10 McCoy/Chapel Star Trek XI Drabbles, rated G-R
Done for the ipod challenge over at mccoy_chapel.
something; the beatles.
something in the way she moves
attracts me like no other lover
She's drunk, but so's he, so that's fair enough.
She manages to make it over to their booth with all their drinks mostly intact - that guy sitting at the bar hadn't noticed the beer slopped down the back of his uniform, so hey, who's counting. Kirk crows with delight and maneuvers his drink - something grotesquely purple and viscous - out of her arms, and she clatters the rest down onto the table and bounces back into her seat next to McCoy.
"Whew," she says. "Next round's on you boys."
"To another botched simulation," Kirk says, lifting his glass. Christine toasts him in return; when she clinks a little too enthusiastically and his drink slops into her glass it leaves a scorch mark and smoke in its wake.
As she drinks, McCoy notices a cut next to her left eye. "Hey," he says. "What happened there?"
He moves to touch the smear of blood lightly but his coordination is not exactly the greatest and he nearly pokes her in the eye; to steady himself he puts his hand in her hair, and she blinks at him owlishly.
"Crackstone takes the sims very seriously," she says. "You getting handsy, Doctor?"
"Funny," he says, but he withdraws his hand and takes a long pull of bourbon.
When he lowers his glass, she's still looking at him.
point of no return; phantom of the opera [toronto cast].
when will the blood begin to race?
the sleeping bud burst into bloom?
And after everything, after Ranaulma'ar IV and nearly dying and wanting to be with him for years, she still has not slept with him. It's not that she doesn't want to - and she doesn't think that he doesn't want to - at least, she's pretty sure - it's just that, you know, that is one enormous chasm to leap and whew, that is one overtly sexual metaphor, where did that come from? Anyway, what she's saying is: scary. It's scary. And she doesn't want to fuck up whatever the hell it is they have going. And she really kind of loves him, and, oh God.
Rand, who is in sickbay coordinating inventory counts for Kirk, looks skeptical. "Girl," she says, raising one eyebrow and looking over her shoulder significantly in the direction of McCoy's office. "Pardon my use of the vernacular, but tell me you have hit that by now."
Christine pinks. "None of your business," she says.
Rand makes a noise of outrage, or maybe disbelief.
McCoy comes out of his office and Christine buries her hot face in her hands. "Be elsewhere, Janice," she says. "Quickly. Or I won't be responsible for whatever hypo I jab you with."
Rand flees.
lovers in a dangerous time; barenaked ladies.
one minute you’re waiting for the sky to fall
& next you’re dazzled by the beauty of it all
They're stumbling along the rocks and at the last minute before they hit the non-interference zone Christine pauses and looks back at the view, the light from the setting sun catching red-and-gold in her hair. McCoy has that half-crazed look in his eyes, his hand firmly around her forearm like he's going to forcibly pull her along at any minute. "Chapel," he says. "What the hell are you doing. They are trying to blow us up."
"I know," she says dreamily. "But doesn't it look pretty?"
The look slips into fully-crazed mode. "You are insane," he says. "Did you hit your head back there? Also, you realise the sky looks like that because it's radioactive."
"Picky, picky," Christine says, but she comes along without a fuss.
(Turns out he was right: she had hit her head, and had also been infected with a powerful hallucinogenic by the terrorists back in the city. But in her defense, the sky was really pretty that day.)
3.45: no sleep; the cardigans.
i’ve always been too late to see what’s before me
& i know nothing sweeter than champagne from last new years
sweet music in my ears & a night full of no fears
The light from the vidscreen is playing over McCoy's face as he sleeps, still fully-dressed, stretched out across Christine's bed. An old episode of The Amazing Race revival is on; a handful competitors are schlepping through the red dust of Mars, one weeping and muddy, before it cuts away to another team running triumphantly to the mat while a dust storm forms an ominous cloud behind them. She puts her padd aside, looking down at McCoy on the pillow next to her; he looks exhausted and ravaged, and when he snores lightly, she puts her padd aside.
"Computer," she says. "Power down."
The screen flickers off, leaving the room dark. "I was watching that," McCoy says.
"Liar," Christine says.
She pushes herself up to her knees beside him and leans over to tug his boots off. He stirs; "Mmph," he says sleepily, "thank you," and she tosses them on the floor beside the bed.
"Go back to sleep," Christine says, settling back against her pillow.
He insinuates an arm beneath her, curling his hand around her stomach, resting his forehead against her shoulder. She twines her fingers through his and rubs her thumb along his wrist.
night of the dancing flame; roisin murphy.
bodies in motion the sound of the ocean
came into vision on the night of the dancing flame
"Oh, no," Christine says. "Not another orgy planet."
"Well, now," McCoy says, watching the half-naked dancers fling themselves wildly around the beach, "it might not be another orgy planet. We can give them the benefit of the doubt."
"Oops," Christine says. "There we go. Oh, dear. That girl seems to have lost her pants. They're both awfully close to the fire, don't you think?"
"Okay, so it's an orgy planet," McCoy says. He glowers. "We are never letting Kirk pick the destination for shore leave again."
"There's that sense of adventure I love to see in you," Christine teases. She raises herself on her toes to kiss him on the cheek, then slides her hand into his. "When in Rome, Doctor."
the masochism tango; tom lehrer.
bash in my brain & make me scream with pain
then kick me once again & say we’ll never part
When he wakes up to her face he automatically says, "Oh, thank God." His head is still fuzzy from that wicked left hook he'd took, he's still feeling like he might throw up or die at any minute, but she's here and his day just got that much better.
She smiles; her teeth are bright in the glare of the overhead light.
"I'm afraid you won't find any god here, sugar," she says, and his stomach falls still further: he's made a mistake.
"You're not Christine," he says.
She reaches out to pat his cheek; her nails are painted blood-red, and a white light of pain flashes before his eyes as she digs them into the flesh of his cheek, scoring deep bloody grooves. He reaches up to push her hand away only to find that his wrists are shacked to the frame of the biobed. He lays his head back, breathing deep.
"Someone's cranky," she says, and before he knows what she's doing she's straddling him, leaning in close. "Let me make it better."
i was married; tegan & sara.
i married in the sun against the stone of buildings built before
you & i were born
If Christine had a ring on her finger she would be twisting it right now, but McCoy's never given her one (and she's never wanted one from him - no, honestly, she hasn't) and her class ring is locked away in the dresser upstairs and as it is she has nothing to do but shift her weight in her shoes - heel to toe, toe to heel - and smooth her palms against her legs and hope she doesn't look as ridiculous and nervous as she feels.
She's certain Jocelyn is a perfectly lovely person. It's not that. Well, it is that, but it's also... oh, the excruciating feelings of inadequacy, embarrassment, inferiority. Jocelyn's known McCoy since they were children, and Christine's had a handful of years with the man, and she's a decade younger than them both, and -
She checks out the window one more time.
"She's not going to eat you alive, you know," McCoy says, looking a little amused. "I wouldn't have married her if she couldn't at least pretend to be nice."
"Ha ha ha," Christine says. "Ha ha. Fetch me more alcohol, please."
holy shit (what a relief); hey rosetta!
all that weight falling from me
& all that breath finally free
She manages to hold it together all through alpha shift. She doesn't make a scene in the middle of sickbay when they bring him in; she doesn't wail or get in the way of the surgeons at his bedside as they patch him back together; she doesn't wring her hands and wait nobly at his bedside while he recovers. She does her job. God knows how, but she does it.
When she's done her shift she pulls up his profile surreptitiously on one of the computers only to find that he's been discharged and sent back to his quarters to recuperate. She doesn't go to find him, though; she eats her dinner, sitting alone at a sterile white table, and is halfway through it when she realises she hasn't tasted a thing.
She sighs, and goes to his rooms.
She lets the door slide shut behind her and clasps her hands at her back; they're visibly shaking.
"Christine," he says, surprised. His face is still pale and drawn and his black undershirt is bunched over the bulky bandage at his side but he's fine, he's conscious, he's breathing and she loves him so much.
"I can't," she says, "I can't do this," and her voice is trembling as much as her hands are.
golden & green; the builders & the butchers.
& i was born to wind in the cradle & i ride on the hot southern breeze
& i twist in the green & the gold & you see & there is blood on my elbows & knees
"If I never moved from this spot for the rest of my life," McCoy says, "I could die happy."
Christine doesn't say anything, just watches the sun through the canopy of green leaves. He tickles the arch of her foot with a blade of grass and she jerks her foot away, making a face at him.
"What," he says.
"Oh, nothing," she says. There's a root digging into her back; she wiggles until she finds a more comfortable spot, out of the shade of the spreading oak. "It's a very nice spot, I'll give you that."
He rolls onto his stomach.
She holds one hand above her face, spreads her fingers wide and then squeezes them together tightly, watching how the sun streams through her flesh. She doesn't want to ask it, but she has to anyway. "Have you gotten back to Starfleet about the next five-year mission?" she says, dropping her hand to her side and turning her face to his.
His hazel eyes are considering.
two figures by a fountain; atonement [dario marianelli].
instrumental.
"It's hot," Christine says.
McCoy looks at her. "Honey," he says. "You are from Louisiana."
"Well, yes, I know that, thanks," Christine says. "But this is hot. European-hot. I don't like European-hot."
McCoy eyes the fountain. "I dare you," he says.
Christine stares.
"I'm pretty sure," she says, "that someone'll come after me with a laser-pike if I try and jump in the Trevi fountain."
"I'll get you a gelato afterwards," McCoy says wheedlingly.
Christine sets her lips, looks at him thoughtfully, squints up at the sun, and then hitches her skirt up above her knees.
"Ha," McCoy says.
"And I'll get my own damn gelato," Christine says over her shoulder as she steps up onto the lip of the fountain.
something; the beatles.
something in the way she moves
attracts me like no other lover
She's drunk, but so's he, so that's fair enough.
She manages to make it over to their booth with all their drinks mostly intact - that guy sitting at the bar hadn't noticed the beer slopped down the back of his uniform, so hey, who's counting. Kirk crows with delight and maneuvers his drink - something grotesquely purple and viscous - out of her arms, and she clatters the rest down onto the table and bounces back into her seat next to McCoy.
"Whew," she says. "Next round's on you boys."
"To another botched simulation," Kirk says, lifting his glass. Christine toasts him in return; when she clinks a little too enthusiastically and his drink slops into her glass it leaves a scorch mark and smoke in its wake.
As she drinks, McCoy notices a cut next to her left eye. "Hey," he says. "What happened there?"
He moves to touch the smear of blood lightly but his coordination is not exactly the greatest and he nearly pokes her in the eye; to steady himself he puts his hand in her hair, and she blinks at him owlishly.
"Crackstone takes the sims very seriously," she says. "You getting handsy, Doctor?"
"Funny," he says, but he withdraws his hand and takes a long pull of bourbon.
When he lowers his glass, she's still looking at him.
point of no return; phantom of the opera [toronto cast].
when will the blood begin to race?
the sleeping bud burst into bloom?
And after everything, after Ranaulma'ar IV and nearly dying and wanting to be with him for years, she still has not slept with him. It's not that she doesn't want to - and she doesn't think that he doesn't want to - at least, she's pretty sure - it's just that, you know, that is one enormous chasm to leap and whew, that is one overtly sexual metaphor, where did that come from? Anyway, what she's saying is: scary. It's scary. And she doesn't want to fuck up whatever the hell it is they have going. And she really kind of loves him, and, oh God.
Rand, who is in sickbay coordinating inventory counts for Kirk, looks skeptical. "Girl," she says, raising one eyebrow and looking over her shoulder significantly in the direction of McCoy's office. "Pardon my use of the vernacular, but tell me you have hit that by now."
Christine pinks. "None of your business," she says.
Rand makes a noise of outrage, or maybe disbelief.
McCoy comes out of his office and Christine buries her hot face in her hands. "Be elsewhere, Janice," she says. "Quickly. Or I won't be responsible for whatever hypo I jab you with."
Rand flees.
lovers in a dangerous time; barenaked ladies.
one minute you’re waiting for the sky to fall
& next you’re dazzled by the beauty of it all
They're stumbling along the rocks and at the last minute before they hit the non-interference zone Christine pauses and looks back at the view, the light from the setting sun catching red-and-gold in her hair. McCoy has that half-crazed look in his eyes, his hand firmly around her forearm like he's going to forcibly pull her along at any minute. "Chapel," he says. "What the hell are you doing. They are trying to blow us up."
"I know," she says dreamily. "But doesn't it look pretty?"
The look slips into fully-crazed mode. "You are insane," he says. "Did you hit your head back there? Also, you realise the sky looks like that because it's radioactive."
"Picky, picky," Christine says, but she comes along without a fuss.
(Turns out he was right: she had hit her head, and had also been infected with a powerful hallucinogenic by the terrorists back in the city. But in her defense, the sky was really pretty that day.)
3.45: no sleep; the cardigans.
i’ve always been too late to see what’s before me
& i know nothing sweeter than champagne from last new years
sweet music in my ears & a night full of no fears
The light from the vidscreen is playing over McCoy's face as he sleeps, still fully-dressed, stretched out across Christine's bed. An old episode of The Amazing Race revival is on; a handful competitors are schlepping through the red dust of Mars, one weeping and muddy, before it cuts away to another team running triumphantly to the mat while a dust storm forms an ominous cloud behind them. She puts her padd aside, looking down at McCoy on the pillow next to her; he looks exhausted and ravaged, and when he snores lightly, she puts her padd aside.
"Computer," she says. "Power down."
The screen flickers off, leaving the room dark. "I was watching that," McCoy says.
"Liar," Christine says.
She pushes herself up to her knees beside him and leans over to tug his boots off. He stirs; "Mmph," he says sleepily, "thank you," and she tosses them on the floor beside the bed.
"Go back to sleep," Christine says, settling back against her pillow.
He insinuates an arm beneath her, curling his hand around her stomach, resting his forehead against her shoulder. She twines her fingers through his and rubs her thumb along his wrist.
night of the dancing flame; roisin murphy.
bodies in motion the sound of the ocean
came into vision on the night of the dancing flame
"Oh, no," Christine says. "Not another orgy planet."
"Well, now," McCoy says, watching the half-naked dancers fling themselves wildly around the beach, "it might not be another orgy planet. We can give them the benefit of the doubt."
"Oops," Christine says. "There we go. Oh, dear. That girl seems to have lost her pants. They're both awfully close to the fire, don't you think?"
"Okay, so it's an orgy planet," McCoy says. He glowers. "We are never letting Kirk pick the destination for shore leave again."
"There's that sense of adventure I love to see in you," Christine teases. She raises herself on her toes to kiss him on the cheek, then slides her hand into his. "When in Rome, Doctor."
the masochism tango; tom lehrer.
bash in my brain & make me scream with pain
then kick me once again & say we’ll never part
When he wakes up to her face he automatically says, "Oh, thank God." His head is still fuzzy from that wicked left hook he'd took, he's still feeling like he might throw up or die at any minute, but she's here and his day just got that much better.
She smiles; her teeth are bright in the glare of the overhead light.
"I'm afraid you won't find any god here, sugar," she says, and his stomach falls still further: he's made a mistake.
"You're not Christine," he says.
She reaches out to pat his cheek; her nails are painted blood-red, and a white light of pain flashes before his eyes as she digs them into the flesh of his cheek, scoring deep bloody grooves. He reaches up to push her hand away only to find that his wrists are shacked to the frame of the biobed. He lays his head back, breathing deep.
"Someone's cranky," she says, and before he knows what she's doing she's straddling him, leaning in close. "Let me make it better."
i was married; tegan & sara.
i married in the sun against the stone of buildings built before
you & i were born
If Christine had a ring on her finger she would be twisting it right now, but McCoy's never given her one (and she's never wanted one from him - no, honestly, she hasn't) and her class ring is locked away in the dresser upstairs and as it is she has nothing to do but shift her weight in her shoes - heel to toe, toe to heel - and smooth her palms against her legs and hope she doesn't look as ridiculous and nervous as she feels.
She's certain Jocelyn is a perfectly lovely person. It's not that. Well, it is that, but it's also... oh, the excruciating feelings of inadequacy, embarrassment, inferiority. Jocelyn's known McCoy since they were children, and Christine's had a handful of years with the man, and she's a decade younger than them both, and -
She checks out the window one more time.
"She's not going to eat you alive, you know," McCoy says, looking a little amused. "I wouldn't have married her if she couldn't at least pretend to be nice."
"Ha ha ha," Christine says. "Ha ha. Fetch me more alcohol, please."
holy shit (what a relief); hey rosetta!
all that weight falling from me
& all that breath finally free
She manages to hold it together all through alpha shift. She doesn't make a scene in the middle of sickbay when they bring him in; she doesn't wail or get in the way of the surgeons at his bedside as they patch him back together; she doesn't wring her hands and wait nobly at his bedside while he recovers. She does her job. God knows how, but she does it.
When she's done her shift she pulls up his profile surreptitiously on one of the computers only to find that he's been discharged and sent back to his quarters to recuperate. She doesn't go to find him, though; she eats her dinner, sitting alone at a sterile white table, and is halfway through it when she realises she hasn't tasted a thing.
She sighs, and goes to his rooms.
She lets the door slide shut behind her and clasps her hands at her back; they're visibly shaking.
"Christine," he says, surprised. His face is still pale and drawn and his black undershirt is bunched over the bulky bandage at his side but he's fine, he's conscious, he's breathing and she loves him so much.
"I can't," she says, "I can't do this," and her voice is trembling as much as her hands are.
golden & green; the builders & the butchers.
& i was born to wind in the cradle & i ride on the hot southern breeze
& i twist in the green & the gold & you see & there is blood on my elbows & knees
"If I never moved from this spot for the rest of my life," McCoy says, "I could die happy."
Christine doesn't say anything, just watches the sun through the canopy of green leaves. He tickles the arch of her foot with a blade of grass and she jerks her foot away, making a face at him.
"What," he says.
"Oh, nothing," she says. There's a root digging into her back; she wiggles until she finds a more comfortable spot, out of the shade of the spreading oak. "It's a very nice spot, I'll give you that."
He rolls onto his stomach.
She holds one hand above her face, spreads her fingers wide and then squeezes them together tightly, watching how the sun streams through her flesh. She doesn't want to ask it, but she has to anyway. "Have you gotten back to Starfleet about the next five-year mission?" she says, dropping her hand to her side and turning her face to his.
His hazel eyes are considering.
two figures by a fountain; atonement [dario marianelli].
instrumental.
"It's hot," Christine says.
McCoy looks at her. "Honey," he says. "You are from Louisiana."
"Well, yes, I know that, thanks," Christine says. "But this is hot. European-hot. I don't like European-hot."
McCoy eyes the fountain. "I dare you," he says.
Christine stares.
"I'm pretty sure," she says, "that someone'll come after me with a laser-pike if I try and jump in the Trevi fountain."
"I'll get you a gelato afterwards," McCoy says wheedlingly.
Christine sets her lips, looks at him thoughtfully, squints up at the sun, and then hitches her skirt up above her knees.
"Ha," McCoy says.
"And I'll get my own damn gelato," Christine says over her shoulder as she steps up onto the lip of the fountain.