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McCoy was on the Captain as soon as the landing party materialized. “Goddammit, Jim, can’t you try to stay in one piece on an away mission just once?” Kirk ineffectively tried to fend him off, and was rewarded with a vicious hypo stab to his arm, right where his shirt has been ripped off.
“Huh? Wuh—how’d you know to be here?” asked Kirk, his speech lightly slurred from blood loss. McCoy’s frown, if possible, became even deeper.
“The goddamn hobgoblin informed me. That is why you carry those fancy walky-talkies, you know,” he grumbled as he dragged Kirk towards the waiting gurney. “I just want you to answer this one question before you pass out from your wounds. Why exactly did you pet a baby m’jag? You don’t go up to baby wildlife, Jim, you just don’t! I’ve half a mind to just let your shoulder rot from the mother’s bite, then maybe you’ll finally learn to keep your hands to yourself!” Despite this threat, McCoy was already removing what remained of the captain’s shirt in order to disinfect the wounds.
“Aw, Bones, you know you… love it…” Kirk trailed off as he drifted away.
“A bar fight, Captain? I do not believe that is what Admiral Nogura had in mind when he ordered the Enterprise to negotiate for the Johtians’ dilithium.”
“It… wasn’t my fault, Spock,” retorted Kirk, leaning on Spock for support. They were on the way to sickbay after yet another away mission gone wrong. “Nothing happened. I’m totally fine, really. Can’t I just rest in my quarters?”
“Although ‘fine’ has variable meaning, Captain, you are not currently experiencing any one of those. You are short of breath, covered in blood and dirt, cannot support your own weight, and your uniform shirt is practically non-existent. You instigated and engaged in a pointless brawl, and you are clearly not ‘fine’.”
“See if I ever sneak you out of Sickbay ever again,” mumbled Kirk.
After beaming the landing party up, Scotty ran straight to his quarters and depleted half his store of hooch in one sitting. He couldn’t quite look his Captain in the eye the next day, and would forever wince at the words “nudist colony.”
Spock, McCoy and Scotty expected the worst. The Captain and his party had just requested emergency beam-up from the unknown planet they had been mapping. When the crew reappeared, McCoy surged towards Kirk, and immediately started shouting. “What did you do this time, you…”
McCoy was not the only one to freeze in shock, and if Spock’s eyebrow rose any higher, it threatened to escape his forehead. Scotty could only stare.
Captain Kirk’s shirt was intact. No holes, no rips, no missing chunks.
“Something wrong, gentlemen?” Kirk inquired, stepping off of the transporter pad as if he and the security team didn’t all feel like walking bruises. “I had intended to brief you on the situation—seems Gannis IV isn’t quite as uninhabited as we thought—but if you three need medical attention…”
“Captain,” Spock started, “the doctor and Mr. Scott were simply taken by surprise. You have yet to return from a non-diplomatic mission with your uniform intact. I, of course, was simply awaiting your orders and did not wish to pry as to the happenings on the planet.”
“Like hell you were,” interject the doctor. “You were just as surprised as us mere humans, Ears.” Turning to Kirk, he added, “Jim, what happened?”
Kirk cleared his throat. “Like I said, gentlemen, Gannis IV is not uninhabited. Perhaps we could adjourn to a meeting room…
After the Gannis IV briefing, Kirk returned to his quarters as quickly as his feet could carry him, before McCoy could bully him to Sickbay. These days, he had a good reason to avoid the medical gowns.
As he showered, changed, and made his way to bed he couldn’t help but brood over the day’s events. He hadn’t been found out, but… It had been a close call.
“Computer, lights off,” he ordered. But sleep evaded him. He turned on his side, bringing him face-to-face—or rather, face-to-cloth—with the shirt he had worn that day, and indeed for the past week.
“So close,” he muttered, lightly stroking the yellow fabric. He would have to remember to wear a different shirt on his next away mission. It wouldn’t do to have anyone question why he suddenly avoided damaging his uniform.
He pulled the shirt nearer his head, and buried his face in the fabric. One day, he thought to himself. Just as same sex, inter-species, and polyamourous relationships gained acceptance, this will too.
And on that day, I will finally be able to live out the rest of my days with the love of my life.
Not quite yet. But one day…
And James T. Kirk fell asleep, clutching Mr. Polo to his cheek.