notabricklayer | (no subject)

(no subject)

McCoy has fallen into a rhythm in the bar - waking up late (for him), coming down eventually to see if anything particularly interesting is going on, pick up something for lunch, trade in a stack of videos for a brand new stack of videos, and go back upstairs.

This morning, he is downstairs much earlier.

He is in uniform for the first time in a week.

And he doesn't detour at the Bar, striding straight to the door, no pauses, no stops, just a quick trip to the front door, which hisses open obligingly, dragging him back aboard his shipboard life.

If he were to stop, he'd never make it through that door.

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He rolls his eyes at her, but he knows some of that teasing was earned. No, he's still not going to try and switch it off. She knew what she was getting into.

"Sure thing - we're dropping off supplies at a penal colony soon, things should be pretty quiet then."

"I'm not going to get you in any trouble, am I?"

She has no idea what kind of security systems a vessel of this advanced technology might have, though if it were serious enough, she should have already triggered alarms.

He sighs, staring up at the not-so-distant ceiling. There's the reality he's been trying hard not to think about.
"You could, darlin'. You definitely could." After Charlie, he can't imagine that the captain would be overly pleased to hear about someone with as much power as she has on board ship without his express permission.

"Well, then, I shall do my best to stay out of sight, then. Or if they do see me, they will not -- see me, as such."

"I'd appreciate it, Olya." If she so chose, she could wreak havoc with his life here without hardly trying. Maybe, if he was thinking about it, or particularly inclined to believe she'd do that to him, he'd be worried. But right now he has her curled up beside him, and his lonely cabin isn't so lonely just now.

"I should only stay a little while, anyway. Katya, you know..."

That girl might burn down the bar while she's gone.

(Even so, she's nestled close to him, and it's clear, she feels the same way that he does.)

"That girl is a holy terror." He grumbles, a tone of voice much more familiar to the crew of this ship than the one she usually hears from him. "If you didn't say so, I'd never have known you're colleagues."

Olga chuckles under her breath.

"She is high-spirited. Battle mage," she murmurs drowsily against his skin, as if that explains everything.

Sulu is high-spirited. When the ship went mad he was chasing people with a sword, for crying out loud. But when he tells Sulu to stay down, the boy stays down.

Never mind he does so because even in the short few months this ship has been flying, the entire crew is well-trained in matters of obeying the medical staff or facing severe consequences.

"Well, I certainly fell in love with the right Other."

Olga snorts at this little tidbit.

"Yes, and a good thing, too," she says, shifting to hold him closer, as if there was ever any doubt who he belonged to.

He chuckles, amused (and not believing) the mental image of Olga duking it out with the young woman he spent a couple weeks brow-beating back to health.

But he won't protest her getting closer. He'll even encourage the notion, with an arm curled around her to keep her close.

She nestles close, and after a moment, sits up to look into his eyes, her grey eyed gaze studying his face.

"Are you trying to make me jealous?"

He blinks back at her, caught (at least figuratively) flat-footed. Where did that come from?

"Jealous? Of?"

"Katya."

"You are joking, I hope." He retorts, eyebrows raised incredulously. Katya? She's... She's.... No.

"It was an honest question. If the answer is no, then I believe you."

She's not upset, clearly. Just a little confused, a little curious.

"No, of course not." He protests, reaching to pull her closer so he can go on protesting it with a kiss instead of words. One has the potential to be heard through bulkheads, the other doesn't. And it's the more eloquent option.

This is the kind of protest she can really sink into, and she does, perhaps letting him know that the idea of him with another woman makes her a little jealous, a little possessive.

And that's hardly a bad thing, is it?

Not at all. Well, actually, it is - if (and perhaps, when) he thinks about it, he might even be hurt, just a bit. Why would he even look twice at someone else?

But her being thorough about a kiss? That's something he can get behind.

It's been a long time since she's danced this dance of hearts with someone. She's forgotten all the steps. And he's teaching her new ones, day by day.

Her arms wind around his neck, and she pulls him close, tangling her legs with his. The shimmer of her love enfolds him, a heartbeat that is not his own, strong and steady, dark and deep.

And a little too fast for his medical sensibilities, it has to be noted.

He hums happily, smiling against her lips - he'd now be worried if her heartrate wasn't quick after that. The boy learns quick, it has to be said.

"You worry too much. There's only one other girl in my life, and she's knee-high to a grasshopper." He teases, tweaking her hair gently.

His little girl isn't actually that little anymore. But that's how he remembers her.

She hums her easy acceptance of this idea. She knows about his daughter, and she knows how much it hurts his heart to talk about her, so she avoids the subject.

"I don't worry," she whispers, nibbling his lower lip. "I was just curious."

"Mmmm-hmmm." It's the ambiguous noise that doctors trademarked as a profession millenia ago. "Feel free to check any time, darlin'. As if anyone else could hold a candle."

Her teeth fix in that lower lip, gently, but firm enough to make a point.

"Mine," she purrs, and then kisses him again, just to seal the deal, her hands pulling him close.

He shifts, just a bit, just to curl a little more around her. Sure he said (and meant, means still) that if she's uncomfortable in this form, she should go back to being an owl... but he could rapidly get used to her being here, warm in his bed, making the stark impersonal place feel a bit more like home.

He's fairly sure the feathers wouldn't be quite so cuddly.

This may be the first time a Grand Enchantress has been thought of as cuddly.

Of course it took a Georgia boy to think it.

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