. "Uh, well, I kind of part-time for them, you know? I have my responsibility as a nurse, but I'm allowed to work both jobs for the most part."

Jim is kinda speechless. She was a trembling wreck, like, twenty minutes ago.

Then, unexpectedly, considering the luck Jim's been having recently, the turbolift's doors open to a very chaotic Sickbay.

"Wellp, this is my stop," Michaels offers.

"Good luck with that, Nurse. It was nice to have an opportunity to witness your skills."

"Fear them, Captain! Now, go!" She waves him away. "You have a boyfriend to save!"

"I... what?"

"Uhm, your boyfriend? Spock? Ring any bells?"

Jim chokes on air. "He's- He's not my boyfriend!"

Michaels looks puzzled. "What? Like, the entire ship knows about it already. You don't have to play coy when there's nothing to hide."

Jim is still in the process of choking on air. Gracefully. He's gracefully choking on air. "I- I'm not playing coy! We're not," he makes a vaguely obscene gesture, "you know..."

Michaels looks at him blankly.

"We're not banging."

This is pretty much the single most embarrassing moment of Jim's life, ever.

Michaels snorts. "You're not banging, my ass. Um, sir," she adds hastily.

They are standing at the entrance to Sickbay discussing whether or not Spock is banging Jim secretly. This is his life.

"Oh God, if it's that obvious, Spock's probably known about my stupid crush on him for ages now."

The young nurse looks hopelessly lost.

"Jesus fuck, I'm going to get charged with sexual harassment or some equally as terrible law-involving career-ruiner."

Michaels finally catches on. "You mean to tell me that you're NOT actually having sex with Commander Spock?"

Jim blushes at the mere inclusion of the words "Spock" and "having sex" in one sentence. He's got it bad.

"Yeah, that's what I'm telling you."

Michaels looks like her entire world has come crashing down on top of her. "Sir, with all due respect, why the fuck not?"

Jim cannot come up with a legitimately convincing reason. "He's, you know, not really into me."

The nurse looks kind of offended by this. Which, what the fuck? "How could you possibly not see the bedroom eyes he's constantly making at you? I figured you guys were just totally into longing looks and stuff, like, maybe you had a thing for pining, like, a pining kink..." she trails off.

Jim suddenly finds that he can't form a coherent sentence.

The nurse, visibly unnerved, continues, "Oh my GOD, you guys aren't actually banging! You guys are totally not banging!"

Jim feels kind of bad for her. She looks like someone's just told her that the Enterprise isn't actually a starship, but in actuality, a flying pig.

"No, I must remedy this immediately. It is not only my duty to fix people physically, but mentally and emotionally, as well. You not banging Spock is a crime to your mental and emotional stability."

Yeah, Jim is definitely not the captain of this ship. Someone else is. In all likeliness, it's probably Bones. That man can stare down a rabid tiger and come out the victor.

He slowly realises he hasn't said anything for approximately 5.7 minutes, and, Jesus, he's channelling Spock now.

"Uhm."

That's his intelligent response. He really feels like an exemplary starship captain. Truly.

"I'm going to go help Chief McCoy save the ship from Tribbles now," Michaels says, slightly calmer now. "If the Enterprise gossip mill does not churn out the news of your passions with Mr. Spock, I'm going to file an official complaint to your adoptive father, Admiral Pike, and get him to knock some sense into you."

And with that, she's off, nose turned up, stalking into the crowd of hurrying medical officers currently watching over Sickbay.

Jim has never gone so long without a word in his life.

Sammantha is seriously confused right now. How is she even supposed to focus on awesomely coming up with an awesome antidote of awesomeness when she's too busy feeling like she just got teleported into an alternate timeline? And a terrible one, at that.

Commander Spock and Captain Kirk are not dating.

They are not engaging in passionate, wild lovemaking like her and her group of gossiping ensigns had always believed.

What the hell happened to common sense? Why the hell aren't they banging? What is life? What is air?

Okay, breathe, Sammy, breathe. You can do this. You can get ahold of yourself. You can fix this.

James T. Kirk is a gifted, ingenious, awesome, super cool, ridiculously hot captain. He'll do anything, except ask his First to fuck him senseless. So, Sammantha has to take this into her own hands.

It's time to go to her superior, Chief McCoy. He knows the captain best, so he can help her fix this.

They can set the time-continuum right again, and she'll no longer feel like this is some kind of weird, super-duper wrong AU fanfic where all her ships are sinking.

Sammantha takes a deep breath. "McCoy, sir, may I ask you something?"

The CMO raises an eyebrow, not unlike a certain first officer. "Of course. How can I help you?"

"Do you think Commander Spock and Captain Kirk should be, uhm, engaged in a, uhm..."

McCoy looks puzzled.

"Do you think they should bang?"

He slowly, mechanically, rests his face in his palms. "God damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a relationship counselor," he mutters, as if the captain can hear him. "Is he sending people to fix his marriage now?"

"Marriage, sir?"

McCoy waves his hand. "Never you mind that. Why are you askin' me this, again?"

Let it all out, Sammy, she tells herself.

"I kind of sort of maybe perhaps need someone to help me matchmake. In a strictly professional, totally-not-against-hundreds-of-regs kind of way."

McCoy tries to hold back a grin, but fails miserably. "Whatever you do, don't tell Jim I'm in on this."

"Deal."

Lieutenant Uhura has officially joined Project Chocolate Milkshake (and that name idea was definitely Sammantha's). Sammantha has no idea how and why, precisely, the lieutenant one, figured out they were matchmaking, and two, decided to volunteer her services. Sammantha suspects some kind of sick form of revenge. That's usually the way, especially considering matchmaking usually leaves the subjects (victims?) embarrassed.

Uhura has been grinning madly all day. Definitely revenge, Sammantha notes.

They decide to hold a private, top secret meeting in Conference Room 231A to avoid the prying eyes of the rest of the crew.

"So," Sammantha starts, twiddling her thumbs absently. "I think we should begin with the easy."

Uhura looks expectant, McCoy looks vaguely constipated. He should probably get that checked out.

"Maybe we should just mash their faces together on the bridge," says Uhura.

Sammantha is kind of intimidated. Maybe the lieutenant should change her name to "Nyota Intimidating Uhura" instead.

"Isn't that a little violent, not to mention forward? Project Chocolate Milkshake is totally going to get found out if we're not super covert about this. You know, like spies. Love spies."

McCoy cringes, like he's just been offered brussel sprouts or something equally as totally repulsive. "I'm not a love spy, damn it! I'm tryin'a get my best friend laid."

Sammantha does NOT giggle at that. She's not two. She's not, okay!?

McCoy is kind of hopelessly adorable though, what with denying the fact that he's a love spy and all.

"Love soldier? It sounds, like, ten percent manlier," she offers considerately.

"Sounds like something straight out of one of Sulu's weird 300-year-old TV shows."

Sammantha frowns. "Fine, then. No love soldiering. Strictly business and professionalism, here."

"I'd hardly call it professionalism," McCoy hisses under his breath.

Uhura doesn't seem to have payed any attention to the conversation, and is instead staring into space, looking deep in thought.

"What if we got them to touch each other?"

Sammantha chokes on air, which is not an experience she ever wants to repeat. McCoy offers a hypo, and that doesn't exactly make anything better. "That's," she coughs a little more, "forward. But also kind of our intended end result, ma'am."

"No, no, I mean, actually touch each other! Vulcans are touch telepaths."

Sammantha's mind is illuminated by the magical feeling of a successful plan. "Oh my gosh, they'll totally see their undying love for each other and then furiously touch hands or whatever. It will be perfect!"

McCoy looks like he wants to be sick. Poor man. He should probably hypo himself before it gets worse - which it will, by the way.

It will.

"Wait, how are we supposed to get them to touch?"

Uhura grins. "Chess. Get them to reach for the same piece, and wham! There you have it."

Sammantha has seen the light. That's it; she should just quit while she's still ahead and become the Enterprise's official matchmaker.

Seriously. She'd be great. Uhura could be her super badass sidekick, and McCoy could hypo them all the time.

Jim is beginning to suspect that something's amiss. Bones and Nyota keep trying to convince him to play chess with Spock. In fact, it's gotten to the point where they're acting like the safety of the ship depends on it. Since it's Jim's duty to preserve the lives of everyone onboard his precious baby (Scotty's got him talking like this, shut up), he figures he should just suck it up and ask the damn Vulcan for a game of chess. It's not like it could be that bad, right?

Right?

When he finally gets his opportunity during lunch break, he seizes it like a wild sehlat would seize its prey. You know, because he wasn't studying Vulcan culture or anything. It's not like he's obsessed and wants to impress Spock. Yeahhhh.

"Hey, Spock!" he greets, sitting down opposite his first officer with mock confidence.

"Greetings, Captain."

"Please, call me Jim."

Please, call me Lovesick McIdiotface.

"Greetings, Jim," Spock corrects.

God, Spock looks as rigid as a PADD's stylus. He needs to lighten up a little.

"So, want to join me for a game of chess tonight at, say, 2100?"

Spock, unemotional as ever, looks up from his plomeek soup. "I would be amenable to that offer."

Jim does not light up like a warp core. He's not a teenage girl, he's a starship captain. A competent, mature, well-respected, misunderstood, genius, illogicool (that's a word) starship captain.

He totally lights up like a warp core.

Spock probably thinks he's an idiot.

He totally does not skip out of the Mess.

Competent starship captain, his ass.

Sammantha is currently breaking over nine thousand regs. No, seriously, it's probably highly illegal to switch out her captain's holo chess board with one that is most definitely malfunctioning. There's no way the pieces won't get knocked off, but Sammantha hopes that it won't be too obvious, because then she'd most definitely get her sweet ass handed to her.

Luckily, she's decided to take the blame if the captain does find out, because there's no way she's getting Uhura and McCoy into loads of trouble for this. That would be a huge dick move. It still doesn't help her feel any less like she's going to piss her pants, though.

She rushes out of the room, silently crying inside, and hoping to the gods that fate will take comfort in her playing cupid and not decide to strike her down with bad luck. Bad luck meaning the captain kicking her ass into next week, that is.

Really, she doesn't need to get kicked off the Enterprise because she's decided to play matchmaker. Well, at least she'll have something to tell her grandkids. And the rest of the world, she thinks, as she should really post this whole story on Tumblr. Which, shit, reminds her that she's totally forgotten it's Tumblr's, like, 250th anniversary or something. She should probably get to the celebrating. And by celebrating, she means drowning her sorrows in Nutella. Shit's even good out of a replicator.

Jim is beginning to suspect foul play with this chess board. He was already nervous enough as it is, but it doesn't help that even Spock is getting frustrated with this piece of crap technology. He should really have words with whoever programmed this rubbish.

Really. It's not even funny anymore. Chess pieces are literally flying everywhere, and it's reminding him of the god damn anti-grav practice they made young, easily-traumatised cadets do back at the 'Fleet headquarters. The pieces are, like, floating around.

Holo technology cannot malfunction this badly on its own, can it?

Can it?

...

Oh, for fuck's sake. No wonder Bones and Nyota were behaving like skittish (yet kind of adorable) kittens.

Obviously this chess mishap has something to do with them, but why the hell would they break his chess board? He's going to have many, many, possibly slightly furious words with them, causing him unnecessary embarrassment like this. Jesus.

"Spock, as you can see, my chess board is obviously broken."

Spock gives him a considering look. "Judging by your expression, Captain, I would assume you suspect this is not merely an innocent programming error."

"No, indeed, Spock, it is not." Jim grinds his teeth. "If you would excuse me, Commander, I have some captainly reprimanding to be doing."

"Of course, by all means."

Jim storms off and marches his ass straight into Medbay's rec room, where he's absolutely positive they're conferring. He can just imagine the smug, yet maybe a little terrified expressions they'll be wearing.

Luckily enough, he's right. Nyota, Bones, and, unsurprisingly, Sammantha Michaels are sitting next to each other, watching cheesy 21st century holovids and eating Nutella.

"Care to explain yourselves?" Jim grinds out.

Michaels straightens immediately, looking like a kicked puppy. Bones and Nyota, however, have unpleasantly self-satisfied looks plastered on their faces.

"Well, you see," Nyota smiles innocently (disturbingly?), "we were just speeding up the course of destiny."

Jim has literally no idea what she's on about.

"I have literally no idea what you're on about."

"Your schoolgirl crush, Jamie," Bones offers.

James Tiberius Kirk, captain of the flagship Enterprise, is going to commit suicide.

Literally, he's contemplating throwing himself out of the airlock right about now.

"My schoolgirl crush," he repeats blankly.

Sammantha spills first. "We were just trying to break the chess board so the chess pieces would come flying off and then you'd both go and reach for one and your hands would touch and then you'd make out and it would be great and then we would all feel better and there would be way less palpable sexual tension on the bridge, from what I've heard."

Nyota looks physically pained at the significant lack of grammar in that sentence. "Periods, commas, please don't forget them."

"Lack of punctuation aside, we're really sorry, sir! We were just trying to make your love life at least one hundred percent better."

Jim sighs. "It's a hopeless cause, you know," he says, with considerably less menace than previous.

"No, sir, I can assure you it most certainly isn't! Spock totally wants to get a piece of that a-"

There's a sudden silence.

"He's behind me, isn't he?"

Bones nods, almost imperceptibly.

"Well, hello there, Spock! Fancy meeting you here!" Jim smiles weakly and gives a pathetic little wave.

"Nurse Michaels," he begins, "I can assure you that I do not want a 'piece of that ass'."

Jim cringes, and prepares for hell.

"I want all of it."

"What."

Sammantha sighs contentedly as she walks down the hallway, tapping gently away on her PADD. She's totally turning the matchmaking events of the past few days into a fanfic for .com. She's sure their many hundreds of followers (including the respectable Admiral Pike) will love this.

She sets her fingers to the (figurative) keys.

"Jim is done. With his life.

"Done."

FIN.