Bones/M'Benga
So why are Bones' medical shirt thingies so big in some episodes and well fitted in others?
“Doctor M’Benga?”
M’Benga looks up from the PADD he’s reading and over to where McCoy is shuffling, puzzled, through the detritus on his desk. “Yes?”
“Have you seen my article on the lesser Denubian strains of pine ‘flu?” He flops back in his chair with a frustrated huff. “I could have sworn it was right here.”
M’Benga sucks the left side of his upper lip between his teeth and glances down guiltily at the PADD in his hands. “Um, no?”
McCoy looks up suspiciously at his colleague’s tone, his gaze landing on the PADD. “You little sneak.”
M’Benga rolls his eyes and steps into McCoy’s office, handing over the article with a sigh. “It looked interesting.”
“That’s kinda why I wanted to read it.” Leonard says, settling back and flicking the display back to the beginning. “You can get back to whatever it was you should have been doing, now, Doctor.” He says without looking up.
Snorting derisively, M’Benga turns and is about to step back into the main medbay when he pauses and swivels back around excitedly. “It’s you!”
McCoy looks up, eyebrow raised, PADD clutched protectively to his chest. “What’s me?”
“You’re the one who’s been stealing my med jerseys!”
Glancing down and tugging at the blue fabric, McCoy smiles his most charming smile and looks up at M’Benga from under his eyelashes. “It’s very comfortable, thank you.”
“Oh I’m the sneak. Why can’t you just replicate your own damn tunics and leave mine alone?” McCoy opens his mouth to respond, but shuts it before too long, giving M’Benga time to continue. “And,” he says, sliding a leg up and sitting on the edge of the desk, “you look ridiculous, like a kid playin’ dress up. Don’t you have any spares in your own size?”
McCoy doesn’t say anything for a moment, and to M’Benga’s surprise, a blush begins to creep up the back of his neck. “They don’t make ‘em in my size.” He mumbles.
“What was that?” M’Benga leans over, not quite believing his ears.
“I said,” McCoy straightens up and speaks clearly, “the replicators don’t make med jerseys in my size. I have to override parameters and input specific dimensions; it’s easier to just break into your locker.”
Unable to help himself, M’Benga begins to chuckle. “That’s almost too adorable.” The astonished and indignant look his comment earns him causes him to toss his head back and laugh. “They don’t have a ‘long and skinny’ button, eh?”
“They’ve got a smug bastard button, apparently.” McCoy mutters, turning once more to his PADD.
M’Benga grins and pats McCoy on the shoulder, “That they do, McCoy; that they do.” He slides off the desk and heads towards the door, turning at the last moment, “Oh, and Doctor?”
“Yes?” McCoy asks, pouting slightly, enhancing his childish looks even further.
“I’ll make sure to leave some extras in there for you.” M’Benga heads out with a wink and a smile, shaking his head at the Chief Medical Officer’s antics.
~*~
Yeah, that's all I got. Also? GO SAINTS! WOO!
“Doctor M’Benga?”
M’Benga looks up from the PADD he’s reading and over to where McCoy is shuffling, puzzled, through the detritus on his desk. “Yes?”
“Have you seen my article on the lesser Denubian strains of pine ‘flu?” He flops back in his chair with a frustrated huff. “I could have sworn it was right here.”
M’Benga sucks the left side of his upper lip between his teeth and glances down guiltily at the PADD in his hands. “Um, no?”
McCoy looks up suspiciously at his colleague’s tone, his gaze landing on the PADD. “You little sneak.”
M’Benga rolls his eyes and steps into McCoy’s office, handing over the article with a sigh. “It looked interesting.”
“That’s kinda why I wanted to read it.” Leonard says, settling back and flicking the display back to the beginning. “You can get back to whatever it was you should have been doing, now, Doctor.” He says without looking up.
Snorting derisively, M’Benga turns and is about to step back into the main medbay when he pauses and swivels back around excitedly. “It’s you!”
McCoy looks up, eyebrow raised, PADD clutched protectively to his chest. “What’s me?”
“You’re the one who’s been stealing my med jerseys!”
Glancing down and tugging at the blue fabric, McCoy smiles his most charming smile and looks up at M’Benga from under his eyelashes. “It’s very comfortable, thank you.”
“Oh I’m the sneak. Why can’t you just replicate your own damn tunics and leave mine alone?” McCoy opens his mouth to respond, but shuts it before too long, giving M’Benga time to continue. “And,” he says, sliding a leg up and sitting on the edge of the desk, “you look ridiculous, like a kid playin’ dress up. Don’t you have any spares in your own size?”
McCoy doesn’t say anything for a moment, and to M’Benga’s surprise, a blush begins to creep up the back of his neck. “They don’t make ‘em in my size.” He mumbles.
“What was that?” M’Benga leans over, not quite believing his ears.
“I said,” McCoy straightens up and speaks clearly, “the replicators don’t make med jerseys in my size. I have to override parameters and input specific dimensions; it’s easier to just break into your locker.”
Unable to help himself, M’Benga begins to chuckle. “That’s almost too adorable.” The astonished and indignant look his comment earns him causes him to toss his head back and laugh. “They don’t have a ‘long and skinny’ button, eh?”
“They’ve got a smug bastard button, apparently.” McCoy mutters, turning once more to his PADD.
M’Benga grins and pats McCoy on the shoulder, “That they do, McCoy; that they do.” He slides off the desk and heads towards the door, turning at the last moment, “Oh, and Doctor?”
“Yes?” McCoy asks, pouting slightly, enhancing his childish looks even further.
“I’ll make sure to leave some extras in there for you.” M’Benga heads out with a wink and a smile, shaking his head at the Chief Medical Officer’s antics.
~*~
Yeah, that's all I got. Also? GO SAINTS! WOO!