Dreams, Star Trek, McCoy/Spock, G
Title: Dreams
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: McCoy/Spock (if you squint)
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Note: Handwritten in 36 minutes for the Dream challenge. I hope there are Trek fans lurking around here.
McCoy had been having dreams. Not particularly nice ones either. The problem, however, was not the dreams themselves, but that they were interfering with his sleep, making him grouchy and irritable. Well, more so than usual.
So far, no one had noticed. After all, being a little more tired was not affecting his skills as a doctor. That was all that really mattered.
He rubbed his eyes, which were starting to burn. He couldn’t go to be just yet. For one thing, it was still relatively early, and for another, he had barely made a dent in his paperwork. And some of it, he thought, satisfied, is really on paper. If McCoy could have his way, it would all be on paper, instead of using technology. Medical technology was one thing, but the rest of it was just da--
The door chimed, and when McCoy barked, “Come,” it slid open to reveal an impassive Spock.
“To what do I owe this honor?” McCoy asked, but without his usual bite. He was too tired for that.
Spock stepped inside, gazing steadily at the doctor. “I have noticed recently that you are fatigued.”
“Oh? What of it?” McCoy was very polite.
“I have come to suggest that you procure more rest.”
McCoy almost stood, but resisted the urge. He also considered giving Spock a thorough verbal lashing, but that would take too much time and effort.
“Well, Spock, thank you for your obvious advice. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some work to do.”
“I believe the work can wait, Doctor. I suggest you sleep.”
McCoy gaped at the Vulcan, who calmly turned and left. For some minutes, he sat and stared at the door. Damn Spock, now he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the reports any more. With a frustrated sigh, he stood and stretched. He might as well shower-- what passed for a shower on a starship-- and go to bed.
Some minutes later, McCoy was wrapping a towel around himself, muttering.
“Damn his green-blooded interference! I’ll bet he planned it that way too. He is, after all, a sneaky Vulcan.”
Still muttering, he got dressed, and crawled into bed. He hoped he would have a dream where he could torture Spock. Besides being satisfying, it would be a nice change of pace.
When McCoy awoke the next morning, he felt refreshed, and could not remember having any dreams at all.
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: McCoy/Spock (if you squint)
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Note: Handwritten in 36 minutes for the Dream challenge. I hope there are Trek fans lurking around here.
McCoy had been having dreams. Not particularly nice ones either. The problem, however, was not the dreams themselves, but that they were interfering with his sleep, making him grouchy and irritable. Well, more so than usual.
So far, no one had noticed. After all, being a little more tired was not affecting his skills as a doctor. That was all that really mattered.
He rubbed his eyes, which were starting to burn. He couldn’t go to be just yet. For one thing, it was still relatively early, and for another, he had barely made a dent in his paperwork. And some of it, he thought, satisfied, is really on paper. If McCoy could have his way, it would all be on paper, instead of using technology. Medical technology was one thing, but the rest of it was just da--
The door chimed, and when McCoy barked, “Come,” it slid open to reveal an impassive Spock.
“To what do I owe this honor?” McCoy asked, but without his usual bite. He was too tired for that.
Spock stepped inside, gazing steadily at the doctor. “I have noticed recently that you are fatigued.”
“Oh? What of it?” McCoy was very polite.
“I have come to suggest that you procure more rest.”
McCoy almost stood, but resisted the urge. He also considered giving Spock a thorough verbal lashing, but that would take too much time and effort.
“Well, Spock, thank you for your obvious advice. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some work to do.”
“I believe the work can wait, Doctor. I suggest you sleep.”
McCoy gaped at the Vulcan, who calmly turned and left. For some minutes, he sat and stared at the door. Damn Spock, now he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the reports any more. With a frustrated sigh, he stood and stretched. He might as well shower-- what passed for a shower on a starship-- and go to bed.
Some minutes later, McCoy was wrapping a towel around himself, muttering.
“Damn his green-blooded interference! I’ll bet he planned it that way too. He is, after all, a sneaky Vulcan.”
Still muttering, he got dressed, and crawled into bed. He hoped he would have a dream where he could torture Spock. Besides being satisfying, it would be a nice change of pace.
When McCoy awoke the next morning, he felt refreshed, and could not remember having any dreams at all.