Tonight's The Night

Tonight was the night. The metaphorical third date. The shaking of the sheets. The parallel parking. The roll in the hay. The doing of the deed. The horizontal tango.

McCoy planned to get lucky. To shag. To make the bacon. To cross home plate.

The moment had, at last, come. (Yes, pardon the pun, but damnit I'm a doctor not a wordsmith.)

These many euphemisms were courtesy of Enterprise's science officer. The half-Vulcan began making a study of the myriad references the human race employs in order to, as Spock declared, "Illogically obfuscate indulgence in mating acts." An addition to this list was always quickly followed by reminding the good Doctor and Jim, with that slight pleased smile, the one almost imperceptible yet taunting, Of the three of us, I alone am getting laid.

The pointy-eared hobgoblin was a broken record on that topic.

But tonight would change this. McCoy was joining the warp-speed club, the 'I'm not going to wake up alone in the morning' club.

He had spent weeks carefully, patiently, attentively wooing the object of his desire. Good, old-fashioned courting as his Grammy used to say. Behaving as the consummate gentleman. A southern gentleman. Following the unwritten handbook.

And, if he read the signals correctly, (though I am a bit rusty having been in a drought this past … nope, not going to admit to that) they returned his feelings. Matched his feelings. Were ready for a little bedroom rodeo. (Don't repeat those off-the-cuff code words, reference wordsmith quote above and substitute writer.)

McCoy tidied his rooms. Ordered a romantic dinner made of honest-to-God, fresh-ingredients, cooked by a real, breathing, living being, (replicators ranked below only transporters on his disliked technology list) and rummaged through many boxes to find tucked in the darkest corner of the storage bay the very expensive bottle of champagne he'd been saving for the right occasion, for sharing with a special person. A quick check of the vintage year confirmed it had not been cellared too long, but only just.

And next prepared the love nest. Soft bed sheets. Candles. A playlist which required three hours of deliberation. Fresh juice for the morning (now I'm just being cocky, yep, there's another pun, maybe I should hang up my shingle and embrace this writing thing after all, I could be a poet and don't know it.)

Head Kirk warned, 'Don't quit your day job.'

McCoy answered out loud, "Yeah, it just so happens I do possess a silver tongue." (One more, I couldn't resist, I'm in a good mood, cause, well, you know.)

The physician slowly surveyed his quarters. All was ready and as he wished it to be.

Now for the hard part. Kirk and Spock had been circling all week, sniffing around like hound dogs. Hunting dogs. They've guessed my plans, McCoy thought, I'm sure of it. How to throw them off the scent?

Because he knew they'd be poking fun from the sidelines, intent on finding a way to embarrass him, maybe horning in on dinner, calling an unscheduled drill at the worst possible moment, or some other such nonsense.

Last night McCoy had dreamed the Human and Half-Vulcan dynamic duo had evaluated his love-making performance like senior physicians did interns after grand rounds. The three were gathered around a table in a conference room, a three-dimensional video of McCoy's interlude playing between them. Kirk tsked repeatedly and shook his head, muttering "where did I go wrong, I thought I taught him better." Spock frequently paused the recording, critiquing McCoy's skills while highlighting the so-termed errors with that damn laser pointer.

The one Kirk had confiscated last month after McCoy threatened to permanently implant it in an anatomical location the Vulcan would find unpleasant. Spock had smiled serenely before suggesting the physician should not make assumptions across humanoid species because in this case, quite the opposite was true.

The laser pointer had then mysteriously gone missing from its prison in the ready room and began popping up in random places throughout Enterprise. Memes featuring its exploits dominated the ship's social media. Many suspected Uhura to be behind the capers.

Returning to our primary plot and to sum up, McCoy required no advice for tonight's anticipated activities. None. Zero. Zip. Nada. As this was an area where he excelled. All those anatomy classes had multiple useful applications.

So how to thwart them, he asked himself.

The seas parted. The darkness receded. The path became clear.

And he grinned, lips curling up in a self-satisfied Grinch-like smirk.

ooooo

McCoy timed his ploy perfectly.

Once the ship's Captain and First Officer had assembled in his office, McCoy gestured at the seats in front of his desk. He took the chair behind it and, using his superior height, looked down his nose at them, as if staring over bifocals. "It has come to the CMO's attention a poor example is being set for the crew by their most senior officers."

Kirk flashed his most innocent smile.

Spock's slightly bored expression remained unchanged.

McCoy ignored both and put on the scowl he reserved for medical students who displeased him. "Ms. Chapel informs me both of you are ducking your annual physical exams."

Neither responded.

"I thought as much," McCoy said with a nod. "Really, are you children? It's just a few scans and tiny needles."

Kirk argued, "I'm a busy man …"

Spock excused, "I am certain there is a mistake …"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "This behavior is illogical." He paused, drawing out the moment.

Then continued, "As you did not cooperate with my staff, I had no choice but to get involved. Which led to a review of your past five years' medical records." He shook his head. "Seems you both missed the comprehensive exams ordered by Headquarters three years ago. It would be remiss of me to overlook this."

Kirk squirmed.

Spock brushed imaginary lint off his uniform pants.

"Therefore, both of you are confined to Medbay until the oversight has been rectified. Beginning now." Through the transparent wall McCoy signaled to a nurse. When she entered the office he said, "Christine, they're all yours." His tone turned firm, "Be thorough, very, very thorough. And remember my motto, there's no diagnostic tool like our five senses." He mimed a surgical glove being pulled over his hand and wiggled his fingers.

Spock's skin took on a green twinge.

Kirk paled.

McCoy leaned back in his chair, enjoying the moment. After all his best friends' unending ribbing about his dates, he'd expertly treed them.

The moment was short lived.

Kirk's eyes narrowed.

Spock's eyebrow rose.

Both carefully scrutinized McCoy.

The Captain spoke for himself and his first officer. "Game on."