Fic: You Go First, Ensign Red Shirt (1/1)
Fic: You Go First, Ensign Red Shirt (1/1)
Author: Pen37
Summary: Chloe, Methos discuss changing with the times.
Fandoms: Smallville/Highlander
Characters: Chloe Sullivan, Methos
Pairing:None
Rating: g
Written for the Firstline_Fic challenge. Week #22 "Ho Ho Ho said the Jolly Fat Man all dressed in red."
Submitted for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #84 Dry (the humor). The table is here.
“Ho, Ho, Ho.” Said the jolly fat man all dressed in red.
Methos rolled his eyes heavenward, grasped Chloe's shoulders, and steered her back toward the exit. “Chloe, if you want me to be happy, maybe you should consider not angering the head of security. Particularly since he passes out security detail. And I would prefer not to spend the next ten years guarding the root cellar.”
“Root cellar?” Chloe quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Pantry, food storage. Whatever.” Methos waved his hands impatiently.
“And the fact that you've just used Whatever within a minute of the word root cellar tells me that we need to spend more time with the linguist. We have to blend in here.” Chloe said harshly as she made an expansive gesture that took in the ship around them.
“Considering your entire vocabulary consists of 20th century entertainment references, I don’t think I’m the one likely to raise eyebrows with a few archaic terms.”
“Okay, the red shirt comment wasn't that archaic,” Chloe said. “Up in the med bay, we've bandied around Star Trek references from time-to-time. It's like Shakespeare: only with bad acting, dramatic pauses and toupees.”
Chloe Sullivan was a lot of things, but she was most-notably a planner. So when Methos proposed that they join the mass-exodus from Earth, she'd taken one look at the multi-generational starships that would serve as their home for possibly a century or more, and drafted a plan that included several identity changes, along with matching cover stories so thorough that they didn't include using antiquated words like root cellar or whatever.
But then again, their plan also didn't call for her to address his boss, the chief-of-security as ensign red shirt. It was just a good thing that he didn't get the reference to classic Trek. Otherwise, Methos might have been guarding the ship's recycling unit.
Chloe had almost lost it herself as she watched Methos try to school his face into a mask of severity. But the humor was almost more than he could take. Especially since all the security officers aboard The Mayflower wore red uniforms.
“Yes, yes,” he waved off her sarcastic remark with an impatient hand. “This isn’t my first clambake, you know.”
“You're doing it again,” Chloe sighed. “How did you make it through the dark ages?”
“Ha. Ha. No need to rub it in. Nineteenth century slang: bad. Blending in: good. I get it, Chloe.”
“Good,” she nodded, and uncrossed her arms. Just like that, fight over. “You have to admit, it was funny though,” she muttered.
He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe just a little.”
Author: Pen37
Summary: Chloe, Methos discuss changing with the times.
Fandoms: Smallville/Highlander
Characters: Chloe Sullivan, Methos
Pairing:None
Rating: g
Written for the Firstline_Fic challenge. Week #22 "Ho Ho Ho said the Jolly Fat Man all dressed in red."
Submitted for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #84 Dry (the humor). The table is here.
“Ho, Ho, Ho.” Said the jolly fat man all dressed in red.
Methos rolled his eyes heavenward, grasped Chloe's shoulders, and steered her back toward the exit. “Chloe, if you want me to be happy, maybe you should consider not angering the head of security. Particularly since he passes out security detail. And I would prefer not to spend the next ten years guarding the root cellar.”
“Root cellar?” Chloe quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Pantry, food storage. Whatever.” Methos waved his hands impatiently.
“And the fact that you've just used Whatever within a minute of the word root cellar tells me that we need to spend more time with the linguist. We have to blend in here.” Chloe said harshly as she made an expansive gesture that took in the ship around them.
“Considering your entire vocabulary consists of 20th century entertainment references, I don’t think I’m the one likely to raise eyebrows with a few archaic terms.”
“Okay, the red shirt comment wasn't that archaic,” Chloe said. “Up in the med bay, we've bandied around Star Trek references from time-to-time. It's like Shakespeare: only with bad acting, dramatic pauses and toupees.”
Chloe Sullivan was a lot of things, but she was most-notably a planner. So when Methos proposed that they join the mass-exodus from Earth, she'd taken one look at the multi-generational starships that would serve as their home for possibly a century or more, and drafted a plan that included several identity changes, along with matching cover stories so thorough that they didn't include using antiquated words like root cellar or whatever.
But then again, their plan also didn't call for her to address his boss, the chief-of-security as ensign red shirt. It was just a good thing that he didn't get the reference to classic Trek. Otherwise, Methos might have been guarding the ship's recycling unit.
Chloe had almost lost it herself as she watched Methos try to school his face into a mask of severity. But the humor was almost more than he could take. Especially since all the security officers aboard The Mayflower wore red uniforms.
“Yes, yes,” he waved off her sarcastic remark with an impatient hand. “This isn’t my first clambake, you know.”
“You're doing it again,” Chloe sighed. “How did you make it through the dark ages?”
“Ha. Ha. No need to rub it in. Nineteenth century slang: bad. Blending in: good. I get it, Chloe.”
“Good,” she nodded, and uncrossed her arms. Just like that, fight over. “You have to admit, it was funny though,” she muttered.
He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe just a little.”