You Can't Be Too Careful [Star Trek/Leonard "Bones" McCoy Love Story]

[2.] Attack of the Dirty Sock

[2] Attack of the Dirty Sock

            “Hey, Astrid,” I called, gathering a laundry basket full of dirty clothes up in my arms. “Do you have anything that needs to be washed? I’m gonna go take my load down right now, but I can take yours when I get back.”

“Yeah,” she answered. “It’s all in the bathroom.”

A week had passed since I had arrived at the Academy. I had spent my time finding all of my classrooms and trying to learn my way around campus as well as the city surrounding it. Astrid, of course, gladly joined me on all these excursions, always making sure to add her input whenever she saw fit. As much as I loved her company, she had begun to drive me nuts the past few days. I found myself constantly picking up after her and arguing with her about her pig-like habits.

Sighing, I ran my fingers through my tangled hair and entered the bathroom. To my horror, I saw that by “all in the bathroom”, Astrid meant all over the bathroom. Dirty pairs of jeans, socks, underwear, t-shirts, skirts, and more littered the floor, shoved under the cabinets and hanging from the shower curtain and piled on top of the toilet. It looked as if a tornado had ripped through her wardrobe.

“Honestly, Astrid,” I sighed. “It’s really not that hard to just put your clothes in a hamper…”

            Astrid groaned from the other room.

            “It is fer me!” she cried.

“How hard is it to throw your clothes into a bin?” I snarled back, finally letting my frustration get the better of me. “The correct answer is: it isn’t!”

“Well now, someone’s a little feisty today!”

“Astrid,” I whined. “Please, just make sure that you’ve gathered them all up by the time I get back so I can wash them for you.”

“Fine,” she muttered.

“In my opinion, you should be able to wash your own clothes…”

“Oi! Don’ ya go treatin’ me like I don’ know ‘ow ta wash me own clothes!”

I rolled my eyes and began to tidy up a little on my own as she rambled on and on about how annoyingly “responsible” I was. I managed to slide all of her clothes into a giant pile in the center of the floor, now completely ignoring whatever she was yelling at me from the other room. There, I thought. Now all she has to do is put in a basket. That’s not too much work, is it? I picked up my laundry basket and turned to exit the bathroom when, surprise surprise, I slipped on a sock. A flipping sock. I let out a short shriek and went tumbling forward, sending my basket of clothes all over the hallway. I felt a severe stinging in my leg as I smashed up against the wall, hitting my head in the process. I hissed in pain and pulled my leg up to my chest, trying to pull up my pant leg so that I could examine the damage.

“Catherine?” Astrid called desperately, stopping in the middle of her rant.

“I’m fine,” I called back.

“No, yer not,” she retorted, coming into the hallway and crouching next to me.

Running down the length of my shin was a large gash that was gushing blood. I placed my hand over it so as to hide it, staining my hand with my own blood in the process.

“It’s just a scratch,” I commented, looking up at her.

She raised an eyebrow. “Tha’, lass, is not a scratch. Tha’s a cut. Tha’s a very deep cut.”

“Scratch,” I insisted.

“Battle wound,” she shot back.

I scoffed. “I battled with a sock, for Pete’s sake! That is not something to be proud of!”