(no subject)

[notabricklayer]

The lights of their apartment come up in the way he is used to lights coming on the way he is used to lights coming on - smoothing increasing from dark to light with barely a hitch inbetween. The apartment is the same as before - a naturally quirky Victorian that's slightly stark thanks to the driven surgeon who had made this his home once upon a time.

He always meant to take time off, decorate the place a little more elaborately, set it up to be more of a home than a place to collapse after long shifts. Maybe now's time.

But right now he can do something about these damned boots. Some day he is going to both fund and write a paper outlining the evils of these boots, and he'll stuff it down the throats of every lazy ass on the Starfleet Surgeon General's board.

Comments

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

She follows him through, dropping her coat on the sofa and bending to unzip her boots, kicking them off with abandon.

"And you say you're from the future, hmm?"

Her eyes spark with mischief as she heads passed him back into the kitchen. There's bound to be a bottle of something in there. Yes, there is. Right where she left it.