It wasn't so much that Shakeba ever officially moved into McCoy's quarters as much as it was the simple fact that they couldn't stay away from one another. Because he was CMO, he didn't have a set alpha or beta schedule like so many of the senior officers. There were times when he was in med bay all night. And when that happened, Shakeba stayed in her own quarters. But any night he had off, she would join him. For pragmatic purposes, it made more sense to stay in his quarters – he had more room and a bed that two people could conceivably share. And after the first time they'd had sex, there was no way either of them would sleep alone unless schedules got in the way.
Not that sleeping together had magically gotten easier once they'd come aboard the Enterprise. Shakeba was still the worst person McCoy had ever tried to share a bed with. She still made noises throughout the night, still tried to club him in the head or any other sensitive area as she flailed around in her sleep, and still settled for slowly suffocating him with her need to be wrapped around him like a python once the flailing and babbling ceased. McCoy had never slept more miserably and yet he couldn't fathom not suffering through Shakeba's sleep shenanigans. If Shakeba wasn't unintentionally trying to kill him as they slept, McCoy spent the night wide awake, tossing and turning. She had somehow managed to train him to need her unique brand of sleep torture. It was confounding, but hardly the most astonishing part of their pairing.
McCoy could never explain what it was about Shakeba that drew him in. Yes, she was beautiful. But so were lots of other women and he'd never craved the feel of their bodies the way he craved hers. She was witty and intelligent but the same thing could be said for almost anyone else aboard the Enterprise. And yet, it was only her that he found himself tangled up with between the sheets night after night. It was only her that he drove himself into deep – as deep as he could go. And he never got tired of it. He knew, from his first marriage, that sex got stale if you were with one person long enough. But there was nothing stale about Shakeba. All he wanted was to be with her – he would've gladly fallen asleep inside her, awakened to feel himself inside her – if that kind of thing were possible. And when they were together, when he thrust into her as hard as he could, plunging so deep that every move he made would send goosebumps up her arms and cause her breath to catch and release in a moan, every time they came together, the rhythm of his thrusts was set to the same two phrases, echoing in his mind.
"I love you."
"I need you."
"I love you."
"I need you."
Over and over those sentences tumbled around in his head as he held her close, kissed her hard, fucked her softly. There were times he worried that they'd come to the surface – that he'd chant them out loud as they came closer to climax. But they never saw the light of day.
Other words were quick to come to the surface. Shakeba would sometimes smile to herself when they would be at breakfast or dinner and she'd hear McCoy curse about something or another. She'd heard those same words: "Goddammit", "My God", "Good Lord", but in an entirely different context. The tone was so different when he was holding her in his arms, driving into her slowly, that they were almost completely different words. She loved knowing that only she had seen and heard that side of McCoy. Only she knew how the words tumbled out of his mouth breathlessly as he gazed at her lovingly. She relished the incongruity between the man everyone else interacted with and the man she shared a bed with. Frankly, that incongruity reassured her immensely. As much as she was enjoying her time on the Enterprise, there were adjustments to be made. Shakeba was uncomfortable with how affectionate humans were on a regular basis – it was so different from her Klingon upbringing. The constant compliments, the touches, the desire to talk about feelings – it was all so alien to her. Maybe that was part of why she and McCoy were so good together – he wasn't one to indulge in discussing emotions or giving compliments for the sake of compliments and he certainly didn't touch Shakeba when they were outside the confines of his quarters. Sure, McCoy was emotional, but most of his emotions were negative and that was something Shakeba could handle. Klingons delighted in aggression and pessimism and McCoy had enough of both to set her at ease. She was much more comfortable listening to McCoy bitch than she was listening to Carol or one of the other women tell her how much they valued her friendship. As time went by, she became accustomed to the human pack mentality, the human need for affection and affirmation. She could see why Starfleet was filled with humans. They were quite clever and loyal to a fault. They took care of everyone, regardless of species and even developed bonds with inanimate objects, which delighted Shakeba to no end. But her preference remained rooted in Klingon notions of stoicism and for that, McCoy, with his own stoic reluctance to share his soft side with too many others, was an ideal partner.
Shakeba wasn't the only one watching their partner with a secret smile and satisfaction. McCoy would sometimes look at her in the officer's lounge, as she sipped drinks with the ladies and laughed at whatever ridiculous story Janice was telling, and he'd remember being in bed with her the night before, going down on her and feeling her right leg, always the right leg, tense up, every muscle tight, as he came closer to pushing her over the edge. He loved knowing exactly what to do to please her – loved knowing that right after her leg would flex, she would start moving against his mouth in her own rhythm, ready to bring herself to completion and unwilling to wait any longer for him to get her there. McCoy delighted in knowing those intimate details about Shakeba and as potentially embarrassing and awkward as it was for those thoughts to bubble up as he was sharing drinks with Jim and some of the other senior officers, McCoy didn't care. It had been so long since he'd felt this way for another person – so long since someone had reciprocated his feelings. If he didn't know how uncomfortable it would make her, he'd march across the damn lounge right then and there and tell her how much he loved her. But he knew how uneasy Shakeba was with public displays of affection so he kept quiet, half-heartedly telling himself he'd tell her later, in bed, already half-aware that he wouldn't actually voice the words out loud.
Later, McCoy would wonder if it would've mattered. If he had vocalized his feelings for her, would she have done things differently? He couldn't be sure. He had assumed they both knew how the other felt without having to articulate it. He had assumed she loved him with the same ferocity he loved her. They spent so much time talking to one another – in between sessions of lovemaking, they would talk about anything and nothing, sometimes for hours, and yet they never told each other, "I love you." McCoy had assumed it was something neither of them felt the need to verbalize. They fit together so well, even with all the fights, that he couldn't imagine Shakeba doubting his adoration for a moment. She was the first person he sought out at the start of his day or the end of a shift. Discreet as they tried to be initially, they'd quickly given up pretenses because neither of them could stay away from the other for much longer than a shift. And no one minded seeing them together at meals in the mess hall or walking through the ship corridors on their way to their respective departments. Christine loved seeing Shakeba walk into med bay with a meal tucked under her arm to give to McCoy. As far as she was concerned, Shakeba was the best thing to happen to Len since he'd met Jim Kirk on the way to the Academy. Shakeba made sure he remembered to eat. She listened to him bitch and moan and somehow, she tolerated it. No, she looked forward to it. And while Christine couldn't help but think the other woman was a glutton for punishment, she was undeniably grateful for the change she saw in Len's spirits.
Shakeba didn't just listen to Leonard bitch. She helped him find productive ways to resolve his issues. McCoy was never going to give up drinking and Shakeba had no intention of turning him into a teetotaler, but he was drinking less these days. And he was resolving his squabbles with others in adult ways. Uhura had been the first to witness the wonder and awe of this new McCoy. Not long after that first night together, McCoy had admitted to Shakeba that he and Nyota weren't talking. He told her everything and even while it shamed him to hear how petty and stupid he sounded, Shakeba simply shrugged and asked him what he was waiting for. He owed Nyota an apology and that was that. She had a wonderful way of making things seem so easy.
Christine came home from a shift to find her girlfriend sitting, dumbstruck, on the couch.
"What happened to you?" she asked Nyota as she unzipped her boots and plopped down next to the other woman.
"It's the weirdest thing," Uhura answered slowly. "Len just came by…"
Christine was instantly on high alert. She knew the two hadn't spoken to one another in quite a while.
"What? Did you kill him? Am I gonna find his body in the sonic shower?"
Nyota shook her head, a rueful smile on her lips.
"No, it wasn't like that…at all. Chris, I might be having a stroke but I'm pretty sure he apologized. Like, sincerely."
Christine grabbed her tricorder and scanned Nyota.
"You're not having a stroke. Is this like that time we had those people on board who could morph into any one of us?"
Uhura shivered. "I knew you were gonna bring them up." She paused. "No, it was him. I checked – stuck a fork in his side."
"I'm sure he loved that."
"When I explained why, he got it. Which means I've had to think about Chameloids multiple times today. I need a drink." Nyota got up and moved to the replicator to procure a glass of wine. "It was really him and he really apologized. And then I apologized to him. It was…so grown-up."
"Well, how about that. And they say miracles are dead."
Even Jim could see what the love of a good woman was doing for McCoy.
"You do realize you lost tonight, right?" The captain asked his CMO as they left Sulu's quarters after a night of poker.
"Yeah, I know. What's it to you?" Sure, the growl was there but so was a light in McCoy's eyes and a spring in his step.
"I mean, I don't care. I just think it's strange that you're not angry."
"Well, Jim, sometimes you win and sometimes you lose."
Jim stared after his best friend as McCoy walked to his quarters.
"Definitely getting laid then, huh?" he called out. The only response was an extended middle finger.
Minutes later, McCoy grabbed Shakeba's hips as they moved against one another in harmony. So what if Jim was right? Having this amazing woman to come home to helped take care of so many things McCoy would've railed against previously. What was a poker loss to this, the feeling of someone beneath him? What did it matter if one of the interns in med bay broke a tricorder when he got to come back to his quarters and see the look of love on Shakeba's face as he walked in? Pulling her body close to his and snapping his hips against hers, he drove in harder, drawing a groan from her throat.
"Leonard," she gasped as he thrust into her again, always deeper, always trying to go as deep as he could.
"Darlin," he replied softly, whispering in her ear as he took her from behind. "I'm not hurting you?"
"Never," she said with a shake of her head.
Not everything was sunshine and rainbows for Shakeba and McCoy. As happy as they were, they could not escape the foundation upon which they'd built their relationship – arguing. They were both stubborn and opinionated and maybe, just maybe, they enjoyed their frequent squabbles because making up was the best part. Whether playfully debating, or standing across from one another, both red-faced from yelling at the other, Shakeba and McCoy could admit there were some things they would never see eye to eye on. And that was fine. It would be weird to agree with a partner on every single thing. But there was one subject upon which they disagreed which left them at an impasse.
One night, as McCoy returned late from a shift in med bay to find Shakeba curled up in bed with a PADD, things came to a head.
"Whatcha readin'?" he asked her as he wearily changed from his medical blues into a sleepshirt and pants.
"Mmm, the Quran," she murmured, engrossed in the text.
McCoy paused for a second. She'd plowed through the Bible, then the Talmud, and now she was on the Quran?
"You do know there are non-religious texts to read, right?"
Her response was a brief glance of annoyance before she looked back down at her PADD.
"I'm serious," he continued as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "So much human history to read and you choose that nonsense night after night."
Shakeba sighed and put down her PADD on the night stand, perhaps a bit more forcefully than she'd intended.
"Why are you so vehemently opposed to religion?" she asked. "It costs you nothing to allow me to read in peace. I have no intention of asking you to read with me. All I want is to understand what humans believed, and might still believe."
McCoy snorted as he turned to face her.
"You're not gonna find many who still believe that mumbo-jumbo."
She rolled her eyes but refused to be deterred. "Maybe not. But it is a pretty important part of human history."
"Yeah, sure," he muttered. "Damn near ended up wiping out the entire human race in the third World War. But yeah, why not spend time reading about gods and how, if you do these simple things, you too can receive favors from some divine being. You can lord it over the heads of others – that you're better than them because you dress a certain way or abstain from certain activities."
Shakeba got out of bed and came around to where McCoy was sitting. He looked up at her tiredly, regretting he'd ever said anything at all.
"What is with you and religion?" she demanded. "You even bitched when I was reading about the Greek and Roman gods. What's your deal with all of this?"
"No one believes in that old mythology," McCoy scoffed.
"But they did! At one point, humanity was building temples to them all!"
"You think I don't know that?" McCoy snipped, thinking back to the time the ship had been plucked off its course by a large green hand and they'd encountered Apollo himself. 'Good thing Keebs wasn't there for that,' he thought to himself. "It's all malarkey," he finally added.
"If so, why do you care so much that I read it?"
"Just seems like a waste of time."
McCoy didn't want to argue. He was tired, and all he'd wanted to do was come back to his quarters, hold Shakeba in his arms, and sleep. But now they were fighting.
"I don't think it's a waste of time. And I don't understand why you're so hostile about it."
McCoy held his hands up in surrender.
"Forget I said anything! I take it all back. Can we please do anything but bicker right now?"
Shakeba could see how exhausted McCoy was and as much as she wanted to push the argument to a logical conclusion, she respected his wish to end the argument and settled back onto her side of the bed. They didn't make love that night but before drifting off, McCoy did put his arm around her and apologize for criticizing her reading choices. But Shakeba would come to doubt the sincerity of his apology as he continued to needle her for several months over her interest in religion.
McCoy wasn't sure why the subject upset him the way it did. The week after that night, he found himself contemplating why he was so against Shakeba's fascination with religion. In the end, as he mulled it over while sipping a scotch in his office after a long shift, he decided that it bothered him for several reasons. One was obvious – Klingons believed in a religion and they were, despite Shakeba's transition to Starfleet, still very much the enemy. McCoy didn't think religion was why Klingons were so dangerous but it certainly didn't help. Anytime a group thought they were favored, trouble was bound to arise. But deeper than that, watching her devour everything she could about religions of the universe made him feel like he was missing something inside himself. What if she was right? What if there was something bigger than life as he knew it? Or, what if she was wrong and there was nothing out there but she somehow got herself involved in some cult? McCoy didn't know what to make of Shakeba's spirituality so he handled it with his usual aplomb by making snide comments whenever the topic came up. To her credit, she either ignored him, or, on a couple of occasions, sent objects flying at him in frustration.
