Fic: Grace, McCoy/Chapel, PG
For janus_74! Merry Christmas!
Title: Grace
Author: fringedweller
Rating: PG
Length: 1324
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money from this
Beta: The incomparable seren_ccd
Notes: The prompt was "how they got together the first time".
If he were forced to describe Christine, other than rhapsodising about her amazing skills in the mandatory staff reviews that he always grumbled about filling in, then graceful would be his first choice of adjective, no doubt about it.
Even when the ship was lurching about like an ancient galleon in a stormy sea, she managed to keep her feet under her and her attention on the job at hand. In those heart-stopping, terrifying situations when she was under threat by some nutjob attacker, she kept herself calm and composed, setting a wonderful example for the younger, less experienced staff. And when she had been forced to defend herself against those very same nutjobs, her long, lethal legs had whipped out and sent her attackers flying across the room without seeming to ruffle a hair on her head. He’d once seen her break a man’s arm with three smooth movements of her hand, and she’d rendered him insensate with pain with an elegant but vicious twist of her heeled boot in an area that no man wished twisted.
Oh yes, in all ways, Christine Chapel was graceful. But what tipped him over the line from appreciation to honest-to-goodness, head-over-heels love was how gracefully she dealt with the kid.
He’d seen her handle the attentions of an obviously smitten junior midshipman day after day. The kid would pop up in Sickbay complaining of a headache, a sprained ankle, a sore tooth - any minor injury that would warrant a few minutes of her attention and sympathy. He’d watched silently from one of the small observation rooms as she laid a cool compress on the malingerer’s forehead and smoothed his hair back, and he’d felt irritation and jealousy surge through him as the lovesick idiot made cow-eyes at her as she fussed around the biobed. She didn’t spend long with him, and she didn’t engage him in any idle chit-chat. She quietly and gracefully dealt with the kid’s phoney illnesses and sent him on his way.
Part of McCoy could admit to feeling a smidgen of sympathy for the kid; he’d had a pretty big crush on one of his parents’ neighbours when he was eighteen or nineteen; Nancy Crater, an older woman with dangerous curves and a husky laugh, not very different from Christine. She’d given him a silly nickname - Plum, of all the ridiculous things - and he’d taken it for a sign that he was more to her than a passing amusement. He’d made a damn fool of himself for a few weeks until she’d told him directly that his constant hanging around was embarrassing and that what he wanted was never going to happen. He’d been crushed, and carried a hot, bitter ball of anger and humiliation around in his belly for a long time after.
But Christine was handling the situation with her customary grace; she was retaining a professional distance while not embarrassing the boy. She must have known what was going on with him, but was trying not to hurt his feelings without encouraging him on to further idiocy.
She really was grace personified. But she was Head Nurse of his Sickbay, damn it, and she had better things to do with her time than pander to young morons who couldn’t take a hint. So when he appeared the next day, this time with a mysteriously aching knee, he intercepted the young man himself, whisked him into a private treatment area and ran the most invasive and unpleasant tests he could get away with before gruffly reporting that the young man’s knee was sound as a bell.
“So there’ll be no need to see you turning up here tomorrow, son,” he warned the midshipman, who was looking slightly green around the gills after the last round of tests had him vomiting up pretty much everything he’d eaten since stepping foot on the Enterprise. “My nurses have got better things to do than mollycoddle young men, you hear me?”
The boy had nodded and dashed from the room with an urgent look on his face. The laxative effect of one of the hyposprays he’d given him must have kicked in, McCoy mused.
He returned to his office feeling cheerful. He almost started to whistle, but stopped himself just in time.
“II know what you did, you know,” Christine said to him later, leaning in the doorway to his office. He’d been stuck in there all day compiling yet another report for Medical Command, and her voice, rich and relaxing, tugged him out of his focus.
“I haven’t done anything,” he denied automatically. “I’ve been in here all day, writing this twice-damned report.”
She smiled, and took the seat opposite him, sinking into it with a graceful fluidity that could describe all her movements.
“Liar,” she said pleasantly. “I was puzzled when my daily visitor didn’t show up, so I checked his records.”
She waved a PADD at him, the midshipman’s records clearly visible. McCoy wished he hadn’t logged the midshipman’s tests in his medical file, but that was irresponsible and illegal and basically just plain stupid, three things that he most definitely was not.
She arched an elegant eyebrow, and McCoy was struck by how that action on her was so attractive and yet when Spock did it, it made his blood want to boil.
“He was past due for that round of vaccinations,” McCoy said briskly.
“Of course,” Christine replied dryly. “And I can see how vital it was that he was vaccinated for Bellerophonitis, a disease that you can only catch if you’re exposed to the pollen of one plant existing on a tiny island on one land mass of a planet that’s about seven hundred and fifty thousand light years in the other direction.”
Alright, she had him there. But it was the only thing he had to hand that wouldn’t hurt the kid and still fell within (very broad) operating guidelines.
“Last week we found a planet that made people allergic to salt,” he pointed out. “And the week before that I spent seventy two nerve wracking hours trying to stop our Chief Engineer de-evolving into an orang-utan after the idiot wandered up to the biggest, scariest looking console on an abandoned alien science station and pressed what was clearly a button that nobody in their right mind would have pressed.”
Christine pursed her lips. “Your point?” she demanded.
“You never know what kind of shit we’re going to get into,” McCoy sighed. “And that vaccination may just save his life.”
“He’ll have to get off the toilet first,” Christine said, clearly fighting off a smile that was already lighting up her eyes with a mischievous glint.
“Well, he won’t be bothering you there,” McCoy said with finality.
“Thanks,” she said, pushing herself up out of the chair in one smooth, easy movement.
“You’re welcome,” he said, looking back down at his report which had magically refused to write itself during their conversation.
“But McCoy?” she added, pausing in the doorway. “If I need your help dealing with lovesick boys, I’ll ask for it. Don’t go around sticking your…” she paused, and fixed him with a smouldering look. “…hypospray just anywhere.”
And God damn it, but he turned back into that horny teenager again, tripping over his words and feeling the tell-tale embarrassing flush stain his cheeks.
“Where should I put it then?” he asked gruffly, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Here was where she was going to shoot him down for sure, just like Nancy had all those years ago.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure we can find a suitable place,” she purred. “Come by my cabin later, after dinner and we can…work something out.”
She winked at him and smiled, and he watched in astonishment as she glided away, graceful as ever.
Oh yes, Christine Chapel was grace personified alright. And if he was very, very lucky, she may just bestow some of that grace upon him.
Title: Grace
Author: fringedweller
Rating: PG
Length: 1324
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money from this
Beta: The incomparable seren_ccd
Notes: The prompt was "how they got together the first time".
If he were forced to describe Christine, other than rhapsodising about her amazing skills in the mandatory staff reviews that he always grumbled about filling in, then graceful would be his first choice of adjective, no doubt about it.
Even when the ship was lurching about like an ancient galleon in a stormy sea, she managed to keep her feet under her and her attention on the job at hand. In those heart-stopping, terrifying situations when she was under threat by some nutjob attacker, she kept herself calm and composed, setting a wonderful example for the younger, less experienced staff. And when she had been forced to defend herself against those very same nutjobs, her long, lethal legs had whipped out and sent her attackers flying across the room without seeming to ruffle a hair on her head. He’d once seen her break a man’s arm with three smooth movements of her hand, and she’d rendered him insensate with pain with an elegant but vicious twist of her heeled boot in an area that no man wished twisted.
Oh yes, in all ways, Christine Chapel was graceful. But what tipped him over the line from appreciation to honest-to-goodness, head-over-heels love was how gracefully she dealt with the kid.
He’d seen her handle the attentions of an obviously smitten junior midshipman day after day. The kid would pop up in Sickbay complaining of a headache, a sprained ankle, a sore tooth - any minor injury that would warrant a few minutes of her attention and sympathy. He’d watched silently from one of the small observation rooms as she laid a cool compress on the malingerer’s forehead and smoothed his hair back, and he’d felt irritation and jealousy surge through him as the lovesick idiot made cow-eyes at her as she fussed around the biobed. She didn’t spend long with him, and she didn’t engage him in any idle chit-chat. She quietly and gracefully dealt with the kid’s phoney illnesses and sent him on his way.
Part of McCoy could admit to feeling a smidgen of sympathy for the kid; he’d had a pretty big crush on one of his parents’ neighbours when he was eighteen or nineteen; Nancy Crater, an older woman with dangerous curves and a husky laugh, not very different from Christine. She’d given him a silly nickname - Plum, of all the ridiculous things - and he’d taken it for a sign that he was more to her than a passing amusement. He’d made a damn fool of himself for a few weeks until she’d told him directly that his constant hanging around was embarrassing and that what he wanted was never going to happen. He’d been crushed, and carried a hot, bitter ball of anger and humiliation around in his belly for a long time after.
But Christine was handling the situation with her customary grace; she was retaining a professional distance while not embarrassing the boy. She must have known what was going on with him, but was trying not to hurt his feelings without encouraging him on to further idiocy.
She really was grace personified. But she was Head Nurse of his Sickbay, damn it, and she had better things to do with her time than pander to young morons who couldn’t take a hint. So when he appeared the next day, this time with a mysteriously aching knee, he intercepted the young man himself, whisked him into a private treatment area and ran the most invasive and unpleasant tests he could get away with before gruffly reporting that the young man’s knee was sound as a bell.
“So there’ll be no need to see you turning up here tomorrow, son,” he warned the midshipman, who was looking slightly green around the gills after the last round of tests had him vomiting up pretty much everything he’d eaten since stepping foot on the Enterprise. “My nurses have got better things to do than mollycoddle young men, you hear me?”
The boy had nodded and dashed from the room with an urgent look on his face. The laxative effect of one of the hyposprays he’d given him must have kicked in, McCoy mused.
He returned to his office feeling cheerful. He almost started to whistle, but stopped himself just in time.
“II know what you did, you know,” Christine said to him later, leaning in the doorway to his office. He’d been stuck in there all day compiling yet another report for Medical Command, and her voice, rich and relaxing, tugged him out of his focus.
“I haven’t done anything,” he denied automatically. “I’ve been in here all day, writing this twice-damned report.”
She smiled, and took the seat opposite him, sinking into it with a graceful fluidity that could describe all her movements.
“Liar,” she said pleasantly. “I was puzzled when my daily visitor didn’t show up, so I checked his records.”
She waved a PADD at him, the midshipman’s records clearly visible. McCoy wished he hadn’t logged the midshipman’s tests in his medical file, but that was irresponsible and illegal and basically just plain stupid, three things that he most definitely was not.
She arched an elegant eyebrow, and McCoy was struck by how that action on her was so attractive and yet when Spock did it, it made his blood want to boil.
“He was past due for that round of vaccinations,” McCoy said briskly.
“Of course,” Christine replied dryly. “And I can see how vital it was that he was vaccinated for Bellerophonitis, a disease that you can only catch if you’re exposed to the pollen of one plant existing on a tiny island on one land mass of a planet that’s about seven hundred and fifty thousand light years in the other direction.”
Alright, she had him there. But it was the only thing he had to hand that wouldn’t hurt the kid and still fell within (very broad) operating guidelines.
“Last week we found a planet that made people allergic to salt,” he pointed out. “And the week before that I spent seventy two nerve wracking hours trying to stop our Chief Engineer de-evolving into an orang-utan after the idiot wandered up to the biggest, scariest looking console on an abandoned alien science station and pressed what was clearly a button that nobody in their right mind would have pressed.”
Christine pursed her lips. “Your point?” she demanded.
“You never know what kind of shit we’re going to get into,” McCoy sighed. “And that vaccination may just save his life.”
“He’ll have to get off the toilet first,” Christine said, clearly fighting off a smile that was already lighting up her eyes with a mischievous glint.
“Well, he won’t be bothering you there,” McCoy said with finality.
“Thanks,” she said, pushing herself up out of the chair in one smooth, easy movement.
“You’re welcome,” he said, looking back down at his report which had magically refused to write itself during their conversation.
“But McCoy?” she added, pausing in the doorway. “If I need your help dealing with lovesick boys, I’ll ask for it. Don’t go around sticking your…” she paused, and fixed him with a smouldering look. “…hypospray just anywhere.”
And God damn it, but he turned back into that horny teenager again, tripping over his words and feeling the tell-tale embarrassing flush stain his cheeks.
“Where should I put it then?” he asked gruffly, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Here was where she was going to shoot him down for sure, just like Nancy had all those years ago.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure we can find a suitable place,” she purred. “Come by my cabin later, after dinner and we can…work something out.”
She winked at him and smiled, and he watched in astonishment as she glided away, graceful as ever.
Oh yes, Christine Chapel was grace personified alright. And if he was very, very lucky, she may just bestow some of that grace upon him.