(no subject)

[notabricklayer]

It is a day that calls for overcast clouds - his sickbay has been packed full of ensigns all day long after a training drill went horribly wrong. No one died, no one was even permanently mauled, but by the end of the shift, his patients were practically running away from him. So after Alpha shift ended and he ensured that the ensigns that needed further observation were staying put, he put that tattoo to the test.

He stopped by the bar to fetch something to eat on the off chance Olga was at the apartment - catfish and collard greens, and heads on up. He's not sure how other CMOs do it, but for him? Nothing's better after a long day than not being on board ship.

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[olyabird.livejournal.com]

She feels him cross the barrier, feels the tug of his presence as it passes through her awareness. It feels like a warm breath and a sharp drop, all in the same moment. She barely has time to put her quarry down before she twists her fingers in the air, carving a path across the raw fabric of the material world.

If the apartment is a bit cool, it's because the void closing behind her is a heat thief of the highest order. When he crosses the threshold, she's seated, cross-legged, on the counter, her hands cupped around a cigarette.

She looks very much like the first time he saw her. Haggard, a lack of sleep evident in the lines around her eyes. Her hair is pulled back tight, and she's covered in a fine layer of crypt dust and cobwebs.

She doesn't say anything. But there's a light in her eyes when she looks at him.