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You had come down with what McCoy had enthusiastically called a “classic case of tonsillitis, in space of all places.” He had said it with some measure of pride that you had attributed to his medical curiosity. However, because of how bad you felt, you found it hard to indulge his interest. Your head was pounding, you had body aches all over, your throat was swollen and sore, and you couldn’t sleep because of the pain and restlessness that this illness had brought on. McCoy had ordered you back to your quarters to sleep off the antibiotics and painkillers he’d administered. You heeded his instructions without complaint, wanting nothing more than to be horizontal.
You heard the muffled sound of your door opening from under the pillow you’d put over your head. You heard the shuffling of feet, the opening of a cupboard, and the tinkling of a mug. You felt the bed sink next to you as a hand gently removed the pillow from atop your head. Hissing slightly at the glare of the lights, your eyes met the smiling but concerned face of Scotty.
“Hey, lass. Dr. McCoy told me you’d come in sick this mornin’.” He said softly. “Though’ I might come an’ make you a cuppa.” As you sat up, he held out the mug for you, which you gratefully accepted. He always made the perfect cup of tea, exactly how you liked it.
Scotty rested his hand on your knee as you sipped at your tea. He hated seeing you when you were ill, and since he couldn’t take away the pain, he settled for doing whatever he could to comfort you and make it easier for you. And of course, he felt no small measure of concern for you whenever you were unwell.
“Thanks, Monty. You’re so sweet to me,” you said as you looked up from your mug. While you still felt ill, the warmth of the tea seeped down `to your bones, and the caffeine helped to clear your head a bit. “Are you taking off for lunch?” You asked, curious as to how he’d managed to get away from the Engineering deck.
“Lass, it’s past 19:00 hours; ye’ve been asleep all day.” He said, a little concerned, “I came to check on ye at lunch, but ye were out cold. Didna want to wake ye.” He reached up and clasped your shoulder.
“I’ve been asleep all day?” It was hard to believe you’d slept so long; you certainly didn’t feel rested or remotely well.
“How d’ye feel now?” He asked. Scotty took the mug from your hands and guided you so that your back was facing him before beginning to ever so gently massage your shoulders and neck.
“Ahh,” and other such sounds were all you could summon at first, but finally were able to say, “Well, everything hurts and I’m dying.” You hedged a bit, “Ok, it’s not that bad, but it’s getting there.”
Scotty’s hand moved from your neck up to your head, gently running his fingers through your hair and massaging your scalp. “Oh, lass. I know I cannae do more for ye than what Dr. McCoy’s already done, but I’ll be here for whatever ye need.” He paused for a moment. “Would you like for me to stay the night?”
You were touched by his kindness, “Oh, Monty, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I’m sick and gross.”
He chuckled a bit as he retorted, “Well, you’re no’ asking; I’m offerin’.” He stopped massaging your head and neck and clasped your shoulders lightly.
“Really?” You asked hopefully, turning to look up at him. “You don’t mind?”
“Y/N, I’m no’ going anywhere.” He just smiled before untangling himself from you and jumping up from the bed. “Now, let’s get some food in you.”
“Oh, Monty,” you sighed as you fell back onto your pillows, “You’re the best.”
“I know, lass,” he responded, cocking an eyebrow and grinning. “Only the best for the best, eh?”
Sure, you still felt like absolute death, but being around him made you care about it a little less.