Captain Jim Kirk groggily sat up from where he had been resting the night before, allowing his warm, fuzzy blanket to fall to the floor. His head ached and even the light coming from his lamp hurt his eyes. He thought back to the previous night, and remembered he had been drinking.
Their youngest crew member, a blonde pegasus named Pavel Chekov had just turned 18. And of course, Scotty being Scotty, had whipped out the scotch. It didn't matter though, Chekov was the legal age to drink in Russia. Kirk's head hurt like hell, and he figured McCoy, the ships head medic, would have the best hangover cure.
Carefully slipping on a shirt, he slowly made his way out of his quarters and down the hall the the elevators. Arriving at his destination, he trotted the final fee feet into the elevator and closed the door. Right before they shut, a beak shoved its way in between the doors. Kirk quickly identified said beak to none other than Spock.
"Oh, damnit Spock, you could have said something!" The captain exclaimed, using one hoof to hit the 'open doors' butten, while simultaneously using the other to attempt to pry the door open himself.
In one final attempt at pulling the doors, they gave in, causeing Spock to tumble in and kirk to fall back.
"My apologies, Captain. My thinking is incapable of making both morally reasonable and logical decisions in this morning. It appears my body is dehydrated to rge point where it ia affecting my every notion and action," he still spoke with reason and dignity, if not a bit of embarassment.
Kirk chuckled to himself. If anypony could handle a hangover, it certainly wasn't Spock. The Vulcan was used to maturity, logic, and properness. So facing the fact he had gone beyond what was any bit reasonable for a Vulcan should drink must be humiliating. But Kirk didn't push, no. He had some humility. Some.
"So I guess we're on the same boat then, on our way to the med bay to pop some pills with McCoy." Spock scowled at his words, only slightly, but the agitation was prominent.
"I suppose, Captian Disco Queen, we are." Kirk froze at Spock's remark for two reasons. One, he suddenly remembered a breif moment frim the previous night, where he may or may not have been singing along to Disco Queen. But even if he did, which he did not, he did a damn fine job singing.
Two, Spock, Mr. No-emotions-or-humor, made a joke. About Kirk. After a moment of silence, he started laughing out loud. Spock akwardly sidestepped to avoid the hysterical pony beside him. By that time they reached the floor, Kirk had real tears streaming down his face. Spock stepped out of the elevator, leaving the Captain a crying mess.
Quickly, after realizing Spock had gone ahead, stood akwardly, amd dried his tears. He was the captain for God's sake. He could let his crew see him im his state.
He made it down the hall when he heard a soft thud behind him. He turned and saw the young Russian colt whom he had drank with and celebrated the night before.
"Chekov, my brony, how are you feeling?" He walked up and only then did he realize how bad the pegasus looked.
His eyes were bloodshot, and they carried dark, puffy bags underneath them. His maine and tail were greasy, and matted in clumps from some miscellaneous substance. His wings' feathers where ruffled and unkept. In short, Chekov looked like shit.
"Not at my best, I must admit. My head eez in pain, and I hurt all over." The colt said meekly. Kirk rememberes his first hangover, and shuddered. He knew how the other felt, and sympathized with the blonde internally.
"What do you say we get to the doctor now" Kirk said, in an attempt to change the subject.
"Zat vould be nice, Captain."
