http://notabricklayer.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] milliways_bar2010-10-21 11:11 am

(no subject)

McCoy ambles into the bar, drying his hands and whistling softly through his teeth. One of these fine days, his captain is going to do something so hare-brained it will get him killed. Like, say, beaming down to a planet with only a medical nurse to meet a man two previous expeditions couldn't find but they picked up on the first sensor sweep.

Something like that.

One would correctly suspect that the physical after this particular 'mission' was unnecessarily brutal. That's what you get when you frustrate your CMO. That, and your diet card changed to salads only for a straight week.

Still, now he's here, and that's something that improves his mood considerably. And here, he can have a decent meal without a certain senior officer making calf-eyes at his plate. He's placing his order at the Bar (catfish and collard greens) when a thought occurs to him.

Well.

She did say be creative. A short conference with Bar later (accompanied by a dip in his bank account back in his own universe), there is a present waiting for Olga the next time she comes in. Satisfied, he takes his plate, and a glass of good Tennessee whiskey, over to an empty booth and tucks in hungrily. It's hard work, lecturing your command officer.

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