(Source: karlurbaninternational, via dinglehoppersaplenty)
(Source: karlurbaninternational, via devils-trap)
“How old is he?” The question sounds innocent enough and Bones can’t stop staring at the boy sitting in front of the controls. His hair is curly, golden, and his face looks too young, his features too boyish for someone who should be in Starfleet.
Scotty is the first - and only - one to answer him. “Seventeen,” he replies, his gaze following the path of Bones’, locking on the kid who’s turned slightly, eyes on them. Sulu doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move, just listens to the conversation going on around him.
“Is that even legal?” Bones asks, backtracking when he realizes that his question sounds strange, “I mean, for Starfleet — is he even old enough to be here?”
“Guess so,” Scotty says, shrugging as he turns, looking at Sulu.
Bones purses his lips together and watches as Chekov turns away from the trio, his attention going back to the controls in front of him; long, thin, and pale fingers work the buttons and knobs, his mouth moving as he speaks, but Bones is too far away to hear the words.
Seventeen, he thinks to himself, his forehead furrowing as he watches the kid work skillfully, like he was made to do this and has been doing it his entire life. Questions run through the doctor’s mind as he watches, unaware of the movement around him until Sulu touches his shoulder, informing him that he’s needed in the Sickbay.
Bones reluctantly turns away from Chekov and follows Sulu, his mind going from one thing to the next, but Pavel Chekov being his one constant thought throughout the whole day.
(via petersassybritcheshale)
(via movedtomarymonster)
