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konstantyaTitle: Not Like I Faint Every Time We Touch
Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Romance (unrequited), crack treated seriously
Characters/pairings: Linda Larson, Reginald Barclay (one-sided Larson/Barclay)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,183
Summary: In which Lieutenant Linda Larson develops an embarrassing crush. (Takes place during “The Nth Degree.” Inspired by these two Tumblr posts.)
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
It was his overstepping of authority that really made her stop and look at him—the sheer audacity of it. And the words “Reg Barclay” and “audacity” went together about as well as Captain Picard and children did.
After all, he was only a junior grade lieutenant, same as her. And she couldn’t imagine going around Commander La Forge—both physically and verbally—the way he had done, even if she had had a solution as downright brilliant as his had been.
So was that it? Professional jealousy? Larson liked to think she was above such things (and to her credit, she generally was), so perhaps it was just pure surprise at his uncharacteristic behavior that made her stare.
In the end, after the probe had been destroyed and the captain had thanked him, Barclay sheepishly apologized to Commander La Forge. The spell on her suddenly broken, Larson simply shook her head at him and turned back to her console, and the day went on as normally as it could.
---
Barclay, it had to be said, was a strange one.
Truth be told, Larson had initially thought him rather cute, after her transfer, when she’d been getting her introductory tour of Engineering—not drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but cute. She’d always had a bit of a thing for blonds, and he’d been hunched so diligently over his work station, completely lost in the task at hand—at one point, she had even caught him gnawing adorably on his bottom lip, a frown of concentration between his eyebrows. But then she’d heard him talk, whereupon it became clear that he had all the confidence of a wet noodle, and her tentative attraction to him had swiftly fled.
It wasn’t like she required her romantic partners (the male ones, at least) to be dick-swinging men-about-town, but they did need to have some semblance of a spine. If one were going to date a man, one might as well be able to enjoy the perks of the packaging, so to speak. She didn’t mind taking charge in the bedroom—often enjoyed it, really—but there was still something to be said for a guy who not only could, but would, hoist you onto a table or up against a wall occasionally, without you explicitly asking him to.
In her quarters, eating dinner, Larson thought back to that afternoon in Engineering. It was easy to miss, but Barclay was actually surprisingly tall when he managed to stand up straight—and he had, for a few minutes there. In fact, he had practically towered over Commander La Forge, in those tense moments before the probe’s destruction.
In the middle of chewing, Larson flushed and set down her fork.
So. Perhaps that was it.
---
She decided, the next morning, as she was getting ready, that she’d stop by his quarters. They were on her way to Engineering, anyway—she’d seen him scuttle back into them a few times, after their shifts were over—so it wasn’t like it would be particularly suspicious, to either Barclay or any passers-by. But she hoped that seeing him, however briefly, outside of formal duty hours might help her sort her feelings out—confirm whether last night’s jolt of arousal was something real, or just an aberration brought on by a momentary bout of assertiveness on his part. Worst case scenario, if he was his usual awkward, anxious self, she could fall back on complimenting him for that trick he’d pulled with the shields yesterday—it was legitimately impressive—and they’d have an uncomfortable walk to work. Larson had survived plenty worse interactions, some of them even with Barclay himself.
But maybe, just maybe, she dared to think, he’d stand in front of her at his full height, and would actually meet her eyes (his own were so stupidly soft and pretty at times, and that was another point in his favor—a natural blond with brown eyes), and…well…she could see where things went. Maybe a drink that evening. Maybe a little something more.
She took a breath and touched his door chime. No answer.
Larson blinked. Was it possible he was still asleep? Or else in the bathroom? She touched the chime again, leaning her ear a bit closer, trying to listen for the frantic fumbling of limbs hitting the floor or even the distant hum of a sonic shower.
Again, nothing.
She pulled back, frowning. Was it possible she’d missed him, that he was already in Engineering? He was hardly known for arriving early, but that must have been the case today. Just her luck—she worked up the courage to visit his quarters and then he wasn’t even there.
But when she, herself, arrived a few minutes later, he was still nowhere to be seen. And when Commander La Forge asked about him, all she could do was reluctantly volunteer the little information she had.
---
It turned out to be the Cytherians, of course, when everything was said and done. (Well, not of course, because the Federation hadn’t even known about their existence before, but of course in the sense that it was an outside influence at work, rewiring poor Barclay and bringing them all to the center of the goddamned galaxy.)
She’d heard that he had been twitchy and dazed after being disconnected from the ship, but otherwise in good spirits. Apparently he’d stumbled onto the bridge to make the introductions and smooth over first contact, then reported to sickbay so that Dr. Crusher could look him over and confirm there was no lasting damage. And now he was in Ten Forward, sitting contemplatively at the bar between Commander La Forge and Counselor Troi, while Larson sat way off to the side, sipping an Andorian Sunrise through a straw and biding her time until he was alone. He didn’t seem to have completely reverted to his pre-probe patheticness, and she’d get her chance yet, so help her.
(Was that weird, she wondered—her following him to Ten Forward and surreptitiously watching him from across the room? Whatever. If anyone could handle “weird,” it was probably Barclay, especially after what he’d recently been through.)
But then, just as the two senior officers appeared to be wrapping up with him, Counselor Troi said something, Barclay spun nervously off of his stool, and before Larson knew it, the two of them were walking out of the bar, arm in arm, while Commander La Forge left in the other direction, a knowing grin on his face.
Larson propped her chin in her palm and blew a few dejected bubbles into her drink. Not that she could blame him—if Counselor Troi had wanted to go on a romantic stroll with her, she certainly wouldn’t have said no—but how exactly was she to compete with a beautiful, warm half-Betazoid if that was his type?
Oh, well. Maybe it was a sign that she should just give it up. It was just a crush, after all; she’d get over it. And dating someone from the same department could be such a hassle, anyway.
-----
A/N: Wow, it’s been a while. Almost forgot how to format things!
For reference, Lieutenant Larson’s first name is never actually mentioned in the episode, but the script lists it as “Linda,” which is good enough for me. I don’t actually agree with the interpretation of the above-linked Tumblr posts (that the look she gives him in Engineering is one of romantic/sexual interest), but the idea of someone unrequitedly thirsting after him, instead of the other way around, was frankly too good and hilarious to pass up, pfft.
But anyway, yeah, this is me falling back down the TNG well, oops. Reg Barclay, why you gotta be like that (affectionate)?
All other fics can be found here.
Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Romance (unrequited), crack treated seriously
Characters/pairings: Linda Larson, Reginald Barclay (one-sided Larson/Barclay)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,183
Summary: In which Lieutenant Linda Larson develops an embarrassing crush. (Takes place during “The Nth Degree.” Inspired by these two Tumblr posts.)
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
- Not Like I Faint Every Time We Touch -
It was his overstepping of authority that really made her stop and look at him—the sheer audacity of it. And the words “Reg Barclay” and “audacity” went together about as well as Captain Picard and children did.
After all, he was only a junior grade lieutenant, same as her. And she couldn’t imagine going around Commander La Forge—both physically and verbally—the way he had done, even if she had had a solution as downright brilliant as his had been.
So was that it? Professional jealousy? Larson liked to think she was above such things (and to her credit, she generally was), so perhaps it was just pure surprise at his uncharacteristic behavior that made her stare.
In the end, after the probe had been destroyed and the captain had thanked him, Barclay sheepishly apologized to Commander La Forge. The spell on her suddenly broken, Larson simply shook her head at him and turned back to her console, and the day went on as normally as it could.
Barclay, it had to be said, was a strange one.
Truth be told, Larson had initially thought him rather cute, after her transfer, when she’d been getting her introductory tour of Engineering—not drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but cute. She’d always had a bit of a thing for blonds, and he’d been hunched so diligently over his work station, completely lost in the task at hand—at one point, she had even caught him gnawing adorably on his bottom lip, a frown of concentration between his eyebrows. But then she’d heard him talk, whereupon it became clear that he had all the confidence of a wet noodle, and her tentative attraction to him had swiftly fled.
It wasn’t like she required her romantic partners (the male ones, at least) to be dick-swinging men-about-town, but they did need to have some semblance of a spine. If one were going to date a man, one might as well be able to enjoy the perks of the packaging, so to speak. She didn’t mind taking charge in the bedroom—often enjoyed it, really—but there was still something to be said for a guy who not only could, but would, hoist you onto a table or up against a wall occasionally, without you explicitly asking him to.
In her quarters, eating dinner, Larson thought back to that afternoon in Engineering. It was easy to miss, but Barclay was actually surprisingly tall when he managed to stand up straight—and he had, for a few minutes there. In fact, he had practically towered over Commander La Forge, in those tense moments before the probe’s destruction.
In the middle of chewing, Larson flushed and set down her fork.
So. Perhaps that was it.
She decided, the next morning, as she was getting ready, that she’d stop by his quarters. They were on her way to Engineering, anyway—she’d seen him scuttle back into them a few times, after their shifts were over—so it wasn’t like it would be particularly suspicious, to either Barclay or any passers-by. But she hoped that seeing him, however briefly, outside of formal duty hours might help her sort her feelings out—confirm whether last night’s jolt of arousal was something real, or just an aberration brought on by a momentary bout of assertiveness on his part. Worst case scenario, if he was his usual awkward, anxious self, she could fall back on complimenting him for that trick he’d pulled with the shields yesterday—it was legitimately impressive—and they’d have an uncomfortable walk to work. Larson had survived plenty worse interactions, some of them even with Barclay himself.
But maybe, just maybe, she dared to think, he’d stand in front of her at his full height, and would actually meet her eyes (his own were so stupidly soft and pretty at times, and that was another point in his favor—a natural blond with brown eyes), and…well…she could see where things went. Maybe a drink that evening. Maybe a little something more.
She took a breath and touched his door chime. No answer.
Larson blinked. Was it possible he was still asleep? Or else in the bathroom? She touched the chime again, leaning her ear a bit closer, trying to listen for the frantic fumbling of limbs hitting the floor or even the distant hum of a sonic shower.
Again, nothing.
She pulled back, frowning. Was it possible she’d missed him, that he was already in Engineering? He was hardly known for arriving early, but that must have been the case today. Just her luck—she worked up the courage to visit his quarters and then he wasn’t even there.
But when she, herself, arrived a few minutes later, he was still nowhere to be seen. And when Commander La Forge asked about him, all she could do was reluctantly volunteer the little information she had.
It turned out to be the Cytherians, of course, when everything was said and done. (Well, not of course, because the Federation hadn’t even known about their existence before, but of course in the sense that it was an outside influence at work, rewiring poor Barclay and bringing them all to the center of the goddamned galaxy.)
She’d heard that he had been twitchy and dazed after being disconnected from the ship, but otherwise in good spirits. Apparently he’d stumbled onto the bridge to make the introductions and smooth over first contact, then reported to sickbay so that Dr. Crusher could look him over and confirm there was no lasting damage. And now he was in Ten Forward, sitting contemplatively at the bar between Commander La Forge and Counselor Troi, while Larson sat way off to the side, sipping an Andorian Sunrise through a straw and biding her time until he was alone. He didn’t seem to have completely reverted to his pre-probe patheticness, and she’d get her chance yet, so help her.
(Was that weird, she wondered—her following him to Ten Forward and surreptitiously watching him from across the room? Whatever. If anyone could handle “weird,” it was probably Barclay, especially after what he’d recently been through.)
But then, just as the two senior officers appeared to be wrapping up with him, Counselor Troi said something, Barclay spun nervously off of his stool, and before Larson knew it, the two of them were walking out of the bar, arm in arm, while Commander La Forge left in the other direction, a knowing grin on his face.
Larson propped her chin in her palm and blew a few dejected bubbles into her drink. Not that she could blame him—if Counselor Troi had wanted to go on a romantic stroll with her, she certainly wouldn’t have said no—but how exactly was she to compete with a beautiful, warm half-Betazoid if that was his type?
Oh, well. Maybe it was a sign that she should just give it up. It was just a crush, after all; she’d get over it. And dating someone from the same department could be such a hassle, anyway.
-----
A/N: Wow, it’s been a while. Almost forgot how to format things!
For reference, Lieutenant Larson’s first name is never actually mentioned in the episode, but the script lists it as “Linda,” which is good enough for me. I don’t actually agree with the interpretation of the above-linked Tumblr posts (that the look she gives him in Engineering is one of romantic/sexual interest), but the idea of someone unrequitedly thirsting after him, instead of the other way around, was frankly too good and hilarious to pass up, pfft.
But anyway, yeah, this is me falling back down the TNG well, oops. Reg Barclay, why you gotta be like that (affectionate)?
All other fics can be found here.
