The WIP Project, 8/9
So somebody mentioned Sulu for some reason or another, and it put me in mind of these stories what I never finished.
8. I started this for the kink meme; the prompt was something like the characters switch personalities but not minds or bodies, and I think it specified Chekov and Spock switching, and then I was like FUCK IT SWAP ALL THE CREW. I feel like
dizmo prompted this; I know she watched over my digital shoulder as I wrote it. I posted the first half-ish to the kink meme and never finished it, which is a shame, because some of the best of it is poor repressed Sulu- love me some Sulu- finally getting a chance to express himself and be happy about his life, and that only got written in skeleton. And I just realized I cannibalized a line in here for that Erik/Darwin story what I wrote. I keep a lot of WIPs at any given time (I have at least fifty right now, and you think I'm kidding), so I do that a lot, consciously or unconsciously.
And I think the (not-yet-written) joke at the end was that Uhura and Bones had switched and nobody noticed, though reading back that may not have been the case.
NC-17, Chekov/Bones, Spock/Uhura, Jim/Sulu, 1500 words. No notes, because I think it's pretty clear what's going on, at least in outline.
--
It was always one thing or another, living and working on the Enterprise. If it wasn't pissed-off time-traveling Romulans, it was space flu. If it wasn't sex pollen, it was a computer virus that could magically jump into a human. If it wasn't transporter malfunctions, it was a tribble infestation- which, despite popular opinion, she hadn't had anything to do with.
And so, Nyota Uhura was very much aware that 1) something was wrong and 2) it wasn't going to last.
Nyota had the kindest, gentlest, most wonderful boyfriend that anybody could ever hope or pray for. He was brilliant and loving, calm and rational when she could get passionate and angry at a moment's notice. But the problem was- the problem really wasn't that their sex life was formulaic- not as such, anyway. I mean, it was, but Nyota realized that was a pretty cruel thing to say about a Vulcan, half-human or not. His dedication to finding out exactly how to please her, mapping out exactly what to do to achieve both maximum intensity and maximum efficiency, a concise plan that she was sure he could probably recite from rote by now- she knew that was his way of proving how much he loved her.
It was just that he never seemed all that excited about it.
Oh, she was sure that that he liked it. He even managed little embarrassed smiles sometimes, his cheeks going hot and green, when he told her how their intercourse exceeded expectations in every possible respect. One time, she even made him swear- that had taken several extremely surreal conversations with her roommate about Vulcan physiology and its impact re: blowjobs, but it had been so worth it.
But it had just never been like it was right at that moment.
Spock moved slowly in and out, bracing himself on his arms above her, staring at their joined bodies like it was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. He wasn't just smiling; he was beaming, big and wide, his lips twitching a little like they weren't used to the strain. He looked totally amazed, almost shocked by it, by her, by how good this was.
"Oh, Nyota," he sighed, leaning down to press light kisses all over her neck and face, and he just sounded so, so- rapturous was the only English word she could think of to describe it
Oh yeah, something was definitely wrong.
It was just that she didn't care.
--
McCoy couldn't really say that he was having a bad night, exactly.
He definitely couldn't say that he was having a great one, either.
Jim had insisted on keeping them all at their stations until precisely 1700, which was a little uncharacteristic for what amounted to a Friday night, especially when they were two days from the nearest planet. But hell, that was in his job description, so he couldn't bitch about that, even if he was anxious to get back to his quarters and have a shower before Chekov came over to "play chess".
But, unfortunately, there seemed to be some kind of miscommunication along the line, 'cause it was already 2000, and they were actually playing chess.
Pavel seemed unusually focused on the game, weighing every move carefully before taking it. He looked so damn serious, hunched over the board, still wearing his gold tunic. He still lost, 'cause he was no damn good; he just took longer to do it.
McCoy sighed as Pavel knocked over his king in capitulation. Again. "Kid," he growled irritably, "are we gonna do this, or what?" He said it in that voice that usually got one of two things out of Pavel- intense sexual desire or terrified dismay.
Tonight, though, he didn't either. "I do not know what you mean," Pavel said. "You expressed a desire for chess playing. We are playing chess."
"If I wanted you to play coy, I'd have said," he told him.
"Ah," Pavel replied, apparently getting it at long last. "I suppose this is advantageous time."
"Finally," McCoy breathed, but before he could reach for his hot Russian boyfriend, said Russian boyfriend stood up, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing like he had some really important announcement to make. McCoy rolled his eyes. "What is it?"
"I have been considering our relationship," he said, perfectly calmly. "I have decided is in our best interests not to proceed."
McCoy manfully resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead. "Pavel, what the hell are you talking about?"
Pavel paced some more. "Is in violation of Starfleet Regulations," he pronounced gravely, his accent playing merry hell with the consonants. "And though sexual activity was not undertaken until I was of age of majority in both Russia and America, there is no evidence. Is probable that court will not agree. Therefore, I must respectfully decline further sexual relations."
McCoy stared at him for a good minute and a half.
Then he got up and activated the comm. "McCoy to sickbay."
"This is Nurse McElroy, go ahead."
"I'm bringing in Ensign Chekov."
"Affirmative, doctor. We'll see you soon."
"McCoy out."
"Doctor, this is highly unnecessary," Pavel said seriously. "I am fine."
"How old are you?" McCoy asked.
"Eighteen years, one month, and eight days," he replied crisply.
"And you just turned down sex. Something's gotta be wrong."
"I just said it would be illogical to continue relationship," Pavel responded, giving no more indication that he was upset or worried- he would have to be, right?- than a small shrug.
McCoy stared at him again before turning back to the comm. "McCoy to Uhura."
There was a long pause before the response came, the video feed missing. "Uhura here," she snapped.
"I got something of yours," McCoy told her dryly.
"I have no idea what you mean," she replied, sounding breathless and irritated.
"Report to the sickbay," he ordered. "Bring Spock with you."
Her muttered "Fuck!" was only just audible. "We'll be there. Uhura out."
"Come on," he said, taking Pavel by the upper arm and leading him out of his quarters.
There had better damn be something actually wrong with Pavel, he told himself fervently, because if he actually meant any of that regulations crap, McCoy wasn't sure what he was going to do. He was pretty sure it was gonna start with a whole bottle of whiskey, though, and possibly end in jail.
His day just kept getting better and better.
--
Jim felt... unsettled. Like something was wrong, something he just couldn't put his finger on it, something that he was sure was going to bother him until he figured it out. He'd been cranky all day, and he was sort of aware that he'd been taking it out on his crew.
Hikaru walked in.
No, not walked- sauntered. It was definitely sauntering.
"Let me ask you something," he said, leaning forward. "Are you gay?"
Jim fidgeted, uncomfortable. "As much as the next open-minded guy, I guess? Why are you asking me this?"
"Cause I am." He laughed when he said it, genuine and kind of amazed. "I am so gay."
Jim wondered if he'd ever said it out loud before.
"Anyway, I just came down here to see if you wanted to fuck," he said, totally casual, like it was something he asked his captain every day of the week.
"I don't know that we should be talking about this," Jim said.
Hikaru shrugged. "If you're too scared, you could just say so."
Jim's eyes narrowed.
Oh, Hell no, he was not giving Hikaru the satisfaction.
He slammed Hikaru down on the bench, his thigh pressed tight and hard between Hikaru's- and yeah, maybe all his thoughts about the guy up until now had been of the "maybe we'll have a couple beers and see what happens" sort, but right now he couldn't imagine wanting to do anything but
Hikaru was still laughing as Jim bit down on his neck, which was somehow infuriating and ridiculously hot, all at the same time.
Jim flailed around blindly on the shelf, getting his hand around a bottle of- what was this? Conditioner?- conditioner.
--
He was wearing civilian clothes, if that was what a lumpy homespun sweater counted as, which was honestly just a little unsettling; McCoy had always sort of thought that Vulcans just sort of came to life fully adult and already dressed for work.
--
"Chicken," Jim said, his eyes flashing.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," Hikaru said. Jim may have held his breath a little, hoping that Hikaru wasn't going to say something about how he hadn't been in his right mind and hadn't meant any of it. The poor guy deserved better than that from himself.
"I don't bottom," he said finally.
"Yeah, sorry," Jim replied, grinning. "That was me."
--
9. This is another kink meme one that got half-posted, and yet another always-cis-female!genderswap, which you should really accept from me by now (though iirc this may predate The Goddamned Genderswap). Otherwise it's pretty straight up and down oblivious!Bones/lovestruck!Chekov, because they are my OTP. Haters to the left.
R, Chekov/Bones, ~1450 words
--
Ensign Apolinariya Chekova is going to drive Doctor Lenora McCoy out of her fucking mind.
The barely-legal darling of the Enterprise is back for a third time this week- every one of them times when Len was the only person available to help her with her increasingly suspect complaints. It wouldn't be so bad if she weren't so fucking distracting. She's got this awful habit of twirling her tight curls around her fingers when she's talking in that ridiculous accent- which Len is pretty sure is halfway put on- and she blushes at the drop of a hat. Her little gold minidress flounces up when she sits on the examination table, settling so high on her smooth, pale thighs that Len can very nearly make out the edges of her white Starfleet-issue panties.
Not that she's been looking, or anything.
"It is these boots," Polina says apologetically. "I cannot walk in them. All the time, I am tripping over my own feet."
Len is just about to bawl her out when the doors open, and their illustrious captain traipses in.
"Hey, Polya," Jim says, hopping up onto an empty bed. "How's the foot?"
She shrugs. "It is still sore, Captain. I am feeling glad I work sitting down."
"Well, don't worry," Jim tells her, in his very flirtiest voice. "You're in very good hands." And then, right there in the middle of the sickbay in front of God and everybody, he winks at her, and she fucking giggles in response.
"You're fine," Len pronounces, pushing Polina away from her and rolling her eyes. "If it keeps hurting, buy different shoes."
"Thank you, Doctor," the young ensign says, batting her stupidly long eyelashes. Thankfully, finally, she leaves, boots in her hand, her bare feet soft and quick on the floor- and Len absolutely does not watch her go.
"So," Jim drawls after she's gone, leaning back and bracing himself on his arms. "What do you think about Chekova?"
"I think she's a damn pill popper," she snarls, stripping her gloves and dropping them into the bin. "Every other day she's in here with some made up ailment or another. Probably got a painkiller addiction- thinks I'll just roll over for her like everybody else on this damn ship, just cause she's so damn cute."
Jim just blinks at her.
"What?" she demands.
"Did you wake up straight this morning?"
Len rolls her eyes. "Don't let my high fashion attire fool you," she tells him, restocking a drawer and slamming it closed. "Starfleet uniforms don't come in flannel. I checked."
"You know Polina won the Starfleet Academy Marathon, right?" he says, leaning in confidentially. "I'd bet that kind of thing that takes a lot of coordination and good footwork."
"So?"
"So a really hot girl is making up really obvious excuses to see you, and this is a problem- why, exactly?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she huffs. "It's not me she's coming for." Len quickly holds up a hand. "And I know I just set myself up for all manner of sexual innuendo, but if you say one word-"
"Too easy anyway," Jim says dismissively. "Don't you think if she wanted drugs, she'd go to somebody who might actually give them to her?"
Len hasn't got an answer for that one.
Jim puts on his "I can't believe you won't go along with my crazy scheme" face. "Len, the whole ship knows she's hot for you. It's not like it's not completely obvious or anything." He turns, looking around for assistance. "Chris, back me up on this."
Nurse Chapel points at his headphones and pretends he can't hear.
She frowns, starting to wonder if she's actually missed something this big. "I swear to God, Jim, if you're fucking with me-"
"I'm pretty sure this is the exact opposite of that," he quips, jumping down off the table and sauntering out of the infirmary. "But hey, if it turns out your hot Russian girlfriend's bi, you know where to find me."
"Yeah, and I know where you sleep!" she shouts after him.
"That's the spirit!" he calls back.
Len doesn't want to think about it, which, of course, means that thinks about it all the time.
Mostly, though, it's when she's in her bed, cursing herself for listening to a damn word Jim says even as her fingers are working underneath the waistband of her sleep pants. The girl's probably straight and definitely too young for her- and besides, if you take away the cute curls and the pretty face, she's nothing but an ambitious genius with a runner's body.
Dammit.
This is all ridiculous, but she can't help it if Polina gives her hopelessly atavistic fantasies, thoughts of swooping in and rescuing her from- well, whatever she might need rescuing from. Pirates are a favorite. It's a protection thing- has nothing at all to do with wanting to see her in a corset and a torn-up skirt.
That's her story, and she's sticking to it.
This self-torture lasts about six days, because that's how long it takes for Polina to think up another excuse to come to sickbay.
"You said all members of away team should come to be checked for sand fleas," she says, sounding hopeful. "I am here for my exam."
Len raises an eyebrow at her, trying hard not to think about taking Chekova behind a privacy curtain and giving her a very thorough examination. "You were manning the transporter."
She shrugs. "So I had first contact with them."
"Nice try, kid."
"Hikaru gave me a hug right after they got back?" she offers. "They could jump?"
As she offers Polina a hand to hop down from the biobed, she intends to say is something flirty and subtle, something like, "You know, if you're just here to see little old me, you don't have to make an excuse. You can drop by any time."
What she actually says is, "Come to my quarters later," and she immediately feels like slapping herself for it. "We'll have dinner," she appends hastily, once she realizes what it sounded like.
It doesn't seem to matter, though, because Polina- she isn't just smiling, she's beaming. Len's so distracted that she doesn't even realize they're still holding hands until Polina regretfully pulls away. "I will see you at 1900?" she says, stepping away, and Len's so damn flustered she can only nod in agreement. Polina gives her another hundred-megawatt smile and turns to go. As the sickbay doors open, she turns back, giving her a little wave and blushing to beat everything.
Len absolutely does not collapse against the biobed in a swoon. She thinks about it, though.
"I told you!" Jim's voice calls, from behind a privacy screen.
"Dammit, Jim, why are you always in here?" she demands, already working on a headache. "Do you not have a ship to captain?"
"Sand fleas, remember?"
She rolls her eyes. "And what's your excuse for the other six hours of my time you've wasted this week?"
"Oh, come on. I don't waste that much of your time."
"The doctor is correct," Spock announces, hidden behind his own curtain. "Your rounds of the ship require an average of twenty-six additional minutes when she is the physician on call. In the course of a five-year mission, this behavior will result in several weeks of lost labor from both of you."
"Really?" Jim calls back. "That doesn't seem right."
"I assure you that my calculations are not in error, Captain," he replies placidly.
Len leaves, unnoticed, while they're still arguing.
The hard truth of the matter is that she's doesn't want to do this.
She'd thought it was time to settle down. She might have been right; if only she'd settled down with someone who wasn't a wretched bitch who, as it turned out, hated her with the fire of a thousand suns.
"I am sorry," she says. "I am not good at this- this dating and such. When I came to Starfleet Academy, I was fourteen. I am too busy learning other things to concentrate on," she made a vague gesture, encompassing the room in general. "This."
"If I'm supposed to be the expert, we're screwed. The last time I got a date, it was because a woman pointed at me in a club and hollered, 'You in the muscle shirt, you're taking me home.'"
"What did you do?"
Len snorts. "I married her."
"You are married?"
"Was," Len says quickly. "Very much was."
"I am sorry, I did not mean-"
"You're fine, kid, sit down."
"Polina."
"You're fine, Polina."
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/389120.html.
comments over there.
8. I started this for the kink meme; the prompt was something like the characters switch personalities but not minds or bodies, and I think it specified Chekov and Spock switching, and then I was like FUCK IT SWAP ALL THE CREW. I feel like
dizmo prompted this; I know she watched over my digital shoulder as I wrote it. I posted the first half-ish to the kink meme and never finished it, which is a shame, because some of the best of it is poor repressed Sulu- love me some Sulu- finally getting a chance to express himself and be happy about his life, and that only got written in skeleton. And I just realized I cannibalized a line in here for that Erik/Darwin story what I wrote. I keep a lot of WIPs at any given time (I have at least fifty right now, and you think I'm kidding), so I do that a lot, consciously or unconsciously.
And I think the (not-yet-written) joke at the end was that Uhura and Bones had switched and nobody noticed, though reading back that may not have been the case.
NC-17, Chekov/Bones, Spock/Uhura, Jim/Sulu, 1500 words. No notes, because I think it's pretty clear what's going on, at least in outline.
--
It was always one thing or another, living and working on the Enterprise. If it wasn't pissed-off time-traveling Romulans, it was space flu. If it wasn't sex pollen, it was a computer virus that could magically jump into a human. If it wasn't transporter malfunctions, it was a tribble infestation- which, despite popular opinion, she hadn't had anything to do with.
And so, Nyota Uhura was very much aware that 1) something was wrong and 2) it wasn't going to last.
Nyota had the kindest, gentlest, most wonderful boyfriend that anybody could ever hope or pray for. He was brilliant and loving, calm and rational when she could get passionate and angry at a moment's notice. But the problem was- the problem really wasn't that their sex life was formulaic- not as such, anyway. I mean, it was, but Nyota realized that was a pretty cruel thing to say about a Vulcan, half-human or not. His dedication to finding out exactly how to please her, mapping out exactly what to do to achieve both maximum intensity and maximum efficiency, a concise plan that she was sure he could probably recite from rote by now- she knew that was his way of proving how much he loved her.
It was just that he never seemed all that excited about it.
Oh, she was sure that that he liked it. He even managed little embarrassed smiles sometimes, his cheeks going hot and green, when he told her how their intercourse exceeded expectations in every possible respect. One time, she even made him swear- that had taken several extremely surreal conversations with her roommate about Vulcan physiology and its impact re: blowjobs, but it had been so worth it.
But it had just never been like it was right at that moment.
Spock moved slowly in and out, bracing himself on his arms above her, staring at their joined bodies like it was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. He wasn't just smiling; he was beaming, big and wide, his lips twitching a little like they weren't used to the strain. He looked totally amazed, almost shocked by it, by her, by how good this was.
"Oh, Nyota," he sighed, leaning down to press light kisses all over her neck and face, and he just sounded so, so- rapturous was the only English word she could think of to describe it
Oh yeah, something was definitely wrong.
It was just that she didn't care.
--
McCoy couldn't really say that he was having a bad night, exactly.
He definitely couldn't say that he was having a great one, either.
Jim had insisted on keeping them all at their stations until precisely 1700, which was a little uncharacteristic for what amounted to a Friday night, especially when they were two days from the nearest planet. But hell, that was in his job description, so he couldn't bitch about that, even if he was anxious to get back to his quarters and have a shower before Chekov came over to "play chess".
But, unfortunately, there seemed to be some kind of miscommunication along the line, 'cause it was already 2000, and they were actually playing chess.
Pavel seemed unusually focused on the game, weighing every move carefully before taking it. He looked so damn serious, hunched over the board, still wearing his gold tunic. He still lost, 'cause he was no damn good; he just took longer to do it.
McCoy sighed as Pavel knocked over his king in capitulation. Again. "Kid," he growled irritably, "are we gonna do this, or what?" He said it in that voice that usually got one of two things out of Pavel- intense sexual desire or terrified dismay.
Tonight, though, he didn't either. "I do not know what you mean," Pavel said. "You expressed a desire for chess playing. We are playing chess."
"If I wanted you to play coy, I'd have said," he told him.
"Ah," Pavel replied, apparently getting it at long last. "I suppose this is advantageous time."
"Finally," McCoy breathed, but before he could reach for his hot Russian boyfriend, said Russian boyfriend stood up, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing like he had some really important announcement to make. McCoy rolled his eyes. "What is it?"
"I have been considering our relationship," he said, perfectly calmly. "I have decided is in our best interests not to proceed."
McCoy manfully resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead. "Pavel, what the hell are you talking about?"
Pavel paced some more. "Is in violation of Starfleet Regulations," he pronounced gravely, his accent playing merry hell with the consonants. "And though sexual activity was not undertaken until I was of age of majority in both Russia and America, there is no evidence. Is probable that court will not agree. Therefore, I must respectfully decline further sexual relations."
McCoy stared at him for a good minute and a half.
Then he got up and activated the comm. "McCoy to sickbay."
"This is Nurse McElroy, go ahead."
"I'm bringing in Ensign Chekov."
"Affirmative, doctor. We'll see you soon."
"McCoy out."
"Doctor, this is highly unnecessary," Pavel said seriously. "I am fine."
"How old are you?" McCoy asked.
"Eighteen years, one month, and eight days," he replied crisply.
"And you just turned down sex. Something's gotta be wrong."
"I just said it would be illogical to continue relationship," Pavel responded, giving no more indication that he was upset or worried- he would have to be, right?- than a small shrug.
McCoy stared at him again before turning back to the comm. "McCoy to Uhura."
There was a long pause before the response came, the video feed missing. "Uhura here," she snapped.
"I got something of yours," McCoy told her dryly.
"I have no idea what you mean," she replied, sounding breathless and irritated.
"Report to the sickbay," he ordered. "Bring Spock with you."
Her muttered "Fuck!" was only just audible. "We'll be there. Uhura out."
"Come on," he said, taking Pavel by the upper arm and leading him out of his quarters.
There had better damn be something actually wrong with Pavel, he told himself fervently, because if he actually meant any of that regulations crap, McCoy wasn't sure what he was going to do. He was pretty sure it was gonna start with a whole bottle of whiskey, though, and possibly end in jail.
His day just kept getting better and better.
--
Jim felt... unsettled. Like something was wrong, something he just couldn't put his finger on it, something that he was sure was going to bother him until he figured it out. He'd been cranky all day, and he was sort of aware that he'd been taking it out on his crew.
Hikaru walked in.
No, not walked- sauntered. It was definitely sauntering.
"Let me ask you something," he said, leaning forward. "Are you gay?"
Jim fidgeted, uncomfortable. "As much as the next open-minded guy, I guess? Why are you asking me this?"
"Cause I am." He laughed when he said it, genuine and kind of amazed. "I am so gay."
Jim wondered if he'd ever said it out loud before.
"Anyway, I just came down here to see if you wanted to fuck," he said, totally casual, like it was something he asked his captain every day of the week.
"I don't know that we should be talking about this," Jim said.
Hikaru shrugged. "If you're too scared, you could just say so."
Jim's eyes narrowed.
Oh, Hell no, he was not giving Hikaru the satisfaction.
He slammed Hikaru down on the bench, his thigh pressed tight and hard between Hikaru's- and yeah, maybe all his thoughts about the guy up until now had been of the "maybe we'll have a couple beers and see what happens" sort, but right now he couldn't imagine wanting to do anything but
Hikaru was still laughing as Jim bit down on his neck, which was somehow infuriating and ridiculously hot, all at the same time.
Jim flailed around blindly on the shelf, getting his hand around a bottle of- what was this? Conditioner?- conditioner.
--
He was wearing civilian clothes, if that was what a lumpy homespun sweater counted as, which was honestly just a little unsettling; McCoy had always sort of thought that Vulcans just sort of came to life fully adult and already dressed for work.
--
"Chicken," Jim said, his eyes flashing.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," Hikaru said. Jim may have held his breath a little, hoping that Hikaru wasn't going to say something about how he hadn't been in his right mind and hadn't meant any of it. The poor guy deserved better than that from himself.
"I don't bottom," he said finally.
"Yeah, sorry," Jim replied, grinning. "That was me."
--
9. This is another kink meme one that got half-posted, and yet another always-cis-female!genderswap, which you should really accept from me by now (though iirc this may predate The Goddamned Genderswap). Otherwise it's pretty straight up and down oblivious!Bones/lovestruck!Chekov, because they are my OTP. Haters to the left.
R, Chekov/Bones, ~1450 words
--
Ensign Apolinariya Chekova is going to drive Doctor Lenora McCoy out of her fucking mind.
The barely-legal darling of the Enterprise is back for a third time this week- every one of them times when Len was the only person available to help her with her increasingly suspect complaints. It wouldn't be so bad if she weren't so fucking distracting. She's got this awful habit of twirling her tight curls around her fingers when she's talking in that ridiculous accent- which Len is pretty sure is halfway put on- and she blushes at the drop of a hat. Her little gold minidress flounces up when she sits on the examination table, settling so high on her smooth, pale thighs that Len can very nearly make out the edges of her white Starfleet-issue panties.
Not that she's been looking, or anything.
"It is these boots," Polina says apologetically. "I cannot walk in them. All the time, I am tripping over my own feet."
Len is just about to bawl her out when the doors open, and their illustrious captain traipses in.
"Hey, Polya," Jim says, hopping up onto an empty bed. "How's the foot?"
She shrugs. "It is still sore, Captain. I am feeling glad I work sitting down."
"Well, don't worry," Jim tells her, in his very flirtiest voice. "You're in very good hands." And then, right there in the middle of the sickbay in front of God and everybody, he winks at her, and she fucking giggles in response.
"You're fine," Len pronounces, pushing Polina away from her and rolling her eyes. "If it keeps hurting, buy different shoes."
"Thank you, Doctor," the young ensign says, batting her stupidly long eyelashes. Thankfully, finally, she leaves, boots in her hand, her bare feet soft and quick on the floor- and Len absolutely does not watch her go.
"So," Jim drawls after she's gone, leaning back and bracing himself on his arms. "What do you think about Chekova?"
"I think she's a damn pill popper," she snarls, stripping her gloves and dropping them into the bin. "Every other day she's in here with some made up ailment or another. Probably got a painkiller addiction- thinks I'll just roll over for her like everybody else on this damn ship, just cause she's so damn cute."
Jim just blinks at her.
"What?" she demands.
"Did you wake up straight this morning?"
Len rolls her eyes. "Don't let my high fashion attire fool you," she tells him, restocking a drawer and slamming it closed. "Starfleet uniforms don't come in flannel. I checked."
"You know Polina won the Starfleet Academy Marathon, right?" he says, leaning in confidentially. "I'd bet that kind of thing that takes a lot of coordination and good footwork."
"So?"
"So a really hot girl is making up really obvious excuses to see you, and this is a problem- why, exactly?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she huffs. "It's not me she's coming for." Len quickly holds up a hand. "And I know I just set myself up for all manner of sexual innuendo, but if you say one word-"
"Too easy anyway," Jim says dismissively. "Don't you think if she wanted drugs, she'd go to somebody who might actually give them to her?"
Len hasn't got an answer for that one.
Jim puts on his "I can't believe you won't go along with my crazy scheme" face. "Len, the whole ship knows she's hot for you. It's not like it's not completely obvious or anything." He turns, looking around for assistance. "Chris, back me up on this."
Nurse Chapel points at his headphones and pretends he can't hear.
She frowns, starting to wonder if she's actually missed something this big. "I swear to God, Jim, if you're fucking with me-"
"I'm pretty sure this is the exact opposite of that," he quips, jumping down off the table and sauntering out of the infirmary. "But hey, if it turns out your hot Russian girlfriend's bi, you know where to find me."
"Yeah, and I know where you sleep!" she shouts after him.
"That's the spirit!" he calls back.
Len doesn't want to think about it, which, of course, means that thinks about it all the time.
Mostly, though, it's when she's in her bed, cursing herself for listening to a damn word Jim says even as her fingers are working underneath the waistband of her sleep pants. The girl's probably straight and definitely too young for her- and besides, if you take away the cute curls and the pretty face, she's nothing but an ambitious genius with a runner's body.
Dammit.
This is all ridiculous, but she can't help it if Polina gives her hopelessly atavistic fantasies, thoughts of swooping in and rescuing her from- well, whatever she might need rescuing from. Pirates are a favorite. It's a protection thing- has nothing at all to do with wanting to see her in a corset and a torn-up skirt.
That's her story, and she's sticking to it.
This self-torture lasts about six days, because that's how long it takes for Polina to think up another excuse to come to sickbay.
"You said all members of away team should come to be checked for sand fleas," she says, sounding hopeful. "I am here for my exam."
Len raises an eyebrow at her, trying hard not to think about taking Chekova behind a privacy curtain and giving her a very thorough examination. "You were manning the transporter."
She shrugs. "So I had first contact with them."
"Nice try, kid."
"Hikaru gave me a hug right after they got back?" she offers. "They could jump?"
As she offers Polina a hand to hop down from the biobed, she intends to say is something flirty and subtle, something like, "You know, if you're just here to see little old me, you don't have to make an excuse. You can drop by any time."
What she actually says is, "Come to my quarters later," and she immediately feels like slapping herself for it. "We'll have dinner," she appends hastily, once she realizes what it sounded like.
It doesn't seem to matter, though, because Polina- she isn't just smiling, she's beaming. Len's so distracted that she doesn't even realize they're still holding hands until Polina regretfully pulls away. "I will see you at 1900?" she says, stepping away, and Len's so damn flustered she can only nod in agreement. Polina gives her another hundred-megawatt smile and turns to go. As the sickbay doors open, she turns back, giving her a little wave and blushing to beat everything.
Len absolutely does not collapse against the biobed in a swoon. She thinks about it, though.
"I told you!" Jim's voice calls, from behind a privacy screen.
"Dammit, Jim, why are you always in here?" she demands, already working on a headache. "Do you not have a ship to captain?"
"Sand fleas, remember?"
She rolls her eyes. "And what's your excuse for the other six hours of my time you've wasted this week?"
"Oh, come on. I don't waste that much of your time."
"The doctor is correct," Spock announces, hidden behind his own curtain. "Your rounds of the ship require an average of twenty-six additional minutes when she is the physician on call. In the course of a five-year mission, this behavior will result in several weeks of lost labor from both of you."
"Really?" Jim calls back. "That doesn't seem right."
"I assure you that my calculations are not in error, Captain," he replies placidly.
Len leaves, unnoticed, while they're still arguing.
The hard truth of the matter is that she's doesn't want to do this.
She'd thought it was time to settle down. She might have been right; if only she'd settled down with someone who wasn't a wretched bitch who, as it turned out, hated her with the fire of a thousand suns.
"I am sorry," she says. "I am not good at this- this dating and such. When I came to Starfleet Academy, I was fourteen. I am too busy learning other things to concentrate on," she made a vague gesture, encompassing the room in general. "This."
"If I'm supposed to be the expert, we're screwed. The last time I got a date, it was because a woman pointed at me in a club and hollered, 'You in the muscle shirt, you're taking me home.'"
"What did you do?"
Len snorts. "I married her."
"You are married?"
"Was," Len says quickly. "Very much was."
"I am sorry, I did not mean-"
"You're fine, kid, sit down."
"Polina."
"You're fine, Polina."
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