(no subject)
Title: Transport
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: McCoy/[Spock]
Rating: G
word count: 200
McCoy hated the transporter. The shock of white, sharp as if from behind his own eyes, the feeling of every atom of his body being rent apart and reassimilated elsewhere made him queasy. It was unnatural-grotesque, even-to make a person anew like that over and over again, to let their conscious mind float for even a millisecond in ethereal limbo. If he believed in a soul, maybe it would be easier to accept what had become the mundane, quotidian destruction and recreation of humanity in the name of expedient travel. But he did not.
So it was with trepidation-couched in indifference-that he took his place on the transporter. Then he watched the man beside him, holding his visage in his mind until the world went liquid and conscious thought flickered, and then beyond, the fine lines of his companion’s face remaining when all else was gone; then somewhere new, somewhere foreign, his touchstone remained, a bright memory to pull him through the moment of disjointed confusion. He remained the man he knew so intimately, and so maybe, McCoy thought, maybe he was the same McCoy, beside the man who believed in souls enough for the both of them.
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: McCoy/[Spock]
Rating: G
word count: 200
McCoy hated the transporter. The shock of white, sharp as if from behind his own eyes, the feeling of every atom of his body being rent apart and reassimilated elsewhere made him queasy. It was unnatural-grotesque, even-to make a person anew like that over and over again, to let their conscious mind float for even a millisecond in ethereal limbo. If he believed in a soul, maybe it would be easier to accept what had become the mundane, quotidian destruction and recreation of humanity in the name of expedient travel. But he did not.
So it was with trepidation-couched in indifference-that he took his place on the transporter. Then he watched the man beside him, holding his visage in his mind until the world went liquid and conscious thought flickered, and then beyond, the fine lines of his companion’s face remaining when all else was gone; then somewhere new, somewhere foreign, his touchstone remained, a bright memory to pull him through the moment of disjointed confusion. He remained the man he knew so intimately, and so maybe, McCoy thought, maybe he was the same McCoy, beside the man who believed in souls enough for the both of them.