Chapter Text
The idea of hosting intramurals came up three months into the mission. The crewmen who'd suggested the games worded their proposal carefully: the Enterprise had a young crew and this would be a great opportunity to mingle and bond together. Captain Kirk didn't exactly need convincing; he'd read the suggestion aloud on the bridge with a certain tone of glee, and approved it without a second thought. Within days, there was a list of teams from most of the departments onboard, but Kirk clearly felt there was an important omission.
“You know, the bridge crew should get a team together,” he told Sulu one quiet shift on the bridge. “I think the first sport’s supposed to be floor hockey.”
Sulu glanced back at him. “Yeah, but that’s not really my sport.”
“Yeah, but you’re adaptable.” Kirk smiled widely. “Fencing isn’t really hand-to-hand combat, but you managed just fine. You should captain a team.”
“Don’t you want to head up a team yourself, sir?”
Leaning back in his chair, Kirk shrugged. “Nah, don’t feel the need. I know for a fact, though, that Scotty’s putting a team of engineers together, and that’s just asking for trouble.”
“No kidding.” Every now and again, back at the Academy, Engineering students would march across campus and cause general mayhem. It was all meant in good fun, and there was a long-standing rivalry between the Engineering program and Command stream. “We can’t let them win. Sure you won’t take part, Captain?”
“Hell no.” Kirk made a face this time. “I’m quite happy with letting Scotty have the illusion of believing he’s the one who knows what’s best for this lady.”
“I will join your team,” Chekov piped up from the navigation console. “Russians invented hockey, after all.”
And so Sulu started pulling together a team. He needed at least six players, and while he was pleased with the people he’d managed to recruit, he still really needed a goalie. He wanted someone reliable who wouldn’t flinch at something flying in their face, even if it was just a foam ball. No one seemed suitable, and he confessed his worry to the captain one morning in the mess hall.
“That is a problem,” Kirk agreed. He’d appointed himself the unofficial coach, but it was on the down low. “The games begin tomorrow, don’t they?”
“Yes, we’re supposed to play after alpha shift is over.”
Frowning to himself, Kirk looked at the door of the mess and suddenly grinned. “Bones!”
Sulu glanced over and noticed Doctor McCoy heading for the food dispensers. “I don’t think he heard you.”
“No, no. I mean Bones should be your goalie,” Kirk said excitedly. “He’d be perfect. We played football a few times on campus, and he’s solid. Nothing’ll get by him, and just think, any injuries and your medic is right there on hand.”
The idea had merit, but Sulu waited until the doctor had eaten half his breakfast before making his move. In the meantime, he studied McCoy. The man was tall and solid, true, but Sulu couldn’t tell much more than that. Starfleet uniforms were notorious for hiding physical details, but Kirk was probably onto something.
“So, Doc, ever played hockey?”
McCoy’s brow arched. “I’m from the South. We don’t do hockey.”
“Bullshit, Bones!” Kirk grinned at him. “I know for a fact there was an ice hockey team in Atlanta.”
“Notice it’s not there now,” McCoy retorted.
“Whatever,” Kirk said, waving away the excuse. “Sulu needs a goalie, and you’re his man.”
“Am I now?” Taking a long sip of coffee, McCoy fixed Kirk with a skeptical hazel stare. “Why the hell should I?”
“For me?”
McCoy snorted. “Try again.”
“The honor of the bridge crew?”
“I’m not a member of the bridge crew.”
“Well, you’re there often enough you’re a member by proxy.”
“Tentative logic at its best,” McCoy said.
Kirk blinked at him for a good five seconds. “I’m not above bribery, you know.”
“Such as...?”
“Well, it was going to be a birthday present,” Kirk said, “but there just so happens to be a bottle of bourbon with your name on it.”
“Are you implying you can buy me with cheap booze?” McCoy was trying for irritated but one side of his mouth was twisting up, just a bit.
Kirk snorted. “That was not cheap.”
“No?” Finishing his breakfast and pushing his tray aside, McCoy leaned forward with his forearms against the table. “Okay, Sulu, tell me one thing. Does your team at least have a good name?”
They actually didn’t, but Sulu wasn’t about to admit it. “Sure we do.”
“Yeah?” Whether he realized it or not, Kirk was mirroring McCoy’s posture and it was little uncanny.
And Sulu felt the pressure. He’d never been great at naming things; when he handed in assignments, the subject was succinct and not particularly creative. He ended up blurting the first thing that came to mind: “The Tribbles.”
“Your hockey team is named after a species of harmless furballs that are born pregnant?” McCoy actually looked at him agape. “What are we supposed to do, defeat our opponents by cooing them into submission?”
“It’s a strategy,” Kirk said. “Is that a yes?”
Letting out a long-suffering sigh, McCoy shrugged. “Apparently I’ve got nothing better to do, except run an entire sickbay and entertain my best friend.”
Kirk just beamed.
~~~
Sulu managed to arrange for one practice before their debut, and the hastily-dubbed Tribbles assembled in the gym at 1900. He’d only told Chekov about the latest addition, but the other team members – Rand, DeSalle, and Riley – seemed happy to hear McCoy was joining them. The doctor was a few minutes late, and when he showed up wearing shorts and a t-shirt, Sulu faltered for a long moment before directing him to the net.
The uniforms hid a multitude of sins, but they covered a whole lot of blessings, too. Seriously. He wasn’t expecting McCoy to look like that. Long legs, toned muscle, broad shoulders, and strong arms... Everything Sulu liked in one sarcastic package, and he was supposed to keep his eyes on their opponents during this game?
McCoy took the goalie stick and placed himself in front of the net. “Well? I don’t have all night.”
“We should practice technique,” Chekov said. “Shooting at the net, for starters.”
“Just don’t aim for the face,” McCoy cautioned.
“Good advice,” Sulu agreed, trying to regain his composure. He was so glad he didn’t blush easily. “Everyone take a turn, and make sure you knock the balls out of those pants.”
His team looked at him blankly, and McCoy raised both brows in question. “Sulu, want to try that one again?”
Oh, dear God. Sulu wanted the deck to swallow him whole, and then tried for a big grin. “Pretending you’re an engineer, Doctor. Creative visualization and all that.”
Every member of his team got in a decent shot, and McCoy blocked all but two. Sulu had to stop himself from staring as he watched McCoy actually enjoying himself and getting into the game. The Tribbles were going to be a furry force to be reckoned with, that was for sure.