sprite-writes

[sprite-writes]

writers and artists will go "this isn't good enough." my brother in christ, you're creating something new out of nothing and expressing yourself creatively. your productivity and unrealistic standards of perfection do not define you or the worth of your art. you're doing great.

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On my knees praying to you for writing a dale cooper fic.. Lord knows there is nowhere near enough on this app THANKYOU

god i LOVE dale cooper and there’s next to no fic of him on tumblr. Thank you for the support! More on the way :)

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boop! favorite body of water?

boop!! <333 i love lake eerie—i went to see it with my partner last summer, so pretty!!! Nothin eerie about it

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inspired by boop day, reblog this post if its ok for people to send you random asks and interact on your posts with no judgement. i want to talk to people.

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WRITE IT!!! WRITE THAT SELF INDULGENT SHIT!!!

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not to be controversial bc I know this is like…not in line with shifting opinions on fanfic comment culture but if there’s a glaring typo in my work I will NOT be offended by pointing it out. if ao3 fucks up the formatting…I will also not be offended by having this pointed out…

‘looking forward to the next update’ and ‘I hope you update soon!’ are different vibes than a demand, and should be read in good faith because a reader is finding their way to tell you how much they love it. I will not be mad at this.

‘I don’t usually like this ship but this fic made me feel something’ is also incredibly high praise. I’m not going to get mad at this.

even ‘I love this fic but I’m curious about why you made [x] choice’ is just another way a reader is engaging in and putting thought into your work.

I just feel like a lot of authors take any comment that’s not perfectly articulated glowing praise in the exact manner they’re hoping to receive it in bad faith.

fic engagement has been dropping across the board over the last several years, and yes it’s frustrating but it isn’t as though I can’t see how it happens. comment anxiety can be a real thing. the last thing anyone wants to do is offend an author they love, and that means sometimes people default to silence.

idk where I’m going with this I guess aside from saying unless a comment is outright attacking me I’m never going to get mad at it, and I think a lot of authors should feel the same way. ESPECIALLY TYPOS PLZ GOD POINT OUT MY TYPOS.

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gunmetal blue

chapter 1/?

Dale Cooper/Reader

Summary: Agent Cooper is saddled with a new partner–against his better judgment. She’s a mess–aimlessly stumbling her way through the FBI with a past shrouded in mystery. Grappling with this change, and a puzzling case in a small town, Cooper’s lost. He finds the path forward in the last way he’d expect. 

word count: 2,605

A/N: woah new fic! this is sort of my side project while I work on cloudy day, but it'll still have semi-regular updates! super self indulgent because I love twin peaks, even if everyone had moved on LOL. hope u enjoy <3 as with all my writing, special thanks to @lightning-writes

 Dale wasn’t the type to be needlessly anxious. He was the farthest thing from an overthinker, he was a pragmatic man, he kept his sensibility about him. So, admittedly, it was out of character the way his leg had started to involuntarily bounce, brow sweat, and chest tighten. Gordan Cole’s office had never felt so small. 

He should have known something was wrong with the way Gordan had called him into his office, hands clapping on his shoulders, guiding him into the room like a lost child. Now, with the announcement hanging in the air, he understood. 

“I’m sorry, a-a new partner?” 

“That’s what I said, Coop! Is your hearing going too?” Gordon’s deafening volume usually has no effect on him, but this time he flinches. Dale shifts, and the leather beneath him squeaks. Gordon doesn’t even look up from his computer, skillfully avoiding Dale’s appalled stare. 

“Gordon, with all due respect, I don't need nor want a partner. Has there been something unsatisfactory about my work? Or-” 

“Did you say something about a factory? Anyway, It's not up to me. She was sent here straight from the higher-ups. All I did was sign the paperwork.” 

Dale sighs, his frustration thickening in his chest. His captain's eyes flick to him. 

“I would’ve fought it if I thought it was such a bad idea, Coop. Don’t worry so much, She’s a sweet girl and a—how would you say it? A damn fine agent.”  

“Isn’t there anyone else she could be assigned to?” he asks, and it feels like begging. Windom is 3 years behind him now, but that's three years he’s spent adapting to solitude. The idea of someone next to him on the field again unsettles him deeply, drudging up feelings he’s worked hard to forget. 

“Agent, I know how you may feel about this. What, with your past and all, but keep an open mind. I think this could be good for you.” 

Could be good?

“Sir–” 

A knock on the door cuts him off, the frosted glass door swinging open without hesitation. The interruption leaves him with his complaints still sticking to his tongue. 

“Gordon! I brought you coffee – you still take it with two sugars, right? Because there’s a cane’s worth in there.” 

His vision is crowded by a woman in an oversized blue FBI jacket—besides her abrupt entry, she’s also out of uniform. Her denim blue jeans hug her waist and fray at the knees, with a jarringly casual t-shirt. The unprofessionalism rubs him the wrong way. 

Two milky-colored coffee cups get dropped on the desk. Despite the breach of protocol, Gordon seems pleased to see her. There’s an affinity in his eyes, but she's a stranger to Dale.

“Well if it isn’t Miss Blue herself! We were just talking about you.”

“We?”

Her hair flicks over her shoulder, and her eyes widen. 

“Oh! Hi! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I’m Blue.” She sticks out her right hand for him to shake– and it knocks straight into the two coffee cups, sending one tumbling towards Gordan and the other into his lap. 

“Shit!” 

He bolts up as hot coffee soaks his trousers. He vaguely registers Gordon's laugh as if an Agent didn’t just waltz in, wreck his office, and Dale’s drycleaning. 

“Oh hell, I’m so sorry!” she shrills, peeling off her jacket frantically. The cheap polyester of the academy-issued zip-up presses against his wool-blend pants, the woman’s feeble attempt to clean the mess. 

Dale’s anger alights, but he breathes deeply to tamp it down. Patience is a virtue, he tells himself.

She continues to dab at his pants, he pushes her hands away, taking the stained jacket from her, and tossing it on the chair behind him. 

“It's fine, it’s fine,” he tells her tightly, despite the heat of his emotions, and the mild burns. When it rains, it pours, he supposes. 

She looks up at him, clearly mortified. 

“My bad, Sir,” she says lamely, and her expression scrunches up more. 

“A hand, Kid?” Gordon asks and she’s more than happy to take her attention away from Dale. Gordon wipes his desk with a handkerchief, and with her hands free, she begins moving damp papers from his desk. 

“Well, I’ll tell ya, Blue, you haven’t changed a bit since they shipped you off,” Gordon says fondly. Blue grimaces in a subtle way that Dale only notices because of the daggers he’s staring into her. 

“I don't know about-” she begins. Gordon steamrolls her, likely not hearing a thing she said. 

“Well, I suppose this is as good an introduction as any. Dale, meet your new partner, Special Agent Georgia Blue. Blue, meet Dale Cooper.”

He wanted to be surprised, really he did, but with fate’s track record, he didn't know why he would expect any better. 

-

Dale goes home late that evening. With him, a stack of manilla folders all relating to one Georgia Blue. He recognizes a level of invasion here. He justifies it simply; Blue is an invasion of his space, so this grants him a degree of invasion to hers. He tries not to think about the morality of it too much, mostly because he knows if he does, he’ll be returning the files unopened. He lets his curiosity win this battle. 

It doesn’t matter anyways; half the documents are redacted, large blocky sharpie lines interrupting every other sentence. He skims over what he deems unimportant– her physical description, age, schooling– when one thing catches his eye. Her bureau status, ambiguously labeled as ‘probationary warning: under review’ 

 The FBI files aren’t all. There are DEA reports, too, all titled Operation Architect. He whispers the words to himself, something familiar in the back of his mind, vague memories and mentions of this Operation Architect. From his understanding, it had been DEA business, just watercooler talk that had made its way down to his office. He reads what he can. 

January 10th 1988, SA Georgia Blue establishes contact with target, indefinite undercover placement to begin immediately.

Undercover placement? The rest of the paragraph is blocked out, and he’s left with more questions than answers. 

His day feels like a pill he can’t swallow. He had vainly hoped that by understanding who this woman was, it would give him some artificial control of the situation, maybe even make it easier to choke down. He doesn’t understand why the dread in his chest continues to bloom. 

He yawns, interrupting his thoughts. He supposes the rest of his investigation can wait for the morning, it wasn’t like the issue was going away anyways. 

-

There are a few blissful moments the next morning when Dale wakes up, where the nightmare of yesterday is just that - a nightmare. The redacted files are forgotten on his desk. He makes his bed and brushes his teeth, and it isn't until he’s halfway through shampooing his hair, while he’s mentally scaling down his to-do list for the day that he remembers his plans are meaningless compared to the derailment that is Agent Blue. That is, his new partner Agent Blue. Just rolling over the word in his mind causes a headache to bud. 

“Agents Cooper and Blue, partners, at your service,” he spits bitterly to himself. He gets shampoo in his mouth.

He’s bitter all the way to the station, questions and resentment swarming his mind.  

He doesn’t even bother to chirp his usual good mornings to the doorman. Anger fits him like a jacket two sizes too small, he has to squeeze his way into it.

Perhaps the comfort of familiarity would calm him, he thought. A warm cup of coffee and the sanctuary of his desk. That’s what he needed. 

“Good morning Dale,” Diane calls as he passes reception. He waves noncommittally. 

“Morning Diane, any messages?” 

“Not today, but Gordon wants to talk to you—he said to just come by when you have time.”

Dale sighs, and wonders what Gordon could possibly have in store for him this time. 

“Is that all?” 

“There’s just one other thing—I had to move your desk closer to the window to make room for the new girl – but don’t worry! I put everything back just as it was, and I was real careful too,” she smiles. 

His eye twitches. 

“Alright, Diane, thanks,” he mutters. 

His desk is a foot from the window now, approximately 3 feet from where he had it before. He recalls the day he requested it to be there—having carefully stood in each corner of the precinct to find the exact shade-to-light ratio to situate himself. 

It’s fine, he reasons, he’ll just squint. 

In the ideal 4-foot spot from the window sits a brand new desk, with his brand new partner. If she hears him approach, she doesn’t show it, eyes glued to her dark computer screen. It doesn’t bother him, not one bit. He had spent the last three years' worth of mornings enjoying his coffee in silence, and, new partner or not, he would like that to remain the same. Who cares if she ruined his wool pants–doesn’t mean she has to say good morning to him too. 

He sits down, much too close to the sun for his liking, and dives headfirst into paperwork. Still, he spares glances at her, in intervals, and mostly just wonders, why? Dale is a good agent, he knows this. His work and reputation precede him; a lone wolf, he thinks of himself. Then, out of nowhere, without warning, he’s saddled with a partner? An agent he’s never even heard of, who is apparently dipping half into DEA work. An agent who’s on probationary warning. 

Perhaps they want him to babysit, he concludes. A rookie agent with some kind of classified disciplinary infraction, and they want him to turn her around. The thought reheats his anger. He’s a federal agent, not an academy trainer, and he has half a mind to let Gordon know that fact. 

Five minutes into tense silence and deep thought, a hand smacks down on his desk. He startles but recovers smoothly.

“For yesterday,” Blue says tersely. His eyes follow her stony expression to her manicured hand. She moves and reveals a crumbled $50 bill she’d slapped on his desk. 

“Agent?” he asks, confused and exasperated. 

“For the pants, alright? Please, just take it.” 

He stares at the bill quizzically. 

“Ma’am, while I can appreciate the gesture, I assure you that it’s not necessary—“

She holds her hand up to stop him. 

“I don’t care. I’m not taking the money back.”

She returns to her desk, intentionally angling away from him, staring intently at the computer screen that he can now see isn’t even turned on. 

“...The power button’s on the back of the monitor.” 

“...right.” 

The computer screen comes to life, and she doesn't spare him a glance. 

Partners, indeed. 

-

When he finally has a moment to see Gordon, he’s gone over his speech 5 times in his head. Gordon, you know I respect you and your decision-making, but I am not a babysitter or some sort of camp counselor. I am formally requesting the reassignment of Agent Blue.

He says it again and again in his head, all the way to the door. He knocks loudly, in a way he knows Gordon will hear, and he gets back a muffled, “Come in!” 

He does. When Gordon catches his eye, his expression is uncharacteristically unreadable. 

“Close the door behind you, Coop,” he tells him. Dale shuts the door and takes his usual seat across from his boss. 

“I’m glad you had the time to talk, I’m sure you have more than a few questions after yesterday,” he says levelly. Dale notes Gordon talking quieter than normal, it gives him an odd feeling like he’s in trouble. 

“I do, Sir. I would like to firstly say that while I respect–”

“Now hang on there, Coop. First things first, I’m going to need you to return those files on Blue.” 

Dale freezes, and his puffed-out chest deflates. It takes him a moment to form a sentence again. 

“...May I ask why, Sir?” 

Gordon sighs and fiddles with the wires of his hearing aid. 

“You haven’t done anything wrong. This is all just a bit more complicated than I can tell you right now. I’m afraid I’m sort of left in the dark here, too. I’ll tell you what I can, but it’s not all that much. Anything else you learn is at the discretion of the bureau - and Blue. And I don't think either of em’ wants you poking around.” 

The situation feels much bigger than him all of a sudden, even though it felt like something he could hold in the palm of his hand just a moment ago. 

“Alright,” is all he can think to say. 

“I knew Blue when she was in the academy, and let me tell you, she is bright. A little prodigy in her class, a bit like you, I’d presume. Anyway, I met her through her field training, she was a NAT here for a little while. Wasn’t too interested in homicide investigation, though. No, she’d taken a real liking to narcotics. Nasty business, I always thought, but to each their own,” 

As he talks, he leans in close to Dale. Gordon’s inside voice is still quite loud, but Dale can tell he’s straining to lower it. 

“She graduated and went straight to doing investigative work with the DEA. If I know you, and I do, I know you’ve picked through her file already. Do you know what Operation Architect is?” 

“I saw the name, but I don't know much about it, no.”

“Neither do I, that’s DEA business, but I know she was on it, undercover for over a year. And I know it didn't go great. She was relocated here after the ordeal.” 

Dale was hoping for this conversation to be more enlightening. He still feels trapped in the dark. 

“I meant it when I said none of this was up to me. My boss wanted Blue assigned to you. I’d wager it's because of your good work, you’ve got a handsome reputation, but I couldn’t tell you for sure. Regardless, she's sticking around for a while, so make the best of it. She’s not quite how I remember her, but as long as she hasn't done a full 180 in a few years, I think you two could get along pretty well.” 

Silence weighs down the room. Dale lets the new knowledge permeate his skin. 

“Alright,” he says because there really isn’t anything else to say. 

“Alright,” Gordon parrots. 

Dale sits like he’s waiting for something else to happen. The crushing finality of it sits on his chest. All the determination he came in there with is withered away to nothing, just ashes of a once burning fire. 

There’s no shirking this now, he has a partner. Cooper & Blue, FBI. 

“I know this isn’t easy for you, and I wish there was more I could do. But to be completely candid with you, I don’t think it’ll be nearly as bad as you’re anticipating.” 

Dale nods absently, drained of anything else to say. Gordon understands. 

“You’re dismissed, Coop.” 

He gets up, politely pushing in the chair. 

Before his hand can touch the knob, Gordon grabs his attention again. 

“Well, one more thing, actually.” Dale tenses, and the dread in his chest that had gone numb begins to flare up again. 

“If I were you, I’d show her a bit of kindness. This line of work is messy, and I can't imagine what the hell happened for her to get sent here.”

Dale can’t imagine either. 

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Twin Peaks (TV 1990) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Dale Cooper (Twin Peaks)/Reader, Dale Cooper (Twin Peaks)/Original Female Character(s), Dale Cooper & Albert Rosenfield, Gordon Cole & Dale Cooper Characters: Dale Cooper (Twin Peaks), Gordon Cole, Albert Rosenfield, Laura Palmer, Harry Truman (Twin Peaks), Lucy Moran, Andy Brennan Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Canon Compliant, Strangers to Lovers, Dark Past, Dale Cooper needs therapy, Coop being a little mean at first sorry Summary:

Agent Cooper is saddled with a new partner–against his better judgment. She’s a mess–aimlessly stumbling her way through the FBI with a past shrouded in mystery. Grappling with this change, and a puzzling case in a small town, Cooper’s lost. He finds the path forward in the last way he’d expect.

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You think you can hurt me? I write star trek fanfiction knowing absolutely nothing about the medical and scientific fields

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good heart (easy smile)

fic summary: Ruby David meets Bucky Barnes at her job (alternatively: a companion fic to good heart (faulty machine of a man) from Rue's POV)

Read the first 3 chapters on AO3

[sprite-writes]

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 18/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: bucky changes (alternate: bucky gets a haircut)

word count: 1160

tags: fluff, post endgame, pre tfatws, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: none

a/n: a lil fluffy peek into bucky's day (no rue this chapter, but NEXT chapter, only rue)

AO3 MASTERLIST X

“I’m going on vacation for the rest of the month,” Raynor had announced during their last session. “And I think, to kill two birds with one stone, you should try a support group again.”

“What two birds?” he’d asked.

“Therapy and company,” she’d explained easily. Like she’d known he’d have something to say about it. “Support for the holidays while I’m away, and company because I don’t think you should be alone going into the new year.”

(She’d given him space to object. He knew what she was looking for - a confession. Before the session, she’d witnessed him and Rue laughing, more than amicably, and while she didn’t ask about it, he knew she wanted to.)

“Fine.” He’d crossed his arms and given her a pointed look. Daring her to ask. “But I’m not going to a grief group.”

Now, he’s almost gotten through an entire session in a veteran’s group. While some of the stories were meaningful to him, the current climate of the war and the front lines were just removed enough that it didn’t trigger him. Even when the older veterans, the ones who might have seen the tail-end of his war, share their nightmares and losses, Bucky can endure it.

(And it feels like a goddamn Christmas miracle.)

A woman approaches him after the session, extending a business card. “Uh, hi.” She’s probably a little older than Rue, maybe Raynor’s age. He recognizes her as one of the people who had shared. “I’m Ana.”

He doesn’t even look at the card; he’s studying her. “Bucky,” he offers.

“I…” She lapses into a nervous laugh. “I know this is weird, but I noticed you messing with your hair a lot while I was up there… and I cut hair, so…”

“It’s that bad, huh?” His tone is flat, but she laughs, more confidently now, and he runs a hand through his hair again. He starts to feel self-conscious, but it doesn’t go far. “I honestly haven’t cut it since…”

(He doesn’t say since he’s been the Winter Soldier - it’s not like Hydra had cared about his appearance - but she fills in the blanks with whatever makes sense to her.)

“A lot of veterans don’t… keep up with their appearances,” she says gently. “I mean, I’m sure it took a long time for you to regrow your buzzcut.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “I kinda like the long hair.”

“It suits you.”

(For once, a woman is not giving him flirty eyes. They are kind but not motherly. She sees him as a person and not an object. She understands.)

“Look, I just started working at a new salon,” she interrupts his thoughts, “and I’m building my clientele. I’m actually on my way over to work now, if you want to be my first client of the day?”

////

Ana had tried to wash his hair, but as he lowered himself to the lip of the sink, he felt anxiety scrape up his chest. Flashes of the Hydra Lab, the excruciating pain from electricity coursing through his skull, his jaw, his throat. He’d shot back up and started to make hasty excuses to leave, but she had reassured him, gently and patiently, that it was okay.

“A lot of people seize up at different parts of the cut,” she had explained. “Sometimes it’s the clippers, sometimes it’s the wash. Each person’s experience is different, and we’ve all been through a lot. I’m used to adapting.”

She had him stand and flip his head over the sink instead. She’d needed a step stool to be able to work the shampoo and conditioner through his hair. As she chatted casually about her clients, which she revealed are usually from the support group, he sunk into the feeling of her fingers moving against this scalp and the easy cadence of her voice.

(Familiarity has always been a trigger for danger, but he realizes Ana is a lot like Rebecca. When their parents died, his spunky younger sister had shifted her attention from her own endeavors to helping others. He knew it was a crutch, in the same way he’d readily thrown himself into his civic duty. Ana reminded him of Rebecca, not necessarily in a sisterly way, but in a safe way.)

When she had him under the cape, she’d told him what she was thinking for the cut, confirmed that he’d liked her ideas, and she’d detailed every step of the cut before executing it. She painstakingly only used scissors for the haircut, carding her fingers through his hair meticulously.

“Okay, so, for your facial hair, we have options.” She’d dusted off the cape with a brush before planting her fists on her hips. The rest of the shop had been pretty much deserted, except one barber and customer toward the front. “I could use the clippers and bring your hair down and leave, like, a shadow, or I could use the blade… but it’d have to be a clean shave.” She laughs at his horrified look. “Okay, okay. The other option is just shaping up what you have going on, nothing off the length. I can do that with the blade, but it’d be much faster and easier to do it with the clippers.”

“I trust you.” The words are out of his mouth before he can consider them. Even she looks slightly shocked. He doubles down, “Do what you think is best.”

“I’m partial to the facial hair,” she says, unraveling the electric razor. Again, her words have no usual subliminal context. “We’ll start with the razor for the shape up, and if it becomes too much, we’ll kick it old school with the blade.”

(For the briefest moment, at the end of the process, Bucky wonders what Rue will think.)

////

George lets out a low whistle when he sees Bucky walk through Fogwell’s doors. He’s putting on his coat while Bucky is taking off his.

“You clean up nicely, kid. Got a hot date or something?”

Bucky laughs, “Thanks, sir, but it’s nothing like that.”

“What did I tell you about calling me ‘sir’,” George swats Bucky with his hat before putting it on. Bucky laughs again. “You got a job interview or something?”

“No, I met a hairdresser,” Bucky says. “At a veteran’s support group. She offered a free haircut, and I figured it was time.”

(He feels like information is just flowing out of him today, like water from a faucet - and the handle is jammed open. His heart says, it’s okay it’s just George, but his brain screamed, you’re in dangerous waters, Barnes.)

George gives him a look he can’t place. He takes both of Bucky’s shoulders and gives them a squeeze.

“You’re doing good, kid.” Bucky is seized by a feeling he hadn’t felt in a while. Something like pride, something like gratitude. “You’re doing good.”

(When George leaves, Bucky gets a call. In Russian, on the other end of the life, he hears, I have the information you requested.)

[sprite-writes]

If anyones interested, I’ve made a Pinterest board for the cloudy day series!!

https://pin.it/30guyQf

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this novel has thus far been slightly lacking in terms of solid character interactions but i'll admit this one got me

[sprite-writes]

failed romantics

Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Reader (original female character)

Summary: Secrets can’t be kept forever, and what better time to reveal them than the Enterprise night shift.

Word Count: 5,902

A/N: yay another chapter!! I have been so excited to write this one since I started this series, I hope you all like it. As always very special thanks to @lightning-writes without them these chapters would literally never get finished LOL immediately after finishing this plz go check out their bucky series; good heart (faulty machine of a man) it kills me in the best way. anyways, thank you for reading plz like + comment if you enjoyed :)

Leonard can only barely make out Kirk’s face under the dim bulb, but he is pissed enough that Jim’s mug is the last thing he wants to see. The music is loud, so goddamn loud , loud enough that the whiskey did nothing for his headache. 

“This is not what I had in mind when you said you knew a place,” he yells over the music, staring down the side of Kirk's face. 

“What?” the captain calls back, still oblivious to Leonard's scowl. Kirk is absent, completely distracted by the crowd, more specifically the women . His gaze filters from person to person as they pass by the table, a dumb smile on his face the entire time. If steam could come out of Leonard’s ears, it would. 

“I said this isn't what I had in mind for tonight.” He reaches across the table and firmly flicks his friend’s temple. 

“Hey! What's your problem?” Kirk whines. Leonard is satisfied to have gotten his attention—finally. 

“You said you knew a nice place– you said it was a bar!” 

“Yeah and? This is both of those things!” 

“This is a goddamned petri dish!” 

It is. Leonard has refused to even allow his bare skin to touch the tabletop, weary of the unknown sticky substances covering it. There are so many bodies— human and otherwise— packed into the space, it's suffocating, and certainly a fire hazard. It's gross, downright unsanitary, and fucking loud.  

“You’re dramatic, Bones, it's nice enough. Loosen up! Maybe try to meet somebody. We’re only in Yorktown for a day, y’know?” 

Tipsy Kirk is a fucking idiot. 

Leonard recoils at the idea. The captain has gained this…habit lately. This advice-giving habit where he tells Leonard to relax, to get out there, to get laid, and every time it passes through Kirk's lips, Leonard becomes nauseous. He abhors this subject, he really does. The only thing he hates talking about more than his dating life is why he doesn’t have one. Sure, he hasn't had much of one since the divorce anyway, but whatever he did have quickly reduced to nothing after meeting Sunshine. He feels so childish even mulling his thoughts over, and how it feels pointless to consider any other woman interesting since he has already met Sunshine, who is the most interesting. Interesting and pretty. Interesting and pretty and kind. He shakes his head before he starts down his mental list (again). Somedays, it feels like his feelings will swallow him whole. It has been so long since he felt it, the wanting . Wanting to talk to her all the time, or hold her hand, or just be around her. It all makes him feel so juvenile, like he’s a lovesick teenager. She makes him feel like a lovesick teenager. It is the single most frustrating thing he’d ever experienced.

“I don't wanna associate with anyone who willingly steps foot inside this shithole,” he snaps, “C’mon man, let's go.” Kirk protests, of course, even more so as Leonard grabs him by the ear and pulls him up from the chair. He tells himself he’s doing Kirk a favor, that the last thing he needs is a hookup— that he’s certainly not taking out his frustrations on his friend. 

The pair weave through the bodies, with Kirk stumbling after his friend and out the door. The cool breeze hits them like a breath of fresh air, and Leonard takes it in. Kirk, on the other hand, furiously rubs his reddened ear. 

“What the hell was that for? Are you out to get me tonight?” 

Leonard feels a quick pang of sympathy, regretting lashing out. 

“Look, I’m sorry, but that place had me sweating like a damn sinner in church, there’s other bars, and it's getting late anyways–”

Kirk would usually push it, and Leonard could tell he wants to, which makes him all the more thankful he doesn’t.  

“Fine, fine, whatever but we are drinking when we get back to the ship,” he settles, leading the way home. 

Yorktown is cold and downright industrial. Leonard hates it. He would usually be thankful for a pit stop if it means he can feel non-artificial gravity, but, between the dirty club and Kirk’s antagonizing, he’s ready to be spacebound again. Both the Enterprise and the USS Endeavor are in Yorktown for the night, in the process of a personnel transfer. The streets are crawling with Starfleet members.

They walk in silence for most of the way, observing the larger-than-life city and the star crafts buzzing overhead. Leonard would be lying if he said he doesn’t feel a bit empty.  Perhaps the low-lit, music-blaring monstrosity would have felt more tolerable if a certain lieutenant was with him and not stuck with the enterprise night crew. 

“You know, I wouldn’t have even known that place existed if it wasn’t for Sunny,” Kirk laughs. Leonard scrunches his nose. 

“She recommended that barnyard?” he scoffs. 

“Oh god no, she told me to stay away from it. Said it was the grimiest place on this side of the universe. I just thought it sounded like a good time, y’know?” 

Leonard stares, really stares, and wonders why he keeps expecting better of Kirk. 

“You’re an idiot, and an ass. The woman gives you stellar advice, and you ignore it, and stick her with the skeleton crew.” 

Kirk stops so abruptly, that Leonard stumbles over him. 

“ I didn’t put her on the skeleton crew, she requested to be. You think I would make her work more than she already does? I’m not a tyrant, Bones.” 

What?  

“What?” Leonard says out loud. “Why would she ask to be holed up on the enterprise all leave?” 

“I mean, I would too if the alternative was running into my ex and all his coworkers.” 

Kirk laughs, Leonard’s head spins. 

“Her ex?” 

“Yeah her— she didn’t tell you any of this?” 

“She said she wanted Jameson to oversee the transfer, give him more experience or something, so you put her on his night shift.” 

“No? She wanted Jameson to do it because she used to be engaged to the Endeavors head of security.” 

Leonard blinks. And blinks again. 

“Dude, I don’t even know how to change the schedule,” Kirk adds. 

 Suddenly, despite talking to her everyday for close to a year, she feels unfamiliar. Engaged? He can hardly imagine it, nor does he want to. Pictures of Sunshine flash through his mind, and he clenches his fist. 

“Didn’t know she had been engaged,” he feigns a casual tone.

Kirk furrows his brows. 

“ You didn’t know? You of all people?” Leonard shrugs, as his stomach forms a knot. “She tells you everything, and she’s never mentioned Ryder?”

“Christ, his name is Ryder ?”

“I know! Douchebag name, right?” 

He doesn’t respond for a beat, which turns into several beats. The gears in his head turn and turn. Engaged . He doesn’t understand why the idea eats at him. He himself had been married for years. So what if she was engaged? There is no reason for him to be upset that his friend—a coworker–had an ex. 

He feels nauseous. 

Kirk clears his throat, derailing Leonard's train of thought.

“You’re right, it’s late, we should head back,” he says, offering a reassuring smile. Leonard follows him, hands in his pockets.

“Do y’know what happened?” he asks finally. Kirk casts him a sideways glance.

“What, between them? Not a clue,” Kirk says with sincerity enough for Leonard to believe it. “She wasn’t really keen on discussing it.” He pauses and looks at the ground as they walk. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it though, Bones, I think everyone sees she’s only really got eyes for one person these days.” 

“Don't start, Jim,” Leonard warns hotly, clenching his jaw. 

“Start what? I’m not starting anything. I’m just laying out the facts.” Jim hiccups. “She adores you, man, like adores -”

“Sunshine ‘adores’ everyone she meets. We’re friends—good friends, but that's all.” His patience shrinks as his annoyance grows.

Jim laughs mirthlessly.

“No, Sunshine and I are good friends. Whatever you two are is something else entirely-” 

“Anyone ever tell you you don't know when to shut up?” His tone is as cold as the night air, and Jim shuts up.

Leonard wishes Kirk would drop the subject, trip over a rock, or whatever it took to never have this conversation again. Really—what he truly wants is for everyone to stop dangling this hope in front of his face like a carrot. He’s not an idiot, he knows he spends more time with the lieutenant than his colleagues, hears her laugh more often, and knows her habits better.

 He knows what it looks like. He also knows that he's a bitter emotionally closed-off divorcee— 

He tells Jim that Sunshine is his friend because she is—and he denies wanting anything more because It's stupid to want things out of his reach. 

Frustration heats his cheeks and begins to bloom into a headache. He knows Kirk means well, but that fact does little to comfort him. 

“Alright, I’ll drop it,” Kirk surrenders, his voice soft. “But there is one last thing you should know,” He pauses at the crosswalk and turns to Leonard. Eerily stoic, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Leonard's breath hitched. 

“Ryder’s got nothing on you in terms of looks, okay? Seriously he's like, 5’7, and his face isn't at all symmetrical-”

Leonard revs up and smacks Kirk in the back of the head harder than he ever had and feels no regret. Not even after Kirk's high-pitched “ Ouch!”

“Would you quit it! You gossip like a damn schoolgirl!”

The sign blinks at them to walk, and Leonard drags Kirk across the street, fingers digging into his arm. 

“Ow, ow, I was just saying-“

“Wait a minute,” Leonard lets his friend go and smooths down his sleeve. “How do you know what he looks like anyway?” 

Kirk puts himself at a safe distance from the Doctor, cradling his arm. “Well, the operations manager would usually talk to the department heads during a transfer, but Sunshine passed him off to me. I said no at first, obviously, because I hate managing, but then she finally told me she was almost Mrs. Ryder Denver. So yeah, I spoke with him a few times, just business. Have to say though, I couldn't imagine them together. He comes off as a bit of a douche.” 

Leonard breathes deeply, reigning in the emotions that he doesn’t need Kirk to pick up on. The idea of Sunshine being engaged does enough to unsettle him without knowing that the man in question “ came off as a douche” . He feels something boil under the surface. 

“Yeah?” is all he can strangle out. 

“Yeah—He’s like a classic douchey security buff,” Kirk continues, unaware of his friend's white knuckles. “You know the kind– uptight, condescending, has one earring and thinks it's edgy-”

“Wears their uniform a size too small? Yeah, I know the type.” 

“Exactly, and Sunshine is so…so-”

“Heart-of-gold?” 

“Yeah! Opposites attract I guess, but I don't know, something was off.” 

To Leonard, the entire thing is off. All of it. Everything . He doesn’t understand why Sunshine decided he doesn’t get to know, why it is a secret in the first place, why she almost married a douche, why he cares so damn much . 

The enterprise comes into view like the sun on the horizon, and Leonard is relieved . 

“Your arm’s all right?” Leonard asks, an apology without apologizing. Jim knows this and breathes a laugh. 

“Yup, the ear’s fine too.” 

The Doctor nods, but his eyes remain trained in front of him. Through the glass window panes, he eyes the ship, eager to hide away in the familiar place. He would have opened the door for Kirk, as a gesture, but of course, the Yorktown Federation Port has to have automatic doors. He huffs, and the artificial lights illuminate his red cheeks. They approach their home in silent tandem, their shoes clinking against the hard floors. 

“You should talk to her, Bones,” Kirk breaks the quiet, head down while he taps the access code to the enterprise hull. “Ask her why she didn't mention the ex. I’m sure she has a good reason, probably one you'll wanna hear.” 

Leonard wants to be mean. He wants to shake Kirk's words off with an insult and go to bed. But he swallows his pride, and it goes down like nails.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Hope. It bubbles up within his chest, and he pushes it down. Finally, the stark white enterprise interior greets him. He breathes a little easier. 

Kirk stumbles over the first step— “ Woah ”-- and Leonard steadies him with a raised eyebrow. “Andorian ale finally catching up with you?” 

“Pfft,” Kirk scoffs. “Couldn’t catch me if it tried.” 

Leonard pauses, then laughs, the first genuine one all night, and it has Kirk grinning back. 

The enterprise is empty, its residents still on the streets they just returned from. So, without restraint, they laugh, and Kirk stumbles, and Leonard forgets for a moment about the unsaid feelings under his skin. 

Kirk is an idiot, and he’s a good friend.  

He’s happy to banter about whatever comes out of Kirk's drunk mouth and to correct him when he takes a wrong turn in his own ship. Leonard claps his hand on his shoulder and drawls, “It’s this way, captain .”

“Uhh, no , Chekov keeps the good whiskey in his locker, this way,” Kirk insists with a point down the hallway, and Leonard is amazed at his eagerness to get blacked out the night before embarking. 

“Are you out of your mind? No way. You can drink like a fish when you don't need to fly a starship in the morning.” 

“What are you, my mom ?” 

Christ.

“No, but I pity the poor woman,” he huffs and gestures down the hallway leading to his quarters. Kirk frowns and scrunches his nose.

“Raincheck, Kirk, c’mon.” 

He begrudgingly obliges, having given his friend a hard enough time tonight anyway. The yawn that crawls out of his mouth a moment later corroborates Leonard's decision. He is tired, and Kirk shouldn't drink anymore, but he’d be lying if he said those were his only motives to end the night early.

“You win this one, Bones, but next time I swear we'll be out till sunrise,” he says between another yawn and a hiccup. 

“Uh-huh. Try not to trip.” Leonard reminds himself of the virtue of patience and keeps walking. 

Kirk manages to type in his room's access code all by himself, with only a moment of squinting, and a break to roll up the black sleeves of his turtleneck. Leonard is impressed, and the bar is low. 

“Drink a bottle of water, and get some sleep, We’ll talk tomorrow.” he crosses his arms over his chest and waits for protest. 

Kirk only hums. “You headed to your room?”

 The doctor's fingers drum against the doorframe. “Was thinking I’d check in on Sunshine,” he says, blinks, and rushes out, “and the rest of the Skeleton crew, of course.  Maybe medbay too, then I’ll hit the hay.” He fleetingly wonders if that sounds believable, or at least casual. 

 Kirk smiles a genuine smile. “Sounds like a good plan, Bones. See ya in the morning, and tell her I said hi .” Before he can react, his friend waves, and the door slides shut. Then, he’s alone in the hallways, and he has to put his money where his mouth is. 

Shit . 

The way to the bridge feels daunting now, like climbing Everest. Like climbing Everest with the shittiest rope ever. Like climbing Everest with the shittiest rope ever, several pounds of emotional baggage, and a Starfleet captain breathing down his neck.  He considers just going to bed, pretending he never even mentioned the whole thing. Maybe even pretend he doesn't care to get answers. He can just leave it be. 

The desire to see her trumps all of it. 

The halls are deserted, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t need anyone around to watch him squirm in the elevator. A deep breath, a punch of the open elevator button and—

“I told you I don't have any threes! Go fish, again .” 

He sees the back of the captain's chair first, then Starfleet-issued black boots hanging off of it. The whoosh of the door draws the attention of the room to him. Eyes sweep through the vaguely familiar faces of the night crew, all six staring at him like they are waiting for an explanation, which he doesn’t really have. The heeled black boots plant themselves on the ground, the captain's seat swivels around. His heart works double time. 

“ Leonard ? Hi! What are you doing here?” 

Sunshine’s got a hand of cards between her pointer and her thumb, and a sweatshirt pulled over her uniform dress, and it distracts Leonard for longer than it should. He clears his throat, and it shakes loose the feelings stuck there. 

“Just thought I'd check in on our hard working night crew, who is surely on task.” He descends the bridge steps. 

“Well, then, you'll be happy to hear that I am, in fact, glancing at my station every 20 minutes, and I’m the undefeated go-fish champion.” 

She waves the cards at herself like a fan, legs crossed and smile wide. 

“Undefeated, huh? Glad to see your talents going to good use.” Her smile gets a bit brighter, and she does a quick breathy laugh with her nose. For a moment there's quiet, and Leonard begins scrambling for a way to ask her the thing he wants to ask her. The bridge is crowded, for a skeleton crew, he thinks. The redshirt to Sunshine’s left breaks the silence before he can. 

“I’m not sure if I’d call it talent…I’m pretty sure she's cheating,” they grumble, and Sunshine doesn't spare a moment, whipping the chair around. He can almost see the panic fill her eyes, like she’s just been accused of a heinous crime. 

“I’m not! Are you still thinking about that last round? Because that was—”  

Even Leonard winces a bit at her shrill tone, and he’s pretty sure she just woke the navigator who had fallen asleep at his station, so he claps his hands on her shoulders. 

“Sounds to me like this card game has you wound like a spring,” he interrupts her before her voice jostles anyone else awake. 

She pouts, lip jutted out and everything. 

“Let's go for a walk,” he suggests. He doesn’t even let his nerves talk him out of it. She looks at him curiously, her eyebrows drawn. 

“I dunno, I probably shouldn’t leave…” 

“I’m sure someone else can deal cards while you’re gone,” he tells her, already offering his arm. 

The Ensign, Leonard still doesn’t know their name, waves her off. “Go, Lieutenant, It's fine. I’m sure we can handle a few minutes without you.” 

She bites her lip and cautiously loops her arm around his, leaving the captain's chair to her subordinate. 

“Alright, but don’t start a new game without me,” she warns lightly. 

Leonard doesn’t get nervous with her arm looped around his, really he doesn’t. He’s headfirst into this thing now, no room for nerves. 

She drinks her whiskey neat, he learns, and it surprises him. Surprises him even more when she downs it like a shot. 

The walk there had been quiet mostly, except for when Sunshine regaled the stories of her card game wins. 

“Did you have a nice time with Kirk?” she asks politely.

“I dunno if I’d say that, but maybe Jim would disagree.” 

She laughs lightly, and her finger traces the lip of the whiskey glass. He doesn’t know if it’s the best idea, but he refills her cup. 

There is a beat of silence, and the conversation with Kirk pushes to the front of his thoughts. There's a heaviness on the tip of his tongue, the desire to ask why . Without really knowing how to. 

“Wish I could’ve gone with you guys,” she says, her gaze downcast. There's a rare melancholy to her tone, something vulnerable woven into it. 

“You could’ve,” he tells her, and her eyes pull from the table.

“I had--”

“Yeah, I know what you– I just mean–I’m sure Kirk would have given you the night off if you asked… God knows he owes you enough favors.” 

“I guess,” she shrugs, “it wasn’t really the best night for it, though.” 

He could go along with her lame excuse, vaguely agreeing that, yeah, there will be other nights. But the ache to know what exactly goes on in her pretty head has words tumbling out of his mouth. 

“Yeah, Kirk mentioned somethin’ like that,” he mumbles, nerves permeating the sentence. 

“...what?” 

Shit.

“I mean, he may have-”

“What exactly did he mention?” Her tone holds a sharp undercurrent of something rare for Sunshine– anger.

Leonard runs a hand down his face, suddenly thinking of all the much more tactful ways he could have begun this. The gentle buzz of alcohol still in his bloodstream keeps him from panicking. 

“Nothing terrible, just that there was someone in town you wouldn’t wanna see.”

“As if ,” she scoffs. “Kirk’s never been that vague in his life.” 

“…fair enough.” 

She groans miserably, fitfully pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands and burying her face in the fabric. 

“You were not supposed to find out like this,” she says, muffled. 

“And how was I supposed to find out?” He asks quietly, like the question will frighten her away. 

A sniffle comes from behind her hands–the sound tugs at his heart. 

“ I don't know. Maybe someone could have told you when I’m dead and then we’d never have to have this conversation.” 

He reaches for her slowly, taking her wrists in a gentle hold and pulling them away from her face, revealing her reddened nose and watery eyes. Her hands are cold, and grow stiff under his touch. 

“Sunshine. It's an ex , not a damn intergalactic scandal. There are worse conversations to have,” he reasons. 

“You don't get it,” she tells him matter-of-factly, pulling her hands from his touch. Embarrassment quickly heats his body, and he wipes his palms on his pants. 

“I’d get it a lot more if you talked about it.” He flexes his jaw, frustration bleeding into his voice. 

She narrows her eyes, punctuating her glare with a sniffle. 

“If I wanted to talk about it, I would’ve.”

“With Kirk? Because he seems to get it.” 

“Why are you acting so—”

“Concerned? Oh, I dunno because you’re my friend?” Exasperation colors his tone.

“I was gonna say entitled,” she grits out. Her anger comes out half-heartedly, sounding more like watery sadness than anything. “I don't tell you everything, and I don't have to. You’re not my-” She sighs. “Why does it matter? I was engaged for like, a year, and now, I’m not.” 

You’re not my–

Her half sentence sticks in his mind and sends blood rushing to his head. He thinks of all the things that he is to her: a colleague, a doctor, a friend. All the things he isn’t feels like a gaping hole. 

He watches her clench her fists and force her tears back. 

“It matters because it upsets you enough to work the night shift,” he sighs, the anger he’s been holding seeps out of his hands like water. “I’m not pressing you for the latest gossip, Sunny. I’m asking because it would be lousy of me not to.” 

She says nothing, taking in his words. 

“I’m no stranger to this stuff, y’know,” he prods her gently. “My ex-wife sent me running all the way to space .” He says lightly, and the corners of her mouth twitch up briefly.

“He didn't send me running, I sent him,” she confesses, shaking her head. 

“ You ?” 

“Me. The thing is,” she shrugs, “it should have worked, y’know? Like on paper, it was perfect. Ryder and I were academy sweethearts, liked all the same shit, were top of our classes, blah, blah, blah.” She rolls her eyes. “Our friends used to tease us, say that it wasn't fair, and we were too in love.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” she says, sighing. Her eyes drift nowhere in particular. “It didn’t feel nice after a while though. It felt suffocating. I was half a person with him, we were Ryder and Sunshine–and that was one entity.” Her tears dry on her lashes, as she becomes entrenched in the memory. 

“But the person we were wasn’t me . Because he never thought my jokes were funny, or my hobbies were interesting or my friends were cool, so I was willing to throw them all out. Eventually all that was left was him. His ideas, his wants, his needs. I was backed into a corner. I should’ve left when I realized but I loved him… and I was really scared of being alone.” 

She pushes her hair behind her ears and lets out a shaky breath. 

“I was a coward, and I couldn’t leave. I wanted to try and fix it, figure out who I was, and then maybe Ryder could love that person,” She shakes her head. “I was naive. Ryder always wanted someone I couldn’t be. Someone quieter or someone better at being a person. I’m always so all over the place you know? Too much for him.”

“You’re not–”

“It's okay, Len, you don't have to say anything.” she says, meeting his eyes again, taming the budding fire in his heart. 

The idea of Sunshine being anything but completely herself unnerves him. Her jokes are funny, he can’t recall ever laughing as much before she boarded the enterprise. Her ramblings about xenobotany and classic earth songs never fail to catch his attention, even when he barely knows what she's talking about. Being around Sunshine is as easy as breathing, and he’s starting to need it as much too. 

“Anyways, he proposed our senior year, like we weren’t a sinking ship, and I said yes and pretended like the ring wasn’t a last-ditch attempt to bring us back to life.” 

Her teeth sink into her lip, her eyes dragging to her lap.

“I don't know what it was, but one night I just…broke. I couldn’t keep pretending to be someone I wasn’t, or beg to be loved.”

A few tears slide down her cheeks, she scrubs them away with her sleeve.

Leonard wants to tell her that she should never have to beg for anything in the first place, least of all love; he wants to tell her that she's worthy just the way she is. His fingers twitch with the desire to take her by the shoulders and tell her over and over that she’s perfect, that she couldn’t be too much if she tried. Sunshine has always had a magnetic pull to her, drawing in everyone she meets with her warmth. The idea of anyone taking that away from her pulls his heartstrings tight enough to snap. He holds back his anger, refraining from telling her that Ryder is an asshole who didn’t deserve a second of her time. 

The wiser part of him knows that's not what he needs.

“We had planned to be on the USS Endeavor together, but I rescinded my application. I signed up to do on-planet research instead. I wrote a long letter, left it on our bed, packed up my things, and left.” 

She coughs in a way that he knows is covering up a sob and takes a deep breath. The sound sends a pang of emotion through him.

“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. We were engaged, for Christ's sake, and I couldn’t even look him in the eye when I left him. And don’t even get me started on the fallout. We had all the same friends, and our families were so close… it was all so humiliating . Everyone expected us to live happily ever after, and then, there I was, giving him back his ring in a coffee shop.”  

She knocks back the rest of her drink, like a consolation prize for getting all the words out. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Len. I never wanted you to think of me like that, as someone who would do that.” 

“ Sweetheart ,” he says like a plea, calling her attention. “No one in their right mind would think differently of you for leaving something that wasn’t good for you– or at least they shouldn’t.” 

She's shaking her head before he finishes his sentence. 

“But I–”

“I know. You didn’t go about it the way you maybe should’ve– or the way you wanted to. It doesn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t make you any less… good.”

She hiccups, her chest rising and falling rapidly as another stream of tears drips down her cheeks. He can't help himself – and even if he could, he doesn’t want to – he brings both hands to her cheeks, wiping away the salty tears. 

“It's alright,” he says gently, swiping his thumb under her eye again. “You’re alright.”

She nods, breaths finally evening out, and his hands reluctantly fall back onto his lap. 

He remembers well the storm of feelings his divorce left him with. The gulit, the lonliness, feeling like the world was ending. 

“I get it, y’know. The shitty relationship, becoming somebody you don't wanna be,” the barstool squeaks as he leans on the counter. He hasn't talked about his marriage since he told the story to Kirk years ago. It feels odd to tell it again. 

“My ex and I met in college, fell head over heels, and I proposed a year later. I thought… well, we both thought we were soulmates. There was this connection between us that I’d never felt before, and I thought this must be it.” 

“After a year ?” she gawks. He casts her a sideways glance and chuckles. 

“A perfect year, mind you. Not a single disagreement, not a bad date– every day was straight out of a damn love story or something. Until we got hitched, that is. Then it was all disagreements.”

 He anxiously taps a rhythm on the bar top. The memory still burns him now, of the fiery conflict, of the sleepless nights. 

“We were the same in all the worst ways, stubborn, headstrong, prideful. We couldn't settle an argument to save our lives. It probably didn't help that I was in the middle of residency and pulling 100-hour weeks. It was miserable. I hardly recognized myself… I know I don’t have the best temper, but I never wanted to be an angry person.” 

He lets out a slow breath, “I was mad as hell when she called it quits, said a lot of stuff I regret. But she was right to do it. We brought out the worst in each other, I was just too narrow-minded to see it. All this to say, I’m sure I would have taken the night shift to avoid her too.” 

Sunshine rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, her thumb pressing circles into the muscle. 

“I’m sorry, Len.”

He leans into her touch without thinking about it. “These things happen,” he tells her decidedly. “When something’s not right, there's nothing you can do to change that. You do the best you can with where you’re at, that's all.” He pictures himself, young and full of fire, holding onto something that had already slipped away. “Which you did, Sunshine. I know it’s hard to see now, but I promise it gets easier.”

When he drags his gaze from the mahogany bar top back to Sunshine, she's watching him curiously. 

“What am I supposed to see?”

“That you were young, and scared, and you did what you needed to for yourself. Even if it's not shit you’re proud of, it makes you who you are. You learn, and it makes you better.” 

She says nothing, silently considering his words for several moments. “Well, it better get easier soon, because it sucks .” 

He chuckles, “That it does.” 

 She reaches right past him and grabs the half-empty bottle of whiskey.

“We should toast,” she says, the melancholy in her voice fading away, probably tucked back behind a wall. “To failed marriages.” 

She’s already refilling their glasses and lifting hers to bump with his. 

“Thought you ducked out on the whole wedding thing?” he teases. 

“Fine then, to failed romantics,” she impatiently shakes the ice in her glass, “Just do it.” 

He knocks his glass with hers and agrees, “To failed romantics, and night shifts, and all the other shitty stuff.”

Her face pinches as she finishes her drink. Gingerly, she takes both of their glasses and stacks them behind the bar. 

Like ripping a bandage off and letting the wound breathe, Leonard feels lighter. As Sunshine hops off the bar stool and straightens her uniform skirt, he can see on her face that she does too. 

“Thank you for the drink, and the talk, Len,” she says, and he waves her off. 

“Don't mention it.” 

“ Totally gonna mention it,” she grins, “and when the schedule suddenly gives you two days off in a row, you’ll know why.” 

He laughs, and shakes his head, “I don’t think that's allowed, Lieutenant.” 

“I have my ways,” she says innocently, as she saunters to the door. 

He watches her go, everything she’s told him still buzzing in his head. He can hardly make sense of everything he’s feeling at once, but there's one thought that sticks out among the rest, that sits on his chest, demanding to be heard. 

“Sunshine?” he calls before she’s gone, giving into his relentless mind.

“Yeah?”

When she turns around, he’s flooded with everything he’s ever wanted to tell her. How she has seeped into every part of his life since he met her, despite his once armored heart. How she doesn’t see it, but she's changed the entire atmosphere of the bridge, pouring life into it with her energy. How she's taught him how to be a better friend, a better man, even a better doctor. How she’s not too much, she's everything. 

 “You should know, you’re never too much, that's ridiculous. Anyone on this ship would agree in a heartbeat. Don’t know what I’d– what we’d do without you,” he rushes out. “I hope you never think you need to be anything other than who you are.”

She goes still in the door frame and observes him for a moment. He flounders in her silence, wondering if he should have just kept his mouth shut. She suddenly moves from the doorway, quickly striding towards him, the sound of her boots clacking on the floor. He has no time to react before she gently places her hand on his chest. She wastes no time, leaning down and pressing a warm kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you,” she says meaningfully, searching his eyes for a brief moment before she turns heel again. She’s out the door without him even mustering up a word to say. 

His skin heats where her lips had touched him, a crackling feeling left in their place. He lifts his fingers to the skin, ghosting over the sticky remnants of her lipgloss. 

He sits, dumbfounded, knowing he’s gone somewhere there's no coming back from.     

[sprite-writes]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Reader, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk & Reader Characters: Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Idiots in Love, mention of past shitty relationships, Exes, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Drinking, high emotional walls, Mutual Pining, No use of y/n, Shore Leave, Friends to Lovers Series: Part 6 of On a Cloudy Day Summary:

Secrets can’t be kept forever, and what better time to reveal them than the Enterprise night shift.

[sprite-writes]

rb for the holidays! (every season is fmoam season though)

but really, can’t rec this fic enough!!

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - masterpost

PINTEREST / AO3

(pinterest not yet launched)

CHAPTERS | 15/30 in progress

September 2 - (AO3)

September 9 - (AO3)

September 16 - (AO3)

September 23 - (AO3)

September 30 - (AO3)

October 7 - (AO3)

October 14 - (AO3)

October 21 - (AO3)

October 28 - (AO3)

November 4 - (AO3)

Texting Interlude - (AO3)

November 11 (Part 1) - (AO3)

November 11 (Part 2) - (AO3)

November 18 - (AO3)

November 24 (Part 1) - (AO3)

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy gen tags: post endgame, pre tfatws, hurt/comfort, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au gen gen warnings: pstd, panic attacks, character death, angst

FMOAM TAGS

fmoam gen

fmoam: bucky / bucky barnes

fmoam: rue / ruby [redacted]

fmoam: other character