Birthday ficlets, part IV
More more more ! Happy (probably very belated by now) birthdays to all of you. You are so patient and good and I love you.
For principia_coh: Further adventures of hobo-Doctor.
Drapery.
A fortunate side-benefit of living with the Doctor was that, at some point, he was going to find the right chemical compound in the slime of a unique mold growing under rocks in Sweden, and wham- suddenly there was going to be fourth-dimensional fabric in your house, not to mention a few foul-smelling vats and a man trying to sew pockets in everything.
"Did I say benefit ?" asked Rose, absently. She set down her teacup just in time, as a second explosion rocked the backyard shed and sent parts across the lawn. "I meant hazard. Excuse me, I won't be a moment." She brushed delicately past Pete's cousins and let herself out the back door. The Doctor had landed in the birdbath, but didn't seem to mind it. "Are you hurt ?" she asked first, and he babbled something about being in the best shape of his life. "Good," she glowered. "Then I don't have to give you a head start."
"Rose," he said, visibly giddy, "I've done it." She folded her arms and scowled at him, but not for longer than a minute. "Oh go on, you know want to know what it is."
"Fine." She might have grinned, a little. "What are you blowing yourself up about ?" He scrambled up and back to the shed, flinging the doors wide, and was slapped in the face by a thick curtain. "Ah, your old nemesis- drapery."
"That's Sirius Black," he quipped. "Go on, inside." He ushered her into their cramped shed and-
-well, that was different.
"It's... bigger on the inside," she managed, astonished at the cavernous hall that had somehow been wrangled into their tiny garden storage unit. On one side was a long lab table with broken vials and a half-dozen pairs of sneakers; further along, the lawnmower and shovels, and further still, a baby grand piano and a fainting couch that had seen better days. She thought she remembered it from last week's large-garbage pickup at the neighbors. "How did you-"
"Fourth-dimensional fabric. Haven't figured out how to get it into anything else yet, but it's a start. Imagine the possibilities for camping."
"Is this about your house thing ?" Rose asked suddenly, giving him a sympathetic look. "The doors and walls business ?"
"No," he lied, badly. "Well, maybe a little. But just imagine the shopping carts I could fit in here- the bottles ! The tires ! Entire sets of outdated encyclopedias-" he trailed off, catching the look in her eyes. "Or, I could just roll one of these up and re-hang the bathroom drapes. Give you room for a clawfoot tub."
"I adore you," said Rose, quite seriously. She sniffed at his lapels. "Change your suit and I'll show you how much."
He did.
For verdant_fire: Spock.
The feminine mystique.
Three weeks into the ongoing traffic accident that is James Kirk's captaincy, the man in question appears in Spock's doorway with a six-pack of Coridian spice-ale and an expression that suggests another six had previously been consumed in solitude.
"Women," he says, disgusted, laying one of his boots over the arm of Spock's favored reading chair. "Who understands 'em ?" Spock doesn't raise an eyebrow. The occasion hardly deserves it.
"This explains your poor diplomacy with the Denobulans." He prods Kirk's questionable boot off the edge with the end of a stylus, and sits down in the chair. "Your inability to communicate with an entire half of your own species should have been taken as a warning sign."
"What," he asks, "the fish people ? I did fine."
"You made a joke about bait and tackle. One that nobody understood."
"I guess you had to be there," says Kirk, opening another can and spilling a certain amount of it on himself in the process. Spock refrains from reminding the captain that he was there, present for every excruciating minute of the nearly-failed negotiations. Only the quick thinking of Ny- Lieutenant Uhura had saved the day, praise the powers for her fluency and manners. Distracted by thoughts of her manners, mostly, he misses the can that Kirk swings in his direction and is nearly whalloped by it. "Hey," says the other man, "can we talk about me for a minute ?"
"We already were."
"Good. So, women." Kirk swigs deeply and settles back into the fabric. "Women trouble. Are they all crazy ? You and Nyota got a good thing going. How come she's not crazy ?" He peers over the arm of his seat. "Is she crazy ?" Spock tries to summon any kind of response and fails, briefly. Kirk sits back, oblivious. "She is so hot. Goddam. You are a lucky man. I have to find another woman like that."
"Unlikely," says Spock, awkwardly. It comes out against his better judgment, like most of the things he says around Kirk that aren't no and absolutely not. "There couldn't- it is highly unlikely," he says, "that there are two such as her."
"Oh Jesus, man," says Kirk. "You are such a softie." He looks strangely pleased. Spock wonders if anyone would notice the captain's dead body plugging up the airshaft, and then decides against such a wildly unbalanced course of action. "I am so telling everyone. I am so telling her you said that. I am remembering that word for word and telling everyone and using that voice you do." He takes another long swig, hiccups, and his eyes briefly cross and uncross. Spock has an idea. He snaps off another can and flips the tab, passing it over into Kirk's greedy hand. "I swear I'm amembrin' all of thish."
"Certainly, captain," says Spock.
For principia_coh: Further adventures of hobo-Doctor.
Drapery.
A fortunate side-benefit of living with the Doctor was that, at some point, he was going to find the right chemical compound in the slime of a unique mold growing under rocks in Sweden, and wham- suddenly there was going to be fourth-dimensional fabric in your house, not to mention a few foul-smelling vats and a man trying to sew pockets in everything.
"Did I say benefit ?" asked Rose, absently. She set down her teacup just in time, as a second explosion rocked the backyard shed and sent parts across the lawn. "I meant hazard. Excuse me, I won't be a moment." She brushed delicately past Pete's cousins and let herself out the back door. The Doctor had landed in the birdbath, but didn't seem to mind it. "Are you hurt ?" she asked first, and he babbled something about being in the best shape of his life. "Good," she glowered. "Then I don't have to give you a head start."
"Rose," he said, visibly giddy, "I've done it." She folded her arms and scowled at him, but not for longer than a minute. "Oh go on, you know want to know what it is."
"Fine." She might have grinned, a little. "What are you blowing yourself up about ?" He scrambled up and back to the shed, flinging the doors wide, and was slapped in the face by a thick curtain. "Ah, your old nemesis- drapery."
"That's Sirius Black," he quipped. "Go on, inside." He ushered her into their cramped shed and-
-well, that was different.
"It's... bigger on the inside," she managed, astonished at the cavernous hall that had somehow been wrangled into their tiny garden storage unit. On one side was a long lab table with broken vials and a half-dozen pairs of sneakers; further along, the lawnmower and shovels, and further still, a baby grand piano and a fainting couch that had seen better days. She thought she remembered it from last week's large-garbage pickup at the neighbors. "How did you-"
"Fourth-dimensional fabric. Haven't figured out how to get it into anything else yet, but it's a start. Imagine the possibilities for camping."
"Is this about your house thing ?" Rose asked suddenly, giving him a sympathetic look. "The doors and walls business ?"
"No," he lied, badly. "Well, maybe a little. But just imagine the shopping carts I could fit in here- the bottles ! The tires ! Entire sets of outdated encyclopedias-" he trailed off, catching the look in her eyes. "Or, I could just roll one of these up and re-hang the bathroom drapes. Give you room for a clawfoot tub."
"I adore you," said Rose, quite seriously. She sniffed at his lapels. "Change your suit and I'll show you how much."
He did.
For verdant_fire: Spock.
The feminine mystique.
Three weeks into the ongoing traffic accident that is James Kirk's captaincy, the man in question appears in Spock's doorway with a six-pack of Coridian spice-ale and an expression that suggests another six had previously been consumed in solitude.
"Women," he says, disgusted, laying one of his boots over the arm of Spock's favored reading chair. "Who understands 'em ?" Spock doesn't raise an eyebrow. The occasion hardly deserves it.
"This explains your poor diplomacy with the Denobulans." He prods Kirk's questionable boot off the edge with the end of a stylus, and sits down in the chair. "Your inability to communicate with an entire half of your own species should have been taken as a warning sign."
"What," he asks, "the fish people ? I did fine."
"You made a joke about bait and tackle. One that nobody understood."
"I guess you had to be there," says Kirk, opening another can and spilling a certain amount of it on himself in the process. Spock refrains from reminding the captain that he was there, present for every excruciating minute of the nearly-failed negotiations. Only the quick thinking of Ny- Lieutenant Uhura had saved the day, praise the powers for her fluency and manners. Distracted by thoughts of her manners, mostly, he misses the can that Kirk swings in his direction and is nearly whalloped by it. "Hey," says the other man, "can we talk about me for a minute ?"
"We already were."
"Good. So, women." Kirk swigs deeply and settles back into the fabric. "Women trouble. Are they all crazy ? You and Nyota got a good thing going. How come she's not crazy ?" He peers over the arm of his seat. "Is she crazy ?" Spock tries to summon any kind of response and fails, briefly. Kirk sits back, oblivious. "She is so hot. Goddam. You are a lucky man. I have to find another woman like that."
"Unlikely," says Spock, awkwardly. It comes out against his better judgment, like most of the things he says around Kirk that aren't no and absolutely not. "There couldn't- it is highly unlikely," he says, "that there are two such as her."
"Oh Jesus, man," says Kirk. "You are such a softie." He looks strangely pleased. Spock wonders if anyone would notice the captain's dead body plugging up the airshaft, and then decides against such a wildly unbalanced course of action. "I am so telling everyone. I am so telling her you said that. I am remembering that word for word and telling everyone and using that voice you do." He takes another long swig, hiccups, and his eyes briefly cross and uncross. Spock has an idea. He snaps off another can and flips the tab, passing it over into Kirk's greedy hand. "I swear I'm amembrin' all of thish."
"Certainly, captain," says Spock.