Red Means Dead

The Theory of Relativity is Orange

It's been several hours since breakfast. I know that shift is over and that I was there for all of it. I know that dinner is over and that Hunter and I talked about things. I know that I should be in my quarters but I'm wandering aimlessly, as is my mind. If I were to really think about it, I'd know where I am going, it seems to be where I always go when my heart is troubled.

I walk through the sickbay doors, expecting to find it a flurry of activity, probably because of how my insides are feeling, but it's surprisingly subdue. Most of the lights are dimmed and I only see McCoy, sitting at his desk, staring off into the near space. He's leaning back in his chair, his sleeves pushed up on his arms that are crossed over his chest. He hasn't seen me yet, giving me time to observe him.

My body has missed him. My palms itch to touch his skin and my ribs beg for the compression of his embrace. I realize now that I'm in love with him. How could I have been so blind for so long?

He turns and looks at me, concern instantly washing over him. "Peaches? You okay?" Rocking to his feet, he has the distance between us closed in an instant. I have to force my arms to stay at my sides.

I don't hesitate and I don't hold back. "I realize you don't want more than friendship. I've come to terms with that. But could you at least give me that back? Our friendship? I promise not to make you uncomfortable. I won't expect you to come to my room at night anymore, I've ruined that, but could we at least be friendly around others? Share our days now and then? What happened earlier, I don't want that to happen again."

"I was out of line in front of your friend. I apologize."

Shaking my head, I shrug. "We were antipodes. That's quondam."

"Man needs a dictionary around you," he murmurs distractedly.

"Hopefully you give me a second chance to make that an issue."

He takes a big step forward and an equally big breath. If he wants me like I want him, he would take me in his arms and kiss me until I can't stand anymore. That's what happens in all those romantic movies on Streamer I never watch, right?

But he doesn't. The stress wrinkles etch into his forehead and his hands stay tight to his sides.

I can feel it. The letdown that he will try to make gentle but will hit me like a Romulan warbird. I cross my arms under my chest, a gesture his eyes follow and I'm only slightly mollified to know I can attract his attention in such a way.

He cups one of my elbows and murmurs, "Peaches--" but is interrupted by the ship's communicator.

"Bones?" The Captain's voice calls. "I need to see you on the bridge."

He levels me with his gaze, opening his mouth to give me the brush off but I don't have the strength for an elevator pitch denial.

"It's fine."

He would have been gruff. He would have said what I need to hear but not what I want to hear. He might have tried to be kind but his words would have sliced right through my heart.

I turn before the first tear falls, grateful he can't see it.

I've turned on full-blown histrionics.

This isn't me. I don't show emotions. I deal with things as they hit me and handle everything in stride. But this has ripped the hole in my chest wide open and poured in acid where my heart should be.

***

Taking a deep breath, I select my parents' number on my PADD and lean it against the wall behind my desk while I wait for it to connect. I did the math in my head and I think I will be catching them right after breakfast. They had returned from their vacation earlier this week and I'd yet to check in with them.