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“This is your fault.”
“Really, Bones? How is this my fault?”
“You're the Captain.”
“He does have a point, Captain. The crew's health and well being are the responsibility of the Captain as is making certain that all shipboard operations are running smoothly and all equipment is at optimal...”
“Spock, are you seriously blaming a transporter malfunction on me?”
“Not directly.”
“I delegate, Mr. Spock. That's also something the Captain is supposed to do. Maybe this is your fault. Crew evaluations, complaints and morale are your department. As is making certain that everything is running at optimal levels when we enter orbit of a new, or for that matter, any planet.”
“Spock's fault. I can get onboard with that. This is your fault, you unfeeling...”
“Captain, please do not set off your spouse. It is not my fault. I am not in charge of the transporters. I reported the anomalies in the atmosphere. Mr. Scott should have realized that they could interfere in the transporter's operation.”
“So it's Scotty's fault?”
“It would appear so, Captain.”
“And Starfleet's.”
“How do you figure, Bones?”
“For restricting the use of shuttles.”
“I agree. Mr. Scott and Starfleet are to blame.”
“That, gentlemen, is an assessment I can get behind.”
Three figures, two in blue, one in gold, huddled around a merrily burning fire on a frigid planet in the middle of unexplored space. The sun had set not long before, and while they had on cold weather gear, they had not intended to be there after sunset and the dropping temperatures made them miserable. Miserable enough to snuggle together, hands out towards the flames, while they debated their predicament. Once they reached that one important conclusion, the laying of blame, they sat squeezed together and contemplated their lives.
“Doctor? Am I the only one you insult so colorfully?”
“What? No, of course not Mr. Spock.”
“He called me a blond bimbo the other day.”
“I apologized for that, Darl'n. Besides, you need to use less hair product. He had run out of his and started using mine, and he uses a LOT.”
“I have noticed that his hair barely moves, even in a stiff breeze.”
“Oh, so we're ganging up on me again. You two are bitchy when you're cold.”
With that observation, the Captain moved closer to the Doctor beside him, wrapping his arms firmly around his waist. He snagged on to the jacket of his First Officer, tugging to indicate he wanted him to also move in closer, which he did, though he did not wrap his arms around anyone, intent on keeping his hands aimed towards the fire. He did, however, surreptitiously press one ear against the Doctor's hair, finding it to be warmer than the air around them.
“I wish I were at the holiday party Sulu's throwing. Why are we here instead, again?”
“Because, the next group on rotation for an away mission had also been invited to Sulu's party and the three of us have been invited to a dozen more that are happening this week.”
“And I was not intending to go. However, I find I'd rather be there than here.”
“Amen.”
They fell silent again. After a moment, as if they had agreed, they all moved impossibly closer to each other and as close to the fire as they could. McCoy heaved a sigh from where he was in the middle, grateful the other two had decided he would handle the cold the worst. He opened his mouth to say something, only to stop when he felt a familiar tingling then pulling in the middle of his stomach.
Next thing they knew, they were sitting on a transporter pad onboard the Enterprise, still snuggled together, looking up at a grinning Scotty.
“Well, don't you three look cozy!”
“Mr. Scott,” Kirk admonished as he untangled himself from his husband and climbed painfully to his feet. “Why didn't you contact us before beaming us up?”
“The communications is down, now, too,” he explained.
“Well, that would be Uhura's fault,” McCoy groused as he, too, stepped off the pad.
“I'm not telling her that, you can,” Jim said, shaking his head and heading towards the door.
“No way. She's Spock's girlfriend. He can tell her,” Bones answered as he followed close behind his husband.
“Not if I value my continued status as her 'boyfriend.'”
As he left behind the others, Mr. Scott chuckled to himself. He looked over the image of his three commanding officers, snuggled up firmly in each other's arms, he had managed to take without them noticing. He sent it over to the nearest display and quickly added a festive border, put cartoon Santa hats on their heads, and typed out a message wishing everyone a Happy Holidays from the Command Crew of the USS Enterprise, before sending it out ship wide.
Whistling, he headed out to catch the tail end of Sulu's party, not worrying about the fallout from the card. He'd happily take the blame for that.
The End