Jim Gets Married and Harry Mudd is to Blame for Everything
Ella lay down beside her man-sized pillow of James T Kirk and looked up at hundreds of holographs of James T Kirk’s smoulder decorating her walls and ceiling. She ran a loving finger along the cheek of the James T Kirk on her t-shirt and then pulled her James T Kirk scrapbook out from underneath her bed. The authentically signed (or so the black market Ferengi trader had said) James T Kirk picture at the side of her bed seemed to wink at her as she flicked through the hunky, hot, gorgeous, drool-worthy Captain’s childhood photographs. Ella was going to marry him. Yes, he had his ship… but he was going to see her and how beautiful and smart she was….he’d fall in love with her…he’d sweep her off her feet…he’d give up the Enterprise, everything, to heroically save her life, pull her into his bulging, somehow oiled arms and propose to her. They’d have matching rings with sentences that completed each other. Ella had studied every holotape of him to make sure she could finish his sentences. Mrs Ella R Kirk. Mrs Ella R Kirk. She squirmed in a kind of psychotic delusion at the thought of having his name. Mmmm….they’d have two children – a son: James T. Kirk Jnr, and a daughter, Jamie R. Kirk… But if he didn’t fall head over heels in love with her at first sight (which was extemely unlikely!), Ella had a back-up plan. Oh yes, she’d saved up every credit to buy it from that trader called Mudd with the moustache who said he’d actually met James T Kirk!!!! He’d even let her (for a high, but totally reasonable price) touch his hand that had actually touched the Captain of the Enterprise!!! Ella had almost fainted! Yes, the thing she’d bought was a teeeeeensy bit illegal, but James T Kirk…..Jim...he’d understand. He’d be so happy with her. The poor girl sighed, ignorant to the fact that a pair of efficient and murderous Vulcan eyebrows would most likely kill her before she got her wish.
“Elllllaaa!” Her ‘important’ Ambassador mother yelled from downstairs.
“Yes Muuuuuum??” Ella stashed her scrapbook and man-sized James T. Kirk pillow beneath her bed again, flipped her signed picture around to a bland family photo and changed her holographs of The Smoulder to peaceful nature as her mum’s boots trip-trapped up the stairs. She had just turned her shirt inside out to a non-suspicious, vague, band logo, when her mother knocked.
“Come in!” One day she’d be saying that to James T Kirk as he knocked on her study-room door in their eternal honeymoon suite. Mmmm.
“Ella honey. Starfleet just contacted me with a mission on Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya de la Rosa Ramirez Three.” Ella’s mother sat in the desk chair that resided over the floorboard that secretly concealed thousands of pictures of naked, photoshopped James T Kirk. “You know your dad is stuck on Starbase 400 due to that ion storm, and Aunty Caljen took off to gods know where last week.”
“Don’t tell me I have to come on another one of your missions! I’m eighteen!” Ella sighed. How was she ever going to perfect her plans to make James T. Kirk fall in love with her if she was being dragged all over the star system??
“You don’t have to! But this time we’d be on a real Starship, with some really interesting people and opportunities.” Mrs Cindy sighed. “You’d get to meet a real Starship Captain – Kirk, I think his name is, and his Vulcan First Officer – “
The hunger and sheer psychotic eagerness in Ella’s eyes almost made Mrs Cindy regret everything. But then again, it was nice to see her daughter being enthusiastic about something other than staying in her room and practising what sounded suspiciously like accepting marriage proposals.
“Well get packing, honey! We leave at 1500hrs.”
Scotty belting out ‘Here Comes the Bride’ on the bagpipes snapped Jim back to his current situation. There he was, all decked in dress uniform, blissfully unaware of his teenage stalker, waiting for his blushing beauty. Sulu came skipping down the aisle first, eyeshadow on point as always. Flower seeds flew from his hand, out on to the grassy aisle. They immediately began to bloom. Jim Kirk sighed like the flower-loving nerd he was and his eyes wandered to the congregation. His brother, Sam, whom Mccoy had brought back to life for the occasion with a holy bitchslap, gave him the thumbs up. Speaking of Mccoy, the good Doctor was right beside him crying tears of pure medicinal brandy. Oh what a happy occasion.
A vision of white silk and chiffon glided down the aisle towards him with Uhura and Nurse Chapel as beaming bridesmaids in tow. The veil lifted up and…there was his demure Vulcan. Somebody had put a delicate amount of green blusher on his cheeks, and it just made him look divine.
“As Captain of the Enterprise, with the power vested in me, I hereby marry myself to Commander Spock.” He beamed up at his Science Officer. “We may now kiss.”
The Yeoman who had once given the Captain a back massage on the bridge, buzzed to enter Jim’s quarters. The Earth Ambassador headed for somewhere called Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya de la Rosa Ramirez Three was going to board in an hour, and the Captain needed this newly cleaned dress uniform the Yeoman bore.
The brunette had been quite proud of the noises she’d massaged out of that pillar of authority until she’d realized he thought it was Commander Spock. Typical. She got the ship with the young hottie Captain but he was begging for his Vulcan First Officer to ‘push, push hard’ into him. Needless to say, she’d filed her bet with the CMO that they’d be dating in a couple of months.
From the dead silence, it sounded like Captain Kirk had taken one of Mccoy’s Comatose-Your-Bros Sleeping Pills. Those were a step up from the Make-Yo-Peeps-Sleep Pills, but not quite at Indefinitely-Suspend-Your-Friend Pill level. Nobody knew why or when Mccoy would use those pills, but they all knew that was a day to be feared.
Taking strength from the fact that she was a redshirt and not yet dead, the young lady stepped into her Captain’s quarters. The Yeoman had never been in the Captain’s room before, and took advantage of Jim Kirk’s doctor-assisted coma to look around. A book was proudly displayed in a cubby-hole…’Doctor Sexy’s Finger Fiasco and the Virgin Romulan.’ Maybe she had been wrong about the Captain and the Commander -
“Mmmm, Spock, Spock…” A shirtless Jim Kirk moaned from the sleeping area. If he wore shirts, his unguarded nipples always managed to free themselves by morning. “We’re not…mmmm…on honeymoon yet…yes Spock it is an illogical name….mmm..well, there could be a moon and honey…..”
….wow. The Yeoman decided to leave before he started mumbling about glow-in-the-dark, triple Vulcan anatomy or whatever Mr Spock possessed. She also decided to raise her bet by 100 credits.
Why Mccoy had been invited to attend a damn-diddly welcome dinner for some Ambassador was beyond him. He was a doctor, not a receptionist. Well, at least it wasn’t a Commodore, he supposed. They always managed to screw everything up by driving into Romulan territory or feeding the Enterprise to a giant space robot monster. Just usual Commodore activities.
Looked like he was a little early, but it was better than arguing whether Vulcan reproductive organs glowed in the dark with Doctor M’Benga. If Mccoy went another three lifetimes without the mental image of whatever junk was in Spock’s trunk, it’d be too soon. It could be a tiny pitchfork for all the good doctor cared.
Oh, it looked like the Ambassador’s daughter was early too. She seemed to be wearing something that was a cross between a pineapple and delicately sprinkled corrosive chemicals. Seriously, what the hell did space do to people? Well, looking at his sanity, Mccoy probably had a large chance of being dressed as a pineapple by the end of these five years. Unless Sulu actually turned him into a pineapple. Sometimes Mccoy worried about that kid.
“Hello, my dear.” The CMO gave a her a friendly nod, but didn’t flick on the ol’ rustic Georgian charm. She was far too young and seemed to be a liiiittle too into the Captain, what having clutched at his handshake like Scotty had once clutched at his chest as he ‘died’ of happiness. On that note, if Spock’s eyes had possessed the same demonic power as his eyebrows at that particular hand-clutching moment, this lady would be dead. Obviously those famed Vulcan peepers couldn’t see the little appreciative glances the Captain was giving his Science Officer in dress uniform. Goodamnit those kiddos were hopeless.
“Hello.” She nodded and picked up her bag. Something shiny caught Mccoy’s eye. To be fair, Mccoy wasn’t generally attracted to shiny objects. But this one looked suspiciously like a bomb. Very much like a bomb in fact. Looked like someone was going to try and blow up the Ambassador. With an eternal sigh, Mccoy leaped forward and grabbed the device. His sacred hands downgraded themselves back to mythological after making the mistake of accidentally pushing a button.
“No, no, wait – “
But Mccoy was already out the door, headed for the garbage chute. Hopefully it wasn’t clogged up with crying Ensigns again. The doctor got a glimpse of Jim, Sulu and Scotty’s bewildered faces before a flash of white lit up his vision and he saw no more.