The title of this little story is taken from Leonard Cohen's 'That's no way to say Goodbye'.
I know very little about the Star Trek universe but was impressed with Karl Urban's Dr McCoy and thought I would attempt a little ficlet.

Please review! :)

I never liked chocolate before her. I'd always found it a cloyingly sweet accompaniment to the smoke infused whiskey that too often overwhelmed my taste buds. Chocolate was sickly by comparison; a cheap and unrefined taste.

I remember the first time I saw her, Jim's jacket pulled unceremoniously around her tiny, naked body as he carried her into sick bay. Her pale skin was covered in bruises and cuts, her knuckles scraped to fleshy pulps of exposed tissue and congealed blood. Her long, golden hair was matted and twisted with something thick and rancid and her emerald eyes darted fretfully about the room as she clung to Jim's chest. This was a tough girl, I could see that straight away. Twenty-one years old and held captive light years from home but I could see she wasn't scared; the poor girl was in shock. Her bright eyes peered at me warily as I helped Jim settle her onto a bed.

"It's OK sweetheart. My name is McCoy, I am a doctor."
She gave me a short cursory nod of acknowledgment before resuming her scan of the room.
"I'm just going to give you a mild seda…"
"I don't need a sedative!" she snapped, her clean British tones impeded as she fought to regain her breath.
"Well honey, I think you do" I began to raise the hypospray to her throat, noticing the pulsing blue artery beating a frantic tattoo under her skin. "It'll just sting a little…"
I stopped as a tiny, bloodied hand wrapped in a steel grasp around my wrist.
"I said 'no'!" She groaned softly as my stronger hand pushed past her grip and the hypospray found its mark. Long black eyelashes swept shut, her chest rising and falling softly as I looked up at Jim for an explanation.

"This can't be her!" I exclaimed with a glance to the sleeping young woman.
"Oh yes it can. You see what Admiral Pike, or anyone else for that matter, neglected to tell me is that Lieutenant Catherine St Clare, BMedSci with honours and masters, working her way through a PhD with Starfleet is a God-damned child genius! I went in there looking for a mad French scientist and instead I found a naked English child! I'm telling you Bones, it was fucked up in there. You wanna know why she is covered in blood? Why her hair is thick with the stuff?"
I almost shook my head but Jim wasn't paying any attention.
"Because they hung the body of her supervisor above where they had shackled the girl and then they bleed Professor T'Lotiel dry!"
I put my hand on Jim's shoulder as he finally stopped, his face flushed with anger.
"Look at her Bones," Jim's eyes were swimming with tears of fury, "look at her. She's just a girl. A beautiful little kid."

Catherine St Clare woke two hours later. Jim was already on the next bed over, wrecked with exhaustion. I heard her give a soft groan and moved to help her sit up.
"Welcome back Lieutenant St Clare."
"Thank-you Doctor" she sighed out as she settled onto the pillows Jim and I had piled beneath her.
"Don't get too comfortable Lieutenant; I'm gonna put you into a nice hot bath" I said quietly so as not to wake the captain.
She didn't respond verbally, she merely lifted her arms to indicate she was ready to be picked up. I slipped her into my arms and carried her into the bathroom.

Now Catie looks up at me as I walk past her desk in sick bay. She is chewing thoughtfully on the end of her pen, Jim being unable to deny her penchant for recording information in that singularly tactile fashion. She returns my smile and I catch a glimpse of her pink tongue between her perfect white teeth.

She knows that I watch her, that barely a moment has gone by since I agreed to act as supervisor for the remaining stages of her PhD research aboard the Enterprise that I have not been watching her. She doesn't mind. She accepts it, never playing up to my gaze, never batting her eyelashes or bending too far in her Starfleet uniform. Perhaps that is because she doesn't really understand – Hell, I don't really understand. I want to touch her; I want to reach out and feel how silken her skin really is, how soft her lips are. To feel her golden curls coiled around my fingers, to touch her, not as a doctor but as a man. I want to know how it feels to possess her, just for a day. But I do not understand why.

Catie and I have become close in the last six months. I care for her like a baby sister. We work together, we have meals together, and we laugh together. She comes to me with problems, I go to her with stories of last night's kinky exploits and yet I smell her skin and…

She is not looking at me anymore. Her eyes have dropped back to the pages filled with her elegant scrawl. Her pen returns to the paper, the tip of her left thumb replacing it at her lips. She uses it, along with her index finger, to twist and pull at her bottom lip as her brow furrows in concentration. One shining green eye is suddenly obscured by a lock of hair and the left hand leaves her lip and reaches up, twisting the offending lock out of her English rose face. She is unsettled. I have learnt the signs of a Cate deep in thought yet physically distracted.

I don't know why I watch anymore. I have memorised every move she has ever made in my presence.

As expected, she suddenly sighs in frustration before picking up her papers and crossing to a bed. She lays herself out on her stomach, pulling the hem of her uniform down to cover her shapely legs and crossing her ankles before resuming writing.

My eyes trail for a moment on smooth, pallid legs: inches obscured by the deep burgundy of her skirt, followed by inches of exposed pale white flesh that plunges unceremoniously into the confines of ebony leather. Starfleet's uniforms may have been designed by Californians but I defy any of those sonic-tanned Barbies to bring such grace, such effortless elegance and dignity to Starfleet.

I am interrupted by the swift sound of the sick bay doors as Jim walks in. Catie sits up immediately, repeating the ritual of tugging her hem down and pulling her papers into her lap. I have trained her well. There is not a man on this ship who does not look at Lieutenant St Clare – Hell, she is the only thing that can reduce Spock to submission with a glance. Of course she doesn't know it. That is part of her charm. I've convinced her that others will consider her lounging unprofessional rather than admit that it makes my blood boil every time someone's gaze lingers over her body too long. And Captain James T Kirk is the worst.

I want to wrap my body protectively around her as I see Jim's eyes drop to her legs appreciatively. Why? Because I think of her as my baby sister?

"Well, it looks like I'm first. Or am I last?" Jim looks over to Catie with a twinkle in his blue eyes.
"First Sir." Catie smiles back at him as she jumps off the best and collects the latest round of vaccines from the supply unit.
"You always come first Jim" I drawl at him sarcastically as his eyes follow her about the room.
"Thank you Lieutenant" I pronounce assertively as she returns. Jim looks disappointed as I take the case from her.
"Uh… Bones, why don't you let Catie there do it? You've got a whole ship to vaccinate and it must be boring for her never getting a chance to…" he continues to lamely justify his desire but I simply roll my eyes and return the case to her. I allow Jim this frivolity because I allow it for myself.

After the captain has gone, with many comments on Catie's 'magic fingers', she turns to me.
"I suppose we might as well get it over with Sir." She smiles up at me and pops a piece of milky chocolate on the end of her tongue before rolling it across her lips and into her mouth.
I acquiesce, assisting her to load six hyposprays before turning my back to her and sitting on the bed.
"This will need to come off Doctor." Her fingers graze lightly across the hem of my shirt. Her tone is professional, more adult and controlled than normal, but then youth never realises how obvious it is.
I lift my shirt over my head, revealing smooth, muscled skin. Without looking at me, Catie takes my shirt from my hands with almost indiscernibly trembling fingers. She folds it quickly and sets it neatly on the bed beside me. Her eyes are obviously dropped until she resumes her position behind me but then I feel it, her eyes drinking me in, taking her fill while she thinks I am oblivious. She retrieves the first two sprays and moves to stand before me. She lays a hand lightly on my chest and uses the other to incline my neck like a bronze offering to her eyes. I take a moment to add the fleeting sight of her pallid flesh on the brown, sun-stained plane of my chest into the extensive catalogue of her in my mind as silence fills the room. Her eyes avoid mine as she raises a hypospray to my throat and injects, repeating the process with the second. Then she moves away, finally taking a breath as she does so.
She retrieves the third spray, her hands returning to my chest and moving, feather light, across my skin until she finds the correct spot on my sternum. Then, with a nod from me, she fires.

Her big green eyes look up at me for a moment, seeking my approval, wanting me to tell her that I have judged her and found her competent.
"Good work Catie" I tell her as I stand.
She allows herself a small, contended smile then laughs as I wrap my broad hands around her waist and plant her down in my recently vacated spot perched on the bed. The already loaded hyposprays sit behind her and I smile as, without prompting, she pulls her shirt above her head with a very professional determination in her shining eyes. The muted pink and ivory of her bra do nothing to down-play her skin which is both pale and luminous over her small, taut frame. I almost allow my eyes to linger as I notice, not for the first time, the perfect handfuls of her breasts. Soft pink rose-bud nipples are barely visible through the flimsy fabric.
I roll my eyes as I see her pop another piece of chocolate in her mouth.

I pick up the first hypospray, my body towering behind hers, and I raise one large hand to pull the coiled swathes of her hair to one side of her throat.
"You know I hate chocolate Catie" I murmur close to her ear.
I hear a barely perceptible whimper of pain as her flesh is pierced by the first injection.
"I know Doctor" she breathes, her chest rising and falling quicker than usual.
"Then why do you always eat the God-damned stuff?"
I pick up the second spay.
"Because I love it."
Another sharp hiss followed by a delicious whimper.
She pops another piece between perfect pink lips as my long fingers gently massage the injection sites before I pick up the final spray and move in front of her.
"How can you even stand the smell of it?" My hand moves slowly across her sternum, attempting to avoid the soft swell of her breasts.
She looks up at me, attempting to feign nonchalance as my fingers softly explore her neck and chest.
"I think it smells divine" she all but whispers and then it hits me; a scent so heady and rich my eyelids sink shut.
"Can you smell it?" she asks nervously.
I nod silently as I feel her small hands reaching up behind my neck, pulling my face level with hers. My eyes open to watch her, her eyes wide and anxious as her fingers run delicately across my face and through my dark hair. Then she shuts her sight, mustering all her considerable courage to bring her flawless lips to my own. She tentatively brushes them over mine, allowing the smell of her chocolate-laden breath to pervade my sensitive nostrils. She places tiny, soft kisses over my mouth as my eyes shut and my left hand wraps around her bare back, pulling her closer.

Then I kiss her. I hear her tender moan of surprise as my lips crush hers. My tongue slips past her teeth and explores her mouth and then she is kissing me back, moaning and running her cold fingers gently across my naked torso. Her leather-booted legs wrap around my waist and…
Hiss
The final hypospray explodes into her chest and I pull away.

I look down at Catie, watching her as she pants quietly, her eyes wide, her lips reddened and full.
"It doesn't taste too bad at all," I allow "in fact, it tastes divine."