#heeekaruuu

[ozcobblehot-archive]

I am also busy preparing a panel about Star Trek slash (my lovely captain LLP allowed me to help her with it ahhh I am excited) and so I am spending most of my free time reading answers from my short McChekov questionnaire on dammitmcchekov and also researching Chulu pairing, because I don't know much about it. Or translating things.

Once again - I am really sorry. 

[ozcobblehot-archive]

Soothe My Soul

USS Enterprise crew was a mess. Never before in his life Bones had encountered so many scatterbrained people in one place; they were living in constant rush. Sulu, Uhura, Scotty, Chekov- oh god, Chekov.

That kid wasn't just scatterbrained, he was... Nooooo, Bones sighed heavily to himself while sitting in his little office at the sickbay. There is no word to describe Chekov.

He liked that kid, yes. He cared about him, yes. But he was a doctor; it was his duty to care - he also cared about rest of the medical staff (he never admitted it, but when talking to Jim he was calling them birdies, because they were so young and loud and colorful. Ohh, young, so young; sometimes McCoy was feeling like every crew member was younger than him. Even Scotty.), about those stupid red shirts, about Jim (deep inside his heart Bones was hoping that Spock is taking care of Jim), about everyone.

Am I getting old? - Bones asked himself - Dammit, I AM getting old. 

Trying not to think about getting old and being kicked out of Starfleet - or Starmorons, like he used to call Starfleet after a few shots - he left his little office, desperate to find something to do.

- Noble, give me Abernathy's records. - he commended to one of blue shirts, Wallace - And Sulu's. And... No, scratch that, I don't want to see Chekov's records ever again. I know them by heart.