A Picture is Worth 1000 Words: A Multifandom Comment Fic Meme
Have you seen a hot photo at Sex is Not the Enemy and you wish there were a fic to go with it? Is there a still from your favorite series that needs a story to accompany it? Do you have a vast stockpile of pictures of outer space that would make amazing back drops for a sci-fi story? Well, this is your place! You're invited to post an
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“Hey.” She shakes his shoulder gently, then a bit harder. “Wake up.”
McCoy's eyelids flicker.
“Wha' happened? Where are we?”
“'We're on a shuttle. Someone shot us, remember?” The shuttle had flown off course, its systems badly damaged, but there had been no sign of their attacker since the initial shot. “Sulu's up front, trying to get the navigational array online.”
“We got air?” McCoy asks sleepily.
“Yeah. Enough for a few more hours anyway. Is this kind of memory loss normal?”
She'd had this same conversation with McCoy at least twice in the past hour. McCoy doesn't answer her, so she shakes him again. When there's no response, she climbs over him, planting her knees on either side of his torso so that she can lean directly over his face. She'd be embarrassed if she weren't so scared.
“Hey. I need you to tell me if this kind of memory loss is normal.”
McCoy's eyes flicker open.
“Jus' a concussion,” he says.
“I don't like the way your words are slurred.”
McCoy smiles faintly.
“Dammit woman, I'm a doctor. I know what I'm talking about.” That sounds more like him. She smiles, and he asks, “Why're you on top of me?”
“You wouldn't wake up.”
She looks away even though she doubts he can see her flush in the deep red emergency lights. Maybe it hadn't been a logical response, but it had seemed like the right thing to do. She moves back to her position on the floor and rests McCoy's head against her thigh. There's no medical necessity, she knows, but human touch is the only treatment she can provide right now.
“What should I do for you?” she asks.
“Jus' keep me awake.”
“Is there something in the med kit?”
McCoy shakes his head, then winces.
“Jus' ask me questions.”
“Okay. Name, rank, date of birth?”
McCoy snorts.
“Dammit, woman, I'm injured, not mentally handicapped.”
Uhura almost laughs at how irritated he looks but thinks better of it.
“Answer the question.”
“Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer, U.S.S. Enterprise. May 13, 2227. That good enough for you? Now ask me something interesting.”
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