The previous day had been long and emotional -
a wedding,
a party, then getting taken
rough against a wall by Jim before collapsing into a deep, coma like sleep. Bones hadn't felt anything change, didn't notice when
the ship passed though some temporal disturbanceThe next morning Bones began sliding out of his slumber, reaching out to spoon himself
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Bones knew it was him, thank fuck Spock had recognized him, called him by name. But now he was on the floor, and Bones was sitting in this bed, in someone else's clothes. And Spock, he was dressed (or half-dressed) in the same strange old clothes he was, crumpled and wrinkled from sleeping in them.
He held out a hand to help Spock up, and that's when he noticed it - Spock's ears were human! "Um, what happened to us?" he asked, a shaking hand reaching to touch the decidedly rounded ear. The sound of his own voice comforted him - at least he still sounded like himself. "Are you okay?"
Something was wrong, very, very wrong... "Jim?" he called out, wondering where the hell Jim was.
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Spock looked around, and swallowed once. His throat felt dry. "This room does not appear large enough for three people." He strained his eyes, thinking everything was blurry simply because it was morning, but... "Leonard, I cannot see properly. Neither is my heart beating where it should be, though I can feel something with similar properties." He raised his other hand to touch his hair, his ears, "Someone has cut my hair."
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Spock - someone had given him a haircut, so very short. He looked closely at Spock's face, into his eyes, they looked the same, but he couldn't tell more, not without his medical kit, no where to be found. Taking one of Spock's hands, he lifted it carefully to Spock's ear. "A lot more than your hair's different."
And where the fuck where they? Striding over to the curtain, Bones winced as bright light flooded the room when he opened the curtains. Then his heart stopped, maybe the same way Spock's heart had stopped, as he looked out the window to the bustling street below.
( ... )
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Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special
But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here
His face twisted in his half-sleep as he was pulled out of a deeper sleep, and he tried to turn over and ignore it. Weird dream...
But when his arm stole out, there was nothing in bed. That was what made Jim sit up in bed, blearily staring at the wall across from him. Kay, something was real, real weird. First off, why was it so light in here? ...In fact, why was he looking at sunlight?
He looked down at the bed, and realized two things at the same time: 1) not his bed. 2) no Bones.
Something in his chest gave a solid beat then died. No. No. He wasn't unfamiliar with waking up in a place he didn't know, but that was the past. He'd promised Bones, and minus a single night and weird shit going down, he had kept that promise - no sleeping with anyone else ( ... )
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Then the elevator doors opened, and he was hustled out of the lobby and out the front door.
He was going to that huge building across the street from the hotel, the one he saw from the hotel room. They crossed the highway at the corner, Bones coughing, his nose immediately irritated at the smell of the combustion engines everywhere. And it was hot, fucking hot, like he remembered from back home, but there wasn't any time to sit and feel the sun on him because Jake was hustling him fast into that building.
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What kind of activities was this Mister Quinto involved in? He vaguely remembered his previous dream, and Quinto hadn’t seemed so strange before.
Spock was vaguely aware that he was being hurried along from one end of the convention center to the other, but as he passed one of the doors, he stopped short, examining the people listed on the panel inside. Karl Urban.
“Mr. Quinto-”
“I desire to view this panel.” Spock said sharply.
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Bones was lost, fuck it all, and at this point he wasn't sure he'd be able to find his hotel room again even if he could manage to shake Jake, who had a much stronger grip than Bones would have guessed.
"Good luck, sir," Bones heard the young man say, then opened a door for him. Bones felt himself being pushed through it, and all of a sudden a voice over loud speakers filled his ears. "We can't say yet who the villain is going to be because we haven't' fully decided yet." The man speaking looked at another man sitting over next to him and laughed - Bones would have bet that whatever they were talking about, they ( ... )
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He ignored Britney. He stepped forward quickly, out of her reach, and pulled on the door (unlocked), and slipped in. The room was dark save for the stage, and there was Leonard with some other people he didn’t recognize. Unfortunately, the light in from the hallway illuminated him, and the people near the back of the room, who then turned to see who it was.
Along with everybody else in the room.
The shrieks were immediate, piercing and loud and almost making him wince (though Quinto was sufficiently deaf for this situation), along with nearby yells of “oh my god!” and “it’s Zachary Quinto!” and “why is he here?” and extended yells of “SPOOOOOCK!” that reminded him too much of another, equally crazed man.
Then he felt a hot spotlight pick him out from the crowd, and the moderator saying something along the lines of, “Well, ladies and gentleman, say hello to Zachary Quinto.”
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He was completely lost in thought, and not looking at the speedometer, noting for the first time in a long time there was no constant ache in his left hand. Ever since it had been smashed, then tattooed over, the bones just wouldn't forgive him...
When there was suddenly a noise behind him, and he looked up to the mirror. Flashing lights? ...Even in the future, somethings didn't change. Despite the urge that was deep in him to run like hell, Jim slowly pulled over.
Chris? I am so sorry...
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What the hell did he mean by registration? Jim had no idea how cars got registered in these days. He looked around the car while the officer had the license, and something urged him to lean over and pull over a little lever. A compartment opened and he pulled out the mess of papers. Which one was it... ah!
He offered over the labeled one with a breath of relief.
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They came to the room 735, and he tried the card--it worked. The room was a mirror of Leonard's, with the bathroom and the bed against the other wall, but everything else about the decor was virtually the same. The bed was neat and made, save for a few wrinkles, a plastic bag of toiletries lay on the bathroom counter, and a suitcase was lying on the floor next to the dresser with its lid popped open.
He saw the new, clean clothes in the suit case and he was very tempted to change -- these wrinkles were awful -- but every top he could see had stripes.
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"Okay, you two are the geniuses. Tell me what the plan is." Between the two of them, they could come up with something, right?
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Skinny jeans, he saw upon closer inspection, but....kaiidth.
"I plan to take a shower, first," He said, standing. "I believe Mister Quinto slept in these clothes, and they have outlived their comfort."
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