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katmarajadeTitle: Saving Gertrude
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katmarajade
Holiday present for:oddmonster
Pairing: Scotty/Chekov
Rating: PG
Word count: 1423
Prompt: "Your wish is my command"
It was becoming almost expected for Chekov to show up in Engineering with a wide smile and a new, crazy, and usually improbable scheme in mind that required Scotty's help.
It wasn't like Scotty was going to say no.
Not only was Chekov with his excitable, new-idea grin a fine sight indeed, (pervy old bastard, he was, but there was nothing for it) but the plans usually required real thought and effort on Scotty's part, which was a welcome change from the tediously simple requests he got from everyone else. (Captain Kirk excepted, obviously, as those demands tended to be more along the lines of rearranging long-standing laws of physics and saving the ship from utter disaster again).
So when Chekov appeared one day with a sharp glint in his eyes, an ambitious smile, and a complicated plan to revive Sulu's favorite plant from near death using a combination of transport theory and some sort of disease isolating agent he had yet to identify, Scotty found himself committed to yet another crazy Chekovian scheme.
Chekov explained (in an oddly serious tone considering the subject's name was Gertrude) how the plant was Sulu's favorite and that the pilot was very attached to her and how she was one of the last specimens in the Federation and that this would be the best Christmas present ever for Sulu, who was quite distraught over her illness. Scotty assured Chekov that he was ready and willing with the transporters, although his know-how when it came to botany and other horticultural pursuits was a bit dodgy.
He quickly dismissed the coil of jealousy that spun through his belly as Chekov so enthusiastically theorized on how to manage this never-before-accomplished feat of science as a gift to his down-in-the-dumps-would-be-boyfriend. After all, Sulu was young and handsome, and pilots with their fancy gold shirts were a far sight more glamorous than he was, unseen in the bowels of the ship, fiddling with dilithium stores and electrical conduits, doing the behind-the-scenes grunt work with the occasional miracle tossed in. Scotty couldn't fault Chekov for fancying Sulu over him.
From then on, Chekov showed up almost every evening with small specimen samples that he'd secreted away when Sulu wasn't looking and stacks and stacks of PADDs and articles about xenobotany and disease cells and other related topics. It took a lot of heated debate, a good bit of work, and a great deal of swearing, but they did finally come up with a workable theory that would (very, very theoretically) be able to isolate the diseased cells, so that they could separate the healthy tissue from the sick tissue after the initial transportation and only transport back the healthy portion. It should work, but Scotty remembered Admiral Archer's prize beagle a bit too well, and he knew that should didn't always work out as well as one might think.
Miraculously, it did work. It took several attempts before Chekov deemed the process safe enough to test on dear Gertrude herself, but the plant arrived back on the transport platform looking far healthier than it had looked before. Scotty didn't care terribly much about the plant, but he did care that Chekov was ecstatic. And the jumping up, punching the air, and cheering loudly in Russian seemed to indicate that Chekov was indeed happy with the results. And that was enough of a reason for Scotty.
"So, Sulu's going to be pretty damn excited about this Christmas present of yours now, isn't he? Do you think you can manage to wait until Christmas day, or do you plan on running straight up and showing him how you've managed to resurrect his beloved plant." Scotty quickly pulled his hand away as a newly revived (and obviously hungry) Gertrude inched closer.
"Oh, no, he's occupied at the moment," Chekov replied with a naughty-looking smirk. At Scotty's blank look, Chekov elaborated. "Last I heard he was going to be spending most of the evening in the Keptin's bathtub with a very naked Gaila, a lot of bubbles, and a bottle of Orion nettle wine. Apparently, he won a bet with the Keptin, who is not very happy about being locked out of his room for the whole evening. Sulu hasn't been able to talk about anything else for weeks."
Scotty felt a wave of indignation and anger rise up at the thought of Chekov's heart being trampled by a Casanova pilot who thought only with his thrice-damned joystick and cruelly broke the hearts of curly-haired Ensigns who cared too much. However, Chekov seemed amused by the whole idea, judging by the dirty smirk on his lips and the barely held-in snickers.
"Right, erm, and that doesn't … upset you, lad? I reckoned you'd set your cap for the boy."
Chekov stared quizzically at him. "Why would I be upset? I have no interest in sitting in a tub full of bubbles with Gaila or Sulu, and Orion nettle wine is a very inferior form of alcohol. I would drink vodka, and one does not drink vodka in the bathtub. Well, unless one is my great aunt Ilya, very old, and very insane."
"Oh, erm, right then. So you're all right? Aside from your obviously mad claim about choosing vodka when you could be drinking whisky as God intended."
"Bah, whisky," Chekov made a face. "Of course, I'm all right. We've just managed to achieve an unprecedented scientific advancement, and we successfully saved my best friend's favorite plant. And you think I should be upset? You know, for a genius, you are sometimes very stupid."
Scotty, unsure how best to respond to Chekov's unexpected good cheer or being called stupid, decided that gaping silently was the best course of action.
Rolling his eyes in typical annoyed Chekov fashion, Chekov stepped very close to Scotty, who began to have trouble with some of the basics, like complete thoughts and breathing.
"You're a smart man, Montgomery Scott, a very smart man. And you know that I would never bother to say that to someone who didn't deserve it. In addition to your obvious genius, you are strong, reasonably humorous, and you have saved the ship from certain disaster many times. It is a very welcome change to have someone with whom I can have real discussions about physics, and I have a lot of fun debating and doing these experiments with you, but if all I cared about was the science, I would not make such an effort to come down here so often."
Chekov stood so close that Scotty could feel the warmth of Chekov's breath, and those enormous green eyes were full of a strange combination of zealous sincerity and amusement.
"You're a man of science, Scotty. Analyze the data in front of you and come to a proper working theory. You are a genius—I have no doubts that you'll figure it out."
Chekov leaned in slightly and, for a brief, manic second, Scotty thought that he was going to kiss him. But Chekov just hovered, only an inch or so from Scotty's face, a challenging smirk washing over his features. Scotty stopped breathing entirely.
Then with a twitch of his lips and with that dizzying smirk still firmly in place, Chekov stepped back. He grabbed Gertrude and tipped his chin up in his usual farewell gesture.
"Let me know when you do," he closed. Then he turned and walked away.
Scotty stared after him, mouth hanging open in a ridiculous-looking fashion, and tried desperately to comprehend what the hell had just happened. Had Chekov seriously just come on to him? Or had he simply had so many daydreams about similar scenarios that he was hallucinating. His cheeks still tingled from where Chekov's taunting puffs of air had lingered, and his belly was churning in a confusing combination of nervousness and arousal.
It was impossible. He was willfully misinterpreting the signals. He had finally gone mad.
Or perhaps it had happened exactly how he was remembering it. Perhaps, in light of Chekov's words, he needed to reevaluate his previous interpretations of their past interactions. Perhaps, the situation was simpler than he'd previously thought.
Perhaps, he was just very, very stupid. And that was the last thought Scotty had as he dropped his tricorder, which clanked loudly against the metal floor of the transport room.
Impossible didn't mean a whole lot to Montgomery Scott, who'd managed to push the edges of possibility in everything he'd ever done. Why should this be any different?
Scotty started running.
Author:
katmarajadeHoliday present for:
oddmonsterPairing: Scotty/Chekov
Rating: PG
Word count: 1423
Prompt: "Your wish is my command"
It was becoming almost expected for Chekov to show up in Engineering with a wide smile and a new, crazy, and usually improbable scheme in mind that required Scotty's help.
It wasn't like Scotty was going to say no.
Not only was Chekov with his excitable, new-idea grin a fine sight indeed, (pervy old bastard, he was, but there was nothing for it) but the plans usually required real thought and effort on Scotty's part, which was a welcome change from the tediously simple requests he got from everyone else. (Captain Kirk excepted, obviously, as those demands tended to be more along the lines of rearranging long-standing laws of physics and saving the ship from utter disaster again).
So when Chekov appeared one day with a sharp glint in his eyes, an ambitious smile, and a complicated plan to revive Sulu's favorite plant from near death using a combination of transport theory and some sort of disease isolating agent he had yet to identify, Scotty found himself committed to yet another crazy Chekovian scheme.
Chekov explained (in an oddly serious tone considering the subject's name was Gertrude) how the plant was Sulu's favorite and that the pilot was very attached to her and how she was one of the last specimens in the Federation and that this would be the best Christmas present ever for Sulu, who was quite distraught over her illness. Scotty assured Chekov that he was ready and willing with the transporters, although his know-how when it came to botany and other horticultural pursuits was a bit dodgy.
He quickly dismissed the coil of jealousy that spun through his belly as Chekov so enthusiastically theorized on how to manage this never-before-accomplished feat of science as a gift to his down-in-the-dumps-would-be-boyfriend. After all, Sulu was young and handsome, and pilots with their fancy gold shirts were a far sight more glamorous than he was, unseen in the bowels of the ship, fiddling with dilithium stores and electrical conduits, doing the behind-the-scenes grunt work with the occasional miracle tossed in. Scotty couldn't fault Chekov for fancying Sulu over him.
From then on, Chekov showed up almost every evening with small specimen samples that he'd secreted away when Sulu wasn't looking and stacks and stacks of PADDs and articles about xenobotany and disease cells and other related topics. It took a lot of heated debate, a good bit of work, and a great deal of swearing, but they did finally come up with a workable theory that would (very, very theoretically) be able to isolate the diseased cells, so that they could separate the healthy tissue from the sick tissue after the initial transportation and only transport back the healthy portion. It should work, but Scotty remembered Admiral Archer's prize beagle a bit too well, and he knew that should didn't always work out as well as one might think.
Miraculously, it did work. It took several attempts before Chekov deemed the process safe enough to test on dear Gertrude herself, but the plant arrived back on the transport platform looking far healthier than it had looked before. Scotty didn't care terribly much about the plant, but he did care that Chekov was ecstatic. And the jumping up, punching the air, and cheering loudly in Russian seemed to indicate that Chekov was indeed happy with the results. And that was enough of a reason for Scotty.
"So, Sulu's going to be pretty damn excited about this Christmas present of yours now, isn't he? Do you think you can manage to wait until Christmas day, or do you plan on running straight up and showing him how you've managed to resurrect his beloved plant." Scotty quickly pulled his hand away as a newly revived (and obviously hungry) Gertrude inched closer.
"Oh, no, he's occupied at the moment," Chekov replied with a naughty-looking smirk. At Scotty's blank look, Chekov elaborated. "Last I heard he was going to be spending most of the evening in the Keptin's bathtub with a very naked Gaila, a lot of bubbles, and a bottle of Orion nettle wine. Apparently, he won a bet with the Keptin, who is not very happy about being locked out of his room for the whole evening. Sulu hasn't been able to talk about anything else for weeks."
Scotty felt a wave of indignation and anger rise up at the thought of Chekov's heart being trampled by a Casanova pilot who thought only with his thrice-damned joystick and cruelly broke the hearts of curly-haired Ensigns who cared too much. However, Chekov seemed amused by the whole idea, judging by the dirty smirk on his lips and the barely held-in snickers.
"Right, erm, and that doesn't … upset you, lad? I reckoned you'd set your cap for the boy."
Chekov stared quizzically at him. "Why would I be upset? I have no interest in sitting in a tub full of bubbles with Gaila or Sulu, and Orion nettle wine is a very inferior form of alcohol. I would drink vodka, and one does not drink vodka in the bathtub. Well, unless one is my great aunt Ilya, very old, and very insane."
"Oh, erm, right then. So you're all right? Aside from your obviously mad claim about choosing vodka when you could be drinking whisky as God intended."
"Bah, whisky," Chekov made a face. "Of course, I'm all right. We've just managed to achieve an unprecedented scientific advancement, and we successfully saved my best friend's favorite plant. And you think I should be upset? You know, for a genius, you are sometimes very stupid."
Scotty, unsure how best to respond to Chekov's unexpected good cheer or being called stupid, decided that gaping silently was the best course of action.
Rolling his eyes in typical annoyed Chekov fashion, Chekov stepped very close to Scotty, who began to have trouble with some of the basics, like complete thoughts and breathing.
"You're a smart man, Montgomery Scott, a very smart man. And you know that I would never bother to say that to someone who didn't deserve it. In addition to your obvious genius, you are strong, reasonably humorous, and you have saved the ship from certain disaster many times. It is a very welcome change to have someone with whom I can have real discussions about physics, and I have a lot of fun debating and doing these experiments with you, but if all I cared about was the science, I would not make such an effort to come down here so often."
Chekov stood so close that Scotty could feel the warmth of Chekov's breath, and those enormous green eyes were full of a strange combination of zealous sincerity and amusement.
"You're a man of science, Scotty. Analyze the data in front of you and come to a proper working theory. You are a genius—I have no doubts that you'll figure it out."
Chekov leaned in slightly and, for a brief, manic second, Scotty thought that he was going to kiss him. But Chekov just hovered, only an inch or so from Scotty's face, a challenging smirk washing over his features. Scotty stopped breathing entirely.
Then with a twitch of his lips and with that dizzying smirk still firmly in place, Chekov stepped back. He grabbed Gertrude and tipped his chin up in his usual farewell gesture.
"Let me know when you do," he closed. Then he turned and walked away.
Scotty stared after him, mouth hanging open in a ridiculous-looking fashion, and tried desperately to comprehend what the hell had just happened. Had Chekov seriously just come on to him? Or had he simply had so many daydreams about similar scenarios that he was hallucinating. His cheeks still tingled from where Chekov's taunting puffs of air had lingered, and his belly was churning in a confusing combination of nervousness and arousal.
It was impossible. He was willfully misinterpreting the signals. He had finally gone mad.
Or perhaps it had happened exactly how he was remembering it. Perhaps, in light of Chekov's words, he needed to reevaluate his previous interpretations of their past interactions. Perhaps, the situation was simpler than he'd previously thought.
Perhaps, he was just very, very stupid. And that was the last thought Scotty had as he dropped his tricorder, which clanked loudly against the metal floor of the transport room.
Impossible didn't mean a whole lot to Montgomery Scott, who'd managed to push the edges of possibility in everything he'd ever done. Why should this be any different?
Scotty started running.
