James Kirk smiled at his first officer, then turned into the room, beckoning him to follow. "Come on in, Spock. Make yourself-"

Spock had always maintained that 'double-takes' did not exist in the real world, only in archaic tri-vids. He was wrong. If Kirk had been drinking a beverage, he probably would have invalidated his first officer's 'spit-take' theory as well.

Kirk stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned to face the Vulcan. His mouth hung open as his eyes took in precisely what his first officer was, or in this instance, wasn't wearing. "Spock, what are you doing?"

"Is this not how you wanted me attired?"

"Have you been smoking Rigellian raga weed?"

Spock attempted to look as though his dignity had been affronted, then decided he was incapable of pulling it off in his current attire.

Kirk's eyes traveled down the hairy chest to rest on the barely covered crotch. He realized his mouth was hanging open and promptly shut it. Was this really Spock? He circled the nearly naked Vulcan, trying to make sense of this strange specter, that looked suspiciously like his first officer. He came around the back of the apparition, and paused, staring in fascination at the tiny exposed buns. The pale green globes appeared to clench just a little tighter at his perusal and Kirk reached out a tentative hand to touch. When his finger was millimeters from its target, he realized what he was doing and quickly snatched the curious digit away.

Spock endured the inspection stoically. He could feel his whole body getting warmer and decided another steak visualization was in order. His off-balance mind conjured up a rather cartoonish looking Holstein lounging on its back in a field of poppies. When the cow slyly winked at him, he terminated the visualization.

Having completed his three-sixty, Kirk was once again confronted with Spock's inadequately covered, but undeniably impressive crotch. His previously denied finger began to itch again, and Kirk dragged his eyes away from the too tempting target. His confused expression met its Vulcan equivalent.

"This is your birthday gift to me, is it not?"

"NO!" Kirk sputtered, "it most certainly is not!" His eyes were once again drawn to the Vulcan's crotch. Was the material actually...quivering?

"Jim!"

He looked up sheepishly. "Sorry, Spock." He really wanted to get to the bottom off this whole thing, but he was having a hard time concentrating when his first officer's inadequately covered member was threatening to make an unscheduled appearance at any moment. He flipped open his communicator.

"Kirk to Enterprise."

"Enterprise here, sir."

"Lieutenant Dixon, please connect me with the uniform quartermaster."

"Sir, Lieutenant Morrison is on first rotation leave. Shall I connect you with Ensign Jarvis in laundry?"

"Yes, thank you." A moment and then.

"Captain Kirk, this is Ensign Jarvis."

"Jarvis. I need you to pull a full uniform for Mister Spock and beam it to my hotel room, immediately.

"Yes, sir!"

Kirk snapped the communicator shut. He decided he liked this Jarvis. He'd taken the unusual request without any hesitation and more importantly, without any questions. He would have to see about pulling the kid off laundry duty.

"Thank you, Jim."

Spock's voice pulled Kirk back to the surreal reality that was his hotel room. Spock was still standing erect...poor choice of words...stiffly...uh, ramrod...Kirk gave up on trying to define exactly how his first officer was standing. He began to nervously pace the room.

"How long should it take before the uniform is beamed here, Spock?"

"I would estimate approximately one point three minutes."

"Great." What the hell was he supposed to do with a nearly naked Vulcan and one point three minutes to kill? His vivid imagination suggested several options. Thank God he wasn't wearing a thong. Kirk moved to stand in front of his desk with his back to the Vulcan. He looked up at the picture on the wall. "Nice painting." he said to no one in particular.

"Yes, I have the same one in my room."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Great. "How much longer now, Spock?" He absently wiped a hand across the beads of sweat that had formed on his upper lip.

"Fifty-four seconds."

Kirk looked at the painting again. "The colors are...nice." he offered, lamely.

"Yes."

"Is that a bird up there?"

"I believe it is a horse."

Kirk looked more closely at the painting. Yes, that would explain the mane and hooves. "Oh yeah, it is a horse."

"Jim?"

"Hmm?"

"Perhaps you should invite Lieutenant Uhura to your room to discuss the painting. She was quite taken with it, also."

Uhura, taken with this piece of garbage? What was Uhura doing even looking twice at this thing. Hell, the only reason he was staring at it now was because...Oh. He decided he really didn't want to know why Uhura was looking at this painting or where, for that matter.

"Jim."

"Yes?"

"I believe we should have received the uniform by now."

Kirk flipped open the communicator with a little too much force and the metal screen flew off and fell behind the desk. Kirk cursed Murphy and his miserable set of laws.

"Spock, you don't happen to have a communicator on you?"

"No."

"Didn't think so." He punched at the controls and was relieved to hear Lt. Dixon's somewhat staticky voice.

"Captain, are you attempting to hail the ship?"

"Yes."

"Your signal is a bit distorted, Sir."

"I know, Mister Dixon." He was not about to explain. "Can you locate Ensign Jarvis for me?"

"Of course sir, stand by."

Kirk got down on his hands and knees and tried to find the top of his communicator. "Captain Kirk!" Jarvis' voice boomed through the communicator. Kirk jumped up and slammed his head on the bottom of the desk.

"Damn!"

"Sir?"

"Nothing, Jarvis." He rubbed the sore spot on his head. "Do you have Mister Spock's uniform?"

"Yes, Sir. But...."

"But what, Ensign?"

"Well, I'm in the transporter room, sir, and there's nobody here."

Kirk decided the laundry room was the perfect place for Jarvis to spend the rest of his Starfleet career. His patience was wearing very thin. "Don't tell me you were sick they day they covered transporter operations at the Academy, Mister Jarvis."

"No, sir!"

"Then beam the clothes to my hotel room yourself!"

"Your signal's kind of distorted, sir."

"Well, compensate for it, Mister Jarvis!"

"Yes, sir!"

Kirk threw his broken communicator on the bed and stared at it. Unless Jarvis was completely incompetent, Spock's new uniform should materialize directly on top of it in another second.

Spock joined him at the side of the bed and they stared at the spot, together. A moment later, they heard the familiar whine of the transporter. When the whine ceased, the communicator was still on the bed, unencumbered by clothing. Kirk reached for it, only to have Spock's hand stop him.

"What?"

Spock pointed a finger toward a spot slightly above the bed. There, neatly trapped between the walls, was Spock's uniform. The only item which had survived the journey was a pair of black socks, which had fallen on one of the pillows. Kirk picked them up and offered them to his first officer. "Socks?"

"I already have a pair, thank you."

Kirk looked down and realized, for the first time, that Spock was wearing his uniform boots. He was about to suggest another use for the socks, then thought better of it. He picked up the broken communicator.

"I'll just have Jarvis beam another uniform down."

"I do not believe that is a wise decision." Spock indicated the uniform hanging above the bed like some deranged piece of modern art. "Considering the erratic coordinates the communicator is producing, we are quite fortunate. The uniform could have been beamed inside one of our persons, instead of the wall."

Kirk felt his stomach roll at the thought. "Thanks, now I've completely lost my appetite." He walked over to the desk and peeked under it. "Spock, do you think you could reach the top half of my communicator? It's sort of wedged behind the edge of the desk and the wall and I think my fingers are too thick to get it."

"No."

"What?!" Kirk looked over at the Vulcan who had crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest. "What do you mean, no?"

"To do so would require me to bend over. I refuse to bend over in my current attire." he stated simply.

"Of all the-!" Kirk tried to calm himself. "What if I turn around and promise not to look?"

Spock eyed him warily. "Once my head is under the desk, how will I determine if you are keeping your end of the bargain?"

"Because I'm giving you my word as an officer and a gentleman."

"The last part of your statement is a bit suspect."

"Spock!!!!"

The Vulcan sighed. "Very well." He waited patiently while Kirk turned his back.

"All right, my back is turned! Let me know when I can turn around, okay?" Kirk stared at the clothing imbedded in the wall. When that became dull, he looked at the ceiling, then at carpeting. Anything, to distract him from the fact that in a few moments, his first officer would be in a very compromising position. Behind him, he heard the sound of a chair being moved. Kirk tried to concentrate on looking at the bed spread, but his mind was too caught up in calculating exactly how long it would take before Spock was on his hands and knees, with his head buried under the desk and his butt hanging out. He's probably under the desk right now, he thought, and what Spock doesn't know can't hurt him, right? What would be the harm in just taking a little peek? None.

He quickly turned around, his eyes searching out the Vulcan's exposed bottom, only Spock wasn't under the desk, he was standing in exactly the same spot he'd been in only moments before, the only difference being one arched eyebrow and a disapproving stare. Kirk smiled pathetically. The Vulcan did not smile back. "Best two out of three?" he suggested hopefully.

The Vulcan was looking at him as though he were an insect.

"All right, I'll go under the desk and you see if you can pull it away from the wall a little." Kirk attempted to look disgusted, but was having a hard time pulling it off. His first officer, on the other hand, was having no such problem. Kirk gave up and got down on his hands and knees. When he was wedged uncomfortably under the desk, he called to the Vulcan. "Pull it away now, Spock. I think I can get a piece of it." The furniture moved away fractionally, just enough for him to get one finger on the edge of the small metal plate.

At the moment Kirk's hand touched the edge of the metal screen, Spock's thong began to slide to the left. He reflexively reached out a hand to stop the material's progression, not realizing he'd let go of the heavy piece of hotel furniture until he heard the piece thump against the wall, followed almost immediately by the captain's howl of pain and another thump as Jim's head slammed into the bottom of the desk.

"SPOCK!!!!"

Kirk looked out at him from under the desk. "You did that on purpose!" Spock shook his head 'no', but Kirk wasn't buying it. "Yes, you did!" Spock decided he was not going to argue the point, because he was not about to explain why he'd lost his purchase on the desk.

Kirk crawled out from under the desk and presented his right hand to the Vulcan. There was the metal screen. Only the hinge that normally connected it to the bottom half of the communicator was now impaled in the tip of the captain's index finger. Kirk looked pissed.

"That looks very painful." Spock commented.

"It is very painful!" He took a menacing step towards the Vulcan, who took a hesitant step back. Kirk stopped his forward progression and motioned for Spock to come closer with his injured finger. The metal screen dangled strangely in the air.

Spock took a tentative step toward the angry human. Kirk offered his injured digit to the Vulcan, who grasped the cool hand in his warmer one. He turned Kirk's wrist so he had a better view of exactly how the item had entered the skin and how best to extract it. The curved edge of the hinge had pierced the finger at the tip and very close to the skin's surface. It was not a serious wound, but because the metal had entered like a fish hook, it was firmly imbedded and would be tricky to remove. He looked up at the human.

"I know." Kirk nodded. "It's going to hurt. Just don't make it hurt any more than it should, okay?"

"Why would I wish to do that?"

"Because you caught me peeking."

Spock was astonished. "Jim, you cannot believe that I purposely allowed the desk to fall in an attempt to--"

"Forget it Spock, just get this fucking thing out of my finger!"

Spock grasped the finger between two of his and carefully gripped the metal screen in his other hand. He gave a quick twist, which caused Kirk to flinch and scream (not necessarily in that order.) Kirk's hand jerked away and down, causing the sharp edge of the metal screen to scrape along the Vulcan's belly. The jagged hinge sticking out of Kirk's finger attempted to grab at the silky hair on Spock's stomach, but found a better purchase in the elastic waistband of his thong. It caught and held, causing the elastic to stretch downward minutely, before the forward momentum of Kirk's hand slowed and stopped. The screen and Kirk's hand snapped back against the Vulcan's belly with an undignified 'slap'.

Two sets of eyes stared at Kirk's finger, which was still pierced by the screen's metal hinge and now firmly imbedded in Spock's birthday present. Kirk's wrist was tilted down at an awkward angle in a chivalrous attempt to protect what was left of the Vulcan's modesty. They both stood completely still, fearful of upsetting the fragile balance. Kirk's hand was beginning to cramp.

"What do we do now?"

Spock considered the situation. The lighting in the room cruelly highlighted the sharp edge of the screen's hinge, which was poised like a talon only centimeters above his groin. He tried to lean forward to get a better view, but the motion caused his groin to jut forward fractionally, bringing the threatening hinge perilously close to its target. He leaned back again.

"Jim, pull your hand slowly away from my stomach."

"But, that's going to push the metal even deeper into my finger!"

"If you were to further injure your finger, you would still have nine healthy digits remaining. On the other hand if I were to injure-"

"Why don't you just take your thong off?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Take it off."

"I do not wish to take it off."

"Take it off!" Kirk repeated, more firmly.

Spock defiantly folded his arms across his chest. Kirk wanted to assume his most intimidating position, but realized he couldn't place his fists on his hips in their current situation. He raised his chin to the Vulcan and stubbornly stared at him. Stalemate.

They remained like that for a good two minutes. In that time, Kirk's cramped wrist began to relax and drop. He didn't realize his palm was resting on his first officer's crotch until Spock's eyes widened and lowered, effectively ending the Mexican standoff. Kirk looked down to see what had broken the Vulcan's concentration and almost flinched.

Almost.

Almost was enough to convince Spock. "Perhaps the time for modesty has ended." he conceded. He hooked both of his thumbs into the waistband of the thong and carefully lifted it away from his body and down. Kirk followed the path of the material with his impaled finger and was briefly treated to a tantalizing glimpse of the very rare and elusive Vulcan penis, until Spock realized he could pull the thong down with one hand and utilize the other to cover the astonishing artifact. Spock lifted both legs out of the garment, realized it was effectively destroyed and moved away from the captain.

Kirk looked up to see the retreating form of his first officer walk over to the bed, pull the cotton casing off of a pillow and tear two holes in the sewn end.

"What are you doing? I'm gonna get stuck paying for that!"

Spock blatantly ignored him and proceeded to slip his legs into the two holes at the bottom of the pillow case. He pulled the material up over his waist, then walked over to the heavy drapes covering a window by the dressing area and yanked one of the curtain ties off the wall, pulling a good chunk of synthetic plaster out in the process.

Kirk groaned aloud as he considered the cost of damages on his hotel bill. Spock paid no attention to the sound of distress and calmly proceeded to wrap the tie around his waist. When he was finished, he gracefully placed his hands by his sides and stared at his still kneeling captain, daring him to comment.

"I won't even tell you what you look like."

Spock turned to look in the mirror and frowned. It looked like he was wearing a diaper.

Kirk stood and approached the Vulcan, appraising his first officer's latest wardrobe gaffe. He blatantly eyed him up and down, dramatically tapping his uninjured finger on his lips as he considered the ridiculous ensemble.

The Vulcan favored him with a look of disgust before he stalked over to the bed and retrieved the bottom half of the communicator. He was about to place a call to Ensign Jarvis, requesting that another uniform be beamed down, no longer caring if the clothes were transported directly into his spleen, when Kirk relented.

"I'm sorry Spock. Put that down, help me get this thing out of my finger and we'll try and track you down some decent clothing." He held out his injured extremity to the Vulcan. Spock hesitated only a moment before he walked back to Kirk, handed the bottom of the communicator to him and took the human's injured hand into his own.

"Unless you wish to be charged for the destruction of another pillow case, I suggest you refrain from flinching." Spock allowed a small smile to form on his lips, which caused a huge grin to form on his captain's. He used the momentary distraction to twist the metal from Kirk's finger. The ploy worked. Before Kirk realized what had happened, the object was removed. However, he was now bleeding copiously.

Kirk looked down at his feet and watched the first drops of blood drip into the light carpeting. The fresh crimson stains saturated and spread as they were absorbed into the woven material. His mind tabulated this new damage charge as the Vulcan cupped one hand under the bleeding finger, and deftly steered him to the bathroom with the other.

Kirk placed his hand under the faucet as Spock turned on the cold water knob. When there was no sign of water, he turned it off and tried the hot water knob. Still nothing. Kirk continued to bleed like a stuck pig.

"It's the valve under the sink." Kirk motioned with his knee. "I shut it off earlier because the faucet was dripping and driving me up a wall." Spock yanked open the door of the vanity, accidentally pulling off the knob. Kirk closed his eyes, resigned to the fact that this was going to be a very expensive shore leave. Spock placed the knob carefully on the floor, gently pulled open the vanity door and slid under the basin. He turned the water valve on.

The sound of liquid moving through the pipes was followed by Kirk's scream of agony and a loud crash. Reflexively, Spock jerked forward, slamming into the metal pipe at the bottom of the basin. He grasped his head in agony, his body automatically curling in on itself.

Kirk tripped over the fetal form below him and his left foot came down forcefully on the Vulcan's groin, causing Spock to reflexively jerk upright again. He slammed into the metal pipe for the second time that evening. He wondered incoherently, whether this painful cycle would continue indefinitely, when oblivion, thankfully, claimed him.