#ic: threads

@rejectory​ sent: “I caught one back there.” attuma

         "---máasima', íitsʾin?"

         From his position cradled in the underwater current, K'uk'ulkan grins at Attuma, his expression wide open and relaxed with the laughter he doesn't voice.  The leader makes a show of looking where his companion indicates, twisting smoothly in the water and mock-shading his eyes to peer out into open sea, lips pursed and clicking bubbles. He rolls his gaze back to Attuma, leveling the younger Talokanil with an unimpressed look that belies the mirth still lingering in K'uk'ulkan's crinkled eyes. 

in some way the man was the sun to his moon and that was something that he’d never admit outloud. mac wasn’t a very emotional person and he’d rather focus on things with merit. the witch wasn’t equipped to crave the touch of a man who could only make him weak in the grand scheme of things. the idea of the man was intoxicating and maybe it was because his powers failed to work on the lennox witch? it made him crave val even more and the thought of a simple touch made him hum in appreciation. watching the man sleep next to him, macaulay carefully slid from his place on the california queen and let his bare feet touch the cold marble floor. adjusting his boxer briefs, he walked silently across the room and excused himself with some nominal tasks such as brushing his teeth and making two mugs of coffee. once he finished, he returned to the room with both mugs and sat down at the table next to the window.

still in his boxer briefs, he put down both cups before reaching for his glasses and a book that he’d been reading the afternoon before. mac wasn’t doing much reading, however he didn’t want to make things awkward by staring at valentino when he woke up.

Leonard had made his fair share of assumptions in his life, but this was getting ridiculous.

It began with a passing observation made by his mother, towards the end of his days in Starfleet Academy. Perhaps he had no one but himself to blame—at the time, he admittedly spoke far too much about Jim.

In his defense, their roommate situation often plagued Leonard’s thinning patience. Who the hell else was he going to complain about? Especially the nights that Jim made too much fuss before exams. You may as well have asked Leonard to walk on his hands.

It had gone like this, and in retrospect, Leonard should have realized this was the defining moment that he was fucked.

“—and if you come back down to Georiga, Len, you oughta bring that darlin’ boyfriend of yours—” “I’ll try to catch a bus there, Ma, but I can’t promise— Hold up. Boyfriend? I’m not datin’ anyone. Jim’s my roommate.”

●︎ when: may 8th, 2019  ●︎ where: deadwood park ●︎ with: open thread

Well, if this wasn’t any way to start the day. “This weather is about as fickle as any lover,” Leonard growled to what he assumed was the remainder of the landing party. Yet with a short glance over his shoulder, the doctor immediately realized his own loneliness. The rest of the crew had disappeared into the darkness, along with everything else. A jolt of panic and adrenaline crept up his spine. Where the hell had they gone?

Keep your wits, he demanded of himself. Trudging down the most walkable path of the jungle, Leonard strained his ears for any signal of his crew mates. The tricorder strapped across his chest felt heavier with each step. Dread weighed it down like lead. 

The last few days had gotten worse.

The calls into work in the dead of night had increased, leaving him haggard from earning only a few hours of rest. The captain had scorned Leonard when he made a trivial mistake from his exhaustion, which immediately prompted glee from M’Benga that Leonard fell further from favor. There was an additional influx of traitors to be taken care of, whose presence made Leonard weary each moment they eyed the doctor with disdain, despite his scalpel in hand. It was fine—he didn’t need their fear, didn’t want it. Leonard numbed his mind the moment Kirk had requested the doctor finish his bullshit “evaluation” of the prisoners which amounted more to torture than anything else. By the end of it, with his head a sore tangle of broken thoughts, he could not even remember their faces.

Leonard was tired in the way that exhaustion burrowed deep into your bones until it became part of your DNA. Christine noticed his growing irritability, to which Leonard sighed and ignored her sneers. He hadn’t meant to showcase his exasperation. Recently, it was the only emotion making it past his callous exterior.

The air conditioning’s cool breeze flicked against the back of his neck. San Francisco’s heat clung to his nape and crept down the valley between his shoulders; the chill of the medical clinic was never so sweet as the first step inside. Tipping his head in a short nod towards the receptionists, Leonard stalked from the lobby in search of his new office.

The hallways rolled out like a maze at first glance. Whereas nurses and physician assistants moved with ease down the hallways, Leonard’s eyebrows burrowed further and further until he found the door labeled LEONARD MCCOY in black lettering.

Everything felt sterile. The smell of sanitizer was near bitter when he entered the room.

“Home sweet home,” he mumbled to the off-white walls. The last time he stepped inside any hospital setting not as a patient had been in Georgia.

He’d rearranged his possessions during the quiet of last night, vowing to return the next day for his first shift after a day’s load of classes. Leonard discarded his bag, tucked his medical coat underneath his arm alongside his PADD, and fled from the narrow room. First thing was first—caffeine.

Leonard’s nose led him to the staff break room, where several coffee machines shoved against the wall were already brewing. He hadn’t yet glanced to the staffing list for the evening and paid just as little attention to the break room when filling his first cup of coffee for the night. Black. Bitter and disgusting, just as every generic cup of coffee in every hospital across the world. Hell, probably in space, too.