#fiveyearsgodhelpme

6. To see my muse’s favorite secret place

Send 'You belong to ME' and watch how my muse reacts.

Make me choose between: _________ or _________

[Fuck, who the HELL thought this was alright?]

You'll have to take my word for it: 19, Your muse distracts mine from cooking dinner.

"I didn't think chef would let anyone into his kitchen," a voice commented from behind him, and he didn't bother to turn and address his visitor. Instead he stilled his hands from where they monitored the chicken curry he was making. Though from the voice he had guessed, he found it no less surprising to find the Chief Medical Officer standing at the door to the kitchen.

"He probably wouldn't," he responded before turning back to check on the rice he had boiling in another pot. The smells of actual cooking things was calming for him, along with the physical memory and distraction involved with preparing the food. "But he doesn't know I'm here, and I intend to keep it that way if you don't mind."

Surprisingly, the Doctor laughed. "I don't," he assured, stepping in and moving toward the wine locker. Chef offered the service up to everyone - to house their stores of actual alcohol in the proper conditions. Synthohol didn't do it for anyone, apparently, given the number of conditioned slots he had filled in the store. And he was not surprised to find the CMO retrieving a bottle of crown looking bourbon. "It takes balls to even come in here, let alone cook your own food. I would ask why you don't just get it from the replicator, but I think I know why."

Khan hummed at that, turning the stove off and plating his food. "I have nothing against replicated food," he said earnestly, leaning against the counter opposite the stove and taking into the curry with a sigh. "Tonight was a matter of... ceremony. I wanted to cook for myself."

"Ceremony?" the Southerner asked, his brows raised. "May I ask what?"

"It's my birthday," he replied, and the silence that followed was telling. Starfleet record had a different date, and he hadn't cared for them to change it. He wanted something to remain of his past life, something that was strictly his own.

Works for me yes

Send me a ♪ and I’ll write a drabble for our characters based on whatever song comes up on shuffle

Cry Like a Ghost - Passion Pit

And we spoke only of things made in my head/ You never once controlled me/ while all the others told me/ that if I kept on going I'd be dead/ Its not just you who felt the pain/ now tell me where they keep the rain[Wtf is up with the super perfect angsty songs?]

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"I lost them Jim! What the hell does that tell you?"

"That you're a good man Bones. There was nothin' more you could do."

"I couldn't save them dammit." The voice was soft, almost lost. "It doesn't matter."

"You tried to save everyone, and that's impossible. You did your best Bones."

Maybe Jim understands too well what it means, doing your best and still losing people. And maybe it's worse for Bones, there's nothing anyone can do to convince himself it wasn't his fault. That if he'd been a few seconds faster he'd have been able to fix the problem, keep them alive.

There's a stout drink waiting for him in his quarters. Drink and darkness and silence. All those things that he'd once complained about in space and now... now they were a relief.

"Leo? Tha' you?"

The voice surprises him though it's almost normal. Them spending time off shift in one or anothers quarters. That Scotty beat him once, while he tried to get relief from Jim, wasn't so far beyond belief.

Suddenly there's being a glass set in front of him and no comment as Scotty gently settles himself onto the couch next to Leo. Space, but no so much that there wasn't an invitation to close the gap.

Scotty doesn't know the story, he doesn't need to. The story's that matter will tell themselves.