(no subject)

[notabricklayer]

Morning comes slowly, which is something of a novelty to McCoy - he heads in early, and heads out late, just due to the nature of his work.

The second novelty comes when he wakes up enough to place himself, and there is a warm presence curled up beside him, heavy in the hollow of his shoulder. Memory flares back into existence, and he smiles into the early-morning dark.

He is really not sure how he got to be this lucky. He has no idea why she stayed with him, or even went forward with anything after he over-reacted.

He wonders if she meant what she made him promise.

There's only one way to find out, for certain. Very gently, almost regretfully, he smooths her hair back from her face (so peaceful, so beautiful) and presses a kiss to her brow.

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[olyabird.livejournal.com]

She murmurs in her sleep, something possibly unintelligible even if he did speak Russian.

Her hand comes up to brush his cheek, fingertips reading the bones in his face, little pinpoint touches that as a doctor, he'd recognise. It's not that dissimilar from what he might do to check if someone had fractured a bone, only feather light. Whatever she's searching for, she finds it in just a few moments and her palm settles against his jaw, a soft sigh on her lips.