Someone’s ordered the wrong supplies. Again.
Leonard alternates between glaring futilely at the quailing intern and the pile of useless plastic buckets sitting the middle of medbay. “And what the hell,” he finally says, “am I supposed to do with this?”
"You could sell them," Chapel suggests mildly. "I hear Scotty’s always on the lookout for……plastic."
Leonard throws his hands in the air, shoots one more dirty look at the intern, and tries to forget about the buckets.
Then someone drops a tray of hypos, breaks a monitor, and Scotty himself limps cheerfully in with a shattered femur and a hassled-looking officer under his arm.
"I’m done," Leonard announces, after he’s patched Scotty up and sent him away with ill grace. "I’m done,” he says again for emphasis, and he just manages to glimpse Chapel’s exasperated expression before he shuts himself in his office and refuses to come out.
It’s only fair, he thinks mulishly, sitting in his chair with his forehead resting on the surface of his cool, soothing desk. Jim pulls this act every time, just goes and disappears for hours on end when the stress gets to be too much. And Leonard’s the one keeping everyone on the damn ship in one piece.
"If anyone deserves off time, it’s me," he says aloud, then jumps guiltily when his office door opens. "Ten minutes, Christine, that’s all I-"
"Dr. McCoy," Spock says, arching an eyebrow from his position in Leonard’s doorway. "Is there a problem?"
Leonard contemplates refusing to answer and prodding the Vulcan out of the way so that the door will close again. Considers moping around in his office for another half hour or so until some major injury comes gimping in and he’ll have to emerge and put the poor sap back together. Briefly deliberates the pros and cons of comming Jim and complaining until the kid shows up to entertain him.
"Yes," he ends up saying, folding his arms and scowling wholeheartedly. "Yes, I have a goddamn problem."
He ends up ranting for five minutes on end with Spock standing in front of his desk, watching him with a vaguely interested expression like Leonard’s one of his lab experiments. And Leonard’s so far gone that he doesn’t even care.
When he stops for air, he’s red-faced and indignant all over again, a lump of frustration in his throat and a sour taste in his mouth.
"Sorry," he says, aware that Spock hasn’t said a word during all of this. "Sorry, I just…."
Then, the world turns on end and Spock reaches out and puts his hand on Leonard’s shoulder.
It’s both a shocking and an unexpectedly comforting gesture, and Leonard blinks down at his desk a few times before looking up.
Spock’s face is unreadable as always, but his hand is still there and, to Leonard’s surprise and amusement, Spock carefully lifts it and sets it down again in a single, restrained pat.
Leonard loses it. Just folds across his desk and breaks down cackling, his stomach cramping and his breaths coming out in great, wheezing guffaws. “Oh God,” he gasps, then shakes his head when Spock’s hand withdraws immediately. “It’s not you, it’s not you, I swear. Jesus-” And then he’s gone again, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes as he straightens and squints incredulously at Spock.
"Don’t ever change," he says seriously, and Spock’s head tips at a minute degree, contemplating Leonard’s expression gravely.
"I did not intend to," he finally replies, and Leonard decides that’ll have to do.
You can tell a lot about someone by the type of music they listen to. Hit shuffle on your iPod, phone, iTunes, media player, etc. and write down the first 20 songs. Here are the rules: NO SKIPPING! Be honest! Then pass this on to 10 people!
i honestly don’t know i had a few of these. oh well.
sure star trek: tos can seem pretty hokey when you watch it today but consider this
all those special effects were done without computers
and communicators were essentially flip cell phones. they came up with the idea long before cell phones were invented
PADDs were literally tablets. and the talking computer voice? uh-huh, that’d be siri
it’s freaking incredible. did star trek predict the future of technology or did it influence the future of technology?
"Hey, Doc," Jim says cheerfully, and Leonard eyes him dubiously.
"What now, Kirk?" he asks, keeping his eyes fixed on the task at hand, a large scrape across Jim’s kneecap from sliding across the commons lawn one too many times.
"Soccer," Jim says, by way of explanation, and he starts humming as Leonard sighs and begins gathering his materials. It’s not the kid’s first time at the clinic. Hell, it’s been all of two weeks since it opened and he’s been here three times.
Normally, Leonard would chew him out, toss him a box of antibiotics and tell him to pull his head out of his ass, but one look at Jim’s brazen grin and he’s reverted back to the awkward teenager in high school, afraid to talk to the most popular guy in class because he’s just Leonard McCoy, the kid who wants to be a doctor and wears inch-thick glasses.
"There’s a game on Friday," Jim says nonchalantly, then flinches when Leonard dabs at the scrape with a swab. "Ahhh….."
"Sorry," Leonard mumbles, briefly distracted by the way Jim’s calf flexes beneath his hand, and he puts a hand out without thinking to steady his leg. Jim’s skin is warm, a little dirty from rolling around on the ground, and Leonard’s next breath whooshes out a little unsteadily.
"Anyway. Game," Jim continued determinedly. "You should join. We need another guy."
"N-No, that’s not-" Leonard stutters, then clears his throat and fights to get himself back under control. "I’m not really the type."
"Mathlete, huh?" Jim says lightly, and Leonard blinks, caught off guard. "Me too. We totally suck, but hey, it’s fun." He grins, eyes dancing, and Leonard’s lost. "So what do you say, doc?"
"Sure," Leonard hears himself say, swept along by a gravity much stronger than his own, and who’s he kidding anyway, thinking he could have ever resisted this? "I’m in."
The red lights are flashing.
Good things never happen when those lights are flashing, Jim thinks, then thinks that he’s been spending too much time with Bones.
"Mr. Sulu," Jim says casually, trying to ignore the wailing screech of the alarm around them. "Would you care to offer an explanation?" The last time the lights went off, they nearly crashed into a tiny moon that somehow escaped every single radar.
"Sorry, sir, it appears the problem’s from-"
"Engineering, Captain!" barks a little mechanical voice, and Jim thumbs the comm.
"Scotty, there better be a good reason for this."
"We’ve got an, ahh…….bit of a setback with maintenance, sir. Kristof here mucked up some wiring- didn’t ya, Kristof?"
A miserable mutter in the background.
"Anyway, we’ve got to shut down gravity for a few minutes- shouldn’t be more than ten, Cap."
"Oh, hell no,” Bones says from somewhere behind the chair, followed by a round of groaning from around the bridge.
((cont)) betta fish, swimming in his bowl being all grouchy and betta fishy. and when every spock talks, any word that has s does the snakey thing and his favorite phrase is “it issssssss illogical”.
imagine jim being an adorable little golden hamster that scampers around and tries to jump into bones’ tank a lot
Jim totally dances around his quarters (probably half naked) to (Don’t Fear) the Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult while Bones facepalms.
The first thing Leonard does when he gets a few days off from work is go to a sporting goods store. The diving section is thankfully well-stocked and it isn’t long until he finds the snorkels, but all of them don’t really allow for talking – except for one.
He buys that one.
“Cold,” Leonard murmurs, hands slowly flexing over Jim’s bunched thighs from where Jim is straddling his waist.
"Shh," Jim murmurs, tongue just peeking out from between his teeth. "Don’t move," He moves his paint brush with deliberate precision, streaking pale coloured paint over the ink on Leonard’s flesh.
The tattoos are only simple, solid bones with ivy weaving between them, swirling nebulae captured between them as the earth rests in the crook of Leonard’s sternum, and it makes him moan slightly when he feels the bristles of the brush glide over his hardening nipple, Jim resting a bracing hand over his chest.
"Have you got your Leica?" Jim asks of Leonard, glasses slipping down his nose slightly, paint smearing the black frame of them. It makes Leonard ache to slip his hands up Jim’s thighs and thread his fingers through the blonde locks to tug Jim down and kiss him, breathe the ancient air that form his lungs and drink from the well of cosmos that strewn Jim’s bones with stars and galaxies and nebulae.
"Of course I have," He grumbles beneath his breath, fingers tightening over Jim’s thighs slightly. "What do you take me for, an idiot?"
"That’s debatable," Jim laughs quietly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Leonards cheek. When he pulls back, Jim’s chest is smeared slightly with paint.
"Why’d you want my camera?" Leonard asks, sliding his hands up to curl around Jim’s hips. Jim cups the Leica delicately in his hand.
"So I can capture the beauty of the world," Jim murmurs, tucking his paint brush between his teeth and raising the Leica to his face.
The shutter-snap is hidden by Leonard’s quiet; “I love you,”
Jim simply smiles.