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Tucker awoke to the sound of out and out guffawing. It wasn't giggling. It wasn't laughter. It was nose snorting, hee-hawing hysteria. And it was coming from Malcolm Reed. He wasn't quite sure what was more stunning, the sight of the convulsing Reed or the blinding pounding going on in his head.
"Good God almighty, could you tone it down to a low roar there, Malcolm?"
Reed looked up and burst into rolling laughter again. Tears streamed down his bright red face. He pounded his fists against the floor and gasped for air.
"What the hell is so funny?"
Malcolm rolled over onto his back on the floor and panted. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, but this is just priceless. It truly is." Then he burst into a series of high pitched giggles.
Tucker would have been frightened by the behavior if he hadn't been so damned annoyed. His head hurt, his stomach was queasy, and something on his forehead itched. He rubbed at it as he slowly sat up.
"Where are we?"
Malcolm quieted and looked around. "I'm not really sure."
Their surroundings were bleak. The floor beneath them was bare stone of some kind, with a dirty surface. The walls were bare and looked to be metal. The lighting was dim and seemed to be just that provided by some holes piercing the metal walls. Maybe sunlight outside?
Trip's vision cleared from an initial blurring, and he got a good look at Reed for the first time. Was that? He leaned toward the other man. "Oh my Lord."
Malcolm raised his head and looked at Trip. "What?"
"Have you seen yourself?"
"No. I woke up just before you, saw you and well...to be honest, haven't been able to stop laughing long enough to get up."
"You should have a look."
"Why?"
"I think maybe we got a little drunk last night."
Reed grinned. "I think we got more than a little drunk."
Tucker found himself grinning. He rubbed his forehead, trying to make the itching stop. "Who's Stinky?"
Malcolm looked confused. "Stinky?"
"Yeah. I remember this name coming up before. When we were in the shuttlepod."
"Oh, yeah. Stinky." Malcolm snickered. "Just a dream I had."
"Well, I'd say you did a little more than dream last night."
"What?"
Trip reached out and touched Malcolm's forehead, and the Starfleet blue letters that were etched across it. "S..T..I..N..K..Y."
Malcolm's eyes widened in horror. "No."
"Yeah."
Malcolm closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the floor. "Oh, bloody hell."
"So what's on mine?"
Malcolm didn't open his eyes, but his mouth twisted in an unsuccessfully suppressed smile. "Gator."
"Oh, shit."
"And a rather fair outline of a large alligator right along with it."
"Oh, SHIT. The Captain's not ever going to let us have shore leave again."
"This is going to be difficult to explain."
Both men rubbed their foreheads with their fingers. Then they both started to laugh.
"Bloody hell."
They found their way back to the dock where the shuttlepod was to pick them up and were relieved to see that they had made it on time. Travis Mayweather took one look at them and smiled so broadly it looked almost like one of Phlox's famous face-splitters.
"Sirs. I guess I don't need to ask if you had a good time."
They endured the giggles of the other crew members in the shuttle, and once they were docked with the Enterprise went straight from the shuttle bay to sick bay. Phlox took one look at them and was stunned into silence.
"Tell me you got a way of removing these, Doc."
Phlox nodded dumbly. After a moment he found his voice. "Yes, certainly. A laser is quite effective in breaking up the ink in the skin."
"Great. Can you do it now?" Tucker waved his hand indicating that he wanted Phlox to actually make some sort of move to do something and not just stand gaping at them.
"Certainly. Yes. Right away. Just have a seat, gentlemen."
The sick bay doors opened and Jonathan Archer walked in. He stopped and stared at them, and then he began to chuckle.
"Go on, Captain. Just say it," Tucker said.
"Gator? Stinky? I thought Ensign Mayweather was pulling my leg."
"Not hardly," Trip said sighing.
"You know, Trip, you and Malcolm seem to be in more danger on shore leave than you are on away missions. Maybe we should rethink this whole process in light of your continuing...adventures."
Trip closed his eyes and shrugged. "Yeah, whatever. Sir."
A couple of hours later Tucker and Reed, tattoo free, made their way to the mess hall to find coffee. Their hangovers were in full bloom and neither had wanted to ask Phlox for any further treatment. The good doctor had been flummoxed enough by their more urgent need for a cosmetic procedure. Besides which, he'd probably have recommended some kind of alien blood sucker or something, which neither of them had the stomach for.
When the doors to the mess hall opened they were greeted by silence. Silence and a room full of people with an equal share of "Gator" and "Stinky" written on their foreheads. A couple had even gotten elaborate enough to try to recreate the outline of the alligator.
"Bloody hell," whispered Reed.
"Man, they ain't never going to let us forget this." Tucker shook his head in dismay.
No one said a word. Malcolm and Trip each got a mug of coffee and walked left the mess hall. As the doors closed behind them they hear what could only be called gales of laughter.
"You ever going to tell me who the hell Stinky is?" Trip asked as they walked down the hall toward their quarters.
"Actually, I'm Stinky."
Trip looked at Malcolm and smiled. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"