Caption Needed!

A classic: I can't wait to see the entries!

Caption Winner

Ok, WarriorSister snuck this caption in at the last moment...and it turned out to be the jar's favorite. And ain't it the truth--Bones doesn't quite look like he belongs in this shot!

Spock: "Did I not request that you stop singing?"

McCoy [thinking]: "What the hell am I doing in this scene? I feel like I've been Photoshopped in!"

If Hamlet had a Facebook Page...

Now this is worth a look. Lol! Not quite like Facebook, though, since you can read the comments in order from top to bottom, rather than bottom up--but it's more convenient that way ;)

SLEEPWALKER by Ster Julie

Julianna wrote this lovely piece, inspired by last week's caption contest. I'm proud to present it here!

Title: Sleepwalker
Author: Ster Julie
Codes: S, Mc
Rating: PG
Summary: Why is Spock walking in his sleep?

A/N: Inspired by one of my entries into J. Rosemary Moss' weekly caption contest: For God's sake, Jim, don't wake up Spock! He's sleepwalking again.

--ooOoo--

"Spock, you look terrible!" Doctor McCoy observed.

"I haven't been able to sleep," Spock admitted.

"Since when?" McCoy asked as he ran a diagnostic instrument over the Vulcan.

"Since my sight was restored," Spock answered sheepishly.

McCoy's own internal diagnostic antennae rose at that admission.

"You usually sleep with your eyes open, right?" he continued.

"Yes, Doctor," Spock replied.

"And any change of lighting causes you to awaken, correct?"

Spock nodded, puzzled by McCoy's line of questioning.

"So what you do with the light on your shrine?"

"I extinguish it after my evening meditation."

"Uh-huh," McCoy grunted as sudden inspiration hit him. "Must make it mighty dark in your quarters then, eh, Spock?" The Vulcan nodded. "As dark as it was when you were blind?"

Spock pulled himself up straighter at that. "Are you suggesting that I am now afraid of the dark?" he said testily.

McCoy's demeanor gentled. "No, Spock, not afraid of the dark," he said quietly, "but I am certain that you may be afraid of being blind again."

Spock turned away from McCoy and shot the doctor a dark look over his shoulder. "Preposterous," he declared.

"Is it?" the doctor said softly.

"I am not afraid."

"Not consciously, no," McCoy said, "but you can't control your dreams. You once told me that what you don't process though in your meditations you have to face in your dreams."* Spock nodded in response. "Your head may know that you are no longer blind, but your subconscious doesn't realize it yet, or it thinks the blindness may recur."

Spock lowered his head as he processed McCoy's answers. There was a modicum of logic in his arguments.

"Let me give you something to help you sleep," the doctor suggested. Spock shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, I know," McCoy continued. "You have a bad reaction to most of my magic potions. We'll keep an eye on you this first dose and see if you have any nasty reactions."

Spock allowed himself to be led to the isolation ward. He toed off his boots and reclined on the bed as McCoy got things ready. He prepared the medication, raised the temperature, lowered the lights, and put Spock on the sick list for the day.

"There now, sleep well, Spock" McCoy said as he pressed a hypo to Spock's arm. "No one will bother you, so call out if you need anything."

Spock was asleep before the doctor closed the door.

Nurse Chapel met McCoy as he re-entered the main ward.

"The captain just called," she relayed. "He would like to see you at your earliest convenience."

"Which means 'Haul your ass up here now,'" McCoy translated. He waved an arm toward the isolation ward as he moved to the corridor. "Spock is sleeping in the back. Make sure no one disturbs him."

-

McCoy found no emergency on the bridge, just a concerned captain who wanted to know why his exec was suddenly on the sick list. The doctor shared his findings quietly, then stayed a while longer to observe the bridge crew at work. He especially kept a close eye on the captain. Kirk had the unenviable job of shipping the remains of his brother and sister in law back to Earth, entrusting his young nephew to other Starfleet personnel--strangers, really--to reunite him with his older brothers and his grandmother after the tragedies on Deneva. He was still mopping up after the incident with the creatures and was not yet able to turn the relief efforts to the support teams. McCoy had urged him to take compassionate leave, but Kirk decided to bury his grief in his work.

Nearly an hour after McCoy arrived, the bridge doors opened. Spock slowly emerged, eyes closed, arms stretched out before him. He moved slowly, carefully. He slid his foot forward slowly, making his way by feel instead of sight.

Kirk was the first to reach him, calling out, "Spock! Spock? What's wrong?" He reached out to grab his friend's arm. McCoy rushed up.

"For God's sake, Jim," he whispered urgently, "don't wake up Spock! He's sleepwalking."

Spock's hand encountered Kirk's chest. The captain eyed McCoy who shook his head. Don't move, he mouthed. Spock walked his hands across Kirk's chest. McCoy insinuated himself between Spock and any perceived danger, like the stairs or control panels as Spock continued his circuit around the bridge. Finally, Spock's hands encountered McCoy. The Vulcan lowered himself into a chair and drew the doctor into his arms. He burrowed himself against McCoy's abdomen and fell asleep.

McCoy's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Who knew that Spock was a cuddler?

"I guess I need to adjust his dose," McCoy whispered sheepishly.

END

*Shameless reference to my story AFTER THE CREDITS: The Menagerie "Wet Dreams"

Caption Needed!

Ok, let's see what y'all can do with this one:

A Chivalrous Gesture, Part Seven

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash Fan Fiction (Sherlock Holmes)

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Sherlock Holmes

Feedback: Any and all welcome!

Summary: In this sequel to A Masterful Performance, Watson and Daniels work together to convince Holmes to follow-up on a case...

Link to Part One

~

Sherlock Holmes:

I accompanied Watson and Daniels to the brothel and gaming hell that was informally known as 'Genevieve's Place.' I had little interest in their investigation—so long as Daniels did the talking, I was certain that they would soon garner more information on Burnwell. But I was curious to see Watson in such an environment.

It would not be a first for him. Oh, not that he frequented brothels, but surely he had visited his share. He had boasted more than once of knowing women on three continents; since his honour would scarcely allow him to seduce innocent virgins, he must have favored more experienced prey. His conquests had included attractive widows, no doubt, and the occasional professional.

I settled into a corner table where I could keep both Watson and Daniels in sight. They sat down together to a game of Faro and began to lose their money. Quite amiably, I noted with a smile. Soon they were chatting and laughing with the other players.

At length, Daniels left the table in favor of mingling with other patrons. Watson remained in place. He did not attract as much attention as Daniels, nor did he radiate charm as the actor did...but few mortals do. And yet, in his own quiet way, Watson won as much good will, I believe, as did Daniels.

I continued to stare at Watson, at this man who had leaned back in my arms just a few hours ago. What was it about the fellow that set my heart pounding? My attraction to Daniels was perfectly logical; he was my own sort, after all. He had never had an interest in women, he understood that I would always set my work above him—and he, in turn, loved the stage more than he loved me. And he didn't have a bourgeois bone in his body. We were well suited, Daniels and I.

Watson, on the other hand, had enjoyed more than his share of feminine attention. Even now, two jezebels were fawning over him. And, unless I much mistake the matter, he was enjoying their flirtations. I found myself frowning at that.

Watson understood the importance of my work, but would he come to resent it? I can be quite ruthless when on a case. He is all forgiveness, of course—but some of my lies and omissions have hurt him sorely. He does not brush them off as easily as would Daniels.

Lastly, I feared that Watson's bourgeois instincts would come back to haunt me. Was some part of him longing for a wife and children? Perhaps not. I reminded myself again that he could easily have married anytime since he returned from Afghanistan. And he had not mentioned a burning desire to enter fatherhood. And yet, I could not shake the fear that I would prove only a temporary distraction for the good doctor and that he would, at length, choose the comfort of a normal, respectable home.

“You never look at me that way,” a teasing voice whispered in my ear.

I turned my head to find Daniels smiling down at me. I had become so absorbed by Watson that I had failed to notice his approach.

“Jealous?” I inquired as he took a seat beside me.

He shook his head. “Not in the least,” he assured me, keeping his voice low. “I all but pushed him into your arms.”

“On your own terms,” I reminded him.

He grinned. “Well, you can't blame me for that. And it will turn out for the best—we'll deal quite well together, the three of us.”

I picked up the glass of port I'd been nursing and took a sip of it. “I'm not so sure of that,” I said as I set the glass down and allowed my eyes to stray toward Watson again. “I feel as though I've taken leave of my senses.”

Daniels bit back another smile. “Love is known to do that to a fellow,” he reminded me. “It's not a logical endeavor.”

“More's the pity,” I muttered. I picked up my glass again but set it down without drinking from it. “Why aren't you jealous?”

“I was at first,” he owned. “But I don't mind playing a supporting role to his lead...as long as you keep me in the production. Don't fire me, that's all.”

I smiled despite myself. “There was never any danger of that,” I assured him. “I'm much more worried that the good doctor will quit in disgust.”

Daniels stared down at the table for a moment before answering. “He won't because of me. I thinks he accepts me. And I doubt he'll leave you for some bit of muslin. But he might divorce himself from you if you keep up with the morphine and cocaine. He can scarcely tolerate them as your friend.”

I felt myself stiffening. “He may not approve of my needles,” I admitted, “but he will not leave because of them. They are merely a refuge from boredom—he understands that.”

Daniels looked doubtful, but he contented himself with a shrug. “You know him better than I do.” He paused, and then smiled at me again. “Why don't you take him home? I can manage things here.”

I gave him a sharp look. “Don't confront our man on your own.”

“Of course not,” he said. “I'll wait until the good doctor—and his revolver—are at my side.”

“Very well, then,” I told him, still speaking softly, “I'll convince him to leave you to your own devices.”

“Would you like some advice on how best to handle the good doctor back in Baker Street?” Daniels asked with a devilish sparkle in his eyes.

I glared at him in response. “Remind me to box your ears the next time we're alone.”

He laughed. “I'm sure you can find a more interesting way to punish my chutzpah.”

“Indeed,” I said, grinning back at him.

But my mind was already running ahead to Baker Street. How would Watson react once we were alone? And how could I keep from frightening him off? I drank deep from the port and then squared my shoulders, determined to find out.

Not exactly a timely post, but...

I should mention that Christian Bale did apologize for the rant I talked about here. (About a week after it happened--I'm just waaaay behind!) He called up Kroq (an L.A. radio station) and made amends. He's funny and endearing--definitely worth a listen:


As a sidebar, he also makes a reference to 'our presidents'--meaning U.S. presidents. How cool--I wonder if he intends to live here permanently. I'd love to claim him as an American!

Caption Winner!

I want to thank everyone for the excellent contributions this week! And a special thanks to our newcomers. Ok, the jar has spoken. Gratz Womanwarrior!

"Can I get an AMEN?!"

Fifteen-Minute-Timing Works!

Huzzah--I'm writing again! I used the 15-minute-timer trick (stay on the writing task for at least that long) yesterday and today. And I wrote for far longer than 15 minutes. I made progress on A Chivalrous Gesture and a Spock-McCoy story. I'm hoping to post them both by tomorrow night, after Shabbat.

And we'll have the caption winner on Sunday! (Yes--I'm getting back on schedule, lol.)

~Rose

Caption Needed!

Ok, I couldn't resist this one from The Animated Series:

Help! What Happens When You Can't Sit Down and Write?

I'm on vacation this week. I should be writing every spare second...so why am I finding so many other things to do? Not run-off-to-Aruba vacation stuff, but all those nagging little chores I tend to ignore most of the year. Or movies and television shows I've wanted to catch up on. Or all my reading.

Don't mistake me--it's not a bad thing to get some chores done or catch up on some shows and stories. But it seems that every time I sit down to write, I find something else I should be doing. How do I refocus on my fiction? Anyone have a trick up their sleeve?

Sigh. Well, at least I've broken my World of Warcraft habit. I've decided to take a break from the game till summer, and I haven't been tempted to go back on that. Meanwhile, if I can't manage to write this week, at least I'll get caught up on all my reading...

Caption Winner!

Well, I must admit that I'm especially pleased with the jar's selection, considering the holidays. Gratz, Julianna!

Spock: Seder is only a few hours away and I can't believe you're not ready yet! Have you swept the house? Polished the special silver? Washed the Passover plates? Set the table? Put out the copies of the Haggadah? What about the food?

McCoy: I can't get any of that done until you let go of my arm!

One Big Seder Coming Up...

I have seventeen people coming to my first night seder tomorrow night--yikes! Technically, it's tonight, since it's past midnight and therefore already Wednesday. But I'm almost ready for it...and I even took the day off so that I can just cook up a storm tomorrow--er, today.

And then, starting Friday, I have just about a fortnight off. Phew! I'm going to need it to get caught up with all my reading and writing =)

~Rose

Caption Needed!

Still working on my drabble, but here is this week's Caption Contest. I can't believe it, but somehow I've never used this scene from Mirror, Mirror:

I can't wait to see the captions on this classic shot! Have at it...

GRATZ TO ME!

Ok, I'm busy patting myself on the back now! I just finished a paper that's been on my back all semester. It's one of those technical APA style nightmares, heaven help me. But I'm finished!

To celebrate, the caption contest will be up tonight (only one day late) and maybe...just maybe...I'll have a sweet Spock & McCoy drabble.

See ya in a bit--I'm off to hand in the paper!

~Rose