AngelEyes Posted March 25, 2017 Share Posted March 25, 2017 On 3/22/2017 at 3:51 PM, Aliena H. said: - We will agree on the fact that you usually tend to do a bit more than your part, so just… take it easy, okay? I'm sure he always does well more than his part! On 3/22/2017 at 3:51 PM, Aliena H. said: No, dumbass, it’s not me, I’m a burglar who just broke in to vomit in our bathroom. LOL On 3/22/2017 at 3:51 PM, Aliena H. said: Maybe he should take care of himself before asking his stupid roommate what was wrong in his little head. But he couldn’t help it. He was a doctor, dammit, and if the others were ill, he had sworn to take care of them, no matter his own health condition. Good old Bones. On 3/22/2017 at 3:51 PM, Aliena H. said: Except the fact that he was sick as a dog, and alone, so alone – but, to be honest, it wasn’t really surprising. After all, who had ever taken care of him since his mother had died? Of course he wasn’t going to cry. He was a grown-up. But the tears he felt running on his cheeks didn’t seem to be aware of it. My poor sweet Bones. He needs hugs. Lots of hugs. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted March 28, 2017 Author Share Posted March 28, 2017 On 24/03/2017 at 2:08 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Okay, what are you doing? Are you trying to make me cry? No. Not at all. I'm sorry. On 25/03/2017 at 5:14 AM, AngelEyes said: My poor sweet Bones. He needs hugs. Lots of hugs. Yes, that's why I wrote a second part... Thanks for the feedback ! 9 - Nosebleed Fandom : Star Trek (reboot) Sneezing person: Leonard McCoy Reason: illness Warning: some fluff at the end, because I needed it Music: Peer Gynt, Solveig’s song (Edvard Grieg) Nyota yawned and looked at the mural controls. 00:23. - Okay, time to stop working. I have to wake up early tomorrow, and I think you have too. Jim, lazily lain down on Gaila’s bed, closed his eyes and moaned. - Mmmm… Well, maybe I could skip xenobiology… Nyota winced at the idea of Kirk wandering alone in her room. She had accepted to let him stay over for one night while her roommate was not here, but her kindness had limits. - No, because I won’t skip ethics, so at 7:00, I put you out. - Okay, okay… We’ve done some good work tonight. - Yes, I’m impressed to see that you can concentrate more than ten minutes. It was true. They had taken advantage of this weird situation to work on their team project (and when James Kirk had decided to work, he could be really efficient), and they had worked during almost four hours non-stop, except the breaks the young man requested, every forty minutes or so. He would take his phone and call someone, listen to something, and then hang up without a word. Strange. - We should do this more often, he added. - You mean you should quarrel with Leonard more often? There was a small uncomfortable silence, and Jim’s face flushed. He pointed out the little bottles on the table. - How can you have so many different types of perfumes and creams and soaps? He asked. Nyota grinned. That was not a very subtle change of conversation, but she felt magnanimous. - Most of them are not mine but Gaila’s. She loves new fragrances and tries them all. Sometimes it’s just disgusting. For instance, she brought some musk perfume, mixed with lilies and I don’t know what and it was… awful. Kirk straightened on the bed and glanced at her, looking mildly alarmed. - Lilies? Oh my God, I really hope she’s given up this one, because if it’s not the case and there are some on her pillow or blankets, I may sneeze all night. Uhura rolled her eyes in pretended annoyance – but inside, she felt suddenly numb. Confess it, when Kirk asked you if you had a room to share, you couldn’t help but hope that it would happen. - Your allergies again? She asked casually, tidying her desk to hide her interest in the matter. - Yeah. Lilies are the worse. Last time I’ve been close to a lily I almost passed out from sneezing. His nose crinkled and she held her breath. He wasn’t going to… - Uh, just speaking of it makes me itchy. (She shuddered at the simple word. She was really crazy.) Could we talk about something else, please? - Sure. For instance you could tell me what’s wrong between you and Leonard. If she wasn’t offered a bunch of sneezes, then she would get an explanation. - Come on, you’re best pals, you’re inseparable, and you were ready to spend the night outside just not to sleep in the same room? Let me ask again: what happened? She had found the young man wandering around in the University park, after dinner. He had not eaten with Leonard, which in itself was already suspicious (but, now that she remembered, she had not seen the physician at all) and had stayed outside instead of taking refuge in his apartment (the temperature was near to 0°C). When she had passed close to him, he had asked her, in a very humble and not-Kirk-at-all voice, if she had some room for him in her apartment, and she had wondered what prank he was up to. Then she had suspected it was a plan to flirt with Gaila – but when she had answered that her roommate wasn’t here, he had seemed relieved. He looked almost miserable, so she had been merciful and offered him a sleeping bag to put on the Orion’s bed. (After all, Gaila didn’t ask her permission to bring guys to their rooms.) When she had asked what had happened, he had answered quickly that he couldn’t remain in the same room as Bones for the time being. Strange. - I… can’t tell you. She shrugged and went back to her tidying up. Boys. Well, she might be curious, but after all, that was not her problem. And she had to sleep to be perfectly fit for her first class of the morning. It was, after all, a difficult and stimulating class. Very stimulating, considering who the teacher was. They had seen each other now eleven times outside a studying context during the last six months. She didn’t know what it meant, but it surely meant something. If only he was not so Vulcan… When she turned back towards Kirk, he was listening (again) with blatant anxiety to his phone. - He doesn’t answer, he said in a faint voice – if she hadn’t known him better, she would have said he was panicked. - Who doesn’t answer? Uhura asked. - Bones. - Is it him you’ve been trying to call all evening long? - Well… yeah? Kirk seemed a bit shameful. She assumed he was responsible for the argument they had and wished to sort it out. - If you had a fight, why would he answer you? - Non, that’s… that’s not the problem. He was extremely pale and tense. Nyota started to feel concerned. - Jim? What happened? - Maybe you could go… You know… and see how he’s doing. How he was doing? Did the brat think Leonard couldn’t live without him? - What? Are you insane? If you want to tell him something, you go! I’m not your mailwoman! - I… can’t go. She looked at him carefully, unable to understand what was happening. - Of course you can! Your room is two buildings from here. It’s a ten minutes’ walk. He sat back on the bed and took his head between his hands. - Please, Uhura? I’ll do… I’ll do everything you ask me if you do this. Wow. That was quite an incentive. - Anything? She asked, her voice teasing – but she was cut off by the pure fear in the young man’s eyes. Okay, I’ll go. What’s your room number already? - 221B. She laughed. - Okay, Sherlock, wait here while I’ll go and see Dr Watson. Nyota had to admit that she was curious about this whole business. She had never seen Leonard angry with Jim (even in circumstances when he would have every right to be) and couldn’t imagine a disagreement so strong between those two that Leonard, the kindest and sweetest man she knew, would not answer Jim on the phone. She gently knocked at the door. No answer came. She considered for a moment banging at the door, but considering it was almost 1:00 a.m. and that she didn’t wish to wake up all the other students, she tried to open it. If it wasn’t open, well, she would go back and tell Jim to deal with his problems alone. The door wasn’t closed and the room was very dark. - Leonard? She whispered – and a soft but painful whimper answered her, followed by a wet cough. Her mind immediately turned from slightly curious to utterly worried. She carefully closed the door and took two steps in the room. - Lights, 50%. Leonard was curled up in bed, shivering under a mountain of sheets and blankets, and… - Oh my God, Leonard, what… She hurried to him, trying very hard not to focus on the little pool of liquid, and bile and… and blood (oh my God, oh my God) at the bottom of the bed, and sat near him, forcing him to look at her. There was blood on the sheets, there was blood on the pillow, there was blood on his pyjamas, there was blood on his face… She let out a sigh of relief when she realised he just had had a nosebleed, he had not been coughing or, worse, vomiting blood – without being a doctor, she knew that wouldn’t have been a good sign. Leonard straightened in the bed with a wet sniff and blinked. She gently stroked his cheek and he nuzzled up against her fingers. His skin was burning up. - Nyota? What… A coughing fit cut him off and he turned away. - Don’t speak, I’m going to fetch some water and something to clean you up, all right? She didn’t wait for the answer and went to the bathroom, where she found a glass, a cloth and a mop. - That son of a bitch left while you were in this state? She asked, sitting back on the edge of the bed. - Heh’HATTCCHHOO! Oh. Yes. Of course. Well, she had hoped for sneezes, sure, but not as this price. He gratefully took the wet cloth and started to wipe his face while she cleaned up the floor. When she straightened up, he was frozen with the cloth a few inches from his mouth, obviously fighting another sneeze. The battle was already lost, she could have told him seconds before he eventually gave in to the urge and sneezed helplessly into the cloth. - Ehh-hehh-heeh’ETCHOOhh! Sorry. A very wet sniff followed, and she handed him a tissue. It was not that hard not to pay attention to the sneezing, because he looked so miserable that the will to take care of him had overwhelmed everything else. - It doesn’t matter. Don’t blow too hard, your nose have been bleeding. He nodded in thanks and took the tissue, but his eyelids half-closed again and he pitched forwards with another explosive sneeze. - Hah’AAHHTCHEWW! Sorry again. What… What are you doigg here? - Your beloved and thoughtful roommate sent me. She tried very hard not to let the contempt she was feeling towards Jim pierce through her voice, but she didn’t exactly manage. Couldn’t he warn her that Leonard was sick? Couldn’t he stay with him and take care of him? How could he be so… so ungrateful? - Did he try to call me or did I dream that? - No, he tried. I think he was really worried about you, but he didn’t tell me you were ill. I would have come sooner if I had known. You have a tricorder somewhere? - Yes, on the table. She took it and hovered it over the sick man’s shivering body. - You’ve got a hell of a fever. It’s the flu, Len, don’t tell me you insisted so much about that vaccine and you didn’t get it yourself? - I did, but it… didn’t work, he answered with a new bout of coughing. I just have to let it run its course. I’ll be all right. Really. She gave him a disbelieving look. - You don’t sound nor seem all right. He shrugged and closed his eyes again while his chest started to raise and fall erratically. - Hehh’HESSHHahh! Snff - I’b sorry. - Do you need anything? She asked, trying to ignore the internal scream of her mind. He turned his eyes away, blushing. - Well, I… I need to go to the bathroom, I need to change, but I’m afraid to… collapse. - Hey, Leonard, don’t be ashamed. Not with me. I’ll help you. You know I’ll always be there for you, don’t you? He froze and looked at her very intensely. She didn’t understand what happened when he started to quiver and she panicked. - What is it? Dammit, Len, what happens? But he shake his head and just began to sob like a kid, hands pressed against his face and trying to control himself. She was taken aback because she had never seen him crying before – he was always the one listening to her problems, he never complained (well, yes, he did, but in his grumpy and funny way, it never sounded serious)… And Nyota realised, with a pang of guilt, that she had assumed his friend didn’t have problems, that everything was all right for him, that he didn’t need anyone because he was so strong… She opened her arms and he immediately nestled against her, seeking for her warmth and comfort. She gently stroke his back and neck and found herself whispering: - It’s all right, it’s all right, I’m here, it will pass. They remained in this position for some minutes, him clinging at her clothes and Nyota trying to comfort him the best she could, holding him and whispering reassuring words. He suddenly seized in her arms and she geared up for what was about to happen, but didn’t let him go. - Nyota, I… Ehhh… Hih… Heh’HEESSHHuhh! He sneezed in her shoulder and she couldn’t help shivering. - Do you want me to stay here for the night? She asked. He let out a shuddering breath. - It that a yes? - I don’t want to… - If the next words you’re about to utter is “bother you”, save it, right? Do I have to remember you how many times you’ve been here for me? When I’ve been ill, when I’ve screwed exams, when I broke up with Phil? I would be the worst friend ever if I didn’t stay over. - Jim… - Jim is an asshole and he’s not going to get away with this, Nyota answered curtly. Leonard gently got free of her embrace and wiped his eyes. - Better? She asked gently. - Yeah. Sorry about that. - I told you, you really don’t have to be. You’ve got a 39.5°C fever, it’s only normal that you react quite emotionally. Now I’m going to take you to the toilets, clean up the mess you’ve done, change your sheets, give you the medicines you’re going to tell me, and then give you a massage so that you can sleep well. Does the program suit you? He smiled and she melted. Leonard deserved so much better. - And you’ll provide me with the last gossips? It’s been a long time. She laughed. They enjoyed their weekly gossiping session, but during the last month, they had been too busy to even think about it. - Yeah, sure. I’ve got lots of things to tell you. To start with, I think I’m in love. His eyes widened and he grinned. - Oh. Good. I hope this one deserves you more than the last piece of jerk you fell in love with. - I’m in love with a Vulcan. The words had left her mouth before she had had time to think about it. She had said she wouldn’t tell a soul, but the circumstances were oddly favourable to intimate confidence. He looked at her as if a second head had suddenly appeared right next to the first. - A Vulcan? Are you out of your mind? Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted March 30, 2017 Share Posted March 30, 2017 This one is just full of Nyota being awesome. First befriending Kirk and then taking care of Bones, she deserves major kudos... Or maybe a few guilt free sneezes from a favorite source. Not Spock, we know he doesn't sneeze, as of yet. Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted March 30, 2017 Share Posted March 30, 2017 So much feels! On 3/28/2017 at 4:48 AM, Aliena H. said: It was true. They had taken advantage of this weird situation to work on their team project (and when James Kirk had decided to work, he could be really efficient), and they had worked during almost four hours non-stop, except the breaks the young man requested, every forty minutes or so. He would take his phone and call someone, listen to something, and then hang up without a word. Avoidance is a real motivator! On 3/28/2017 at 4:48 AM, Aliena H. said: - Lilies? Oh my God, I really hope she’s given up this one, because if it’s not the case and there are some on her pillow or blankets, I may sneeze all night. Uhura rolled her eyes in pretended annoyance – but inside, she felt suddenly numb. Oh my! On 3/28/2017 at 4:48 AM, Aliena H. said: If she wasn’t offered a bunch of sneezes, then she would get an explanation. LOL On 3/28/2017 at 4:48 AM, Aliena H. said: Very stimulating, considering who the teacher was. I know I would be very stimulated! On 3/28/2017 at 4:48 AM, Aliena H. said: - 221B. She laughed. - Okay, Sherlock, wait here while I’ll go and see Dr Watson. Ok, that's hysterical! Bravo! On 3/28/2017 at 4:48 AM, Aliena H. said: he was always the one listening to her problems, he never complained (well, yes, he did, but in his grumpy and funny way, it never sounded serious) Totally Bones! On 3/28/2017 at 4:48 AM, Aliena H. said: He smiled and she melted. Leonard deserved so much better. He deserves so much love! He can have mine! On 3/28/2017 at 4:48 AM, Aliena H. said: He looked at her as if a second head had suddenly appeared right next to the first. - A Vulcan? Are you out of your mind? That's our good old Bones! I can totally picture this! Link to comment
Shamaël Posted April 12, 2017 Author Share Posted April 12, 2017 @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier and @AngelEyes: thank you! I'm leaving Star Trek for the moment, but there will be a third part (why do you think I mentioned lilies in the second one, mmm? ) This drabble is not "real" Mystrade, it's just... let's say ambiguous. But @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier and @cally, you have half-convinced me! As I'm writing things chronologically, this takes place before season 1. 10 - Gloves Fandom : Sherlock BBC Sneezing person: Gregory Lestrade Reason: illness Warning: none Music: Good night moon (Shivaree) Gregory Lestrade had joined the police for good reasons (at least he hoped so). He wanted to make a better world, on his own small scale. And, generally, when he succeeded, it reinforced his decision. But sometimes it wasn’t enough. Sometimes, he got sick of his work. For instance when he had to face a victim who was young enough to be his daughter, and a murderer who didn’t show the slightest remorse when confronted to the horrors he had committed. And – icing on the cake – the fact that the culprit had been caught thanks to a “high-functioning sociopath” who wasn’t moved at all, not even upset, by the fate of the victims (“people die every day, Lestrade, I fail to see why you seem so surprised each times it happens”) didn’t help. The (recently promoted) inspector had learnt to estimate and be grateful for Sherlock Holmes’ deducing skills, because their unusual alliance, which lasted for fourteen months, had actually saved people and seemed to keep the young junkie away from his demons. But today, Sherlock had crossed a line. It was not the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, but Gregory had had enough problems for the day and couldn’t stand more. He was going to come home early (at least before 20:30, which was a record), and the paperwork would wait until tomorrow. He was freezing and craving for a long hot bath – but he knew that when he would be back in his apartment, there would be no comfort at all, no heating, no hot water, because of this stupid power failure. All his neighbourhood had been plunged into darkness for three days thanks to a violent storm, and apparently his building wasn’t the first on the repairs list. So when he would come back home, the temperature would be approximately 10°C and he would be alone, because his wife had decided that the cold wasn’t tolerable, and she had moved to her mother’s until the heating is back. When Lestrade had told him about the situation, Sherlock had kindly contested that last point, rectifying his wife’s temporary address (to her lover’s, and not her mother’s) – and the inspector had managed at a great cost not to punch him in the face. But, of course, the younger Holmes was right. And Lestrade was about to come back home alone, sad, angry, cold and sick as a dog. Of course, three days without heating in the middle of January had not improved his health and the nasty head cold which seemed to be at last willing to go away, after a week of misery, had returned with full power. The electrician had promised to take care of his building on Monday, which meant another two days in the cold. He waved good bye to his new colleague, a dynamic young woman called Sally, took his coat, carefully wrapped his painful throat into his old scarf and fumbled in his pockets for his gloves, only to realise that he had forgotten them somewhere between the victim’s and the murderer’s apartment. And, of course, it was snowing. - HahRSH’HHuh! The powerful sneeze almost made him stumble (the ground was slippery) and he slowed down. He didn’t need a broken leg in addition to everything else. - Inspector Lestrade? He turned towards the too well-known feminine voice, which came from the open window of a black car, driving slowly at his right. Eight times Anthea, Mycroft Holmes’s young assistant, had called his name in that way, and eight times he had gotten into the car and been driven to desert places (a hangar, a disused office, a yard at the end of a blind alley…) to make a report to the man about his stupid little brother. - I’m not coming today, Anthea, he said, I’m tired and HuhHH’RSHHUH! Hah’HARRhhSHOO! The next word he wanted to say was “sick”, but he supposed that after the two strong sneezes which escaped his lips, he didn’t need to explain this last point. He had always marvelled at the fact that some people, apparently, were able to feel the sneezes coming and consequently be ready for their outburst. He had often wondered how it was like to be warned by a tingling sensation, a tickle, a hitching breath, anything that would allow him to know, even only three seconds early, that his nose was about to give up. It would have been all the more useful that his own sneezes were explosive, harsh, loud and uncontrolled. The fact that they were also absolutely impossible to foresee, unpredictable and unexpected until the last second didn’t help – he generally had barely the time to catch them into his cupped hands or to turn away from his interlocutor. When he remembered his first meeting with Mycroft Holmes and his incredible endless build-ups, he wondered what was more embarrassing. The young woman allowed her eyes to glance at him for two seconds and she turned her attention back to her screen. - This time, I’m taking you to a far better place than usual, I promise. What’s more, it’s hot in there. The argument wasn’t a small one (Greg wouldn’t have been surprised if his fingers had turned blue) and he found himself sitting into the warmth of the luxurious car without a second thought. “A far better place” was in fact one of the most expensive three-stars restaurant in London. - It’s a joke, isn’t it? Lestrade asked to Anthea, who just smiled without taking her eyes off her phone. Okay. Thanks. Too astonished to protest, he got out of the car and crossed the doorstep, looking instinctively at his clothes and wondering inwardly if they were acceptable for such a place. Immediately, a waiter (better dressed than himself) came up to him and asked him if he had a reservation. - I think Mycroft Holmes is waiting for me, Gregory answered, feeling awkward. - Certainly, sir. This way, please. The man skilfully leaded him towards a little table, where the elder Holmes was sitting, as usual impeccably dressed. He rose when his guest arrived and shook his hand. Lestrade, too stunned to say anything, mirrored the gesture. - Inspector, I am glad that you have been able to join me. Please, sit down. - What is it all about? The policeman asked once the waiter disappeared with his coat. He felt half angry with this unexpected invitation. This wasn’t a place for him. It wasn’t his world. - I thought that maybe you were tired of cold and damp places, and as I know that you are not insensitive to good food and good wine, I took the liberty to invite you here. Greg wanted to argue, to ask the man in front of him how closed he’d been watched and followed, but his breath caught hard and he had just the time to raise a hand in front of his mouth. - HaahHH’RSHHUH! - Bless you. He mumbled an apology and realised with horror (and with a wet and desperate sniff) that his handkerchief had remained into his coat pocket. Mycroft Holmes offered him a pack of tissues and Lestrade couldn’t help but notice the role reversal with regard to their first encounter. But when Greg had given the other man a napkin, it seemed that Holmes had foreseen this moment and bought the most luxurious tissues he could find for the occasion. However, he took them gladly. - Thank – Hhr’ARSHHSHEW! Thank you. The last sneeze had been even more treacherous than the previous one and he blushed when he realised that he had been very close to spraying the table. - Bless you. Please, sit down. Gregory complied. He felt too tired to protest – and, after all, if Mycroft Holmes wanted to invite him, he would be stupid not to take advantage of the situation. He carefully tried not to think that this was precisely what was disturbing him in this situation. - It almost looks like a date, he said casually (and strangely not feeling bothered by this odd fact). - Dates are not really my area, the elder Holmes answered with a polite grin, which indicated how little value he attached to the concept of dating. - You have an unsurpassed talent for stating the obvious, Greg chuckled. Well, what do you want to know about your brother? He asked while the other man served him a glass of wine (the price of the bottle might be half his monthly salary). He seems fine to me. He’s still a jerk, of course, but I think he’s doing fine. - You misunderstood. I did not want to speak about Sherlock, just to… thank you for what you have done. The wine was excellent, of course. - Wall, your way of thanking people is certainly better than your brother’s. - Bad day? Mycroft Holmes asked sharply but not without a certain compassion. Gregory let out an irrepressible half-sigh half-cough. - Yes, you can put it this way. Sherlock just deduced that my wife’s cheating on me. Well, I already knew that, so it wasn’t a big surprise, but it’s never pleasant to hear it, especially when it’s said in front of my colleagues, including my new sergeant. By the way, he hastily added, anticipating Mycroft’s words of comfort and wanting to avoid them (empathy wasn’t exactly the Holmes’ strong suit), she doesn’t like Sherlock. At all. She doesn’t understand what he’s doing… heh… here with us… Heh’HRRSCHHhhhh! This time, his nose had been generous enough to warn him with a slight tickle and he had had time to bring the hand in which he held his crumpled tissue over his mouth and nose. Unfortunately, the sneeze wasn’t less explosive or quieter because it had been predicted, and in the hushed atmosphere of this smart restaurant, it sounded ill-mannered and even provocative. But hell, he had never managed to stifle them. It didn’t seem to bother Mycroft Holmes. - Bless you. - You know, you don’t have to bless me for each sneeze, because our conversation might be a bit repetitive if you do so. Anyway, if you don’t want to talk about your brother, I suggest you propose another subject, even if you’re not familiar with dates. Lestrade wanted to tease the other man, but he seemed extremely ill-at-ease (each in turns!), so he added: - Okay, let me help you: movies you’ve seen recently, books you’ve been reading, hobbies, trips, anything – I won’t say “your job”, since I have more or less guessed that it’s classified, or “personal matters”, as I imagine you’re not very talkative about yourself. But maybe I’m mistaken on this point. At these words, Mycroft Holmes smiled – and the inspector realised that it was the first smile he saw on the man’s face. They had met nine times, in various circumstances, and he had never shown any sign of emotion of any kind. - I would have thought you did not consider me frivolous enough to go to the cinema or to travel for my own pleasure. The inspector took a sip of wine and decided to play Holmes’ game. - Well, no, I think you’re more the kind of man who would have a private movie theatre at home, to avoid mingling with the plebs. (Mycroft smiled again.) Is it true? Lestrade asked in disbelief. (He knew that Mycroft Holmes was rich and powerful, but…) Never mind. So, tell me, what kind of movies do you like? The conversation was not as awkward or displeasing or formal as he would have thought. They unexpectedly discovered common tastes for movies and other “frivolous” subjects, and Lestrade found himself enjoying the dinner. The food was exquisite, and, without the cold which was really taking its toll on him, he would have said that it was one of the best evenings he had had for a very long time. And yet, a part of him felt embarrassed, because the restaurant was (very) expensive and Mycroft Holmes’ way of “thanking” people seemed quite too much. When he eventually looked at his watch, it was almost midnight. - I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go if I want to be able to wake up tomorrow. The other man bowed his head. - Of course. Please, allow me to take you back home in my car. I have taken the liberty to call an electrician and I am sure he has now fixed the heating problem in your building. Lestrade, who was trying to blow his nose in the more discrete way he could, froze. - Sorry? He asked, his nose buried in the tissue. And maybe you’ve given him the key of my apartment so that he could run a bath for me? Maybe he should have felt gratitude, but the only thing he was experiencing right now was anger. The gesture was well-intentioned, but it seemed more creepy than nice to the inspector. - Of course I have never allowed myself to enter your apartment, but… - But I’ve been watched and spied on! Gregory yelled into the (now almost empty) restaurant. Of course, he knew it from the beginning. He knew that Mycroft Holmes didn’t leave anything to chance. But to voice it made the fact more concrete, more real. And suddenly, this interference seemed insane and intolerable. The elder Holmes sighed. - Please listen to me, inspector. - Hhr’ARSHHSHEW! With great pleasure. - I thought you were aware of the fact that I am watching every single person my brother knows and spends time with. As I am, as you say, a powerful man, I have at my disposal powerful means which can be shocking, I perfectly understand it. (He seemed to hesitate, and added in a different tone.) I am sorry if I have upset you. I told you that dates were not my area, but it would probably be more adequate to say that human relationships are not my area. As I have the power to speed up the repairs in your building, I did it in order to… thank you, and help you. I thought you would appreciate a hot shower tonight. I assure you, inspector, that I have never wanted to offend you. Lestrade rolled his eyes, but his anger had vanished. - It’s Gregory. - I beg your pardon? - My name is Gregory. Maybe you could use it? After all, you The man’s look was as impenetrable as ever, but something had changed on his face. He nodded. - I believe the proper answer would be to tell you that you can also call me by my first name, but I find it a very odd thing to say. Lestrade laughed. - Well, when you say it like this, it is indeed. Just another thing, Mycroft. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, I would even bless you for the heating and hot shower, but I would prefer if you… didn’t do it again. Don’t misunderstood, he added hastily when he saw Mycroft’s face shut up like an oyster, I have enjoyed the evening and I’d be pleased to see you again, and not in a hangar, but this is… this is too much. I have the impression to be… paid, rewarded, bribed, I don’t know. I mean, what I’m doing with your brother is strictly illegal. But I don’t do it for money, or for presents. I do it because it’s the right thing to do. He wanted to add because Sherlock saves people I’m not able to save, but the words remained stuck in his throat. - I understand your scruples, but I assure you that in my mind, this had nothing to do with a bribe of any kind. I am sorry if I have offended you. - No, you haven’t, I’m just… well, ill-at-ease and… EESCHRCHHh! HAahh’AAR’SSHHOO! The two forceful sneezes were followed by a bout of coughing which made Mycroft wince in sympathy. - Bless you. I think it is time for you to come back home… Gregory. Lestrade smiled at the way the other man had voiced his name, with precaution, as if the simple fact to act so informally with another human being was going to kill him on the spot. ***** Mycroft rose, almost regretting that the evening was over. It had been… unexpectedly pleasant. And regarding the gloves he had bought as a gift for the man in front of him, to replace those he had lost this very morning, well, he would find another circumstance in which Lestrade… no, Gregory, would accept them. He could almost hear his brother’s mocking voice in his head – You are becoming sentimental, brother mine, be careful, caring is not an advantage. Yes, he knew this very well. But it wasn’t caring, it was just a pair of gloves, nothing more. In his head, Sherlock laughed. Of course, brother mine, of course. Link to comment
cally Posted April 12, 2017 Share Posted April 12, 2017 Oh poor Greg. And yes, you should let Mycroft bless you, silly man. 5 hours ago, Aliena H. said: But it wasn’t caring, it was just a pair of gloves, nothing more. Sure, Mycroft. Whatever you say. Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted April 13, 2017 Share Posted April 13, 2017 This is fantastic. I can totally see Greg feeling out of place and wondering about ulterior motives. And what are Mycroft's motives, really... 14 hours ago, Aliena H. said: He could almost hear his brother’s mocking voice in his head – You are becoming sentimental, brother mine, be careful, caring is not an advantage. Yes, he knew this very well. But it wasn’t caring, it was just a pair of gloves, nothing more. In his head, Sherlock laughed. Of course, brother mine, of course. Uh Huh. Sure. Right. Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted April 13, 2017 Share Posted April 13, 2017 14 hours ago, Aliena H. said: This drabble is not "real" Mystrade, it's just... let's say ambiguous. But @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier and @cally, you have half-convinced me! As I'm writing things chronologically, this takes place before season 1. Oh, you know it is "Mystrade" enough for me. Half-convinced, you say? Then I will keep working on you. 14 hours ago, Aliena H. said: The fact that they were also absolutely impossible to foresee, unpredictable and unexpected until the last second didn’t help – he generally had barely the time to catch them into his cupped hands or to turn away from his interlocutor. When he remembered his first meeting with Mycroft Holmes and his incredible endless build-ups, he wondered what was more embarrassing. Now that is a conversation I'd love to see happen. 14 hours ago, Aliena H. said: Unfortunately, the sneeze wasn’t less explosive or quieter because it had been predicted, and in the hushed atmosphere of this smart restaurant, it sounded ill-mannered and even provocative. But hell, he had never managed to stifle them. It didn’t seem to bother Mycroft Holmes. Yeah, well your Greg apparently hasn't heard your Sherlock sneeze yet, so... 14 hours ago, Aliena H. said: Mycroft rose, almost regretting that the evening was over. It had been… unexpectedly pleasant. And regarding the gloves he had bought as a gift for the man in front of him, to replace those he had lost this very morning, well, he would find another circumstance in which Lestrade… no, Gregory, would accept them. He could almost hear his brother’s mocking voice in his head – You are becoming sentimental, brother mine, be careful, caring is not an advantage. Yes, he knew this very well. But it wasn’t caring, it was just a pair of gloves, nothing more. In his head, Sherlock laughed. Of course, brother mine, of course. Oh boy! Only half-convinced? Sure it isn't three-quarters convinced? Aliena H. finished her story with a smile. She was pleased that she left the relationship still ambiguous. There was certainly nothing that indicated more than friendship. She would stop there... for now. Any further progression of the relationship would only be as friends. Mycroft's behavior was only fitting with his character. He has always been this generous without any ulterior motive. * Sure, Aliena, go on; keep denying that Mycroft would treat Gregory any differently than Molly, who has shown similar interest in Sherlock. Is Mycroft planning to take Molly out on a "date"? * Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted April 13, 2017 Share Posted April 13, 2017 12 minutes ago, AngelEyes said: Uh Huh. Sure. Right. See! I'm not the only one out here thinking you have wandered further down the path of ruin that is Mystrade! Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted April 13, 2017 Share Posted April 13, 2017 8 hours ago, cally said: Sure, Mycroft. Whatever you say. Not to mention our reigning queen. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted April 13, 2017 Author Share Posted April 13, 2017 Thank you so much for the comments!!! 3 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Aliena H. finished her story with a smile. She was pleased that she left the relationship still ambiguous. There was certainly nothing that indicated more than friendship. She would stop there... for now. Any further progression of the relationship would only be as friends. Mycroft's behavior was only fitting with his character. He has always been this generous without any ulterior motive. * Sure, Aliena, go on; keep denying that Mycroft would treat Gregory any differently than Molly, who has shown similar interest in Sherlock. Is Mycroft planning to take Molly out on a "date"? * I cannot not answer to this! Of course this is more than clearly ambiguous and of course the "further progression of the relationship" isn't going to be only friendship. But my headcanon differs from yours because : 1) For me, yes, Mycroft is undoubtedly interested by Lestrade, I won't try to deny this, and his motives are clearly not that "friendly" BUT Lestrade, for the moment at least, isn't interested at all. He likes Mycroft and enjoys the pleasure of his company, and would like to see him as a friend, yes, BUT he's still married, still in love with his wife (in my head, in my head, don't hit me!!! ) and, well, that's all. 2) I ALWAYS follow the canon and in S2E1 Greg says that he's back with his wife, which means they've broken up before (but I don't think Mycroft took advantage of the situation because he's too afraid to lose Lestrade as a friend) - and in S3E2 he doesn't have his marriage ring anymore, so we can deduce that he's divorced. So IF something's gonna happen between those two, for me it can happen ONLY after Sherlock's "death". Yeah, it's long and I know you disagree with this chronology. 3) Even if I will (do more than) suggest a relationship between these characters, it will NEVER be explicit. Even Sherlock doesn't really know for sure what's going on between them. He teases his brother, yes, but... he's not sure. That's what I meant by "ambiguous". Probably they'll end up together, but... there's always a doubt. A slight doubt, if you want, and you can be 99% sure of it, but not 100%. As you know, I'm very uncomfortable with writing "love" fics (but I like to read them as long as there's not explicit sexual scenes) and I just can't do it when the pairing isn't 10 000% canon... Yes, I'm weird, I know. And only the end of S4E3 could make Mystrade canon - I said "could" - so I'll keep on with the ambiguity. (But of course Mycroft will not ask Molly for a date - the simple idea made me laugh when I read what you've written.) Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted April 15, 2017 Share Posted April 15, 2017 I'm just having a little fun with you. I'm a terrible tease. On 4/13/2017 at 3:50 AM, Aliena H. said: BUT Lestrade, for the moment at least, isn't interested at all. He likes Mycroft and enjoys the pleasure of his company, and would like to see him as a friend, yes, BUT he's still married, still in love with his wife (in my head, in my head, don't hit me!!! ) That's all fine except the still in love with his wife bit. I hate the thought of Lestrade being in love with someone who clearly doesn't appreciate and love him, but I know that is often the way of life. On 4/13/2017 at 3:50 AM, Aliena H. said: in S3E2 he doesn't have his marriage ring anymore, so we can deduce that he's divorced. He actually took off his wedding ring just before S2E2 because Sherlock notes the tan line on his hand when Greg tries to tell Sherlock he's in Baskerville for vacation. Sherlock remarks that Greg is tanned and has a tan line where his wedding ring was therefore Greg has just returned from holiday and Mycroft has sent Greg. And so it begins... ("I don't always do what your brother tells me.") On 4/13/2017 at 3:50 AM, Aliena H. said: So IF something's gonna happen between those two, for me it can happen ONLY after Sherlock's "death". Yeah, it's long and I know you disagree with this chronology. Oh no, it's not that I disagree with your chronology. It is perfectly valid. There is so much that could be possible when you play with these characters outside of the stories and you can still stick to what is actually known from the episodes. I love it all to be honest. Yes, I have preferred path or chronology, but I really enjoy other' perspectives. On 4/13/2017 at 3:50 AM, Aliena H. said: Probably they'll end up together, but... there's always a doubt. A slight doubt, if you want, and you can be 99% sure of it, but not 100% See that is intriguing to me. As would be unrequited Mystrade. I think about things like that but I have no ability to sustain angst and those seem like roads to angst. I like reading them but I can't write them. So in short, I love reading your stories and I truly appreciate and enjoy your perspective. Because we've become friends, I will tease you about your ambiguous!Mystrade. You should feel free to tease me back. On 4/13/2017 at 3:50 AM, Aliena H. said: (But of course Mycroft will not ask Molly for a date - the simple idea made me laugh when I read what you've written.) Oh good! (Not that I haven't read some nice Mollcroft, but it doesn't seem remotely likely.) I'm glad I made you laugh. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted April 22, 2017 Author Share Posted April 22, 2017 On 15/04/2017 at 2:43 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: He actually took off his wedding ring just before S2E2 because Sherlock notes the tan line on his hand when Greg tries to tell Sherlock he's in Baskerville for vacation. Oh my God that's true. And I didn't notice it. Shame on me!!! @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier and @AngelEyes and @cally: thank you for the comments! I'll write some more "ambiguous Mystrade" later, but it is time for Sherlock to appear in these drabbles... @matilda3948: This one is for you, since you'll need it to understand the season 4-related story I'm currently writing for you. Well, not to understand it, but to understand my headcanon (and I really hope it's not against what you like and want to see in the story; if it's a problem for you, feel free to tell me and I'll make some changes. ) First I wanted to make Molly one of us, but I already have Nyota, so it would be a bit redundant. Nevertheless, Molly had a little something with Sherlock's sneezes, because of what happened in this drabble. I wanted to try to analyse what happens in our heads when we connect sneezing to desire... The background case with the pitchfork isn't my idea, but it comes from a woderful French novel by Fred Vargas, and if you like detective stories, you can read anything from this author, it is great. There will be a continuation to this drabble in some time. I have to add that Acqua di Parma is the perfume I use, but not Fico di Amalfi, if anyone cares. 11 - Morgue Fandom : Sherlock BBC Sneezing person: Sherlock Reason: allergies Warning: none Music: Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (ABBA) – yes, I like ABBA. And I’m sure Molly does too. Years and years after this memorable day – the 25th of November 2006 – she would always feel numb and warm and fuzzy each time Sherlock would sneeze. She wasn’t especially attracted by sneezes, although she knew that some people found it sexy (she had done some Internet research after it happened the first time), but Sherlock’s were… different. Molly had known the detective for almost three years now, and she still wasn’t able to act normally when they were in the same room. She know he had no interest on her, in any way, and yet she let him access to the morgue and to her lab for his experiments, only rewarded by his presence. She didn’t even ask him to be kind with her. Yes, that was really pathetic. She was pathetic. The most pathetic was that each time he came at the hospital (she had demanded a text or a phone call before his visits and he had miraculously complied), she tried to improve her looks. New clothes (under the white coat of course), new shoes, new jewels, new make-up, new perfume, she tried everything, knowing deep inside that he didn’t care, didn’t even notice. The only thing he was interested in in the room was the corpse, and possibly Molly’s professional opinion on the death. - Show me the wounds, he said curtly. She sighed, not daring telling him that people usually said “hello” before anything else, and removed the white sheet from the body. - Did Lestrade ask you to come? She asked, hoping her voice wasn’t trembling too much. - Mmm? Yes, Sherlock answered without moving his eyes from the three small bloodied holes on the dead man’s chest. Did you measure the distance between the marks? - Yes. 8,1 cm between the first and the second wound, and 7,9 between the second and the third. - Are they perfectly lined up? - Yes. It’s strange, isn’t it? He stared at her for the first time since he had entered the room and she felt all the blood drain from her face. Discussing how perfect strangers had violently been murdered was the only conversation she was able to have with him without stammering and stuttering like an idiot, but she still didn’t control the colour of her skin, which could shift from ghostly white into bright red in seconds. - Strange? He repeated. You can do this. This is your job, you’re good at it. Answer him professionally. - Yes, because there’s no way the murderer could have made such a perfect line if he was drunk and have stabbed the poor man in blind. - But with a pitchfork, would it make these kind of marks? Molly frowned, intrigued by the hypothesis. The police had found the weapon with the murderer, a dirty awl with which he had stabbed the victim, but... She leant forward to inspect the wounds more closely and the tall young man did the same at the same time. Their hair brushed and she suddenly blushed so hard (which wasn’t more intelligent than to turn pale) she felt grateful because he couldn’t see his face. She really had to get used to his presence. They were very close now, leaning on the body, and the thought occurred her that this was by no means a normal conversation, by no means a normal situation, and that young women her age usually went out and had dates in coffee shops, movies theatres or restaurants, certainly not in St Bart’s morgue, over a corpse. Molly Hooper, you are not a normal woman, Sherlock Holmes is not a normal man and this is not a date. Pull yourself together. - Do you think… He broke off in mid-sentence and she was about to lift her head up to see what cut him off, but then she felt his hand brush hers and she forgot how to breathe. It was the first time he touched her, and the mere contact sent an electric shock into her veins. The fact that both of them were leaning on a corpse didn’t seem important anymore at that moment. His hand rested on hers for support while he pitched forward with a loud and uncovered sneeze, aimed at the upper part of the body lying between them. - AAAHHhsSHHhuh! Although she felt suddenly very light-headed (his fingers were still upon hers), her professional instinct get the upper hand and she yelled: - Sherlock! Don’t sneeze on the body! The tall man straightened up with a sniff. - Snnff- He’s dead, Molly, he doesn’t care. He can’t catch my germs anymore. The fact that he didn’t understand what the problem was upset her. Why had she felt in love with such a weird man? Not only didn’t he reciprocated her feelings, but above all he was rude and strange and unaware of social conventions and how normal people were supposed to react in real life. - You’re in a morgue, Sherlock, she hissed, and you have to respect some rules if you don’t want me to throw you out. He raised an eyebrow and shot her his most bewitching smile. - You wouldn’t dare. She hated when he did this – he knew what she felt and he used this fact to manipulate her. But there were some things she didn’t tolerate, and disrespect towards her corpses was one of them. - Try me, she answered through gritted teeth. He looked at her carefully and seemed convinced by her determined expression. - So you think it could have been done with a pitchfork or a trident? He casually asked, coming back to their previous discussion. Molly gladly took the peace offering. - I don’t know. The wounds don’t have the same depth, and with a pitchfork they necessarily would. Sherlock shook his head. - Yes, of course, you are right. She blushed again, which was completely stupid. You idiot, he said you were right, not that he was in love with you! He approached his head from the dead body and moved back almost immediately, breathing deeply and unevenly. The dark brows slowly creased above the moistening eyes... - Sneeze into the crook of your arm, she reminded him. The crease intensified and he winced. No, of course, he wouldn’t sneeze into his perfect coat. Molly hastily retrieved a tissue from a box on the nearest table, unfolded it and gently slipped it inside Sherlock’s hand. She couldn’t help but shiver at the contact of his skin. He looked at her, eyes half-closed and chest expanding, and she gently brought his hand up to his face. The powerful sneeze made her inexplicably shudder. - HihhTSCHhhAH! - Bless you. He shrugged and blew his nose, apparently upset by the distraction. - All right, so if it’s not a trident, what can it… ehh… what can it… eehh… She swallowed painfully, considering the half-parted mouth, the teary eyes and the slight splash of colour on the pale cheekbones, almost waiting for him to sneeze. What was happening to her? A sneeze wasn’t something sexy, even remotely, it was a simple bodily function, but now that she had associated it with the soft touch of Sherlock’s fingers upon hers… - Sherlock, the tissue, she said, almost panting and unable to take her eyes off him (but she took a few steps back, to hide her inexplicable eagerness). This time, he obeyed and lifted his right hand towards his face, the tissue firmly pressed into it, before jolting forward with a wrenching sneeze: - Ahh-AHHSSHuuh! - Are you ill? She asked, shivering in spite of her. He sniffed wetly into the tissue and shook his head, apparently intrigued. - No, I’m not. He bent forward and started to sniff the corpse. The scene would have been quite funny if the dead man on the table had not been murdered ten hours ago. - What are you doing? - The only explanation is that I’m allergic to something on the body, he answered calmly, still smelling the upper part of the corpse. Yes, her life was insane, she knew it now. - Is it really necessary to expose yourself to an allergen if you’re sure it will make you sneeze? she asked, but in the same time a part she didn’t know into her brain was yelling “yes, it IS necessary!” What. Was. Happening to her? - I’m not allergic to anything, Sherlock answered, straightening up, disappointed by the lack of reaction from his nose. I’ve never been, contrarily to my brother, who’s allergic to almost everything. - Okay… And it’s urgent to know what you’re allergic to because…? He looked at her with an intensity that made her ill-at-ease. - Because sneezing can be useful sometimes and I’m not very good at faking sneezes. Okay. She wasn’t going to ask anything else, because who on Earth could think that sneezing was useful? While she was wondering in which circumstances a sneeze would be convenient, Sherlock had swiftly walked around the table where the corpse was lying and he was now very close to her. A bit too close for her own good, in fact. Molly cleared her throat. - Sherlock, what… But he had already taken her right hand and brought it up to his nose. She violently shivered when she felt his cold fingers on her wrist. His breathe caught immediately and he turned quickly his head to the side, aiming the sudden and explosive sneeze at the ground. - AaaHHSSHAHH! Do you have… ahhh… Do you have a new… ehh.. perfume? She took a step back and found herself against the wall. Her legs were shaking and her tongue was stuck to her palate, so she couldn’t articulate, but she had the reflex to take his hand, the one with the tissue, and to bring it to his face just before the next explosion. - HAH’TCHAHhh! He sniffed and came closer, his nose almost buried into her neck. - Sherlock, she managed to whisper, burning up with both excitement and humiliation, what are you doing? - Exper-heh… Experiment-hih-heh-hehhhTSCHAHahh! - I don’t think you need to experiment anymore. Obviously you’re allergic to my perfume, and you should be as far as possible from me now. She didn’t want him to go away, but if he sneezed once more, she was going to start yelling. Sherlock took two steps back, sniffed thickly and blew his nose with a gurgling sound. - That’s wonderful! He exclaimed, excited like a three-years old boy in front of a new toy. What is your perfume? I’ve tried hundreds of them to see if I was allergic to any and it never worked. - You tried hundreds… She repeated in bewilderment before deciding she didn’t want to know what happened into Sherlock Holmes’ strange brain. Oh, never mind, it’s Fico di Amalfi. It just came out. - What’s the brand of this perfume? - Acqua di Parma. The young man shook his head, obviously elated. - I believe they give samples at Debenhams, don’t they? What?!? - …Yes. - In this case, I’ll… I’ll… His breathe hitched once more and he tried (and failed) to muffle a tremendous sneeze into the drenched tissue she had given him. - HeeEEESCHSSHAH! Sniff- I’ll go at once. - What? Sherlock, the body… - I’ll text Lestrade. The real murderer stabbed him with a pitchfork right in the chest, and then he used the drunk man’s awl to enlarge and deepen the holes and make us believe that it had been done in anger, but it’s part of a very carefully planned series of murders. It’s not the first one of this kind that I see – I mean with three wounds in line but different depths. Oh, this is Christmas. First the case, secondly the serial killer, third the perfume. Thank you, Molly. Before she had had time to react, he came closer and kissed her on the cheek – for the first time in his life. Almost immediately, his face scrunched up and he cringed. - I forgot… ehhh… She closed her eyes and wondered why her life was so twisted and crazy and unfair. 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Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted April 23, 2017 Share Posted April 23, 2017 OMG! Poor, poor Molly. I really feel for her in this. Haven't we all had a crush at one point in our lives that made us feel a bit like Molly does around Sherlock. And then this happens to her... 5 hours ago, Aliena H. said: What was happening to her? A sneeze wasn’t something sexy, even remotely, it was a simple bodily function, but now that she had associated it with the soft touch of Sherlock’s fingers upon hers… To make it worse he wants to experiment with his new found allergy. 5 hours ago, Aliena H. said: He sniffed and came closer, his nose almost buried into her neck. - Sherlock, she managed to whisper, burning up with both excitement and humiliation, what are you doing? - Exper-heh… Experiment-hih-heh-hehhhTSCHAHahh! - I don’t think you need to experiment anymore. Obviously you’re allergic to my perfume, and you should be as far as possible from me now. She didn’t want him to go away, but if he sneezed once more, she was going to start yelling. I think you did a marvelous job capturing Molly's inner voice. This was a lot of fun. Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted April 23, 2017 Share Posted April 23, 2017 This is fantastic! And Yay for a Sherlock fic! There's tons of Mystrade on here (which I adore) but not much Sherlock. Poor Molly. I have a feeling I would be exactly like Molly around Sherlock. 5 hours ago, Aliena H. said: She sighed, not daring telling him that people usually said “hello” before anything else, and removed the white sheet from the body. LOL, he never remembers anyway. 5 hours ago, Aliena H. said: They were very close now, leaning on the body, and the thought occurred her that this was by no means a normal conversation, by no means a normal situation, and that young women her age usually went out and had dates in coffee shops, movies theatres or restaurants, certainly not in St Bart’s morgue, over a corpse. Sad. 5 hours ago, Aliena H. said: Molly Hooper, you are not a normal woman, Sherlock Holmes is not a normal man and this is not a date. Pull yourself together. I love this line! 5 hours ago, Aliena H. said: She hated when he did this – he knew what she felt and he used this fact to manipulate her. But there were some things she didn’t tolerate, and disrespect towards her corpses was one of them. Go Molly! Be strong! 5 hours ago, Aliena H. said: She didn’t want him to go away, but if he sneezed once more, she was going to start yelling. Exactly! 5 hours ago, Aliena H. said: She closed her eyes and wondered why her life was so twisted and crazy and unfair. Life is so unfair. Link to comment
matilda3948 Posted April 23, 2017 Share Posted April 23, 2017 OMG! It's so great! Poor sweet Molly. I could quote the whole thing. It's sooooo fabulous! Link to comment
cally Posted April 23, 2017 Share Posted April 23, 2017 Oh Molly. Poor girl. One day, she will learn, but sadly not today. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted July 10, 2017 Author Share Posted July 10, 2017 This is my first attempt at TOS. Please be indulgent... I chose a moment in the timeline when Spock is having a hard time. First there is "Operation: annihilate!" where the parasites on Deneva attack his nervous system and almost drive him mad with the pain, then he's temporarily blinded (McCoy's sorry for it and feels guilty because it's partly his fault, and I just shamefully love this episode ) and some weeks after he suffers from the effects of the pon farr in "Amok time" and almost kills Kirk on Vulcan (once again, McCoy's saving the day, because he's the best!). My headcanon for the TOS character are different than on the reboot, but in both universes, Vulcans don't sneeze... normally. It's more difficult for me to enter into the character's head in TOS than in the reboot, so I chose McCoy's point of view and I wrote a lot of dialogues. There will be a second part if you wish. As usual, sorry for the probable mistakes in English. @AngelEyes and @matilda3948 and @cally: thank you for the lovely comments! I'm sorry because I didn't post much lately. I've been busy in real life (new job in september, lots of things to do - pleasant things, but it takes time...) I'm also sorry because I didn't finish my Sherlock fic, as I'm completely stuck with it... I promise I'll finish it soon, it's just that... I don't know, words are reluctant to come, whereas this drabble almost wrote itself... 12 - Unfold Fandom : Star Trek (TOS) Sneezing person: Spock Reason: unknown (for now) Warning: none (well, Spock’s in a bad state, you know me, I can’t help it, but it’s nothing life-threatening) Music: The Hunter (Bjork) Captain’s log, stardate 3386.27. The Enterprise had to stop on Malaya IV for urgent repairs. Unfortunately, the little human colony who lives here does not have much material for such works, and our chief engineer, Mr Scott, had to do miracles. During the repairs, a landing party, led by Mr Spock, explored the mountains where some interesting vegetal forms could be found, and some of the medical staff, including our chief medical officer, met the colonist to exchange some knowledge. Now we are able to depart from the planet, after a week spent in orbit. “Mr Spock, please, give me a full status…” “HuhASHH’SHH!” Everyone jumped on the bridge, from lieutenant Uhura, sitting near the first officer’s station, to ensign Garrovick, who was at the other side of the room, and everyone turned towards the Vulcan, who straightened and looked at the captain with a very slight sniff, as if nothing unusual had happened. “Yes, sir?” he asked curtly. “Did you… did you just sneeze, Spock?” James Kirk blinked in amazement, eyes fixed on his science officer. “So it would seem, captain.” The answer, made in the neutral tone the Vulcan used 99% of the time, did not indicate that the he was by any way embarrassed or surprised by this fact. “I thought that Vulcans couldn’t sneeze”, Sulu pointed out, and Spock tensed almost imperceptibly. “As I just did, it seems that your assumption is erroneous”, he answered dryly, with another sniff, before his breath caught and he turned to the side with two more overpowering sneezes he managed to catch into the palm of his cupped hands. “Hihh’TSCHhhAH! Hehhh-AATSCHH!” Everyone on the bridge smiled. For someone who always spoke calmly and quietly, and praised the merits of control and measure, the outburst was quite loud. The captain looked suspiciously at his first officer while he retrieved a perfectly folded and neat handkerchief from his trousers pocket and dabbed at his nose with a third liquid sniff. “Are you… all right, Spock?” he asked carefully, as if such a question might be insulting, at least for a Vulcan. “I believe this is a mere inconvenience, captain, but if you wish me to report to sickbay…” Kirk dismissed the suggestion with a wave of the hand. “Does this… inconvenience prevent you from doing your job with your usual efficiency?” Spock looked as if he had been mortally offended, and the captain smiled, because almost immediately his brow creased and his breath started to become erratic, no matter how hard he tried to keep it under control. “In this case, you don’t need to leave your post.” “Very-ahh-very well… ehh… sir… Ahhh’AAhsSHHhuh!” Spock doubled over, and some of the officers repressed a laugh in front of the usually stern and compassed Vulcan, defeated by something as simple as a sneeze. This was going to be a funny shift. ***** About half an hour after, Dr McCoy headed to the bridge, humming a song, definitely in a good mood. He was delighted by his week he had just spent at the surface of the planet, delighted because he always preferred fresh air than the tin can he had yet decided to live in, delighted because he had had nothing to do urgently, no violent death to acknowledge, no worry for his best friends on the ship. Yes, it had been a very good week. The doors opened with the usual swoosh, and the Bones had to admit it also felt good to be back home. Since when had the Enterprise become ‘home’, he didn’t know, but home it was nonetheless, there was no point in denying it. Jim greeted him with a bright smile and a “Hello, Bones, what’s up?”, Uhura waved at him and the two helmsmen turned cheerfully towards him. Spock, as usual, made no comment and didn’t even looked at him, but that was also expected. “Huh’HhITSCHHhsh!” McCoy looked with surprise at the direction of the sneeze, just in time to see Spock, bent over his station, recovering from the explosion, while some of the officers exchanged amused glances and muttered something he couldn’t hear. “Bless you”, Bones said, and the Vulcan looked at him warily, but answered nothing. He was clutching a handkerchief into his right hand, and the physician clearly saw speckles of something more or less purple, or violet, into it, while he brought it to his face to wipe his nose. There was a very faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and his jaws were clenched. You couldn’t see those unusual signs if you weren’t looking for them, but with the events on Deneva, and then all this pon farr madness, Bones was paying very close attention to the first officer, scanning him for a possible relapse and on the lookout for anything unusual. And sneezing was certainly unusual for a Vulcan (or a half-Vulcan). “Spock, please, come with me”, he asked casually. “Captain, can I borrow your science officer for half an hour? There are things about the discoveries I’ve made on Malaya I’d like to discuss with him.” “Can’t it wait, Bones?” the captain asked, sounding almost upset – and the doctor noticed that the officers around him had the same disappointed look on their face. He didn’t understand, but he insisted, having a bad feeling about the situation. “Well, of course it could wait, but as there’s nothing on the bridge that requires the first officer’s immediate attention, I thought the moment would be opportune. Of course, Mr Spock, if you have something urgent to do…” The feeling that something was wrong was confirmed by the Vulcan’s immediate answer: “I would be glad to see what you have found out on the planet surface, doctor, and I have no immediate imperative. If the captain allows me to leave momentarily the bridge, I will come with you.” Spock, using the word glad? Spock, glad to follow McCoy willingly right into sickbay? The chief medical officer wondered if he had dreamt the hint of relief in the first officer’s voice, and his concern increased, but he did not let it come through in front of the other members of the crew. The last months had been quite an ordeal for the Vulcan and he didn’t want to add to the strain he’d been under recently. Kirk sighed, as if he was reluctant to let Spock leave the bridge, even for thirty minutes. “All right, all right, you may go.” The Vulcan stood up, gaze unfocused, breathe unsteady, mouth half-open, but he managed not to sneeze until they arrived into the turbolift. As soon as the doors closed behind the two men, however, he brought a hand to his mouth and gave into the urge. “HuhASHH’SHUH! HHhh’HAASSCCHH’uhh!” “Bless you again”, the CMO said softly. Spock didn’t answer, but nodded, in acknowledgement or in thanks, and pressed once again his (still folded) handkerchief to his face, wiping his runny nose, but not blowing. The turbolift stopped and the first officer immediately put his handkerchief back into his pocket. McCoy didn’t comment and just walked near Spock, maybe a bit faster than usual, along the Enterprise corridors. By the time they reached sickbay, the Vulcan was obviously fighting another sneeze, but refused to let it out before he was into a more private area. Fortunately, the only person present in sickbay was Nurse Chapel. Still following his intuition, Bones asked her to leave him alone with Spock and understood he had made the right choice by the small release of tension in the first officer’s shoulders. “Okay, Spock,” he said once they were alone, “I imagine you perfectly know that I don’t have anything to show you from Malaya IV, so if you followed me in sickbay, it’s because…” “HehhhESCHHhh!” “… something’s wrong”, McCoy concluded with a sigh, while Spock turned away from him to sneeze harshly (and wetly) in his hand. “Bless you.” “Doctor, I do not believe that blessing me deserves any logical purpose and therefore is of any help in the current situation.” McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. “Spock, do me a favour and try not to upset me right now. In case you hadn’t noticed it, I’m trying to help you.” Miraculously, the Vulcan didn’t answer, which increased even more the physician’s worry. If Spock didn’t protest, it meant that something was really wrong. “All right.” McCoy grabbed a tricorder and hovered it on his unexpected patient. “When did you start to exhibit those symptoms?” “This morning, when I ended my meditation before coming to the bridge.” The tricorder didn’t register anything unusual and McCoy chewed his lower lip. “You don’t seem to have any infection, you’re clear from all viruses… Virtually, you’re perfectly healthy, but it’s the first time I hear you sneeze – and I don’t like what I don’t understand. How many time did you sneeze this morning?” “I managed to hold the sensation back until I arrived on the-heh… on the-heh… HeehhTSCHhhAH! Snf-on the bridge.” “Spock, sneezing is helpful and you shouldn’t… Oh, never mind. And then?” “I sneezed thirty-seven times on the bridge”, the Vulcan answered with his usual emotionless tone. McCoy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I’m sorry? You’ve been on the bridge for half an hour and you’ve sneezed thirty-seven times?” he asked incredulously. “And when exactly did you intend to tell me about it?” “I asked twice the captain if I was to report to sickbay. He told me he preferred that I stay on the bridge.” The CMO looked warily at his superior. That was a joke, wasn’t it? “You asked the captain to come to sickbay and he refused? You’re aware that this isn’t exactly how I pictured the scene in my head, eh, Spock?” “HehISHAAAH!” “If I may say, you’d better sneeze in the crook of your arm and not in your hand. The germs last longer on the skin than on the fabric, and you’ll be less contagious this way, in case it’s an unknown virus.” The Vulcan looked at the physician with suspicion, as if he was trying to determine if he was making fun of him. “For now, you’re my patient”, Bones explained, frowning, “and everything I tell you is to help you feel better. I hope you don’t doubt it.” He wanted to add ‘I hope we’re above all this now’, but that was something difficult to voice in front of the Vulcan, so he came back to the main problem. “So, you told me that the captain didn’t send you to sickbay when it was obvious that something was wrong?” “He told me that if my work was not affected by this inconvenience, there was no need for me to go to sickbay.” Bones swallowed with some difficulty. He didn’t believe it, and yet he knew Spock wasn’t lying. What was Jim thinking, for God’s sake? “I beg your pardon?” “I do not think that your hearing has been impaired in the last 4.6 seconds, doctor”, Spock deadpanned, dabbing at his nose with his handkerchief. “Spock, why don’t you unfold it and blow your nose?” McCoy said, exasperated, but the Vulcan just rubbed his nose, breath erratic. “Okay, never mind that. I don’t even know if the colour of your body fluid are normal”, he added, pointing out the purple stain on the fabric. “I… ehhh… I don’t-hih-ahh-heh… I don’t know either. It’s-ahh… It’s the first-Aaah’ASSHHhuh!” He followed McCoy’s advice and sneezed explosively into the crook of his arm. “It’s what? Don’t tell me it’s the first time this is happening to you?” The look the first officer shot him indicated very clearly that yes, it was indeed the first time such a thing happened, and that he would gladly do without it. “You’ve sneezed for the first time of your life today?” McCoy clarified. “Thirty-seven times?” “ Now forty-heh… forty-three”, Spock answered, eyes closed and on the verge of letting escape a forty-forth sneeze. Doctor, can you… can you… ehh… do something… for me? HihhTSCHhhAH!” The last sneeze seemed to trigger something into the Vulcan’s nose, because his breath didn’t come more evenly after the nasal expulsion, and he hastily clamped his handkerchief to smother the itchy fit that was irrepressibly coming. “Hihh’epsshh! Ahh-heh-hehssh! Hee'eeeshhhahh! HH’AHHSSH!” The force of the sneezes made him double over and McCoy noticed with concern that his right hand had left his mouth to grasp his abdomen. Immediately, the chief medical officer stepped to his side, supporting him. “Spock? Spock, answer me, what’s wrong?” He helped the Vulcan to lay down on a biobed and the monitor above it immediately started beeping. The K3 reading, indicating the pain, was off the chart. “Dammit, hobgoblin, what’s happening?” He tried very hard not to panic, and to behave professionally, but seeing Spock collapsing because of a sneezing fit (probably the first of his life) was really impressive – and a bit absurd, but hey, it was Spock. Things were always strange with him. “It is all right… doctor. I am in… no danger.” But his hand was still clasped to his stomach. McCoy pushed it and lifted the uniform with precautions. Nasty large bruises appeared on the skin, which was a sickly green. “What happened?” he asked in a tone which meant he would accept no attempt at evading the issue. “The landing party has been attacked by some animals”, the Vulcan answered, breathing heavily. The CMO didn’t need any further explanation. As usual, Spock had been reckless. “How many cracked ribs?” he asked tersely. “Two.” Great. “How many broken?” “Two.” Better and better. “And the captain let you on the bridge!” Bones shouted, absolutely furious. He grabbed a hypo and emptied it on the Vulcan’s shoulder. “It’s a painkiller I’ve managed to make Vulcan-friendly”, he said, and added when he saw the look of incomprehension in his patient’s eyes: “It means it won’t make you nauseous. I finally found something your body would be able to bear.” Spock’s eyes widened, but McCoy had no way to know if it was because of surprise, gratitude, or just because he needed to sneeze once more. “HAAASSCCHH’uhh! Thank you, doctor”, he said faintly. “You’ll thank me when I find what you’ve got”, Leonard muttered. “I can’t give you anything for the symptoms if I don’t know what causes them.” “Thank you nevertheless”, Spock insisted. “You’re welcome, hobgoblin. Now stay still and try not to sneeze until I find out what the problem is.” The Vulcan nodded and sniffed. “And please, unfold your handkerchief and blow your nose!” Link to comment
*Dark_Side* Posted July 11, 2017 Share Posted July 11, 2017 This drabble is fantastic! You really nailed the dynamic between Spock and Bones. I really enjoyed how you were able to show Bones's grumpy caring. It would be great to see a part 2 to this drabble. Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted July 12, 2017 Share Posted July 12, 2017 Love this! You are my Trekkie hero! You always leave me craving more! Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted July 13, 2017 Share Posted July 13, 2017 More wonderful Star Trek. I'm looking forward to the second part. And why, oh why would Jim not let Spock go to sickbay? That seems rather mean of him. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted July 14, 2017 Author Share Posted July 14, 2017 @*Dark_Side*: thank you so much, that's a great, great compliment! I hope the second part will not disappoint you. @AngelEyes: thank you!!! @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier: yes, Jim's a bit dumb, isn't he? here comes the explanation for his behaviour. As I've had some comments about the punctuation I used, I tried to use the English typography, but for a French teacher (yeah, I am a French teacher...), this js just heretic. Please feel free to tell me if the quotation marks aren't at their right place, or if anything's wrong. 13 - Sheltered (continuation to 12 - Unfold) Fandom : Star Trek (TOS) Sneezing person: Spock Reason: allergies Warning: none Music: Sour times (Portishead) – “Nobody loves me it’s true – not like you do…” “Doctor, the paind is buch bore badageable ndow thanks to your care. I believe that ndo other exabend is decessary and that I should returnd to the-hhuh… tothebridhhgehhhAAAH’SHHhuhh!” Bones gave his patient, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, ready to leave sickbay now that the worst of his symptoms was over thanks to the painkiller, a long-suffering look. The Vulcan’s bloodshot and teary eyes were the only visible part of his face, because he had buried his nose and mouth into his elbow at the end of his (almost incomprehensible) sentence. He sniffed thickly and McCoy fought the urge to roll his eyes and yell at his stupid first officer. Return to the bridge? With this congested and breathy voice, his face a complete mess and sneezing or snuffling every thirty seconds? Yeah, sure, that was a great idea. “I offer you a deal: I’ll pretend that what you just said was standard English, and you’re going to take your handkerchief and blow your nose. Then I’ll be glad to explain to you why you’re going to remain here with me a little longer.” The Vulcan wrapped his nose into the fabric and wiped his nostrils. This time, Leonard did roll his eyes, wondering what he had done to some unknown mean deity to be confronted daily with stupid patients. “Spock, don’t try to make me believe you’re dumb, because both know that you’re not. You know what ‘blowing one’s nose’ means. You’ve seen hundreds of humans performing this action. What I’d really like to understand is why you are so reluctant to do it yourself. You’ll feel better afterwards, I promise. I mean, you’re so congested you can’t even breathe. Is there a Vulcan taboo for sternutation or something as stupid as this?” “Vulcads do dot sdeeze”, Spock answered curtly. “Yeah, when you say it like that, it’s really convincing”, McCoy sneered. He suspected the true reason of the first officer’s refusal had to do with shame and humiliation, and didn’t know how to bring up this more than sensible topic. “You know I’m not going to laugh at you because of the noise you’ll do, or of the colour of your mucus, or anything else, right? Believe me, I’ve seen and heard much worse.” “Hehhh’AHTSCHAHhh!” The Vulcan let out a wrenching sneeze and made an effort to blow lightly into the handkerchief. That was a beginning. “Just get rid of it, Spock,” McCoy encouraged him. “It’s only the two of us, and, as I just told you, I’m not going to laugh at you. Was that the problem on the bridge?” he asked, suddenly wondering why Jim and the other officers seemed upset to let Spock go. Maybe they had enjoyed his embarrassment a bit too much. “Did the captain and the others make fun at you because you sneezed repeatedly? Or loudly? Or for any other stupid reason?” The first officer gave a good blow and swiftly put his handkerchief back into his pocket, shoulders tense and looking away from the doctor. That was the answer he was expecting, and he inwardly cursed Jim. “Okay, Spock, me tell it straight out: I will never laugh at you for any physical problem you may have, all right? You’ve seen what happens when you hide medical stuff from me.” Spock clenched his jaws and Bones added more gently: “That wasn’t a reproach. But I’d like to be sure you won’t do it again. I know that we… we’ve had our disagreements, but trust me when I say that I will never, never make fun of you because you’re in any… physical discomfort.” He had chosen these last words to avoid a speech about emotional pain. McCoy didn’t want to press Spock about it after the events that had occurred last month on Vulcan. “In fact, no one should and the captain is an idiot if he did.” “Doctor, sneezes are innocuous and the officers on the bridge meant no harm.” So he had guessed right. A wave of anger overwhelmed him. Of course, he understood the will to make Spock appear more human. He understood, maybe better than anyone else, the temptation to tease him when he was less than perfect. But Spock had almost died twice in the last four months, for God’s sake, and the CMO felt the illogical but irrepressible wish to help him out, to make him feel (if this word could exist in the Vulcan’s vocabulary) safe, protected, sheltered aboard the Enterprise. I also require McCoy accompany me.1 Those six little words he had uttered just before beaming down to Vulcan for the ku’nat’kali’fee, which meant that Spock considered him a close friend, had touched Leonard very deeply. He had always thought that the first officer was indifferent to anyone, except Jim. He was starting to reconsider his thoughts (and prejudices) about the Vulcan. And, well, if he had to admit it, he also started to really like this green-bloodied hobgoblin, although they quarrelled and argued every day. “Spock, no one sneezes thirty-seven times in less than half an hour if everything is all right, and this is not a subject for teasing when it comes from a member of a species who normally doesn’t sneeze! The captain knows it and he should have sent you straight to sickbay. I don’t mention the fact that you’ve been severely wounded and that your ‘innocuous sneezing’ have in fact hurt you like hell.” “The captain has not read yet the reports about the expedition I led on Malaya’s mountains. He does not know that I… Eeeh’SCHSSHAH! Snfl-that I have been wounded.” “That’s not a reason to…” A idea appeared in the physician’s mind. What if Jim had recognized in Spock some too-well known symptoms, classified them as harmless, and decided to tease his first officer as he’d been himself teased in his own youth? Of course, taking advantage of the situation to humiliate him was wrong, but maybe Jim just couldn’t resist because he knew what the Vulcan’s problem was? “I may have an idea. What’s this lingering scent on the ship? I smelled it as soon as I’ve stepped aboard after my week on the planet, but I can’t recognize it.” “The Enterprise have been extremely foul-smelling due to the low quality of some materials used for the repairs. Mr Scott endeavoured to hide the sickening smell of the gas with agreeable fragrances, such as rose, violet, jasmine…” “All of these at the same time?” “No. He tries a different… heh… a different one… ahhh… every day HehhhSCHuhh!” “Bless you. Did you sneeze before today?” “No, doctor.” “All right. And what’s the smell today? I can’t identify it.” “It is a flower called, I believe, symbelmynë2. It grows on…” “Never mind that. Do we have this flower on the ship?” “Yes. Mr Sulu has made some attempts at growing a small flowerbed in the botanic labs, with some success. Do you think it could be linked with my condition?” “Spock, if you don’t have a cold or any other virus, this is the most logical explanation”, McCoy answered, grabbing his tricorder. “And don’t tell me that Vulcans don’t have allergies, I know this, but with you, who knows?” He looked at the screen and blinked in disbelief. “Do you know what’s your normal histamine level? Because for a human, that would certainly not be normal.” The first officer shook his head negatively, breath hitching madly. “Ehhh… No, I… Heh’HIISH’aah!” That was the problem with Spock: his mixed heritage made it almost impossible to know what was normal in his body and what was not. And, as allergies didn’t exist on Vulcan, no one had ever cared to measure this specific hormone on his body. “Okay, just give me five minutes, right? Don’t move from here, don’t go back to the bridge, or I call security to get you back here, understood?” The chief medical officer didn’t wait for his patient’s answer and ran away to the botanical lab, which was fortunately not far from sickbay. Luck was with him, since he saw no one and was able to cut a symbelmynë flower (beautiful, by the way) and return in record time. When he entered sickbay, Spock was still sitting on the biobed, hands lifted at breast height, handkerchief into them, finally unfolded (and stained with violet mucus or whatever strange Vulcan bodily fluid). His shoulders heaved with every sharp inhale, his eyelids were fluttering erratically, and it was obvious he was fighting the (possibly) allergic tickle with all the strength he had left, knowing that it was a lost cause. It seemed that he was at the same time desperately struggling to hold it back and desperately craving for the final release. His eyes suddenly shut and his body violently pitched forward. The sneeze was smothered by the handkerchief, but it was so powerful it made him shudder. “HuhASHH’SHUH!” “Bless you”, McCoy said while Spock blew his nose sheepishly. “Here, take some tissues and when you’re done I’ll submit you to a small experiment.” Spock almost snatched the tissues from the physician’s hand, hastily putting back his soaked (and now completely purple) handkerchief into his pocket, and wiped his nose and upper lip. Bones looked at the flower in his hand and sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry because I’m almost sure it’s not gonna be pleasant, but I have to know what’s your problem to give you the appropriate medicine. With you,” he mumbled, “it’s always tricky and I want to be sure a hundred percent before I give you anything.” Then he gave the symbelmynë to the Vulcan. “Breath carefully and tell me if you feel anything unusual.” Spock looked warily at the beautiful white little flower. As soon as he inhaled, his eyes filled with tears, his nostrils twitched and his breathe became unsteady. He jerked his head backward, blinking and panting, and tried to hold back the fit, while he brought up his handful of tissue in case he would lose the battle. “Ehhh… Huh… Aaaahh… Ahh-haa’AAHHSSH! HehhSCHAAahh! Ahh’HHSSHAHH! HAASSCCHH’uhh! HH’AAASSCCHH’UH!” As soon as the first outburst finally exploded, he was caught in a vicious circle of gasp-and-sneeze which made him pitch forward every five seconds into the tissues he had kept a few inches from his mouth, only jolting backwards to be overwhelmed by the need to sneeze once more. McCoy hastily threw the flower in a hermetic bag on his desk. “Okay, this is…” “AAAhs’SHHhh! HuhH’HHITSCHHhshuh!” “… more than conclusive”, the physician said, emptying a hypo full of Tri-ox into his patient’s shoulder. Spock took another huge inhale, tissues still pressed to his face, but the next sneeze never came, to his obvious relief. “Better?” “I think so”, the Vulcan answered carefully. “Does your nose still tickle? And don’t lie to me, I’ll know it.” “I still feel the need to sneeze, if that is the question.” “Yeah, I thought as much. Tri-ox will make you breathe more easily, but it won’t suppress completely the symptoms. I can’t give you the pills Jim uses, because they are dosed for his morphology and I have to check first what you normal level of histamines is, but I’ll ask Scotty to come back to less exotic flowers. If you want, I can tell him that I’m the one allergic to symbelmynë. I don’t mind. And then I’ll look for an antihistamine that would work with you.” Spock looked at the CMO pensively, rubbing his nose, and McCoy wondered if he was searching a way to thank him without losing his Vulcan dignity, or to avoid his concern and care by leaving the room. “The pill Jim uses?” he finally asked, and Bones couldn’t suppress a grin. “Yeah, Spock, our dear captain is allergic to almost everything that exists in this universe. You didn’t know?” Maybe he was a bit betraying the confidentiality between patient and physician, but hell, Jim deserved it. “He’s always had very bad allergies. When we were younger, before he became captain of the Enterprise, we served on the same starship.” Spock involuntarily cut him off with two powerful sneezes he directed to his right elbow. “Bless you. That’s where we met. He was young, proud and stupid, and refused the help of medicine until he was completely unable to breathe. He thought that being in a hypoallergenic environment would be enough, but when he was part of a landing party, the sneezing fits hit him with all the more power since the aggression was brutal and sudden. Finally, when he became captain, he decided to take a daily pill not to be embarrassed in front of his crew with endless sneezing fit. So, you see, he should know that it can be annoying, humiliating and even painful.” “Doctor, I believe that he still holds some resentment against me, after the events on Vulcan.” Bones didn’t expect such an answer, and didn’t like the turn the conversation was taking. He knew, of course, that the Vulcan was still upset by what had happened during the pon farr time and that Jim had not really put that behind him either. But maybe he had overestimated the resilience of his two superiors. “And that’s a reason to humiliate you in front of the bridge officers?” he snapped. “Spock, we’ve already been through this, don’t tell me you think you deserve to be punished for something you couldn’t possibly control!” “A Vulcan is responsible for everything he does and he should control all his actions”, Spock answered tersely. “Please, spare me the robot speech. You perfectly know that the events occurring during pon farr are not your responsibility. But what Jim tells you on the bridge is his. He may be my captain, but if he acts out of personal revenge and humiliate the crew, I can report him and I will if he doesn’t apologise to you!” Certainly Spock was about to protest, but his nose didn’t agree. “HehhhSCHUHhh!” “Spock, you look exhausted.” It was true: the Vulcan looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. “I suggest that we have this conversation later and that you rest a bit. I’ll put you off duty for the rest of the day. Don’t look at me like that, it should have been done the instant you came here, wounded and in pain, so that you can recover from your broken ribs. I guess it’s Ross who took care of you, right?” Ross was another medical officer, recently arrived, and McCoy was going to kill her because this was so unprofessional – and it wasn’t the first time she had proven to be incompetent. “This is correct, doctor, but please do not be too harsh with her.” “If this had happened to anyone else, you’d be the first to protest and to reprimand her. Don’t even try to deny it. And now, just lay down, I’m going to give you a mild sedative so that you can rest. At least, when you sleep, you don’t sneeze. And when you wake up, the ship will smell of rose or jasmine, and I shall, maybe, hide Jim’s pills just to see how he reacts without the help of science.” The Vulcan’s eyes, which had closed in exhaustion, snapped open. “Doctor, you…” “That was a joke, Spock, a joke, right? Of course I won’t do that. That wouldn’t be professional. Now, sweet dreams.” “Vulcans don’t-heh-huh-ahh-AHHSSH’uuh! dream”. “Yeah, whatever. They don’t sneeze either, so what I just heard was probably an auditory hallucination.” The sedative worked immediately and Spock’s erratic breathing evened. He even started snoring gently, and the chief medical officer allowed himself a little smile. The Vulcan seemed so vulnerable in his sleep, and at the same time more relaxed than he’d been for months. McCoy liked to think that his sickbay could sometimes be a shelter, even for the (not so) indestructible Vulcan first officer. He didn’t know if Spock really felt safe and secure, but it was the first time he came willingly to sickbay, trusted him with his health. That was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. And now, he had work to do. First, Scotty. Then the antihistamine for Spock. And finally a little conversation with his captain. Maybe he could innocently suggest to the chief engineer to use lilacs for his next fragrance. Lilies and lilacs had always been Jim’s worst allergic nightmare. Maybe, if he was put in the situation his unfortunate first officer had just been in, he would learn the lesson. Maybe. It was worth trying. Not professional, of course, but, hey, nobody’s perfect. 1 It's what Spock says just after saying that for the Vulcan ceremony he's about to perform, only the closest friends are allowed... I love McCoy's face in this episode ("Amok time", do I really have to mention it?) when he realises that he also counts for Spock, that it's not only Jim... 2Lord of the rings fans, please forgive me. I've always wanted to use the symblemynë in an allergic context and I don't write LoTR, so... Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted July 18, 2017 Share Posted July 18, 2017 Oh deliciously, helpless, allergic Spock. Poor vulcan, he has an allergy. On 7/14/2017 at 10:55 AM, Aliena H. said: As soon as the first outburst finally exploded, he was caught in a vicious circle of gasp-and-sneeze which made him pitch forward every five seconds into the tissues he had kept a few inches from his mouth, only jolting backwards to be overwhelmed by the need to sneeze once more. McCoy hastily threw the flower in a hermetic bag on his desk. This bit was the best. I'll just carry this image around in my head forever. I had an evil thought. Perhaps Nyota should pick up a new perfume. Something with an exotic fragrance... Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted July 31, 2017 Share Posted July 31, 2017 Absolutely fantastic! I love it! On 7/14/2017 at 9:55 AM, Aliena H. said: “I offer you a deal: I’ll pretend that what you just said was standard English, and you’re going to take your handkerchief and blow your nose. Then I’ll be glad to explain to you why you’re going to remain here with me a little longer.” LOL On 7/14/2017 at 9:55 AM, Aliena H. said: I know that we… we’ve had our disagreements, but trust me when I say that I will never, never make fun of you because you’re in any… physical discomfort.” Bones is the best! On 7/14/2017 at 9:55 AM, Aliena H. said: And, well, if he had to admit it, he also started to really like this green-bloodied hobgoblin, although they quarrelled and argued every day. Awwww!!! On 7/14/2017 at 9:55 AM, Aliena H. said: And when you wake up, the ship will smell of rose or jasmine, and I shall, maybe, hide Jim’s pills just to see how he reacts without the help of science.” Lol. Go Bones. On 7/14/2017 at 9:55 AM, Aliena H. said: He even started snoring gently, and the chief medical officer allowed himself a little smile. The Vulcan seemed so vulnerable in his sleep, and at the same time more relaxed than he’d been for months. McCoy liked to think that his sickbay could sometimes be a shelter, even for the (not so) indestructible Vulcan first officer. He didn’t know if Spock really felt safe and secure, but it was the first time he came willingly to sickbay, trusted him with his health. That was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. This is the sweetest thing ever! On 7/14/2017 at 9:55 AM, Aliena H. said: Maybe he could innocently suggest to the chief engineer to use lilacs for his next fragrance. Lilies and lilacs had always been Jim’s worst allergic nightmare. Maybe, if he was put in the situation his unfortunate first officer had just been in, he would learn the lesson. Yes! Go for it! Link to comment
Red Posted August 8, 2017 Share Posted August 8, 2017 Awww, Star Trek and Mystrade in one Thread! What else could I want? As always I love every single one of your Stories Link to comment
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