Flight Attendant: 0 - Emergency Response Mode in 1.4 Seconds
Holy crap, you guys! I was just sitting in the Minneapolis-St.Paul International Airport talking to my dad on my phone when this eighty-year-old man collapsed just across the hall. It was like I turned into flight attendant girl in an instant, totally abandoning my bags and purse, hanging up my phone without a word, and running across the hall,
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Luckily, before Scotty's mouth could go rogue on him, McCoy showed up at the foot of the bed and delivered a lecture on burns and post-injury infection, effectively killing all thoughts of romance.
Scotty'd lain there in the ozone-scented medroom and let the sawbones' voice wash over him while he stared at Chekov, watching the young ensign memorize all the after-care instructions. And the flush that crept up Chekov's neck at the "And absolutely no excessive physical exertion for the next 48 hours."
Scotty knew that flush well. Had watched it blossom across Chekov's chest and creep up his neck like a brushfire. He'd taken advantage of that flush and was fairly sure he'd worn one that matched more than a few times.
Apart from that, he's managed to keep himself fairly well in check.
He thinks it all the time, of course; whenever he's called to the Bridge; whenever Chekov stumbles over "warp core"; whenever the two of them pass each other between shifts, like starships in the night. Chekov shoots him that wee smile under his curls, fingers clenching against his uniform trousers and it's all Scotty can do not to get on the ship's comm and start yelling it at the top of his lungs.
Finally, it gets to the point where he's carrying the words high in his chest, near the base of his throat, everywhere he goes. They burn in him like hot coals and it gets harder with every passing day to keep them in place. You can't, he tells himself sternly. The lad's eighteen. You'll scare him off. And that last, more than anything else keeps him silent.
The two of them are bent over a console in Engineering one day, puzzling over Lorentz transformations when there's a sudden flash of light and heat behind them and the world breaks.
Scotty wakes up on the hard metal floor, one arm throbbing and the whole of his back on fire. An alarm is blaring and he's dizzy and everything smells like burnt dilithium and oil and there is no sign of Chekov.
What comes out of Scotty's mouth is a roar, then there are running feet and cool hands on him and darkness.
Sometime later, Scotty wakes up in Sick Bay yet again, feeling only mildly less dizzy. The smell of burnt dilithium is gone. But there is a thin, cool hand in his, fingers carefully twined, and when he opens his eyes, Chekov is sitting next to his bed, staring worriedly.
Overwhelmed with relief, Scotty opens his mouth, but what comes out is something like Waazaaaooo, so he shuts it again.
Chekov nods. His eyebrows are gone and there's a patch of nanopores at his hairline but otherwise he's none the worse for wear. Except his eyes. There's something very wrong with his eyes. They're shiny and wet.
Scotty opens his mouth again, but Chekov rises and leaning over, kisses him gently. "Nyet. Don't try to speak," he says, sitting back down. His eyes get shinier. "I love you too much to see you waste your energy. You will need it for explaining how I was right about the parallel magnetic alignments, you stubborn Scottish man."
Scotty gives up and nods.
"Now rest," Chekov commands.
Scotty lies back on the pillow and closes his mouth.
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Oh my goodness, what an absolutely amazingly wonderful surprise to come home to after working one of the most horrible days of the year in the airline biz. I was exhausted and irritable and just all around meh, but then I checked my email and THIS PIECE OF GLORIOUS FIC was there waiting to cheer me up!
This is so like Scotty-- I can just see him rationalizing why he's not telling Chekov. And this description Finally, it gets to the point where he's carrying the words high in his chest, near the base of his throat, everywhere he goes. was so lovely-- I could almost feel it along with him. I liked the orange blobby things that looked kinda like kippers (hehe!) and McCoy killing the mood with his dire-sounding medical talk and the little details about them passing in the halls ... and I loved how Chekov told Scotty that he loved him and totally insulted him all in the same breath. THAT is exactly my favorite kind of Chekov!
I am grinning so huge right now, you have no idea! Thanks so much, bb! Your time could not possibly have been more perfect. Now you must hurry up and go post this at the scotty chekov comm ... actually, maybe you should wait until after Thanksgiving so that people aren't so distracted and notice it more, because this deserves so much love! ♥♥♥♥ Thank you, darling!
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I love writing Chekov where he's being intensely logical about their relationship. It doesn't really strike him that he should be nervous about the age difference because Scotty is sweet and brilliant and gives him a blowjob everytime he turns around. Things will work out! Chekov is convinced! He will simply hang onto his confidence. That will be enough. *nod nod nod*
Anyway, I am ecstatic you like it! I did want to wait for your nod to post it to scotty_chekov, because after all, it is your fic.
Survive Thankgsiving! Woo!
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And YES, post away, because it's wonderful. Everyone will be totally jealous when they see how lucky I am to have received such brilliance. *beams proudly*
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