Honeysuckle Home (McCoy/Chapel)

They were giggling behind her, acting like the teenagers they were. Her siblings were young—the closest one to her in age was eighteen and heading off to Tulane University in the fall and the youngest only fourteen—but there was still no reason to make such a fuss over a man.

Even if his hair was deliciously tousled like he had been running his hands through it like he did when he was stressed and his body excellently highlighted by his civilian clothing. Damn, but it should be illegal for him to wear blue jeans.

"Who is he, Chris? You said that you were going off to the academy to 'study and be serious about something important for once.' Did your serious study partner follow you home?" Claire looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes, but she wasn't fooled. She remembered the first and only time she had fallen for that look—it had cost her one fine gold bracelet and a date with Robert Stanford. True, 'date' was a misnomer—she was only ten—but it had hurt her pride anyway.

"No, he is not my study partner. He's a doctor. And would you please stop talking about him? He's ten feet away and can hear every word you say." She hissed the last part, frustrated. What had her sisters been getting away with while she was gone? Lauren Elizabeth Chapel would never have stood for such rudeness, but she had been gone for three years now and was not there to curb it.

Her stepmother, Sarah, couldn't have been much help as the three girls had their father wrapped around their manipulative little fingers. When he was around, anyway. He had this habit of disappearing into his study just when things got a little interesting.

"You're avoiding the question. Why did the smoking hot non-study partner come here, to our home? Doesn't he have somewhere else to be for your break?" This one was from the youngest and sharpest of the three, Cameron.

Their parents had been stuck on the letter C when they named them—Christine, Claire, Cara, and Cameron.

Chris peeked into the living room where her stepmother was asking Leonard McCoy if he would like some sweet tea. She saw him bump into her mother's antique Tiffany lamp and almost sprinted into the room to right it when it toppled dangerously, but McCoy caught it just in time before turning smoothly to answer her stepmother's question in the low accent that still caused her heart to flutter dangerously. She was sure Sarah was falling over herself to make him comfortable—he had a charm that inspired such actions, especially in someone as old-fashioned as her stepmother.

"I do not know," she murmured, wondering just what she was supposed to do with him. Sure, she and McCoy had been friendly, more than the 'study partners' her sisters kept mentioning, but not friendly enough lately to warrant an appearance in her family home during their break from the academy.

He hadn't even talked to her face-to-face in over a month, regardless of their shared shifts at the hospital. Like her father, he had a habit of disappearing when he became uncomfortable with a situation. And sex tended to complicate things.

She entered the room and McCoy stood up at once, like the gentleman he was, although he also looked a little uncomfortable stuck in the ultra-feminine setting with her stepmother.

"What are you doing here?" she wanted to ask, but had politeness engrained into her from the time she was a toddler, so settled for a weak, but more appropriate "Hello, McCoy." She could at least be polite in front of Sarah.

"Chapel." He titled his head, keeping his thoughts from projecting on his face. He always had been good at shielding himself from her. Except, of course, when he was in bed curled around her. But that was a thought inconvenient to the situation, so she tucked it viciously away in her mind to examine in detail later.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" She was really reaching here. Soon they would be discussing his travels and whether he liked the South better in the winter or the summer. Small talk was not really her forte.

He seemed to understand this. Maybe he wasn't as dense to her feelings as she thought. "Mrs. Chapel, could you excuse us for a moment?"

Her stepmother laughed and put a hand to her face. "Oh, Mr. McCoy, I said you should call me Sarah."

"Then it's Leonard, ma'am."

"Yes, Leonard. I can leave you two alone." Her eyes twinkled and Chris wanted to throw one of the frilly pink pillows from the matching pink loveseat at her head as she left the room. She was enjoying this far too much. Christine never brought men home, choosing to keep her sex life separate from nosy family members.

Sarah closed the door to the bright sitting room with a final click and Christine rounded on McCoy.

"Why are you here?"

His eyes widened and she could see the humor in them. "Aren't you going to ask me to sit down? Your stepmother said you had excellent manners that I have yet to see, so I'll start us off. How are you doing?"

"Don't mess with me, McCoy. You don't speak to me for two full weeks before exams and then you show up in New Orleans?"

"I was busy. They had me on double shifts at the hospital following the outbreak of that spring virus. Damned fools think that spring is the time for love and never use proper precautions. Did you know that the virus was caused by kissing? Just kissing? What a way to end the year." He shook his head and Christine wanted to laugh at his grumping except he kept dodging her question.

Oh, she was irritated. Feelings she had suppressed all semester welled up inside of her. She had planned on being fine, cool, collected when she saw him again, many weeks from now, but then he had walked his way into her life, into her family, and was standing in front of her making it sound like she was the one being unreasonable. He complained a little more about the virus and how his treatment of Jim Kirk had played a key role in stopping the spread because McCoy had figured out how it was being transmitted by studying his best friend.

The minute he stopped ranting, the silence overwhelmed the room and they stared at each other. She wanted to rant herself about the last few months of solitude, but bottled it up instead.

He started pacing the small room, looking at the knickknacks spread on every available surface when she didn't speak. "I really was busy. I wasn't avoiding you. It's not like you were available either when I tried to see you. I think your roommate got tired of me showing up at your door those last few days, said you were off with some guy and that I should just leave you alone."

That got a reaction. "Some guy? Patrick? Goddammit, McCoy, I can have male friends."

"I never said you couldn't."

Her feelings came uncorked and her face was red, her breaths coming shorter and shorter, and her hands shaking—he always knew exactly how to make her break her calm. If he had commed her like any normal person, she would have had time to mentally prepare and not be surprised like this.

"Christ, Chapel. Take a breath." He stopped his incessant pacing and took her arm to lead her over to that stupid stupid pink couch. Placing a warm hand on the back of her neck, he massaged it even as she tried to wrench out of his grip.

"I don't like you much right now," she muttered as she took shallow breaths.

"I know."

Her pulse cooled and she leaned her head against the back of the loveseat, closing her eyes. She noticed that his hand had moved from supporting her neck and he now had his arm wrapped around her shoulders. She pretended not to notice and just leaned into him and sighed.

Just then, the door flew open and Claire walked in with two glasses filled to the brim with ice, lemon, and sweet tea. "Oh, God," Christine moaned, sitting up abruptly and shrugging off McCoy's arm.

"What? Sarah said Mr. McCoy wanted tea." Claire grinned at her and set the glasses on the small coffee table in front of them. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No."

"Yes."

They spoke at the same time, Christine eyeing Leonard's affirmative answer in surprise.

"Fine," Claire said. "I'll make my way back to the hallway. It's not like we can't hear what you're talking about."

"Thanks, Claire," she said dryly.

He turned towards her as the door closed and opened his mouth to speak, but she jumped in.

"You know what? I don't need answers yet. Tell me later. Are you staying for dinner?"

"Are you inviting me?"

"Yes."

"Then I will stay."

He found her sitting outside on a white wooden bench in the gazebo. Lauren Chapel had been romantic enough to want to build their house using her ideal of Victorian architecture from centuries past. Hence the gazebo decorated with a flurry of floral designs carved into the white wood, swirling down the sides until they reached the brick on the ground. Dozens of varieties of flowers sprouted around the place, turning a simple structure into one almost out of a fairy tale. Christine used to spend many afternoons of her childhood here, reading of real and imagined worlds and dreaming of going to explore them, leaving this safe and pretty life for one a lot more dangerous.

Not that she had been anywhere as dangerous as she had imagined, besides the survivalist training in Central Africa, and that was so closely monitored that there was no chance in being hurt beyond basic dehydration and sunstroke. She hadn't even made it into space yet, but her advisor said they were heading to Andoria in a few months to assist in a new medical technique being developed by specialists there. The idea of space travel made her stomach flutter with a mixture of dread and utter glee.

And no, she wasn't hiding from him. Well, maybe a little.

McCoy walked up the wooden steps and sat on the bench across from her, reacting to her curled-up position facing away from him with a quiet sigh. "You ready to hear me now?"

She closed her eyes, wishing that she could pretend that today had not happened. McCoy's appearance this morning had started a crazy train of events, wrecking havoc on her peace of mind and relaxing vacation. He had accidentally knocked over her grandmother's floral teapot while demonstrating what he knew of apple peeling and it had shattered on the kitchen floor causing her youngest sister, Cameron, to start crying. But really, Cameron would cry at a broken fingernail, not just an antique teapot that shouldn't have been in the kitchen anyway. While Chris was trying to start the dough for pie crust, a bag of flour had fallen from the top shelf and coated her new dress completely and she had cursed loudly enough that even the neighbors could hear her. At least that's what her stepmother said.

And worst of all, her father had too much to drink at dinner and asked if Leonard was related to the famous David McCoy of Georgia, not noticing in his enthusiasm on all things medical the tensing of McCoy's shoulders. She had watched Leonard's face darken and his eyes cloud with memories that he had shared with her that one night that spent together, wrapped in each other's arms and sharing secrets they did not want anyone else to know. But he had still been polite, answering all her father's questions and she had admired him for it.

Yes, it was better to close her eyes and pretend things were simple, smell the sweet honeysuckle creeping along the gazebo and wonder why she had been stupid enough to fall in love with this man who had not bothered to contact her before intruding on her family.

"I'll answer your question, Chris. I'll answer it if you look at me."

She opened her eyes and turned her gaze to his. "Why did you come?"

"I didn't have anywhere else to go."

She snorted. "Try again."

"I wanted to see you."

"Better. Why?"

He stood up and sat down on her bench, rearranging her so that her legs ended up draped over his lap. "I missed this. Missed arguing with you. Missed you glaring at me and telling me to stop being an idiot."

"There were months. Months that you did nothing."

"I was a fool," he murmured, scooting her closer to him so that their mouths could meet. It was a gentle kiss, nothing like the hurried passion of before, brought on by stress on the job and too many drinks afterwards. This was intentional, slow, delicious. She took her legs off his lap and wrapped them around his hips to get closer to his heat as a curl of desire lit in her belly and she tugged on his still-messy hair and licked his lips.

A few minutes later, she broke her mouth from his and lifted her head from her sprawled-out position on the bench, realizing that they were in the open in the backyard and it wasn't even completely dark yet. She pushed him off of her and groaned.

He leaned up on one arm and looked around. "What's wrong?"

"They're watching, you know?"

"Your family?" He smirked, sitting back and not looking worried at the idea of voyeuristic sisters. "I knew it was a good idea to come here—your family is one hell of a ride. I think Claire might have a crush on me."

"They all do," she muttered. His smile widened and she smacked him on the shoulder. "Don't get a big head, McCoy."

He tried to look innocent, but didn't really succeed with one hand still groping her ass and the other reaching up toward her breasts.

"Jesus. Not here!"

"Where then?"

"Well, I do know all the country back roads."

His eyes gleamed. "Let's go," he said as he stood and took her hand in his, leading her away from her fairytale gazebo. She didn't look back.