Authors: Lady Alyssa and Random Dent
Rating: R (for some really creative swearing)
Pairing: Reed/Starfleet men's water polo team. N
ote: Lots of drinking, unusual revelations, and possibly the first Star Trek /Early Anglo-Saxon poetry crossover. But no sex. Sorry. Title is Anglo-Saxon and translates as 'Proven Warriors'.

"Good morning, gentlemen."

"Buggeroff."

The doctor looked confused. "How?"

Malcolm raised his head from the ground and attempted to look at the doctor who had (probably on purpose) decided to stand with the sun at his back. He tried to come up with a reply, but all that he got was "nuirernjek" and decided that an obscene hand gesture was the best course of action and randomly waved an arm, accidentally thumping Travis across the back of the head.

"Aaaaaahooowwww. Make the light go away."

"Unfortunately, Ensign, since you appear to have decided to spend the night in a field, I can't."

Travis and Malcolm attempted to use each other to pull themselves into a sitting position.

"Oh God, I haven't felt this bad since that retsina drinking competition on Corfu."

"Look. Commander. Let's wake him up too."

Travis and Malcolm tried to stand up to kick Trip awake, but it was decided that this was far too difficult, so they resorted to throwing stuff, mostly lumps of earth, vegetation and a few beetles, at his head.

"Not now, Lou-Ann." Trip opened his eyes and regretted it. "AAAaaaaah oooooooo. That must have been some party. What am Ah lyin' on?" Trip rolled over. "Traffic lights? Am Ah back at the Academy?"

"Is stealing traffic lights illegal on this planet?"

"Don't know, don't care, we can put them back. Where's Jon?"

"The Captain would appear to have made it as far as the shuttlepod."

They all looked at the shuttlepod on the other side of the field. A pair of electric blue legs were visible sticking out of the door.

Using the traffic lights for support the three men, followed at a safe distance by the doctor, staggered across the field towards the shuttlepod, an epic journey which took around half an hour, mostly due to the frequent stops for one of the members of the group to relieve themselves, throw up or fall over. Fortunately not at the same time.

Trip decided to use the traditional Starfleet method of waking up Cadets on a Saturday morning.

"UP AND OUT, CADET! KIT INSPECTION IN TWO MINUTES!"

The Captain was on his feet before the pain hit him. He started tilt sideways, grabbed the shuttlepod door and slid into an undignified sitting position, looking up at the other officers, who were all cringing and holding their heads. Ignoring the fact that their commanding officer was in the way, they crawled into the shuttlepod, muttering something about 'dark'.

"Has anyone found out who attacked us last night?" asked the Captain.

"I don't think we were attacked, sir."

"No, actually they were very friendly."

"They were real keen to show us all these…drinks."

There was a collective groan.

"So, we're all just really hungover?"

"Yes."

"Ah thought you said British people could hold their drink."

"We can, I must have drunk at least twice what you did."

"No way. Y'couldn't."

"Actually, Commander, Mr. Reed did say about half way through the evening that he could, um, 'drink you under the table' drinking twice what you did, and from that point on did indeed do that."

Malcolm groaned. "Nooooo."

The captain looked blearily at the doctor. "So, doctor, would you like to enlighten us as to what the rest of us did last night?"

"It was all most interesting I must say. The practical observation of the effects of alcohol on human behaviour was instructive."

"So – what did we actually do? I can remember being in a bar."

"Well, you were in several bars over the course of the evening. You ended up, and spent most of the evening in a bar called "Heorot", which as I recall had a mythological theme and claimed to sell twenty types of mead. All of which were sampled by the lieutenant and the commander. Mr. Mayweather gave up after about 15, I think."

The captain looked at the other men. "Trip, Malcolm, how much did you have to drink?"

"No idea. Stopped countin'"

"Dunno. Don't want to think about it."

"More than he did."

"Liar."

"You callin a senior officer a liar?"

"No, sir, just implying that alcohol may have clouded your memory, sir, since the doctor agrees with me that I drank more than you did, sir."

"Two of my most senior officers. Involved in a drinking contest. This is not the behaviour I would expect, especially on a first contact."

The other three were silent, trying not to point out the captain's similarly inebriated state. They all tried to give the doctor 'Looks', to indicate that he should probably inform the captain of his own drunken behaviour. Phlox took the hint.

"Captain, you were the one who signed them up for the Grendel challenge."

"What?"

"Oh, it is fascinating. On this planet there is a challenge, re-creating one of their early myths. The young men are sent out, with their peers, to a mead hall in the swamp, where they must face down Grendel. Of course, it is merely a holographic representation of Grendel, but it is felt to be quite lifelike and can cause some fairly nasty injuries, though they did assure me that no-one's been killed for at least ten years."

"What the hell is Grendel?"

"A mythical person, well more of a beast, roughly humanoid in shape, though somewhat larger, who cannot be harmed by weapons."

"So, cap'n, you've signed us up to bare knuckle fight the Swamp Thing."

"Oh, just pretend you're back home 'wrasslin' gators'."

"There ain't no gators where I came from Mal."

Travis tried to get some sanity back into the conversation. "So, when are we supposed to be fighting this thing?"

"Tonight."

"WHAT?"

"The captain signed us up for tonight. You were quite insistent. Said it would be 'team building' and 'character forming'. You were quite enthusiastic about the part of the Challenge whereby you have to stand on a table and declare your intention to the rest of the bar, even though you did fall off on your first three attempts."

"Did ya think to ask us?"

"Well, you and Mr. Reed were standing on one end of the bar singing a song about a dancing queen, and Mr. Mayweather could hardly be disturbed while he had those two waitresses sat on his knees."

"I was singing?" Malcolm sounded utterly horrified.

"Oh, yes, you and the commander sang a number of songs, one about 'Waterloo', which I believe had a historical basis, something about taking a chance on you, one about a young man called 'Fernando'…"

"Enough, I get the picture. Ah stood on a bar with another guy and sang 'Abba'. Mah reputation has just about had it."

"What about the traffic lights?"

"Well, after the captain left saying he had to go back to the ship because he'd forgotten to feed Porthos, you three all drank some green drinks with fruit and umbrellas in them. You then left the bar saying you needed to find weaponry to use on Grendel, because 'people probably just hadn't hit him with the right things', and to this end you stole the traffic lights."

The captain swung into commanding mode. "Trip, Malcolm, you will return the traffic lights. Travis, you find us some hotel rooms, because none of us are in a fit state to fly the shuttlepod. Phlox, you can find some hangover cures. I'll see if I can find a way out of this Grendel situation, and a good excuse to T'Pol for why we didn't come home last night."

"Oh, I took care of that," said the doctor.

"You did?"

"Oh, yes, I told her you were all too drunk to fly the shuttlepod."

"Doctor, I think if you ever come on planet leave with us again, we need to have a little talk…"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Early that evening they were all sat in a hotel room, eating a mildly unidentifiable carry out (having taken the precaution of waving a tricorder over it to check whether it was poisonous to humans first, and finding only the background level of bacteria found in all cheap takeaways). They had benefited from a shower and shave, and the clean uniforms T'Pol had beamed down to them, and looked significantly less like escaped convicts than they had done that morning.

"So, there's no way out of this Grendel thing without causing a diplomatic incident?"

"No. Seems that it is very important to them, as the vestiges of their warrior society." The captain had actually found out that there was a way of getting out of the Grendel challenge, but that it involved a… forfeit. One that he was not prepared to pay, and so made the decision on behalf of his men, in case he found out that they had rather less self-esteem than he thought.

Travis was looking doubtful. "There must be some way of preparing for this."

The doctor had indeed been doing his research, "The tradition method appears to be getting exceedingly inebriated and telling exaggerated stories about your sexual performances."

"Ah. Something the commander has practice in."

"Ah was not exaggerating."

"Yeah, right. The entire volleyball team? Even I couldn't do an entire volleyball team in half an afternoon."

Malcolm looked suspicious. "Wait a minute. Wasn't there a beach volleyball team as well, when you were at the Academy?"

Travis smiled. "Yeah, there was. It was almost a legend, those two girls, what were their names…?"

"Big Sheila and Butch Olga. How many muscles did you pull with those two Trip? I'm surprised you lasted a whole half of an afternoon."

"Wait, wait, wasn't there some poor guy who got hospitalised?"

Both Travis and Malcolm looked at Trip, who was looking really very uncomfortable.

"Go on, Trip. Do elaborate for us. We really, really want to know."

"Ain't none of your business. We were 3 consenting adults."

"This being Big Shelia and Butch Olga I wouldn't want to speculate as to adult *what * exactly."

"Yeah, but it ain't like no-one's heard about you and the entire men's water polo team."

The captain looked at Malcolm who had begun to look very intently out of the window, whilst blushing an interesting colour.

Travis came to his defence, "Well, at least he knew what gender he was sleeping with. So, are the rumours true that Butch Olga is half and half?"

The captain was still being haunted by some very disturbing mental images. "The entire water polo team?"

Trip used the opportunity to deflect attention away from himself. "In the Jacuzzi after they won the state championships."

The doctor was intrigued, "I was not aware that human males possessed that much stamina. Tell me, did you undertake any special preparation?"

"I can't do anything about the rumours that happen to spread about me."

"It ain't a rumour if the entire water polo team tell everybody about it."

"It wasn't exactly a bad rumour either if what they said was anything to go by."

The Captain didn't add anything to the conversation as his mental universe was slowly imploding.

"Perhaps this would be a very good part to go on to the 'inebriation' part of the preparation?" suggested Malcolm.

"Hey! I haven't finished telling them about the water polo team. C'mon Mal, is the part about what you did with the trophy really true?"

The Captain silenced him by making a decisive move for the mini bar and shoving a can of beer into his hand. Trip was not a man who found it easy to turn down alcohol, especially when someone else was paying for it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~

Three hours later, the four officers were sprawled across the throne of the mead hall while the doctor sat in one of the smaller chairs next to it, taking notes on his PADD.

Trip reached out drunkenly with one finger to poke Malcolm in the ribs. "So wha' did you do with the trophy, Mal? Mal, what did you do with the trophy? What? What? Tell me? Trophy, Mal, trophy?"

"Oww, stoppit."

"Sorry Cap'n."

Trip tried again until he got a sufficiently British swearword. "Ah, buggeroff."

"Not until you tell me what you did with the trophy…"

"Wasn' me. Wasn' there. Didn' happen."

"C'mon, water polo team says otherwise. Often. Specially when they're drunk."

"It wasn' me. Told you already."

"So iss not you they're talkin' bout when they mention Malcolm 'hello sailor' Reed."

"S'another Malcolm Reed."

"Tell me 'bout the trophy. Tell me 'bout the trophy."

"It wasn' even the trophy it was the-" Malcolm froze and then put both hands over his mouth. He was silent for a few seconds before saying something which sounded like "Ohshitohshitohshit. Shouldn' have said that."

Travis lifted his head up from the arm of the throne. "Oooohhh. I remem'er now, he told me this the last time he was drunk. It was the-"

"Shut up! I don't want to know! As your commandin' off'cer I order you t'talk about somethin' else!"

There was some excited activity from the doctor as he made note of what must have been some particularly interesting information about human male social interaction.

"When's this Grendel person…thing turnin' up?" asked Travis.

"Dunno. Mus' be soon though." Trip paused. "Gotta pee."

"Go pee then." Said the Captain.

"But there's that thing out there, and, well…I want there to be a Charles Tucker IV!"

"What? You scared iss going to go in there an' rip your tadger off?"

"Rip my what off?"

"Your John Thomas, trouser mouse, wha' you keep in yer underpants."

"Apart from his spare spanner!" The other three men giggled inanely, while Trip looked confused and a little uncomfortable.

"C'mon, somebody come with me. I really need to pee."

"As your Captain, I think everyone should go so no one gets left behind. Or ruins another uniform when Grendel turns up."

"'S only Hoshi that does that."

"C'mon guys. It's kinda cold in here."

Using the throne and any body parts of another crew member they could reach, the four men made their way unsteadily, first to 'vertical' and then to 'gents'. The doctor volunteered to stay behind to act as a lookout, claiming to be interested in the monster as a manifestation of female influence over male culture or some other psychobabble.

After they had relieved themselves, stuck their heads under the cold taps and silently thanked the local planning authorities for deciding that a mead hall with 'traditional' facilities (ie none) was too great a health and safety risk, they got down to the really serious business of panicking, gibbering and trying to blame it all on someone else. After about five minutes Trip, Malcolm and Travis decided to put their real and recently invented grievances against one another to one side and gang up on the Captain.

"There is a difference between doin' somethin' really stupid when you're drunk and signin' other people up to do somethin' really dangerous later."

The doctor knocked on the door, "Captain, there is a large green slimy gentleman at the door, who I believe to be Grendel."

The captain looked around him. The bathroom was suddenly empty, and he was very sure none of them had left through the door.

"Stop hiding! Get out of the toilet cubicle and face this!"

They sheepishly emerged.

"Do Starfleet officers run away from holographic monsters?"

"YES!"

"Get out there and fight it!"

"Are you coming with us, sir?"

"Of course, I'll be following you. I'm behind you all the way."

"Oh, no, sir, senior officers first, sir."

The captain couldn't really think of a way out of that one and led them out of the bathroom. And was quite surprised to find that they actually followed him, even if it was about five steps behind.

Grendel was outlined in the doorway, at least twice the size of a man. Well, nearly three times the size of Malcolm, who appeared at this point to undergo a transformation. Somewhere, deep in his DNA there were instructions, a code of behaviour for every short, pissed man confronted with a fight. He advanced to half way down the hall.

"What the hell are you lookin' at slime face?"

Grendel seemed confused by this, as indeed were the other officers.

"You think you're so hard, don't you? Well, you've got another thing comin', I can take you out."

Grendel tried an experimental bellow.

"That the best you can do? Come on, if you think you're hard enough."

Grendel advanced on Malcolm.

"You want some? Well, come and get some!"

"You know, that was exactly what he said to the water polo team."

The computer programming was not really intended to deal with this, so ignored it, and the holographic Grendel went for Malcolm, who headbutted it. Given the relative sizes involved, this disabled Grendel temporarily.

This prompted Malcolm to utter the famed football chant of "You're going home in a FUCKING AMBULANCE!"

Grendel, however, was only temporarily disabled, got up, and kicked Malcolm across to the other side of the room.

"Aaaaahhh, buggering bastard fucking arsing shitting bollocks!"

"Mr. Reed, could you repeat that? I do find the use of expletives most interesting, many people do indeed find them very cathartic in stressful situations…"

"Doctor, I think you can save the linguistics for afterwards, we need to find a way of disabling this thing, suggestions would be helpful!"

They were all backing off from Grendel in different directions. For Trip this seemed to be up the intricate carvings on the back of the throne, to end up perched on the stuffed and mounted head of an unidentified beast with enormous antlers. This left him safely out of reach of Grendel.

Travis threw a mug of mead at Grendel, which bounced off ineffectually. Grendel turned round to look at him.

"Hi! Ummm. Bye!" Travis leapt over the table as Grendel lunged for him.

"Go on Travis, you show him who's boss!"

"TRIP! Get down here! And that's an order!"

"Ah'm stuck."

"Coward!"

"Charles Tucker III ain't a coward. Ah'm jeest temporarily unavailable to join ya."

The doctor looked thoughtful. "There is one way you could deal with this."

Grendel had turned its attention to the captain, who was weaving his way about the tables in an attempt to get away from it. "Yes, and what would that be?"

Malcolm had ripped one of the tapestries down, and stood on one of the tables waving it matador style. "Over here, slime features!"

Grendel turned round from harassing the captain. It took one look at Malcolm and then batted him off the table.

"Ooooooooooooooooooooow fuckity buggery."

Travis was now keeping it occupied by running round the room at speed.

"Doctor? You were saying?"

"I was?"

"YES! How to defeat Grendel?"

As soon as Malcolm recovered he joined in with Travis, both going round the room in opposite directions, which seemed to confuse Grendel somewhat.

As Travis passed by he yelled, "I can't keep this up much longer, gonna hurl!"

"Ah, since he cannot be defeated by weapons, I was going to suggest a more, ahm, barbaric approach. This would lead to a disabling injury for the creature, I hope."

"Yes? And?"

"I suggest you rip its arm off."

"What?"

The captain didn't get much further than that. Alcohol and adrenaline seemed to have unusual effects on Malcolm's brain. He launched himself at the monster with a guttural, yet pointless, battle cry of "Shoottherefthatwasneveroffside!".

Travis and the captain leapt into the fray. Trip, from his vantage point, waved his arms aggressively and made encouraging noises.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later, they were all back on Enterprise, in decon, being harangued.

"Where were you? You come back covered in slime, mud, and blood, stinking of alcohol, scraping off ten feet of hull plating on your way in, and did you think even to call to say you were being late? I think I deserve an explanation!"

They were completely foxed by Hoshi in 'kill' mode, since they had never seen it before, and were so shocked they forgot that they all outranked her.

"Sorry, Hoshi, look, we got into a diplomatic incident…"

"DIPLOMATIC INCIDENT?"

"There are few diplomatic incidents which take place in bars." T'Pol was weighing in on Hoshi's side. A bad sign. "Starfleet will require a full report. I trust it will be the truth."

"Of course it will be the truth."

"Then you will have no objections to doctor Phlox being designated to write it."

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