McCoy wandered the halls of the Enterprise in a half daze. He was severely lacking sleep after almost a full forty hours without it. After they took care of Chekov, who hadn't spoken since the incident in the hallway, they gathered more evidence from those who'd come forward afterward, taking all bruises and scratches and injuries that were claimed on the security. The top number of attackers claimed was four, so it seemed that they wouldn't have to get rid of half their staff, as had been feared in the first place. But still, four of the crewmen in security had been doing the very opposite of what their jobs were and were beating on those who trusted them. McCoy could not believe it. He paused for a moment and looked around himself. He'd completely bypassed his own quarters, which were directly connected to the sick bay, and now he was in a hallway he didn't travel down much. He moved to the communicator grid and hit a few buttons to figure out how far he'd walked out of his way. Just as he did this, a door behind him opened and Chekov, speaking quietly to another of the crew, could just barely be seen, head ducked as he spoke. The woman patted his shoulder and said something that by the tone of voice sounded like it was meant to be reassuring, but McCoy couldn't hear the words clearly enough to tell about what. The young woman walked away and just as the young ensign was about to head back into his room, he paused, spotting McCoy.
"Er... Doctor?" McCoy turned to him.
"Hey there, kid," he said, "how are you feeling?" Of all the unholy conspiracies against him, this had to be the most annoying. How did he continuously run into this poor boy when all he seemed to want was to be left alone? Chekov ducked his head slightly again.
"I am fine," he said, as though this should be obvious. Of course, he'd spent most of the past forty hours in the sick bay as well, so it likely should have been obvious. McCoy grimaced.
"Then why do you look like your dog just died?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. Chekov made a face that made him wish he'd thought about his words.
"I am seemply tired, doctor," he said, "zat eez all. Vhat brings you zis far eento ze crewmen's qvarters?" McCoy looked around himself at the bland walls.
"I was taking a walk before I hit the sack," he replied, trying to making himself sound more intelligent than to be the CMO who got lost on his way to his own quarters.. right next to where he'd spent the whole day. How had he pulled that off exactly? "Shouldn't you be sleeping if you're that tired?" Chekov shrugged and turned back to his room, waving the older man to follow. McCoy did so, moving curiously despite his tiredness. The doors closed behind him and he watched as Chekov pulled out a bottle of vodka from one of his storage spaces.
"You vant some?" he asked, as though he didn't really care what the answer was, "you look like you need eet about as much as I do." McCoy nodded.
"Sure," he said. He really didn't have much of a taste for Vodka, but at the moment he doubted he had any taste buds what-so-ever. And a drink seemed like it would do him some good. Chekov motioned halfheartedly to the seat opposite himself and grabbed out two cups, pouring one for himself and one for McCoy. The doctor lifted his glass, watching the liquid's patterns as it flowed against the sides. "Should we drink to something?" He was half joking, half still curious. Chekov thought about this, then raised his glass.
"Too a nice, steeff drink and zen some sleep..." he offered. McCoy laughed at this, tapping his glass against he boy's.
"Amen to that," he said, then downed the glass in one gulp. Chekov drank more slowly, watching him.
"Aren't you going to tell me zat I am too young to dreenk?" he asked curiously. McCoy put one finger to his lips, knowing that he looked stupider than he felt.
"Shush, kid," he said, "just this once, I won't tell if you won't." Chekov half grinned and poured the man another glass.
"I deed not sink zat you liked wodka," he said, refilling his own glass, despite the fact that he hadn't drained it yet. McCoy shrugged.
"I have no taste buds after forty hours without sleep," he said, "I don't think that it'll hurt anything to have a good drink before I actually do manage to get to bed." Chekov stared.
"Forty hours...?" he repeated, half standing, "doctor, you should go to bed." McCoy drained his glass a second time.
"Likely, yes," he said, "if I can get there." He stood, the lack of sleep and the alcohol mingling with the fact that he hadn't eaten much that day and making him dangerously off kilter. Without warning, Chekov was beside him, holding him up so he wouldn't hit the floor.
"On second, sought, I sink I vill have you sleep here," he said, "I vould razzer you deed not keell yourself vile valking back to your qvarters." McCoy made a face at him. Well... he hoped he made a face at him. He really had no idea what was going on except for when the boy had sat him on a bed instead of the expected couch.
"Kid?" he said questioningly, "aren't you going to want to sleep?" Chekov chuckled.
"You haff no idea," he said, "but you are my guest. I vill not mind taking ze couch." McCoy grimaced and grabbed his arm.
"I'm not gonna take your bed from you, kid," he said, "c'mon, bring me to the couch so you can sleep here." There was a half amused, half annoyed noise from the boy.
"You are not taking my bed, doctor," he said, "I am offering eet to you for ze night. Zat eez all." He tried to pull his arm away, but McCoy tugged again, too out of it to really know just how hard. Before he knew it, the boy was on top of him, sprawled out by the force of his pull.
Chekov sputtered as he tried to get off of the man without hurting him, half in Russian, half in English. Of course, it was hard to get up without the use of his left hand, which was still grasped tightly in the hand of the CMO. The man wouldn't have liked to say it, but he was drunk... or too tipsy to know just what he was doing.
"D-doctor!?" Chekov half squeaked, embarrassed more than he thought he should be. After all, it had been the doctor who'd done the pulling, not himself. It took him a moment to realize the man's other hand was on the small of his back, just above his tailbone. "Vh-Vhat are you doing??" McCoy's hazy eyes met his.
"Take the bed," he insisted, "I'll take the couch." Chekov let out a noise that was a half a laugh and a half a cry as he realized that the man had no idea what he was doing to the poor navigator. But still the boy insisted.
"I... I told you," he said, "I do not need ze bed. I haff a couch. I can sleep-- aah.." McCoy shifted beneath him and he felt the man's body reacting to stimulus it was simply not accustomed to. The very moment the man himself felt it he sat up, Chekov's wrist still in his hand. The boy almost fell, but somehow managed not to by clenching his knees on either side of the man's thighs. The doctor looked terribly confused, watching the boy's reaction to what he'd done and realizing what had just happened. Without thought he shoved him to the side, plopping him on the foot of the bed and leaning his head on his hands with a small groan. What was he doing!? He looked at Chekov.
"I-I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to—" then he saw the look on the ensign's face as the boy moved closer.
"Did you not hear vhat he said about me, doctor?" he asked, "or did you not belief zat eet vas true?" McCoy stared for a moment, then the words the man had yelled in the hallway came back to him. 'Man-lover'? He didn't know what to say. Chekov steeled himself, swallowing the lump in his throat before leaning forward and pressing his lips to McCoy's. The doctor's tired and inebriated mind couldn't figure out what was going on at first. His eyes closed to keep away the dizziness from having something that close to his face and suddenly all he knew was what he felt.
Chekov's soft and warm lips were still damp from the vodka, and from the fact that he habitually licked them when he was nervous. They were almost delectable against his tongue and mouth. Now if only he would drink whiskey...
McCoy shoved the boy away as he realized what he was doing. He was quite sure it was illegal in all 50 US states. He stood unsteadily and made his way for the door, wherever that was. A suddenly very worried Chekov was right beside him.
"D-doctor," he said, grabbing the man's arm, "you should not be valking around, you vill hurt yourself." McCoy stumbled at the tug on his arm, ending up pinning the boy against the wall, one arm above the boy's head to keep him up.
"It's better than hurting you if I stay," he said. Before Chekov could reply, the doctor was gone with a whoosh of the doors.