"Plasma conduits, plasma conduits... where are those damn plasma conduits?"
The muttering preceded the chief engineer as he searched the crates in the dim, chilly hold. This was the final group of crates; if they weren't here, they weren't in the hold. Scotty continued to mutter to himself as he peered at the labels in the dim corner, then cursed as he realized there was another stack of crates behind those. With a sigh, he hauled himself over the obstructive containers and promptly tripped over... a person? He shook his head to clear his vision, but no, it still looked like a person. A person who most definitely shouldn't have been there, and even more definitely shouldn't have a nest of blankets in this out-of-the-way corner.
"What in the hell?" A female voice came from the blankets, sounding incredibly annoyed and irritable, sentiments that matched Scotty's own. She shoved her blankets off and stood, hands on hips, frowning and flicking her long red ponytail over her shoulder. She was wearing an old Academy t-shirt and a pair of running shorts; her bare feet had red toenails, though her fingernails were bare. Altogether, she was a conundrum.
"That's what I'm wonderin'," Scotty frowned. "Who are ye, and what're ye doin' here?" Although the words sounded demanding, his tone was more puzzled than anything else.
The woman huffed. "I'm trying to sleep," she replied tartly, as if this was absolutely normal and any fool could have figured it out. "Kind of difficult when someone stomps on you." She yanked at her t-shirt, which had traveled approximately a quarter of the way around and was threatening to choke her.
Upon further reflection, he realized he recognized her face as one he saw on a regular basis during his shifts. She had a pretty face, with skin so pale that it was nearly luminous in the faint light, a stubborn chin, and a short frame enhanced by curves in all the right places, curves he hadn't noticed before. He racked his brain for her actual name, her department, for anything he knew about her. "Lieutenant... Mills?" He hazarded a guess, about half sure he was wrong, but at least it'd prompt the woman to identify herself. Maybe he could still get out of this without being involved.
He absolutely wasn't trying to avoid looking at her, branding those curves into his mind, noticing the way her expressive mouth twisted with impatience as she narrowed her eyes. Wasn't paying any attention to the fact that her t-shirt was form-fitting and the way her hips shifted when she crossed her arms across her chest.
With a sigh, she nodded and offered a sketchy salute. "That's me. Lieutenant Moira Mills. And before you ask, yes, I have a bed, and no, I don't want to sleep there." Belatedly she added, "Sir."
This was proving to be a much stickier situation than he'd thought. Why couldn't she have been a stowaway? he thought with a sigh. That would've been much easier to deal with. "All right, but ye can't sleep here." Hoping to bring an end to this quickly, he started visually scanning the labels on the crates, trying very hard to ignore her legs. Legs? he thought. Female Starfleet officers shouldn't have legs! Well, except for Lt. Uhura, maybe...
And those shorts are entirely too short.
Hands on her hips, Mills frowned. "Why not? I've been sleeping here for almost two weeks." The stubborn set of her chin clearly stated that she was ready to argue this all the way to the top, if need be. "I'd like to know where I should sleep when my roommate decides she's going to screw every male on the ship, in order from least seniority to highest."
"Likes to start on the bottom, eh?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he cringed internally. Wrong thing to say, bucko.
Closing her eyes to keep tentative hold on her temper, she sighed. "I don't really care where she likes to start, or end, or anything in between. And I really don't care if she DOES screw every male on the ship, I just wish she would do it when I'm not trying to sleep. Or read. Or shower." Another sigh as she scratched the back of her head, this time sounding defeated. "I mean, really, we're on opposite shifts..." She trailed off, then shook her head. "Never mind. Not your problem. At least not til she gets to the ranking crew."
Was that... a joke? Scotty wasn't sure, but hell, it was a way out, and damned if he wasn't going to take it.
"Aye, and by then she'll be crawlin' with space bugs and beasties and the doctor'll make her a case study," he agreed blandly, still checking tags and occasionally glancing at her (at her face! really! her face! His brain was screaming very contradictory things at him, one part pointing out that she really was pretty and obviously smart, just the type he liked; the other part pointed out that fraternization between department heads and subordinates was a really BAD idea) to see if she was about to burst into tears or shout or some other incomprehensible female reaction. So far, so good.
Seeing that he wasn't about to kick her out of her hidey-hole this instant, she leaned against the wall of the hold, rolling her eyes. "They'll probably make her hallucinate or something. Terrifying space monkeys or spectral cats or who knows what else. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure she's good at what she does," the part of Scotty's mind that was urging him to ignore protocol snickered and added or who she does, "I just wish she'd do it when I'm not there. I don't know, maybe she doesn't understand privacy or something. Other than the sex, she's a good roommate; doesn't leave wet towels laying around, or go through my stuff, or anything."
"Aye," seemed to be the safest thing to say, and Scotty was determined to get out of this as quickly as possible. "Well, the conduits aren't here. I should go." Please, please me get out of here soon, he thought. Sandwiches. Keep your mind on sandwiches. Her pale skin was distracting, and if there was anything he didn't want, it was to get embroiled in a disagreement between females. The question of where she should sleep was completely forgotten.
She seemed to have an inkling of what he was thinking, because there was a decidedly amused smirk on her face. "Conduits? Which ones?" She leaned casually against the wall, arms and ankles crossed, and no, he wasn't noticing that tribal vine tattoo on her ankle, absolutely not. Or the red toenail polish again. Think of Delta Vega, think of the cold of Delta Vega...
Clearing his throat, obviously because of the dust and not because he was in any way uncomfortable confronting a half-naked woman he worked with every day, he paused for a moment. The part of his brain that wasn't reminding him how long it had been since he'd been around a woman was laughing. "Plasma conduits," he answered warily.
She snorted. "They're right there." She pointed to the bottom of one of the middle stacks of crates. Of course. "I'll help you get to it." She stood up and started hauling crates, forming a slightly messy pile. When she gave him a strange look, he realized he was staring. "Problem, sir?" she asked, emphasis on his title.
He shook himself and grinned, though even to him it felt pasted-on. "No, no, no problem at all," he stated firmly as he grabbed a crate himself. "Er. Thanks for the help." He tried desperately to fight being mesmerized by the easy way she picked up crates and the strength of her legs. And when she bent over, he bit his lip so hard it left marks.
Another smirk. "Of course. Sir." Now she was definitely mocking him, but what could he object to? There was no rule against calling superior officers 'sir'; otherwise the whole ship would be written up. But it was quite amazing that someone of her stature could haul crates like that.
"There you go, that's the one." She gave the crate in question a light kick, and he bent down to double-check. Moira shook her head and rolled her eyes as she backed off, sensing his discomfort, but she didn't say anything else. Her expression showed her amusement and curiosity as she tried to figure out why he was so uncomfortable; he had no trouble keeping his mind on his work during shift.
Finally he stood up. "Aye, that it is. Well, um... thanks again, Lt. Mills. I'll... see you around?" Damn. He hadn't meant for that to come out as a question, and clearly she was amused by it. And he STILL couldn't figure out what department she was in.
"Well, yeah, we're on the same ship," she pointed out. "And there's scheduled maintenance on Deck Four next shift, to change out air filters in crew cabins." So clearly she was in Environmental Reclamation; she must have some sort of important position there, as he didn't see the ER crew on a regular basis.
What does that have to do with anything? He racked his brain again, trying to put this new information together with anything that might give him a clue.
Moira continued, "So I'll need some of your personnel to help, if that's convenient. I think I mentioned it when you were drawing up schedules."
And then it hit him, and he could have smacked himself. He would have, if he wasn't holding the crate. "Right. Right! Lt. Mills! I didn't recognize you," Of course not; she wasn't normally half-naked, and minus her typical coating of dust and grease. "... out of uniform," he decided was tactful enough. No need to mention that in the bulky coveralls Environmental Ops wore, he didn't really recognize any one's gender, even the head of the sub-department. And during shifts, it wasn't like gender was important, as long as the job got done. "I'll make sure you have enough people to help."
Mills nodded, now all business, but she'd definitely noticed his hesitation, and there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Thank you, sir, it's a messy job but it has to be done."
That was his cue. "That it does, that it does." Scotty nodded to her, then turned and left. He may have left a little faster than he entered, but after all, he did have people waiting for those coils; it absolutely had nothing to do with a disturbingly female crew chief, one that he knew he'd see when he closed his eyes to sleep, no matter how he tried to think of other subjects, no matter how awkward this new realization would make work tomorrow. No matter how often that treacherous part of his brain reminded him that the question of where she should sleep was still unresolved, and that he had a nice, big bed that was pretty lonely with just him in it. He groaned, feeling a headache coming on, but at least that was a distraction.