Disclaimer: Usual stuff: Nope, I don't own any of the copyrights and am just going to borrow the characters for awhile. Copyright 2006 Mistress V. Permission to archive at TrekTales; all others need only ask. This story is rated PG13.

Cinco de Blotto

Mistress V


It was the pain that woke him

Spock groaned. Who was using a pneumatic drill on his head? He tried to turn over but waves of dizziness washed over him in nauseating quickness. His stomach felt like a horta was digging through it in a desperate search for a place to lay eggs. The bed began to spin, like that flight simulator ride he'd been on years ago as a child, but this time, he did not enjoy the sensation. He kicked a leg out and put his foot on the floor in an attempt to make the room stabilize. The light spilled painfully between his eyelids as he forced himself to open one bloodshot eye.

She was sitting on the bed next to him, a hypospray in her hand. She was naked. The remains of that sexy little salsa dress she'd been wearing the night before lay in a tattered mess on the floor.

"So," she said. "Mr. Jose Cuervo has decided to wake up?" A very dangerous smile crossed her lips.

His voice rasped like a Rigellian dust storm. "H-how many did I have?" he whispered.

The hypospray hissed as she injected the medication into his arm. Relief started to make its presence know, subtly, not nearly as quickly as he'd like.

She laughed. "Nine? Ten? How should I know? Once you started, no one could stop you! And you said Vulcans were not affected by alcohol. Ha ha, Mr. 'I'm immune'. Who's stuck holding the hangover now?"

He became aware of a pain on his cheekbone. Gingerly, he felt it and was surprised to discover a sizable knot there. He winced as he touched it.

"Here, let me see that. Hmm, it's lacerated, I'll need to close it. Let me get my medikit." She rose, still unclothed, and rummaged on the table for supplies. Then, realizing her state of undress, she grabbed his t-shirt and threw it on.

Spock tried to recall the night before, but there was barely anything registering in his alcohol-wet brain. He and Christine had gone to Lt. Riley's Cinco de Mayo party in the ship's bar. They had planned to dance the salsa number they'd been practicing for the past weeks. But somehow, Sulu had started him drinking shots of Patron tequila and ... and ... then he could remember nothing else.

"How did I get this?" he asked after a moment.

Christine looked up from her work on the contusion. "Jim clipped you," she said matter-of factly.

"Jim? Why did he do that?" Horror was making its slow way up his body.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, in a perfect mirror of what he would do. "Because you punched him in the nose, you moron!"

Spock told himself he had not heard her correctly, but instead, he said, stupidly, "Wh--why did I strike my commanding officer?"

A heavy sigh left her lips. Her expression got -- sad? "You really don't remember, do you?"

He only shook his aching head.

"You took offense, those were your exact words, at the way he and I were dancing to 'Spanish Surrender'. And when he told you to chill out, you slugged him."

"But that was the song we were supposed to be dancing to," he said desperately, trying to rationalize his actions.

"Honey, you were so plastered you could hardly walk, let alone dance. You have no idea how pissed off I was. All those practice sessions and you decide to stick your head in a god-damned bottle. At least now I know what you're really like, you drunk!"

She stood up, furious now. "Well, that's the last straw, Mr. Glacier Dick. I'm out of here. Oh, by the way ... security is waiting for you outside."

"Christine ... please..." Then the penny dropped. "S-security?" he stuttered.

"Yep, baby. Striking an officer is a court-martial offense, but you were too god-damned drunk to remember that. What the hell were you thinking? I loved you and wanted a future with you, but no, you had to throw that away because for once in your life you couldn't remember your logical Vulcan control. Have a nice time in the brig on Starbase 13. Oh, I won't be writing, dear."

"Christine ... wait!" Spock struggled to his feet but the room began to tilt at an impossibly steep angle. Groaning, he fell to the floor, unconscious.

* * *


It was the pain that woke him. His forehead hurt, and his stomach was doing somersaults. The light flooded into his bloodshot eyes as he opened them.

He was on the floor of his cabin, tangled in the sheets. His t-shirt was up around his sternum and his body was slick with sweat. It was logical to presume he had fallen out of bed during a bad dream and had obviously struck his forehead while doing so. Gradually, the pounding of his heart managed to slow itself.

He felt horrendous. Positively horrendous. And worst of all, he had no idea how he'd gotten here. One minute they were at the Cinco de Mayo party then -- this?

"Christine?" he rasped. No answer. Blearily, he glanced at the chronometer. 0600. His befuddled brain reminded him he was off for the day, it being a Saturday. But so was she?

It took perhaps 5 minutes for him to crawl the distance to his bed and climb in. Then he fell asleep again.

* * *


The whoosh of the door opening woke him. The chronometer said 0630.

"How are you feeling, beloved?" she asked as she sat on the bed next to him. Her fingers smoothed his sweat-slicked hair off his brow. She was in scrubs.

"Like a horta is trying to lay its eggs somewhere in my abdomen."

"Never mind, this will take care of it, but you'll get sleepy in a bit," she replied as the hypospray found its mark.

He began to remember the night before. "How -- how many did I have?" he finally asked.

She laughed. "You finished the entire pan. Must have been at least 8, maybe 10, cheese enchiladas in it. Sulu was madder than hell, he wanted one and you refused to share!"

Spock tried to laugh but found it too painful. "They were quite delicious," he finally said.

"But, my darling, you know cheese is rich and that you don't tolerate it well in large quantities. What on earth possessed you to tie on the feedbag?" She poured a minty smelling lotion onto her palms and began massaging his stomach area. "This will do the trick, peppermint and ginger take care of the nausea. You'll be feeling better in no time."

"I was hungry, T'hyla. If you recall, I had been in the lab for 18 hours straight re-calibrating the results on the Destu plague vaccine. If I had not done so successfully, I would not have gone to the festivities at all. But I must admit ... I do not remember returning to my cabin, nor do I recall much after I finished the last enchilada." He ran a finger delicately up her arm. Despite feeling like he'd done battle with a pride of le-matyas and lost, her touch was still doing its usual magic.

She laughed even harder. "Cheese is loaded with tryptophane, darling. You fell asleep on the table. Scotty and I had to walk you back here. You were out for the count. And cheese right before bedtime causes lots of lovely nightmares. The more you eat, the more you have!"

"Fascinating," he replied, his fingers moving to the left of her arm, finding the nipple that was clearly visible under the thin scrub fabric. "But why did you not stay? Why are you in duty clothing?"

Christine rolled her eyes. "Trust you to miss all the fun, beloved."

He cocked an eyebrow in a halfhearted imitation of his usual attempt. "Please elaborate, Doctor." His hand moved to stroke the inner thigh nearest him.

"Remember that face I made when I tried that shot of tequila? I thought something was off, that's why I didn't finish it. So I took a sample with me when we brought you here. I ran down to the lab and did a scan." She whistled low. "I have no idea who sold that tequila to Riley, or where they got it, but it was more than twice the proof of normal tequila, and very badly produced. No wonder it was going down so fast, people were too drunk to notice it tasted like Denebian slime devil spit!"

"Indeed? That would mean..." His hand continued to move towards the waistband of her scrubs.

"People were getting drunk twice as fast and getting nasty into the bargain. By the time I got back to the bar with Scotty, all hell had broken loose. Thank God he hated tequila and wasn't drinking yet, he was able to break up the fight."

"What fight?" Spock was genuinely curious now.

"Lt. Villagarosa accused Riley of serving shitty tequila and said it was an insult to the Aztecs or something. Riley slugged him and Villagarosa slammed his face into the bar. Then Sulu, who must have thought he was Zorro's reincarnation or something, in that costume he showed up in, challenged Villagarosa to a duel."

"A duel?" Spock's eyebrows went up to his bangs.

"Scotty put a stop to that right away, but not before Sulu had jumped up on the bar and pinned Villagarosa's shirt to it with his sabre." Christine laughed at the comical memory.

"Was the Lieutenant in the shirt at the time?"

"Yes, and he was extremely inebriated, so I don't even think he knew what happened. Then Sulu started doing a flamenco dance on the bar, but his spurs kept getting caught in the wood. I just came from there. Lt. Rourke is, to put it lightly, a bit angry at the damage to his establishment." She smoothed some drops of lavender oil onto Spock's temples. "This will help you relax. Are you getting sleepy?"

"Mmmmm," Spock replied. "But why are you on duty?"

"Are you kidding? We're still dealing with cuts, bruises, and hangovers and there's bound to be more to come. And Jim is beside himself. He's been making ominous threats against Riley, who came this close to being thrown in the brig, broken nose or no broken nose. Guess there won't be any more parties being given by Mr. Riley for a long, long time. Jim's beaming down to the base later today to try to track down the trader who sold him that bootleg hooch."

She paused and leaned close to him, breasts pressing against his chest. "Len said it reminded him of the PSI-2000 mess," she whispered, letting her hand find its way onto something that had been persistently tenting the bedsheet.

"Indeed?" Spock whispered back. "If I recall, you announced your intentions to me back then ... and it may have taken awhile, but look where we are right now..."

The buzzer squawked. Christine swore. Why did this always have to happen? Then again, Spock was drifting off to sleep at last, so it was for the best right now. She jumped up and ran to the con unit.

"Chapel here," she replied as she readjusted her clothes. "What's up?"

McCoy's exasperated voice greeted her. "Another fight, or the remains of it, just made its way into sickbay. Got another broken nose, two broken ribs and possible ruptured spleen. Tuck that big baby in and get down here!"

"On my way," she replied. She moved back over to the bed and leaned over to kiss his forehead. He opened his eyes. "I have to go, I should be back in a few hours. We can watch 'The Beast from Yucca Flats' tonight if you feel up to it?"

"Mmmmm, sssssnice," he mumbled as sleep took over.

Christine headed out the door towards the turbolift with a smile on her face. If someone had told her even 6 months ago that the night before would have taken place, she'd have sent them straight to the psych unit. But not now. In her heart, she blessed the man asleep in the room behind her and the love they shared.