The purpose is to experience fear. Fear in the face of certain death.

[hischair]

When: 17th onward!
Rating: Gross sickly stuff.
Characters: Jim & you!
Summary: Catch-all log for Jim's friends! After the 16th when he felt ill, Jim's Augmented blood has started to fight back like it did during the two weeks he was out cold after dying in a decontamination chamber. His organs will be starting to slowly fail, blood (both his own and Khan's) will be coming up, and he's generally confined to his bedroom in his and Bones' apartment. As time goes on, his condition will be deteriorating until his essence rite is performed. Please put the date of your visit in the subject header! Forward/Back-dating and Prose/Action are all fine, as are video/audio/text which can be directed here for all personal calls while Jim is sick.
Log: 

[ He finds himself thinking of Christopher, more than anything. Of the last time he saw him, specifically, in the Hall of the Missing. Of not being able to let go of him for so long and crying like a son lost in the thickest of woods, longing to find his way home only to briefly find it and have to turn back into the darkness once more. Chris had held him, kissed his hair like a father, soothed Jim in a way he had never had to before, but then again neither of them had died and been torn apart in such violent ways until the Augment came into their lives. Even in death, he's still been there when Jim needed him.

He stares out of the window in his room, propped up against pillows as coughs rumble in the pit of his chest, looking at the City below where the horizon meets a fake, beautiful sky. If he lets the migraines take over for long enough his senses go haywire and a drowsy kind of tactile memory swims under his fingers and into his nose, of an admiral's uniform scented with aftershave that soothes his anxieties almost as effectively as the real thing.

"It's going to be okay, son."

He wishes he could find a bar to drown his sorrows in. Chris always, always found him when he was at his lowest point in backwater dives.

And then on occasion, during his more painful moments where there's no one around to hear his muffled crying into a pillow or witness the sheets crumpling in his fists, his thoughts drift to the decontamination chamber. Jim wakes himself up several times after passing out with Spock's name on bloodied lips and hopes to God he hasn't started doing anything as embarrassing as crying out in his sleep to betray his fright; he has the use of his lungs still, unlike his final moments where he hadn't been able to tell his friend a wealth of things that suddenly seemed so important. Look after the crew, you're the captain now. I'll miss you. I don't want to go, stay with me. It's shameful, but a couple of times he calls for Bones just to have his company, terrified under a firmly schooled expression that he'll die in the here and now, well and truly alone.

If he had been given diagrammatics on his condition in the form of a vessel's specifics, he would have written it off by now. It's as if the effects of his descent into the warp core are being clawed out of his body in slow motion by the deepening fever-tide, leaving Jim to hate every minute of having survived. Which is counter-productive, he knows, because he very much wants to live. ]

Comments

17th | early morning;

[directives]

She found herself wishing that she'd been ripped from the bridge of her ship during one of the many instances in which they were under attack. She might've had a medkit in hand, then, ready to thrust it into the hands of the first able-bodied person, issuing an order to assist with the wounded and get them to sickbay. Without it, she was left with nothing more but her tricorder, sitting in a chair she'd pulled up to Kirk's bedside. The readings it took were nowhere nears as accurate as an actual medical tricorder would've been, but it told her enough. Enough to worry in spite of being told by several people days prior that the bad things that happened here often didn't stick or have any lasting effects. That didn't change the fact that Kirk was incapacitated, and there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it.

Those odds never sat well with her. She often said no in the face of those odds, rejecting their finality immediately and doing whatever it took to find an alternative, to find a solution for something that was said to have none. Much like Kirk, she doesn't believe in no-win scenarios. This was no exception.

"You know, protocol supports my captaincy over yours. My ship would have tactical superiority over the Enterprise with shields down and torpedo tubes jammed. Which means I could easily make getting yourself through this an order, Captain."

[hischair]

He wonders, at first, whether she's going to voice her disappointment with him (falling ill in the face of duty is something Jim is certainly annoyed with) yet what she says makes a smile tweak the corners of his mouth. Rolling his eyes briefly, he stubbornly offers her something else to focus on besides the fact he's uselessly bed-ridden, an arm curled around his middle while the other rests near his comm units.

"Don't bet against my ship," he grumbles, tipping his head toward Janeway. "Or me."

Doing my best, he leaves unsaid.

[directives]

"On the contrary," she counters, "I'm betting in favor of you. In command school, we studied your career in great detail, and if there's one thing I learned from those James T. Kirk specific courses, it's that you have an impeccable habit of coming out on top in face of impossible odds."

Janeway closes her tricorder, setting it aside. "As for your ship, well, there are plenty of letters left in the alphabet. I don't think they'll stop making ships named Enterprise any time soon."

[hischair]

"That was another Kirk."

It isn't especially like Jim to brush off compliments. His defenses are lower than usual, aching somewhere around his stomach in a way that makes him wonder if he'll be able to keep down water later and I hate not being able to think past this pain. He inhales slowly so as not to start off another coughing fit, gaze lingering somewhere around her waist. Maybe he can play off his emotions as a by-product of his exhaustion.

"As long as there's one of me in every reality that gets his ship, I can live with that."

[directives]

"Multiple James Kirks, multiple Enterprises..." Janeway scoots closer, propping her arms up on her knees so she can rest her chin in her hands. "Don't make me give you a lecture on the nature of quantum realities, Jim. That will only result in giving us both a headache, and the coffee here isn't near enough to raktajino levels for me to deal with giving myself a temporal theory migraine."

19th // evening

[candothat]

[Chekov doesn't visit the captain immediately. It still feels like he shouldn't be allowed to see this--see Captain Kirk unwell. Captains are supposed to have an air of invulnerability about them. But, by the nineteenth, he fears that a reluctance to be disillusioned will be misinterpreted as apathy towards the captain's plight. Kirk is a brilliant captain; he died to save them. He deserves more than disinterest from his crew.

From his friends.

The eighteen year-old enters Kirk's room quietly, half expecting McCoy to spring out and tell him to go away.]

Captain Kirk?

[hischair]

[ It's getting to the point where he's certain Bones will bodily toss him into an ambulance if he insists on staying home much longer. The pain is interspersed through wakefulness and dreaming, but the recent batch of whatever-the-hell he's been pumped full of is managing to numb the pain to the point where it just feels weird where it should hurt, insides churning in a way that makes him sit up and sweat just from the effort of maintaining the position. He's had enough of trying to do that for one day, so when Pavel enters it's enough of a surprise to keep Jim laid out where he is, attention diverting from the open window (because he might be sick, but he certainly doesn't have to smell like it). ]

Chekov. [ A grin broadens across his lips, eyes crinkling. ] You're still up and running? That's good.

[candothat]

[Kirk is certainly cheerful for someone who, within the first few weeks of becoming trapped in a spacetime anomaly, has managed to contract a horrible magic plague. Pavel returns the smile uncertainly and stands at the captain's bedside. He doesn't fidget, but manages to project an air of fidgetiness while entirely stationary.]

Yes, but Nyota is ill. How are you feeling?

[hischair]

[ Frowning to hear about Uhura, he gives a shrug over his own well-being. ]

I feel useless, if you want an honest answer. Got a great view of the crack in the ceiling, though. Tell me what you've been getting up to.

( 7/20 | after khan's arrival )

[medicos]

[ bones runs.

he's been around the city labs, toying with the equipment, when he happened to glance at the network and here's a voice he recognizes and a name he knows to fake. bones runs as fast as he can because while his own feelings of astonishment and anger may cloud his judgement, his own instinct and self-preservation tempers them like nothing else. and then there's also the rest of the starfleet officers scattered around the city - janeway, uhura, chekov... jim.

it doesn't take much effort, texting every single one of them while he's out of breath and in a hurry, although he saves the best for last: jim may or may not have looked at the network at this point already, but bones is not taking any chances, not today and not ever.

so he runs back to the apartment, slamming the door open as he goes. ]

[hischair]

[ Jim's bedroom door is open and he's dragged on a t-shirt over his slacks, albeit a pointless attempt to dress when he's slid down against the wall outside his door and coughed a red mess over a shielding arm. The pain-killer meds he's been on have assisted him in leaving his room, but even if he can't feel the weakening of his organs it's still a very real thing and with an additional fever-migraine running rampant, he's a literal hot mess.

When the door slams open, however, he ignores his state and points to the table. ]

Get me the comms.

[ There's no doubt why Bones has obviously raced back in a hurry after that man just posted on the network. Jim needs to warn their people, now. ]

[medicos]

[ bones reply is sharp, replacing his panic with terseness he rarely disposes. even when - especially when - angry, he's always been mouthy. circumstances, however, are different, as are his feelings on the matter. ]

I messaged all of them. [ he kneels in front of jim, hands on his neck and eyes critical looking over his condition. if jim looks like he's getting worse, he's not saying a damn thing. ] I need you to go back to the room for me, Jim. Can you do that?

[ please, do that. ]

[hischair]

Get me the comm, I need the secure line.

[ Otherwise he'll drag himself over to it trying, straining out of Bones' hold as best he can. Flushed and gritting his teeth, Jim's breathing hard to keep himself as upright as he is and his bright eyes are bloodshot, tinged all around with fatigue. That Bones has ostensibly issued a clear enough message is appreciated without question, but as long as Jim has breath in his lungs he wants to use it. ]

Essence Rite Dream, JAMES T. KIRK ; to all Starfleet crewmates & close friends

[hischair]

There are stars innumerable. Stars and screams.

A woman gives birth in the cramped confines of medical shuttle thirty-seven, her cries eclipsed by those of the newborn baby boy shortly placed in her arms. He is small with wisps of blond hair plastered to his head and settles uncommonly easily when gathered close. A conversation continues over his head, for his father is not present; over the expanse that separates the craft from the U.S.S. Kelvin, he stirs at the deep voice laughing over the comm.

"What, 'Tiberius'? That's awful, no, no. Let's name him after your dad. Let's call him Jim."

George Kirk dies telling his family I love you, I love you so much — and then everything continues as before as the acting captain of the starship buys his family and eight-hundred other lives enough time to escape a Romulan vessel called the Narada by riding out a collision course. The boy knows no different.



He likes to climb on the roof with Sam, small and whiny when the cuff of his pants gets caught on a nail and his big brother has to half-drag him out of harm's way.

"That's the Big Dipper, Jim. See?" Sam is clever and wonderful and everything Jim ever wants to be. There's nothing but love and trust put in him as Jim nods and cranes back so far that a hand automatically swings out to support him. Sam laughs when a six-year-old Jim exclaims I want a star! "You want one? Okay, let's figure out which is the best."

Downstairs, far below in the kitchen of the shambling old house, Winona Kirk argues in her son's favor as her new partner rails against the mess her youngest has caused. A can of paint lies open in the yard next to the antique Corvette that belonged to her husband, dotted all over one side with tiny fingerprints.

"You can have all the stars," Sam solemnly promises, "if you swear never to paint them on dad's car again."

Jim nods enthusiastically.



The day that Sam leaves without so much as a hug, Jim drives the Corvette off the quarry. The exhilarating experience (freedom, strength, speed) is soundly quashed when the officer takes him back home to a furious Uncle Frank. He sits at the kitchen table for ten minutes before exploding back, something that rocks his guardian with surprise. Jim knows why. He's the good kid, just like Sam said, always making the best grades and doing what he's told. If that means he has to let his big brother walk away, he doesn't want anything to do with that kind of person.

"You're not my father!" he yells, twelve-years-old and standing up to a man twice his size, blue eyes blazing. Breathless, fierce as a dog backed into a corner with no way out.

Fifteen minutes later, he's up on the roof where Frank can't chase such a small boy, even one with newly forming bruises on his arm from where he was shaken. Frank doesn't usually do that, Jim knows. He yells and looms and terrifies Jim sometimes but there's a limit, even if said limit is currently off the planet. By the time the stars come out he's hungrier than he can ever remember being before and rolls onto his back to get the cramp out of his side, dirt-smudged tear-tracks staining dry cheeks.

Sam is gone. He left Jim the stars, but what good are they when they're so far away?



On his eighteenth birthday, he slips out in the dead of night with a backpack and doesn't look back. I can't be a Kirk in this house, he said earlier, parroting his brother when his mother asked what was wrong. She probably knew he was going to leave. Taste in Frank aside, she's a smart lady.

Jim starts to walk and he doesn't stop for years, aimless and frustrated with everything on the planet, until a man in a bar gives him a small plastic starship and says, "I dare you to do better."



There's a ruckus in the bathroom, one that shortly makes itself known. An unkempt man argues with the officer threatening him into his seat and finally leans over. Jim's eyes might flicker away a few times, but for once he's quieter than usual, watching with interest.

"I may throw up on you," and then shortly after making himself known, "Ex-wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce. All I got left is my bones."

Leonard McCoy is Southern, cranky, a little sad and messed up from the get-go, but Jim thinks that's alright because he hits most of those achievements too. They're both oddities on the shuttle stuffed with regulation uniforms. Jim knows he's broken a dozen rules in getting on board and doesn't want to use Pike's name if he can help it, so he chats to Leonard all the way to the Academy to help distract both of them from causing more trouble.

Over three years, Bones fills the aching place in Jim's heart that his brother abandoned in Iowa. For a time, he forgets about looking at the stars and starts working on ways to live amongst them with his best friend at his side.



"Jim, you've got to see this."

I'm going to throw up on you, he mutinously growls, craning his head for a look out the porthole at a ship he saw in pieces on his homeland three years ago. U.S.S. ENTERPRISE NCC-1701. Now, amongst the heavens and endless possibilities she's been built to explore, her hull is smooth and sturdy. The unfinished maw of her insides is complete, sound and ready for action. Everything about her sounds like a scream through the silence of space that only Jim can hear, his own personal siren's song. This is his ship, he wants her badly. Somehow, if he isn't kicked out of Starfleet for breaking onto her with Bones' assistance, claiming her is going to be his new objective in life.

Once upon a time, he told himself that you didn't sleep with a starship, you slept on it. Now, Jim wishes that the beautiful ship before him really could turn into a woman so he could put those rules to the test.



En route to Nibiru, it's the middle of the night, ship-time. A skeleton crew works the bridge, four officers, and Jim sits in the captain's chair recently usurped by April. Taken back, more importantly, and rarely left since. It's the only place he can begin to doze off, connected to the heart of his vessel and in complete control of her after being so abrasively severed by ghost-protocols in her memory-banks. They've been wiped now, yet it makes no difference; he does not move.

On the viewscreen, there are stars drifting past that remind him of sitting on a rooftop with an arm around his shoulders, safe and content. Pike's old chair provides the support he needs in such quiet, personal moments.



"Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass you are?"

I think so, sir, Jim says. He's standing in Christopher's office, the Admiral bristling nearby.

"Then tell me what you did wrong, what's the lesson to be learned here?"

Never trust a Vulcan.

Chris whirls on him in frustration, "You see, you can't even answer the question! You lied on an official report. You lied. You think the rules don't apply to you because you disagree with them."

That's why you talked me into signing up in the first place, it's why you gave me your ship.

He doesn't understand. He saved Spock's life, that was more than enough of a reason to break the Prime Directive. He didn't want to, it was just the morally right thing to do.

"I gave you my ship because I saw greatness in you, and now I see that you haven't got an ounce of humility."

Chris sounds tired. Disappointed. Trying to explain, Jim quietens under the overwhelming flaws thrown back in his face.

"I wouldn't have risked my first officer's life in the first place. You violated the Prime Directive and almost got everyone under your command killed. You think you can't make a mistake, it's a pattern with you! The rules are for other people." He doesn't take kindly to Jim stating Some should be. Infantile and indignant, and not understanding. Chris grits his teeth. "What's worse is you're using blind luck to justify your playing God!"

Silenced, it doesn't last long. The moment Jim is told that the Enterprise is being taken away as per Starfleet mandate on the matter, he creases desperate arguments in wherever he can, but the Admiral wants none of it.

"You don't comply with the rules, you don't have respect for anything but yourself and you don't respect the chair. You know why? Because you're not ready for it."

And just like that, Jim loses contact with his insides for a moment. His home is gone and the stars are plucked beyond his reach.



It hurts to crawl back to the decontamination chamber and he's ashamed to say he almost didn't bother. Slouching heavily against the wall, he stares up at his equally tearful first officer, a hazy unpleasant heat pulling at his vision.

I'm scared, Spock, he confesses on a labored sigh. Help me not be. How do you choose not to feel?

"I do not know," Spock chokes out, wide-eyed as they stay as close as the glass allows. Jim wishes he could have seen him this open before, emotional and raw. So human that it clearly hurts both of them. "Right now, I am failing."

Jim's hand presses with as much clumsy haste as his weakening arm will allow right against the door, splaying for traction. Spock places his palm over it on the other side, and Jim matches the Vulcan salute that says everything his failing organs will not allow him to put into words. Suffocating, his vision darkens.

It is not the comforting expanse of space, there is nothing waiting but terror and darkness without a single light to guide his heart home. Disjointed from both, every second pierces his mind with agony until he can no longer even feel frightened; Jim's hand slides to his side, having lost all feeling where death closets him away from family, comfort and lights.

The stars go out.

( 7/21 | crack of dawn, probably. )

[medicos]

[ bones doesn't usually dream. part of the reason why he's always so focused on doing his job above all else is because it tires him out enough that he passes out when he hits the bed and his brain blanks for hours until the chronometer sounds the alarm and it's another day at work, another day trying to keep everyone alive on the weight of his broad shoulders.

when he does dream, however, they're usually flashes of memories: some that he likes to repeat in his head even when he's away, some that he cares a lot for but never really wants to talk about, and others that he's wasted enough credits on booze to forget. but there's always a pattern to those things, a fuzzy kind of recognition. so he's never surprised anymore. the routine makes everything sort of numb, at least when he's not awake.

this is different because it's not his kind of dream, per se. ]

[ it comes in segments, and the first one - he'll come to realize soon - is just as heartrendering as the rest.

here comes to the world a boy born in the stars, worth with a broken heart and the feeling of hopelessness surrounding him. of lost lives, saved lives, and lives that won't care that a man saved eight-hundred of them at the cost of his own. the boys eyes are a shining blue, as bright as the nearest star - as dazzling as the explosion outside the shuttle craft and brings tears of his mother's eyes, but the boys sleeps, among his kindred, lost at space.

the rest of it comes to bones with increasing familiarity, stories the bones as heard, or ones he's witnessed himself. a stubborn brother with a heart of gold, an ill-tempered stepfather, and a mother who died along with the man she once loved. i can't be a kirk in this house - the feeling that he's so lost in the world and trying to find a place he can actually fit into. something that bones knows so well that his heart clenches physically. he feels his own body moving but he doesn't know what he's actually doing.

( he's rolling to his side, trying to press a hand to his chest, because the feeling of hopelessness resonates with him a little too much. )

and then, a kinship, a friendship of a lifetime.

this one bones knows. so the fleeting images pass through his eyes with only the faintest sense of nostalgia.

it's the end that gets to him. disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence, indeed. he has the faintest urge to reach out himself, do something, do anything, but he holds in his hands a mirage of a tampered memory, incredibly familiar. i'm scared - he's heard those words before, and they echo in his dreams, too. ]

[ when the darkness closes in, his eyes open and he sits up abruptly, woken up from a strange dream. he looks around and finds himself in a slightly more familiar scene - sleeping in the living room couch since he's given his room to uhura for the duration of her stay here. he holds his face in his hands for a moment, breathing in and out as quietly and calmly as he can before he throws the thin blankets off him and tiptoes off, careful not to wake anyone up ( and they've all been trained to be light sleepers, too, so he doubles the effort ).

he enters jim's room, the door swinging open with the soft squeak from the hinges. he's stands there, leaning against the doorway and crossing his arms over his shoulder. a stance of an observer who watches from afar, and in his sleep, jim kirk is the subject - until bones' gaze wavers to the window, eyes flitting over to the twinkling sky that seems a lot farther away that they've even realized, and they aren't even real.

he sighs, crossing the room in short strides and sitting on the edge of the bed, a hand on jim's arm to shake him awake if he wasn't already. ]

Scoot over, kid.

[hischair]

[ He dreams in fragments, ones that twitch his fingers and others that leave him gripping the sheets. A voice reels him out of the muddy slew of images to crack his eyes open at the sight of the figure dipping his bed, sleep in his eyes and blanket creases on one side of his face, his own throat soft with the disuse of sleep. ]

Bones? [ But he obeys with a careful slide to put his back against the wall, surrendering space enough to let him lie down. In the inconstancy of almost-morning, the world is still indigo and peach with an oncoming sunrise that most of the City won't get to share, just like the exchange in Jim's room. ] You okay?

[medicos]

[ bones doesn't answer immediately. he sinks down on the bed, elbows first, then his legs sliding under the warmth of the covers before he lets his head down, eyes closed and a hand raised, thumb brushing against his temple.

they hadn't shared a bed since their academy days, back when things got a little bit too much, back when those couple of days on the calendar still bring out the worst in them, and neither of them had the means to handle the fucked up state of mind that overcame them aside from what they knew best - drinking, solitude, and (in jim's case) stirring up trouble in the worst possible way.

in any case, this is probably the only way they'll be able to talk without disturbing the others - and without any effort exerted on jim's part. ]

Bad dream. [ a beat. ] Well, not - it was weird, and I swear to God Almighty, I don't know where the hell it came from.

25.07.13.

[hexuality]

[She has his dream but she can't get to him, still in the hospital with little chance of getting out—she's gotten much better, just like everyone around her, but something in this plague is clinging to her for as long as possible so the rites she helps complete are limited. But when it comes to Jim Kirk's, she thinks this is something she can do from across the City. After all, is she a witch, or isn't she?

She knows magic doesn't exist in his world. Dr McCoy's reaction when she even mentioned the word was enough of a tell. But she isn't doing this to prove herself or her world to anyone else; people can believe what they want, no world is more right than the rest, but this is how she works and this is what she can do. She wants to help. She cares, despite not knowing him for very long, and between their conversation about family and these dreams, she feels the tug to help him as best she can.

It takes a packet of Instant Darkness Powder and some creativity. But Ginny Weasley takes after her twin brothers in that regard and perhaps that's why the joke shop has managed to stay running long after their departure. She can replicate their products and she can pick apart their spellwork and add her own twist. That's what's happening here. Charmwork has always been her strength at school, second only to Defensive magic, and after a day of testing and feeling her way through magic that is more instinct than incantation, she's done the best she can.

The powder is delivered in an envelope with a Get Well card that simply reads, Blow a kiss to see those stars of yours. ~Ginny

It plunges the room in darkness, but unlike the original product that keeps it impenetrable, there's twinkles of starlight throughout. And when it fades, whatever stars that have been left on Jim's walls and ceiling will pick up the same winking quality that their more heavenly counterparts possess.

Enjoy your magic, Captain, courtesy of the youngest witch at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.]

July 23rd // evening

[candothat]

[Ever since the talking dog informed the network that dreams would reveal the cure to this mystery illness, Chekov has been waiting and hoping for Kirk's. When it comes on the twenty-second, eagerness to help the captain is replaced by the feeling that he had no business seeing what those dreams contained.

He tries not to dwell on the content, not now. It's more important to determine what instructions the dream was imparting. Stars--it has to be something to do with stars. That was the only thing that each part of the dream had in common, and Chekov knows what it's like to want nothing more than to be out in the relative emptiness of space, stars in every direction, shielded from near absolute zero temperatures and interstellar radiation by the sturdy hull of a spaceship. That's home, even more than Russia is. That's Kirk's home, too. Since the captain is in no condition to go outside and stargaze--he might say otherwise, but Chekov is sure that McCoy would object to any excursion--it seems sensible enough to bring the stars inside.

Chekov knocks on Kirk's door before showing himself inside. His messenger bag is full of everything that sounded useful--paper, tape, markers, pens, pencils, paintbrushes, paint in black, white, red, and blue. Now is a fine time to make Kirk's ceiling more interesting.]

[hischair]

[ He's sitting up when Pavel lets himself in, smaller than his usual presence after losing some of his weight from lying sick in bed, fighting his own body to keep functioning through what feels like a slow-motion yo-yo effect. The pain of the decontamination chamber is stretched thin all through him and burned at the edges by a fever that never fully goes away.

The first thing he thinks when he sees Pavel is thank God I don't have to keep reading this book, and he sets aside a copy of War and Peace with great relish. ]

It's dangerous for you to come here, Chekov. [ With Khan running around. ] What do you need?

[candothat]

[If possible, Kirk looks even worse than he did the other day. Asking how he feels would be just this side of cruel; Pavel huffs in (almost) entirely put-upon annoyance instead.]

I need to go to my jobs, Captain, I was already out. [He starts unpacking his bag. Somewhere, barging into a captain's room and beginning an art project is probably insubordination, but.] Nothing--I need you to do nothing. I can be quiet if you would like to rest.

Is any of your furniture very sturdy?

» 27th | mid-afternoon

[thenormalsquint]

[She remembers which door Leonard came out of and while she should have called to see if he was home first, she knocks on it anyway. A pair of slippers are tucked under her arm and in her free hand is a bag of various groceries: soup, bread, milk, eggs, and lunchmeat. Those are not for her, but for Leonard and his stranger roommate because if Angela knows anything about two men living together (with one being a doctor especially) is that their fridge is probably stocked with ketchup and beer. And that's it.]

[hischair]

[ And luckily for Angela, said housemate has just finished his shower, answering the door in a towel with another draped around broad, tanned shoulders. Pardon him blinking in surprise, he was expecting one of his crew. ]

Uh, hi.

[ ... Is that meat he can smell. ]

[thenormalsquint]

[She's glancing off to the side distractedly when the door opens and when she looks back and sees it's not Bones but a damp, very toned man, her eyes immediately shoot downward. Not in shame, but pure curiosity. And now back up to his face once she realizes she can't see anything (damn), Angela blinks back just the same.]

Hello. I'm looking for Leonard McCoy.

[Yes, that is meat. Is that naked man she can smell as well?]

[hischair]

Are you. [ Damn straight it is, can't help a quick once-over of her too. ] He's out, may I ask who's calling?

[ Arching a brow and leaning over a little to eye that bag. ]

With goodies, no less.