#polymusepotion

Caroline's gaze starts at his shoes, noting the few blood spatters there and new scuff marks, slowly starting her perusal upwards as she tugs on her daisy patterned cleaning gloves. There's more blood on his pants, his shirt is ruined beyond what her stain-removal skills can fix. His arms --- toned and tanned and just flexed enough that her stomach flutters at the veins there --- have several new scratch marks on them. By the time she gets to his face, she already knows the look she'll get. Exhausted. Grumpy. Tired. And ( when she's feeling just a bit more delusional and pathetic ) a look that might almost be affection or relief at the sight of her.

@polymusepotion​ asked:  It's been months. She's been away on business of her own, but at least they've been in touch this time -- unlike the last time she vanished. Texts. Pics. It's been nice to have a way to reach him when they're miles apart. But now Mara's back. She's... home. And she's stretched out on his bed in one of his shirts, waiting for him to come home and find her..

@polymusepotion // SM

   It’s a raucous affair.

   Stands full of men, women and children boast the largest gathering in this kingdom all season, the air thick with chattering, cheering, screaming. All around the banners of neighboring houses come to participate in the tournament fly high and colorful, flags snapping in the breeze and lending the scene a truly festive air. Down below men shout and horses stamp their hooves, kicking up plenty of dust. A petite dark-haired man discreetly passes a small rolled scroll to somebody who moves off into the crowd like a ghost.

   Now he is at liberty to enjoy the spectacle. 

   Many of the men below he recognizes; most are knights, some are simply the sons of rich lords fancying themselves strong contenders, and a scant handful are strangers from distant lands, looking for riches and land. Already James thinks he can predict most of the winners, though there are a few here he is as of yet unfamiliar with. One such man is the eldest son of a lord he has heard of, but has never met. Even so, the house’s reputation precedes this particular fighter, and he knows the prize this man contends for: he wishes to win his rightful title. 

The famed French Quarter --- more specifically Bourbon Street.

Meredith has wondered when she might find her way down here.  She has poured her first few days in the city into work, adjusting herself to a new hospital, new colleagues, and new procedures.  When she isn’t at the hospital, she is unpacking things in her new apartment (she does her best to ensure it doesn’t look like the home a thirty something year old divorcee).  

But she is about to change up her routine. 

She weaves in out of the drunken Friday night crowd, taking in the sights.  This entire place feels like it is made for debauchery and she finds that she is not entirely against it.  In the end, she slips into a bar, already grinning at the live music pumping through the place.

“I guess I have to bourbon, huh?” She asks with a laugh when she seats herself on a stool.  Soon she has a glass in hand and she is ready to enjoy whatever comes her way.

     “That should about do it...” Gauze now in place, Jacob lets his hands fall away from the other man’s shoulder and raises a brow down at him. “Keep it clean and dry, and change the gauze regularly. Do you need any pain relief?” 

“How the hell should I know?”

To be honest, Jace had barely been listening. He didn’t even know this guy, why would he call him? Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. He knew of this guy. Starfleet. Doctor. Enterprise.

Finally, he turned his attention to the man, meeting his eyes, studying him, it seemed. Name. Name. This man had a– McCoy. Right.

“Let me hear it. This message that I supposedly left you. Let me hear it.” He held out his hand, then gestured for the man to hurry. He had things to do. His ship to tend to. When the message started, though, the phone had Jace’s full attention. And he could swear he felt his heart actually stop.

“Leonard. Leonard? Fuck. Fuck, it’s happening. It’s… I can’t believe it’s… Where are you? We agreed that you would answer, that you would be there, be around. You said… Oh god.” It was clear he was running. “Bones… This… Whatever it is. It’s gaining on me. I’m not going to… Where are you. Please… Bones. Find me. Find me. Don’t let me die.”

For many long moments, Jace didn’t say a word. His heart was racing, he knew, and he could feel the fear trying to take over. Forcing that emotion back down, however, he swallowed and forced a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Leonard? Cute. You ever go by Leo?”

If Leonard had hated receiving this message, disliked having to track this man down, and loathed the anxiety and confusion dogging at his heels this entire time, he certainly isn’t fond of this man’s attitude either. Perhaps it has something to do with peoples’ tendency to treat him with respect, if not a healthy amount of uneasiness and trepidation; he’s dealt with plenty of arrogant hotshots in his day, and he hadn’t been in the market for another.

“No. An’ you know what? Unless you’re one of two people I’ve known for years, I don’t go by Bones, either.” It’s a name he accepts from the mouth of exactly two people, and none dare attempt to use the moniker unless they’d earned the right. Hell, it even sounds strange in his own mouth, as he’d never once, since meeting James Kirk, referred to himself as such.