A/N: Happy Spirk Day! Yay Amok Time! I don't own Star Trek! I like cheese!

"Mr Scott!" the redshirt cried as he ran up to said engineer, waving a data PADD. "I have an idea! Maybe we should try to work out what went wrong with the transporter so we can fix it!"

The Scotsman sighed. It had been a long couple of days, he would admit that, but what did the blasted redshirt think the engineering crew had been doing all this time? Having a cocktail party? It seemed he had accidentally voiced his thoughts out loud, and so was surprised when the redshirt adopted a put-out and offended expression. Said redshirt (who we shall name Bob as a prize for actually managing to survive past the end of the first paragraph that he appeared in) walked off dejectedly.

The walls were orange. The ceiling was orange. The floor was orange. The carrots were orange. Said carrots had been eaten and chewed and mangled to death by the five rabbits sitting in the centre of the storage compartment and consequently smeared across the walls, ceiling and floor. Hence the distinctly orange colour of the compartment. Indeed, the only non-orange things were all of the rabbits, who, despite the incredibly messy eating habits of two of them (cough, Ensigns Richards and Richards, cough), were still firmly blue. Or yellow. Whichever they had started out as.

But I digress. The five rabbits were sitting happily in the storage compartment with their bellies full and carrot smeared everywhere but on themselves. But they were bored (well, four of them were bored. Boredom is a human emotion, therefore such a thing does not affect me, Spock-Bunny told himself. Repeatedly.), and being rabbits meant that they could do so much more interesting things without being caught. They decided to go bother the engineers who were probably working on rerouting the transporter to get them back to normal: if they annoyed them enough, the repair project would take longer, allowing the five more time as rabbits to annoy people.

Scotty looked up from the console he was taking apart as cries of alarm and annoyance arose from the other engineers. It appeared that the rabbits had set up an intricate prank involving ice-cream, scissors and forty exploding redshirt rubber ducks. And then deployed it. Needless to say, the transporter room was a bit of a mess, and, true to their mischievous natures, the bunnies (notably Ensigns Richards and Richards) were behind it all. But before the troublesome bunch could be captured and held still until the transporter was put back to rights, they scampered away, no doubt to devise more devious deviations from the path of decency.

Scotty merely sighed as he turned his head back to work. Much worse had happened before in his engineering department… Oh yes, the siblings of doom (Kat and Immy) had done much worse to his poor department.

He awoke with a horrible feeling that something was wrong. Instinctively knowing that the Ensigns of Doom were probably behind it, he didn't bother trying to work out who could possibly do anything wrong. Nah, it was probably fine. Actually, on second thoughts, he probably ought to go check if it was anything too terrible.

Slipping on his red shirt and boots, the chief engineer walked down the corridor to the turbo-lift. He saw several signs saying 'Beach Party This Way!', and continued onward with great fear and trepidation. For all the signs appeared to be leading to the engine rooms…

Mr Scott finally emerged through the doors to the engine room to find the entire bridge crew, Dr McCoy, several redshirts and a couple of random ensigns crammed into the space. The floor was covered with sand, there were palm trees everywhere, there was even water sloshing around like the sea. And above them all was a sign saying 'Beach Party Here! Free Cocktails!'.

He shuddered at the memory. After that, he had stormed up to the captain and demanded to know what the **** was going on, why the **** was it in his beloved engine room, and why the **** wasn't he invited. The slightly tipsy captain had waved him over to Kat and Immy (before going back to holding hands with Mr Spock) who had looked a bit sheepish and said that they would invite him next time. Then he had exploded. Hopefully, there would never be a next time. No, scratch that. There WOULD never be a next time…

With that thought in mind, he recommenced his attack on reconfiguring the control panel with a renewed vigour - if they got the work done, they could then go and catch the rabbits and maybe this whole fiasco could finally be over!

A/N: I like words beginning with a 'd'. I also like reviews.