( (he) doesn't know what (he's) doing )
I may have taken some inspiration for McCoy’s internal grumbling about transporters from a reddit thread about what transporters would feel like to which someone responded ‘Easy there, Bones’. Some lines (from Sarek and Kirk) taken from Journey to Babel.
Main Points: ( also some further plotting against fancy uniforms )
Cut sentence as things got shuffled and moving a whole lot faster than intended: Uhura agrees, and then at McCoy’s incredulous eyebrow she adds, “That’s a...future version of Spock, I think? From a timeline that no longer exists. He didn’t share too many of the details.”
Main Points:( 'hard to get' )
I’m going to try to have a chapter out every other week.
Main Points:( the call to adventure )
( i'm a doctor, not a psychiatrist )
( 'tis a silly place )
( the aftermath isn't all good, but none of them exactly regret it )
I kept trying to think of a way to finish this one, where they save Finnegan and the rest, but it’s plenty long already and it’s not actually necessary for the story, so posting this as is, instead.
“It might interest you to know that your doctor is dead,” Spock states, as if rattling off a fact, but it’s clear he’s fishing for information. That he’d bothered to look up Dr. McCoy, that he now wants to know, because Spock’s logic-brain still isn’t completely on board the ‘magic’ spaceship and wants answers that fit neatly into his little worldview—that’s a problem, but not one that it’s Jim’s place to solve.
“All of my closest friends are,” Jim responds. It’s meant to be flippant, a redirect, but it comes out a little too serious, a little too hollow.
Bones is used to waking up from the dead by now. It’s routine. What’s less so is that for once, Jim’s letting his guilt show.
“You were possessed,” he explains, which really does explain everything.
( just a little spark to light the fuse )
“Jim—thank goodness; I woke up and I’m not sure…” He trails off. He knows that small frown of confusion; doesn’t see it much, sure, but.
“Uhm, hi. You okay?”
His world tilts under him again. “No—no, Jim, please, you know me, it’s Bones—” Only desperation has him saying that stupid nickname, but he needs this.
“Trust me, I’d remember a good looking guy like you.”
The world moves, again, an earthquake in miniature, and he watches the panic filter into those blue eyes and registers that, suddenly, he’s being held carefully in familiar arms. “Now, I’d like to say it’s every day that handsome fellows like you fall for me, but it really isn’t,” Jim jokes, but there’s a strain in his voice and concern in his eyes that’s pretty rare. “What happened? Are you okay? Do I need to call someone?”
( there's been much confusion with too many hurt )
( paradise ain't everything it's cracked up to be. )
“I hate shuttles,” McCoy mutters, and starts as a hand slides into his own. Jim’s good at pretending these things are normal, though, so he doesn’t mention it.
“I’ve always wanted a ship—”
“Heaven forbid,” he responds, and gets a teasing smile in return.
“…but I tend to do a lot of my travel by portal. Which is mostly like walking from one place to a different place, so even you should be okay with it.”
“Damn it, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a bed.”
“Could’ve fooled me. You’re pretty comfortable. ‘Sides, this way you can check on me any ol’ time you like and you don’t even have to move.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
timeasmymeasure