DISCLAIMER: Paramount may own the names, but Roddenberry owns their souls....

The Purple Heart


"Kiss me."

Christine Chapel conked her head on the underside of the lab table. Extricating herself, she looked up at the chief science officer. "Excuse me?"

Presenting her with the small purple heart he had found after moving the cabinet back into its normal position he repeated, "Kiss me."

"That's where it went," she smiled and popped it into her mouth.

"Dr. Chapel, you do not know where that has been," Spock said slightly aghast.

"Well, it's been lost since last Valentine's Day when I dropped it. I love the purple ones," she explained with a bright mischievous smile.

Spock was still concerned. "Valentine's Day was 212 days ago."

"Yes, and these are mostly sugar and food coloring. Besides they were from a batch I bought two Valentine's ago and were probably old when they were in the store. So I really don't think you have to worry. Your Ensign on the other hand," she was deadly serious.

The Vulcan nodded gravely, "Yes, he does seem to be able to turn the most mundane tasks into havoc."

The Chief Medical Officer nodded and grimly surveyed her favorite laboratory. All this ensign had to do was bring in the beakers and vials to be pressure sanitized and leave. Placing them in the unit, he didn't adjust it from metal to glass and shattered every one of them. The unit itself exploded from the mistake and caused the cabinet with the chemical supplies to come crashing to the floor. Luckily, the cabinet's magnetic lock had held keeping the dangerous chemicals from possibly mixing and blowing out the entire wall out to the corridor.

"Why is he even on board?" Christine asked, a twinge of anger in the question.

"As punishment for non-payment of child support, he has been sent into deep space to pay off his debt. I believe he is angered by this judgment," the Vulcan answered and resumed picking up the bits of debris that were large enough to handle with bare hands.

"I thought he was little old to be an ensign," the tall blonde chuckled. "He has to be at least 40. You'd have thought he could at least run an auto-clave."

"I will transfer him to janitorial duties," Spock decided.

"Good God, he'll bung up all the carzies!" she lamented and at his questioning look explained, "Stop up all the toilets."

"I hope not," he answered softly. The room was as clean as they could get it. Maintenance would have to do the rest of the work.

As the two walked down the corridor, the ensign in question appeared. Spock stopped him calmly. Christine glowered at the hapless boob.

"Ensign, you are transferred to the janitorial section. Report to Lt. Beeman in the morning."

"Yes...sir," he added reluctantly then brightened, "Say, does that mean she's not my superior officer anymore?"

Spock nodded and the man rocked back joyfully on his heels. His blue eyes fairly glowed, "Well, in that case, ma'am, how about a date?"

Christine barely controlled her laughter, "Ensign McCoy, I think I'd be too much for you."

And with that the tall blonde caressed Spock's smooth jaw, "Come on dear. After all, you know what they say....once you've had a Vulcan, you'll never want anyone else."