Leonard "Bones" McCoy

His PADD gave a short trill, and the CMO glanced over at the offending object, his exhausted expression promising murder. As the message scrolled across the screen, his sleep-clouded eyes barely comprehended the words:

To: dr_mc_coy
Frm: suluh
Subj.: Flight practice
Dr. McCoy,

I am going to be in the hangar between 2400 and 0300. I would like you to supervise the testing of some of the shuttles.

-Lt. Sulu

Oh dear Lord. He had agreed to that, hadn't he? Following his discussion with the young no, not young, really old pilot, he had returned to his quarters and drank himself into a stupor, aiming to put all thoughts of flight and the supernatural out of his head. Well, that plan had worked until the damned PADD woke him out of a deep, and hungover, sleep. His head was pounding and the last thing he wanted was to go flapping around the shuttle hangar.

With a tired sigh, he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, the gears in his brain already attempting to pull together a plan to coax Jim down the the hangar for a little entertainment, even though he wanted nothing more to sleep just a bit longer.

Oh well, he was awake. No point in letting his gamma shift day go to waste.