NAME: Last Attempt
RATING: PG
FANDOM: Star Trek Reboot
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Pavel Chekov, Montgomery Scott, others | pre-slash Chekov/Scotty
GENRES: Romance/Drabble (ish)
SUMMARY: Chekov just wants to hold Scotty's hand.
PROMPT: 35: Hold My Hand
WARNINGS: Adorable fluff, no accents, young love, and this is very short. I apologize if you're diagnosed with diabetes after this.
AU: Another middle school fic. Chekov is 11 and Scotty is 14. Also… there may be some British slang. I blame Doctor Who.
For the smartest boy in the school, he was surely a dumbass. Chekov stared across at the older boy with a smile on his face. Chekov was the only eleven-year-old in a classroom full of fourteen-year-olds. And it wasn't one of the those schools where there were two classrooms and the 11 through 14 year olds went in one class room while the 15 through 18 year olds went into another. No… Chekov was just smarter than all other 11-, 12-, and 13-year-olds and got to skip.
And his rival, one Montgomery Scott, was his subject of fascination. He was wonderfully smart, surpassing Chekov maybe a little. But he lacked some social cueing.
Chekov had been trying to get the older boy to hold his hand for the past month now. The littler boy had tried getting his hands cold so that Scotty, who sat next to him, might warm them up (failed). He had tried 'accidently' bumping his hand against the other boy's (failed). Not to mention the other failed times Scotty just hadn't gotten the idea.
Which was why Chekov was making one final attempt after classes. Scotty often went to an old abandoned quarry to play with explosives and attempt to make little rockets he had built fly.
"Oi!" Chekov's little voice said, permeating through the forested circle around the quarry. His voice bounced off the stone walls and made Scotty jump, looking around feverishly. "Up here, mate."
Scotty found the source of the voice and crooked his head to the side, "What are you doing here, Mr. Chekov?"
"Lookin' for you," Chekov replied, climbing down to him. "Are you socially retarded or something?" he asked bluntly.
"What? That's not very nice," Scotty replied.
"I don't care," Chekov told him, "I've been trying to get you to hold my hand, and it hasn't gotten through to your brain. Which is why I ask."
Scotty was taken aback, "Why do you want to hold my hand?"
"'Cause I like you," Chekov replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders a little.
Scotty thought about this prospect for a minute. "Well… you could have just told me. Maybe I'm just a little slower than you're used to."
"Maybe," Chekov replied, grinning a little bit. "Will you hold my hand, then?"
Scotty smiled and enclosed the younger boy's hand with his own. "All right then. And what am I supposed to do with this hand?"
Chekov grinned, "Walk with me? You're my rival at school for a reason. Let's talk."
"Let's talk indeed," Scotty said, and led the younger boy out of the quarry and back up into civilization.