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spacedogfromspaceGoose
Fictober22
Chekov gets his ass kicked by a goose.
Fandom(s): Star Trek TOS
Character(s): Pavel Chekov, Scotty, Lt. Goose
Tags: Genfic, Goose
Rating: Teen+
Content Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 1059
Type: Oneshot, Standalone
Collection: Fictober22, or, Pavel Chekov's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Month
Written for Fictober 2022
Day 9: "Sounds like a you problem."
“Mr Scott?” Chekov called out while stepping into the engine room. “The Captain told me you wanted to see me?”
There was a metallic clang and clatter from somewhere that echoed through the engine room. A disembodied voice followed, “aye, I need an extra set of hands over here.”
“Where is ‘over here?’” Chekov asked, stepping cautiously into the engine room. The place looked like a death trap. There were cables criss-crossing the floors ripe for the tripping, tanks and large industrial tubes that you don’t want to risk brushing against at the risk of getting first degree burns, and many hanging elements to duck under while traversing the room.
“Just over here, follow the sound of my voice,” Scotty called back. He sounded pretty close. Just on the other side of the tank that Chekov was standing in front of.
Chekov walked around the tank, sure he would see Scotty, but there was nobody there. “I do not see you, sir.” Chekov reported.
Suddenly, a prone body on a shop creeper rolled out from underneath the largest transformer box Chekov had ever seen. Scotty sat up and pushed his goggles up onto his forehead. He was coated in a dark layer of grime, and Chekov hoped that Scotty didn’t want him doing anything that would get that gunk all over him.
Chekov looked around, confused by the lack of other engineering personnel. “Where is everyone?”
“Oh you know,” Scotty said, wiping his brow with a grimy hand and leaving a black streak across his forehead. “Scheduling issue, everyone who was supposed to be down here got commandeered by the science team and the only help they left me with doesn’t have any thumbs. Damn science team,” he grumbled.
“I see,” Chekov said. He refrained from telling Scotty that he enjoyed working with the science team whenever he was borrowed out to them. If there was one thing he learned from last year’s office holiday party, it was how to not start a faction war.
“Anyways, glad you came down here,” Scotty said. “It’s an easy job, I just need you to hand me things when I’m under the box. Pain in the arse to have to keep coming back out here for every little thing.”
Chekov smiled. He liked easy, pressure-free tasks. Scotty put his goggles back over his eyes, dug a handful of fuses out of the toolbox, and rolled back under the transformer box.
“Ah shit,” Scotty cursed a moment later. “Chekov, y’mind going into the storage shed and bringing out that box labelled ‘wires and shit?’”
“I can do that,” Chekov said, vaguely remembering where the storage room was. He headed off on his task quickly, but not too quickly, because again, the place was a death trap. But he didn’t know just how much of a death trap it was until he came face to face with… the goose.
He stopped dead in his tracks. “Uh… Mr Scott? There’s a goose in here?”
“Aye, and he’d be the one handing me tools if he had thumbs!” Scotty shouted back.
It was then that Chekov noticed that the goose was in uniform - engineering red - complete with Starfleet insignia. The goose didn’t appreciate Chekov’s staring, and hissed at him.
“Mr Scott, it’s hissing at me,” Chekov called, taking a nervous step back.
“Don’t antagonize the goose, Mr Chekov.”
“I’m not antagonizing the goose!”
“If it's hissing it's because you’re antagonizing it!”
“I didn’t do anything! It’s antagonizing me!”
The goose opened its wings menacingly and charged at him, making terrifying goose noises. Chekov turned and ran. “Mr Scott! The goose is after me!”
“That sounds like a you problem! I told you not to antagonize it!”
“I didn’t fucking antagonize the fucking goose! How do I get it to stop chasing me?” Chekov shouted back, ducking under a large pipe that crossed his path.
“Whatever you do, don’t. Fight. The goose.” Scotty replied, though he sounded awfully unconcerned about the whole ordeal. In fact, he hadn’t even stopped working to see what was going on.
“What if the goose fights me?” Chekov asked, just in time for a surprising weight to hit him in the back of the shoulder blades, knocking him to the floor. The goose now stood over him, angrily hissing and honking and flapping its wings.
Chekov yelped when the goose bit him, and he tried to struggle out from under it, but the goose didn’t allow it. Chekov was blinded by the frantic wings battering his face. The goose threw sharp bites into the mix, and they hurt. A lot.
“Mr Scott! It’s got me!”
“Just don’t fight the goose, Chekov! Eventually he’ll leave you alone, but whatever you do, don’t fight back!”
“Ahhhh!” Chekov yelled, curling into a defensive ball, face down, hands over the back of his neck to protect him from the aggressive bird.
Eventually, the goose did leave him alone, but at that point Chekov was so covered in cuts and scrapes and what he was sure would soon turn into a black eye that Scotty dismissed him from duties for the rest of the day. Chekov planned to go back to his quarters and cry about getting the shit kicked out of him by a bird, but he was unexpectedly summoned to the Captain’s ready room for a meeting.
When Chekov walked into the ready room, Captain Kirk was sitting behind the conference table, waiting. All the other chairs in the room were empty, save one; the goose was seated across from Kirk. Chekov halted.
“Grab a seat,” Kirk said, gesturing. Chekov reluctantly obeyed, but chose a seat far from the goose, which was eyeing him suspiciously.
“Ensign Chekov, Lieutenant Goose-That-I-Don’t-Remember-Hiring, I’m afraid I’m going to have to reprimand you for fighting. I’m very disappointed in your lack of professionalism.”
“But I didn’t fight the goose!” Chekov blurted in protest. “It attacked me! I didn’t even fight back, I just laid on the floor and waited for it to stop!”
“Yes, Chekov, it was very pathetic,” Kirk said, monotone. “As punishment, you two will be spending the next week cleaning the spiderwebs out of the forward Jeffrey's tubes. As a team.”
“Noooooo…” Chekov groaned, and there was a thud as his forehead hit the table. He lay there in defeat. The goose honked. Menacingly, Chekov was certain.