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genclay
Title: Walkies
Rating: PG
Fandoms: ST:TOS, DC comics
Characters/Pairings: Spock, McCoy, Krypto, Jim, hints of Spock/McCoy
Summary: Spock takes on the duty of exercising Krypto. There's just one slight problem ...
Worcount: 822
Warnings: Some language, not much
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Not very long, he suspected.
From what materials he could find on the subject, Spock knew that dogs required exercise, at least once a day, and for at least half an hour. A variety of activities had been suggested, the most prominent of them being 'walkies'. Mr Scott had suggested that, in between enthusiastically allowing the animal to clean his face. Spock had been uncertain, himself, exactly how much the term could apply to an animal that seemed to spend most of its time in the air, but the suggestion had been backed by a good number of the crew, and Krypto did seem to enjoy touring the ship, so he accepted the duty as best he could. Indeed, it was quite enjoyable, in its way. There was only one problem with the arrangement and that ...
... was heading his way even as he thought it, flailing wildly as Krypto dangled him happily in the air, cursing what Jim called a 'blue streak' as he struggled. Spock carefully smoothed his face into impassiveness, and raised an eyebrow as the canine dropped the Doctor heavily at his feet.
"Spock, you sadistic hobgoblin, if you don't get this animal off me I swear I'll have the pair of you sliced and diced for a xenobiology lesson before you can blink, now get this bloody thin --- ompf! Get off, you stupid animal!"
Spock felt his face twitch, gently, a controlled echo of mirth. He had a sudden understanding for Jim's predicament, feeling one hand curl into a light fist as if in readiness to stop the laughter. Only this man ... There was simply something about the doctor, some essence of him, that made controlling emotions difficult in his presence, made Spock almost want to release them. And the sight of him wrestling with the canine, snarling and half-grinning, sticking a thumb in the corner of the animal's jaw in vain effort to keep that enthusiastic tongue away from his face ... oh yes. Suddenly Spock understood Jim's problem all too well.
"My apologies, Doctor. I believe the animal ... I believe the Captain mentioned that such creatures have a ... desire ... for Bones?" Dry as dust, and he was sure, he was sure, that he had managed to keep a straight face. A lifetime's worth of Vulcan training and control had not failed him now. It trembled, when the man looked up at him aghast from his heap on the floor, wavered when McCoy glared in stupified amazement, but it held. It did hold.
"You ..." McCoy spluttered, absently shoving Krypto's head away as the dog tried to take advantage of his distraction. "You ... you bloody cold-blooded hobgoblin, you! You're laughing about this, you sadistic freak of nature, I can see you! Of all the damned bloody ..."
Spock carefully blanked his smile, allowing himself a raised eyebrow and a look of mild affront. "I'm sure I do not know what you mean, Doctor McCoy. I am simply repeating what the Captain told me. Is it inaccurate? Do canines not desire bones?"
"You ..." he seemed to have running out of words, red-faced as he pulled himself clumsily to his feet, shoving the dog aside and stabbing one emphatic finger repeatedly into Spock's chest. Spock allowed the eyebrow to inch a little higher. "You bastard," McCoy hissed. "You utter bastard. Don't think I'm going to forget this, Spock. Don't think I'll forget!"
Spock blinked. "I was not aware of any problems with your faculty for memory, Doctor. Do you feel you have reason to be concerned?"
"Oh, shut up!"
Spock fell silent for a moment, watching the McCoy's back as he stormed off down the corridor, feeling again that faint urge to smile that he always seemed to get around the man, and looked down at the dog panting happily beside him. Krypto looked back up at him, eyes full of a laughing intelligence, and suddenly Spock decided there was no need for restraint. Not now.
Slowly, carefully, feeling the smile spread across his features, he met the canine's laughing stare, and said softly. "Krypto?" Two ears perked up eagerly. "I believe the term is ... Fetch."
And as the creature flew off with a delighted yelp to dig himself up a very disgruntled Bones, Spock allowed himself a moment to consider asking the captain to make Krypto a permanent feature aboard the Enterprise.
After all, Vulcans and grouchy human doctors need exercise as much as any canine.
genclay Title: Walkies
Rating: PG
Fandoms: ST:TOS, DC comics
Characters/Pairings: Spock, McCoy, Krypto, Jim, hints of Spock/McCoy
Summary: Spock takes on the duty of exercising Krypto. There's just one slight problem ...
Worcount: 822
Warnings: Some language, not much
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Walkies
Jim had been ... amused, Spock thought. Actually, Jim had fallen over himself laughing, and nearly sprained something the good Doctor had very emphatically promised not to fix. Even now, every time he saw Spock walk past with the white canine floating along happily behind him, the Captain had to stuff a fist in his mouth in order to keep himself relatively uninjured. Every time, Spock looked back impassively, and privately estimated how long it would take Doctor McCoy to actually give up and kill the man.Not very long, he suspected.
From what materials he could find on the subject, Spock knew that dogs required exercise, at least once a day, and for at least half an hour. A variety of activities had been suggested, the most prominent of them being 'walkies'. Mr Scott had suggested that, in between enthusiastically allowing the animal to clean his face. Spock had been uncertain, himself, exactly how much the term could apply to an animal that seemed to spend most of its time in the air, but the suggestion had been backed by a good number of the crew, and Krypto did seem to enjoy touring the ship, so he accepted the duty as best he could. Indeed, it was quite enjoyable, in its way. There was only one problem with the arrangement and that ...
... was heading his way even as he thought it, flailing wildly as Krypto dangled him happily in the air, cursing what Jim called a 'blue streak' as he struggled. Spock carefully smoothed his face into impassiveness, and raised an eyebrow as the canine dropped the Doctor heavily at his feet.
"Spock, you sadistic hobgoblin, if you don't get this animal off me I swear I'll have the pair of you sliced and diced for a xenobiology lesson before you can blink, now get this bloody thin --- ompf! Get off, you stupid animal!"
Spock felt his face twitch, gently, a controlled echo of mirth. He had a sudden understanding for Jim's predicament, feeling one hand curl into a light fist as if in readiness to stop the laughter. Only this man ... There was simply something about the doctor, some essence of him, that made controlling emotions difficult in his presence, made Spock almost want to release them. And the sight of him wrestling with the canine, snarling and half-grinning, sticking a thumb in the corner of the animal's jaw in vain effort to keep that enthusiastic tongue away from his face ... oh yes. Suddenly Spock understood Jim's problem all too well.
"My apologies, Doctor. I believe the animal ... I believe the Captain mentioned that such creatures have a ... desire ... for Bones?" Dry as dust, and he was sure, he was sure, that he had managed to keep a straight face. A lifetime's worth of Vulcan training and control had not failed him now. It trembled, when the man looked up at him aghast from his heap on the floor, wavered when McCoy glared in stupified amazement, but it held. It did hold.
"You ..." McCoy spluttered, absently shoving Krypto's head away as the dog tried to take advantage of his distraction. "You ... you bloody cold-blooded hobgoblin, you! You're laughing about this, you sadistic freak of nature, I can see you! Of all the damned bloody ..."
Spock carefully blanked his smile, allowing himself a raised eyebrow and a look of mild affront. "I'm sure I do not know what you mean, Doctor McCoy. I am simply repeating what the Captain told me. Is it inaccurate? Do canines not desire bones?"
"You ..." he seemed to have running out of words, red-faced as he pulled himself clumsily to his feet, shoving the dog aside and stabbing one emphatic finger repeatedly into Spock's chest. Spock allowed the eyebrow to inch a little higher. "You bastard," McCoy hissed. "You utter bastard. Don't think I'm going to forget this, Spock. Don't think I'll forget!"
Spock blinked. "I was not aware of any problems with your faculty for memory, Doctor. Do you feel you have reason to be concerned?"
"Oh, shut up!"
Spock fell silent for a moment, watching the McCoy's back as he stormed off down the corridor, feeling again that faint urge to smile that he always seemed to get around the man, and looked down at the dog panting happily beside him. Krypto looked back up at him, eyes full of a laughing intelligence, and suddenly Spock decided there was no need for restraint. Not now.
Slowly, carefully, feeling the smile spread across his features, he met the canine's laughing stare, and said softly. "Krypto?" Two ears perked up eagerly. "I believe the term is ... Fetch."
And as the creature flew off with a delighted yelp to dig himself up a very disgruntled Bones, Spock allowed himself a moment to consider asking the captain to make Krypto a permanent feature aboard the Enterprise.
After all, Vulcans and grouchy human doctors need exercise as much as any canine.
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