non-Ramble!fic in Ramble!verse: McCoy+Ex+Joanna fluff, 629 words, PG
This was written as part of the sentences meme; Muppet requested McCoy and The Ex. In terms of the sentences, I have this labeled as "Humor/Angst." Yes, at the same time. Don't look at me like that, I'm just special, ok?
Just to clarify: This fic is compatible with the Ramble!Verse. It's "non-Ramble!Fic" because it isn't from Jim's POV, and no-one rambles quite like Jim. McCoy does have an edge in regional dialect, however. Don't judge me. :( i am actually really fucking nervous about posting anything in my McCoy voice, please give hugs. :/
Advisory: McCoy et al are Southern, The Ex is black, Joanna (obviously) is mixed, and this fic is glib and superficial. There's a careful, nuanced discussion to be had about hypothetical race relations in the ST future, but it's not going to happen in McCoy's POV. This fic is about family, not politics.
Bonus reference to Sesame Street, because it will totes still be around 200 years from now.
McCoy+Ex+Joanna, 692 words, rated PG
The baby's about to bring the whole shelf crashing down so Leonard hauls her away with both hands around her middle and growls, "Stop climbing on things, you little monkey!"
She blinks like her swift relocation to the floor is a surprise, then stares up at him with the round, dark eyes that send his rationality out the window on a regular basis.
"Daddy," she says curiously. "Is that a racial slur?"
-
Leonard stomps off to the kitchen where Josa is banging around in the maintenance hatch to try and figure out why the refrigerator keeps cutting off.
"How the hell does our daughter know about racial slurs?" he hisses, trying to keep his voice down. The baby's still in the living room, making Lego helmets for her dolls and probably trying to decide how long she should wait before attempting to climb the bookshelf again.
Josa sets the spanner on the counter and stands up. "It was on Sesame Street," she says, crossing her arms into a Calm down or I will make you calm down pose. "Someone called Elmo a tomato and it hurt his feelings."
Leonard is straight-up boggled by that and it must show in his expression because Josa adds,
"It turned into a discussion about racial slurs."
"I didn't expect it to turn into a discussion about produce, woman!" he snaps.
Josa's looking at his face like it's got numbers on it that she can figure out the significance of if she tries hard enough. "How did you think she learned about it?" she asks.
Leonard scowls and looks away. His baby girl could have heard that phrase anywhere: the playground, preschool, the corner of the grocery store; any time he's not there to ward off morons with a glare. Maybe it's been 400 years since the first American Civil War but for some people, First Contact tightened up their view of humanity rather than expanded it. If you're from around here, Joanna ain't exactly a mystery to look at. She's clearly mixed.
Maybe Leonard's paranoid but he can't help it. His daughter's birth installed a new organ in his body, some blood-rich growth wedged among the coils of his intestines. It nourishes and pains him by turns and sometimes both at once. He's been stupider for worse reasons.
"What kind of asshole would be mean to Elmo anyway," he mutters because he doesn't want to answer.
"They didn't realize it was a sensitive subject," Josa says mildly. She gives him one last considering glance, then goes to the doorway and calls out, "Joanna, baby, pull up that Sesame Street episode. Your daddy needs to watch it." She turns back to Leonard and the cant of her shouders says, Step to it, so Leonard does.
He goes into the living room where the baby is working the remote control with both hands, staring at the screen with the same intensity she uses to play MarioKart. When it's all set she clambers onto the couch and plunks herself down on his lap.
Leonard cranes his head away from the giant frizzball trying to suffocate him. "Boo," he says sternly. "Where's your hairtie at?"
"Shush, Daddy. Momma said we gotta watch TV," the baby says, and tugs at Leonard's arms until they wrap around her like a seat belt.
"Aight, Miss Bossy," he answers. The theme song starts up. The baby sings along but Leonard stays quiet, counting out the BPM as her hot little heart goes thumpthumpthump beneath his palm.
-
Later, Josa is passing behind the couch on her way from the kitchen and she stops to run her fingers through his hair. She gets a good handful and tugs his head backwards, bending down to slide a soft, wet kiss across his lips. The baby glances back, probably to fuss at them for not paying attention, but Josa puts a stop to that by kissing her right between her scrunched up eyebrows.
"My favorite people," Josa murmurs, then goes away as sneakily as she came in.
Leonard don't know what he and the baby did to deserve that title, exactly, but he sure as hell ain't complaining.
Just to clarify: This fic is compatible with the Ramble!Verse. It's "non-Ramble!Fic" because it isn't from Jim's POV, and no-one rambles quite like Jim. McCoy does have an edge in regional dialect, however. Don't judge me. :( i am actually really fucking nervous about posting anything in my McCoy voice, please give hugs. :/
Advisory: McCoy et al are Southern, The Ex is black, Joanna (obviously) is mixed, and this fic is glib and superficial. There's a careful, nuanced discussion to be had about hypothetical race relations in the ST future, but it's not going to happen in McCoy's POV. This fic is about family, not politics.
Bonus reference to Sesame Street, because it will totes still be around 200 years from now.
McCoy+Ex+Joanna, 692 words, rated PG
The baby's about to bring the whole shelf crashing down so Leonard hauls her away with both hands around her middle and growls, "Stop climbing on things, you little monkey!"
She blinks like her swift relocation to the floor is a surprise, then stares up at him with the round, dark eyes that send his rationality out the window on a regular basis.
"Daddy," she says curiously. "Is that a racial slur?"
-
Leonard stomps off to the kitchen where Josa is banging around in the maintenance hatch to try and figure out why the refrigerator keeps cutting off.
"How the hell does our daughter know about racial slurs?" he hisses, trying to keep his voice down. The baby's still in the living room, making Lego helmets for her dolls and probably trying to decide how long she should wait before attempting to climb the bookshelf again.
Josa sets the spanner on the counter and stands up. "It was on Sesame Street," she says, crossing her arms into a Calm down or I will make you calm down pose. "Someone called Elmo a tomato and it hurt his feelings."
Leonard is straight-up boggled by that and it must show in his expression because Josa adds,
"It turned into a discussion about racial slurs."
"I didn't expect it to turn into a discussion about produce, woman!" he snaps.
Josa's looking at his face like it's got numbers on it that she can figure out the significance of if she tries hard enough. "How did you think she learned about it?" she asks.
Leonard scowls and looks away. His baby girl could have heard that phrase anywhere: the playground, preschool, the corner of the grocery store; any time he's not there to ward off morons with a glare. Maybe it's been 400 years since the first American Civil War but for some people, First Contact tightened up their view of humanity rather than expanded it. If you're from around here, Joanna ain't exactly a mystery to look at. She's clearly mixed.
Maybe Leonard's paranoid but he can't help it. His daughter's birth installed a new organ in his body, some blood-rich growth wedged among the coils of his intestines. It nourishes and pains him by turns and sometimes both at once. He's been stupider for worse reasons.
"What kind of asshole would be mean to Elmo anyway," he mutters because he doesn't want to answer.
"They didn't realize it was a sensitive subject," Josa says mildly. She gives him one last considering glance, then goes to the doorway and calls out, "Joanna, baby, pull up that Sesame Street episode. Your daddy needs to watch it." She turns back to Leonard and the cant of her shouders says, Step to it, so Leonard does.
He goes into the living room where the baby is working the remote control with both hands, staring at the screen with the same intensity she uses to play MarioKart. When it's all set she clambers onto the couch and plunks herself down on his lap.
Leonard cranes his head away from the giant frizzball trying to suffocate him. "Boo," he says sternly. "Where's your hairtie at?"
"Shush, Daddy. Momma said we gotta watch TV," the baby says, and tugs at Leonard's arms until they wrap around her like a seat belt.
"Aight, Miss Bossy," he answers. The theme song starts up. The baby sings along but Leonard stays quiet, counting out the BPM as her hot little heart goes thumpthumpthump beneath his palm.
-
Later, Josa is passing behind the couch on her way from the kitchen and she stops to run her fingers through his hair. She gets a good handful and tugs his head backwards, bending down to slide a soft, wet kiss across his lips. The baby glances back, probably to fuss at them for not paying attention, but Josa puts a stop to that by kissing her right between her scrunched up eyebrows.
"My favorite people," Josa murmurs, then goes away as sneakily as she came in.
Leonard don't know what he and the baby did to deserve that title, exactly, but he sure as hell ain't complaining.