(Untitled)

[notabricklayer]

Thanksgiving has sailed on by, tragically (or not) without the turkeys Charlie gifted to the mess hall. Those had disappeared along with the boy, and McCoy feels it's more than a fair price to pay. It's near Christmas-time back on Earth, and the mood on the Enterprise couldn't be grumpier. Between teenagers on their first multi-year cruise

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[agtninetynine]

Something about the uniform looks all too familiar.

Therefore, he shouldn't be surprised by a woman in a white trenchcoat casually glancing his way, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in her hand.

[notabricklayer]

He could use (if he knew that she found the uniform familiar) the spectacularly corny line about being in his dreams all night. He wouldn't, but he could, and the fact he wouldn't shows that Mama McCoy taught her boy some sense. That, or his ex-wife beat some of the stupid out of him along the line, one or the other.

But she'll never know if she stays over there! And McCoy is a very observant sort of fellow.

Thus, when she comes back around for one of those not-entirely-unplanned casual glances, she'll find him saluting her back with a tumbler of whiskey and a grin.

[agtninetynine]

It's a line she's heard more than once (among others), so she wouldn't exactly be able to give him points for originality. It's probably best that he doesn't use it, though.

By the time her gaze lands on him again, she answers his salute with a nod and a brief incline of her own drink before lifting it to her lips. It's still hot, and the marshmallows on top are starting to melt, creating a frothing white surface layer.

It leaves a similarly frothing mustache on her upper lip.

[notabricklayer]

He momentarily debates about letting her know. It's bound to embarrass her, and rule number one-hundred thirty six of the Southern Gentleman's Code says something about not embarrassing pretty young ladies.

But he does believe it's somewhat inevitable now, so he gestures, with a bit of an apologetic smile, to his own upper lip.

[agtninetynine]

She automatically reaches up to her own mouth, blushing immediately upon finding it, and discreetly wipes it away with her fingertips.

"Thank you," she mouths, cheeks still carrying remnants of their former pinkness.

[notabricklayer]

He nods, thinking to himself that a blush looks very well on her indeed.

"You're welcome." He mouths back, before taking another sip of his whiskey.

[agtninetynine]

She gets up from her chair after a few more beats to join him at his place sitting along the bar.

"Is that whiskey you're drinking?"

[notabricklayer]

"It is indeed, miss. One of the great blessings of being alive." McCoy drawls, cheerfully. "Allow me to introduce myself - name's McCoy, Leonard McCoy."

[agtninetynine]

Her face displays recognition at the name.

"The good Starfleet doctor, correct?"

[notabricklayer]

He's a bit startled (and, let's admit it, pleased) at the recognition - he's worked damn hard to keep his appointed crew alive, and sometimes there's precious little recognition of that.

"The very same. And that would make you...?"

[agtninetynine]

"Laura. I'm - a friend of Jim Kirk's."

It seems like the most appropriate turn of phrase to use, given recent events, while still alluding to the fact that they're somewhat closer than that now.

[notabricklayer]

A friend?

Ya-huh. McCoy momentarily curses out his friend for always managing to snatch up the pretty ones before returning to the task at hand, i.e.: getting good blackmail material on one James Tiberius Kirk.

What? There's a reason Jim-boy can be put in his place, and it surely ain't self-preservation and good sense.

"Y'don't say? And how is Jimmy-boy doing?" What? Might as well find out how the Captain's mental state is from a third party. He's just doing his duty.

[agtninetynine]

Blackmail or no, there's still a good chance that they're coming in from different timelines, as she's been made aware, so she concentrates on not saying anything that could potentially be confusing. Or incriminating.

"He's just fine," she murmurs, taking another sip of her hot chocolate - and this time, not ending up with a marshmallow moustache in the process.

[notabricklayer]

Humph. He frowns, displeased - Jim's already warned this one. It's getting harder and harder to get a good read off of his friend.

"Just fine my ass." He huffs into his whiskey, before making a heroic attempt to pull back on the charm. He worries, you see. He's a galaxy-class worrier.

[agtninetynine]

That catches her attention, and she swallows quickly.

"Something wrong?"

[notabricklayer]

McCoy is often seen as the innocent in the command trio. Between Spock's logical cunning and Kirk's genius leaps of brilliance, most people tend to under-estimate McCoy with his grumbling and his grousing and his easy-going good-old-boy charm.

Most people get it wrong.

McCoy sees an opening, and goes for it with all of the gentle innocence of an Amazon piranha fish.

"Oh, nothing he hasn't told you before, I'm sure." He drawls, with a wry, self-deprecating grin. "Jim-boy's a marvel at handling the pressures of command. Thinks his CMO is a bit too nosy for his own good, I reckon."