Title: Snarking Is Good For The Soul
Author: Ravencalling
Rating: T (for swearing in two languages)
Chapter Word Count: 1,312
Fandom: Star Trek 2009
Characters/Pairings: Christine Chapel, Leonard McCoy
Summary: Five Times McCoy snapped at Chapel, and one time she snapped at him.
Disclaimer: Star Trek does not belong to me, no matter what I wish. It's the lovely invention of Roddenberry, I'm just taking it out for a test drive, so to speak.
The time during moving in
Christine grunted as she rounded a corner and yet another flight of stairs appeared. Shifting the heavy box in her arms she cursed whatever Gods, all powerful aliens, or sentient inanimate object had made the elevator mysteriously break down on the day she decided to move into her new Starfleet assigned quarters. The only bright side about living on the twelfth floor of the Archer accommodation block was that it was bound to have a good view at that height.
"Finally!" She huffed as she reached her floor, scanning the dull brown doors for number 1208. "Ah ha!" Dumping the over sized box on the floor, she withdrew the padd from her pocket she had been given upon arrival at Starfleet Academy. "Seven...zero...eight...four...two...nine..." The green light next to the key pad lit up and a faint click could be heard.
Picking up the box once more, Christine entered her new room for the first time. Looking around she was pleased with the double bed, big desk and small yet neat private bathroom. However the view was certainly lacking. Far from the view overlooking the grassy courtyard, she was on the other side of the building and had a magnificent view of a similar concrete and glass building. "Charming. At least I don't have to share a shower. Being old has its perks." Having already got a doctorate in biochemistry and being 24 years old meant that she'd be older and more qualified than most of the classmates, which had initially sounded like a drag. College in Paris had been lively, that was certain, but now she was older and wiser and more prone to getting hangovers, Christine wasn't sure she'd be up for dancing all night then going to lectures on next to no sleep. She'd been grateful when the enrolment officer had informed her that she was eligible for her own room, away from the noise of the over excitable younger recruits.
Leaving the box on the desk, she hurried out of her room, and down all twelve flights of stairs to fetch the rest of her stuff. Well, if it wasn't a darn sight quicker going down the blighters than it had been going up them.
Three heavily laden trips later, and Christine was on the last run up. "Just a few more floors and then I can have a nice long hot shower," she muttered under her breath, trying to blow an escapes strand of blonde hair out of her face. In fact, so distracted was she with the thought of cleaning away the dust of travelling and the sheen of sweat coating her body accumulated after climbing over fifty flights of stairs heavily laden that she failed to notice that the taping that crudely held together the bottom of the box was snapping. As the tape gave way, the bottom flaps gave up the ghost, and socks, photographs, Padds, hair grips, and her great aunt's antique wind up clock scattered themselves thoroughly across the landing.
"Merde!" Christine surveyed the damage with a feeling of hopelessness rapidly rising up in her chest. It had taken her ages to get them all to fit in neatly in the container, and now they were strewn left right and centre across the hallway of Starfleet. "Bloody buggering conneries!" She collapsed to her knees, wincing slightly as they made violent contact with the sharp edge of a data disk, and began the arduous task of gathering her belongings.
The sound of heavy footsteps behind her made her look up and see a large shadow turning the corner of the stairs below her. It also made her aware of an escaped book, an actual paper book of Gone with the Wind her grandmere had given to her on her graduation from high school, loitering precariously in the middle of a step, right where the person ascending would step on it. Dropping the assortment of belongings she had gathered into the box, she turned around to fetch the book, only to see that the figure had ascended at a quicker rate than anticipated and had already reached the section of stairs affected by her mishap. Unable to grab the book without having her hands thoroughly trodden on, she called out, "Hold on a sec."
From behind a large pile of cases a muffled "What?" could be heard just as a large foot came down on the book. Christine winced, although whether it was due to the treatment of her precious book, or for the accident that would surely occur.
Sure enough, the book's shiny cover acted perfectly to overcome friction and the man's balance went caput. With legs going one way and momentum propelling his body forward into the beige wall, the cases stood no chance, falling left right and centre down the stairs.
"What is the name of sweet Jesus?" A gruff voice swore from where its owner had come to rest against the wall. Christine gulped. That was one pissed sounding voice.
"I'm so sorry!" Christine scrambled to her feet, and hopped down the few stairs between them, avoiding the debris. "I tried to warn you. I didn't mean to drop my stuff, it just happened, and then you, you came up the stairs and-"
"Jeez, woman, shut it for a minute, will ya?" The man pushed a suitcase off his chest, and looked up at her with chocolate eyes. Christine paused a moment to fully appreciate the unshaven ruggedness of the man before being rightfully affronted. She opened her mouth to retort, but he beat her too it. "Now why in heaven did you decide to litter the stairs? Rooms oversubscribed and you had to camp out here?"
"Hang on a moment! I tried to warn you! I apologised! There's no need to act all snippy with me mister." Standing there in her new red Starfleet uniform dress, black boots, and her hands on her hips, Christine felt feminine empowerment as taught to her by her mother rushing through her veins. "I didn't plan on my box breaking. I'd rather it hadn't, to be honest!" Yes, he could have been hurt, and yes it probably was her fault for not taping up the boxes tighter, but there was no need for outright rudeness.
The man stood up, dusting off his cadet trousers. "Damnit, woman, don't get your panties in a twist." He held up a hand to stop Christine's renewed tirade. "Now, if we get your stuff together, can we just drop it? I've had a tough day."
Realising that this was probably the best option she had, not to mention the least disprupting, she nodded. "I'm sorry again. And, er, thanks. For helping that is." she added as he helped her gather her belongings back into the broken box. "I'm Christine." She offered quickly as she made sure the top-turned-bottom of the box was more secure than the previous bottom.
"McCoy." Was the brusque reply as large hands lifted the box into her arms. "Now scat, before some other mischief befalls you and some other poor souls ends up injured." Nodding once again in thanks, Christine hurried up the stairs. Rounding the a corner she could have sworn she heard McCoy muttering under his breath about how he knew space was dangerous, but hadn't expected to run into it before his feet left the goddamn ground. She chuckled, and hurried down the corridor.
Opening her room, she gladly deposited the last box on her desk and with a sigh collapsed onto her new bed. Lying still with eyes closed for a few minutes, it took her a while to relax enough to realise that she was still grimy and probably starting to smell. Jumping up she hurried into the bathroom, wondering as she got into the shower if she could count that strange meeting as her first acquaintance at the academy.