Arcturus spun slowly on an exaggerated axis, throwing its two moons around itself like cheap jewelry. Dirty and pockmarked ships of every size flew in and out of the orbit around the planet, dropping off or picking up unmentionable cargo or just to check in with unmentionable friends.

A battered scout, not classed for interstellar travel, made its way haltingly towards the planetary system. Its arrival had been delayed due to an unexpected run-in with some authorities on Earth. The pilot of the scout watched his chronometer closely and swore under his breath. He knew that his boss was waiting, and had been kept waiting. And there would be the matter of the brief questioning he had undergone and the fine he had had to pay on earth. Several indicator lights blinked on the console indicating a myriad of problems with his engine and exhaust systems, but he pressed his scout onwards as fast as it could rattle forward.

The Arcturian Port Authority called on his comm, but he waved them away with a password and a promise of credits. He piloted the scout to the surface of the dusty planet, and his scout's thrusters gave out a foot from the ground. He fell the short distance with a damaging thud, and he heard the aft fender fall off, rattlingto the makeshift landing pad. The door fell open and he jumped off the scout, a cloud of dust swirling at his feet. He pressed a few bars of pressed latinum into the grubby hands of a waiting attendant, and jogged to the Scimed Sienna Bar.

He opened the doors of the hazy bar and looked over the crowd. Lamps hung from the ceiling, lighting tables where the deals were made on paper. In the corners where none dared to glance there were shadier figures discussing terms in low voices. On the tables danced a few tired girls in dirty costume for the few men who were paying attention. In any bar on Arcturus there was the expectation of a dancing girl or two, regardless of the primary unspoken business of the establishment. The lack of a dancing girl would have aroused suspicion on the most lawless planet in the known galaxy.

From a dark corner there was a wave and a low whistle. The pilot made his way over, hunching his shoulders to hide his face as he pressed past the tables. He sat down and looked over at the scaled face of his business partner. They had only met face to face twice, and this was the second time.

"What newssss?" asked the scaled alien in a sharp lisp?

"The Enterprise has been assigned to make the deliveries. We have a potential man on board."

"Excellent," the alien leaned back and smiled. "Progress is being made. Where is your partner?"

The pilot coughed nervously and waved to the bartender for a drink. "He was delayed. I will return to Earth to pick him up."

"Delayed? And how can you make a return trip to Earth with a scout like yours? How many times can you get past Starfleet?"

"That's none of your concern."

"Why was there a delay?"

"We thought there was problem."

"Was there?"

"No."

"Then why the delay?"

"Look!" The pilot slammed his fist into the table and the shot of amber liquid on the desk rattled and spilled over. "It's fine. Just trust me." He picked up the glass and tried not to think about the drowned and preserved fruit flies floating in the bottom. He downed it in a gulp.

"How long will you stay here?"

"Long enough to make sure the Enterprise gets here and to make sure that your potential mugu gets to you. Then I'll head back to Earth."

"Whom will he be meeting here?" the alien grinned with white teeth and clacked his nails on the table.

The pilot tossed a disk onto the table. "There's all the communications. And the address of the girl you'll need to contact. I'll keep being your ghost writer, because she can't read."

"I don't think that will be necesssssary," the white teeth gleamed in the lamplight and the clacking stopped.

The pilot stood quickly but it was too late. The cold metal of a phaser pressed into his temple. He turned and saw two Romulan guards on either side of him. "What the," he protested as hands wrapped around his arms and shoulders.

A third Romulan appeared from the shadows and sat down beside the scaly alien. "I'm sorry," the Romulan in a Commander's uniform said. "But you have engaged the Enterprise. I can only hope that you have not attracted attention as you did so. That ship is too much of a prize to leave in the hands of such amateurs."

The Romulan Commander gave a brief nod to his officer with the phaser, and with a high whine and a dull thud, the pilot collapsed to the floor.

The scaled alien giggled and slid the disk to the Romulan Commander. "I told you he was trusssting."

"We followed that scout for three parsecs, the exhaust he was leaving was hard to ignore. You should be more careful about your business associates."

"It was a short term transaction," the alien's face fell.

"Once I have the Enterprise on my scanners, and the officer in question following my orders, you will have your cloaking devices." The Commander stood and his two officers stood to attention. "In the meantime, keep your head down. We don't know whose eyes have been drawn this way."

The alien nodded in deference, then stood and withered away through the darkened bar. The Romulans pulled heavy cloaks over their heads and uniforms, and walked stiffly out. The body of the dead pilot lay cooling under the table.

"Come in," McCoy pulled his uniform jacket tightly and turned to the door.

Kirk stepped in. "Well, I'm ready if you are."

"What do you have on the menu for tonight?" McCoy asked.

Kirk smiled with a knowing grin. "Something that is sure to be big hit. Let's go pick up Spock."

Carter buzzed Fisher's quarters and the door slid open. Fisher was smoothing out the jacket of his black formal uniform, and tapped the insignia to straighten it. "Are you sure this is necessary?"

"Just be glad I'm not breaking out the white gloves."

"I think we're going to be overdressed."

"Let's just go." Carter blew off his comment and they left for their initiation to the Enterprise.

Together they strode down the hallways, up the turbo lift, and to the formal meeting room that had been converted to a formal dining hall.

Kirk smiled as he saw the two officers in their formalwear; sharp blacks punctuated by rank and insignia pins. Both of them carried a medal or three.

The table was set with the formal china, and Carter couldn't help but wonder at what mysterious dishes of the galaxy Kirk was going to throw at them tonight.

"Lieutenant Commander Carter, Lieutenant Fisher," Kirk stepped forward to greet them. "I'm so very glad that the two of you had the evening free. Now we can get to know you."

"Thank you, Captain," Fisher nodded. "It is a pleasure to get to know you, as well. Our meeting before was too brief and too business for my taste."

I believe you've met Mister Spock," he gestured to the Vulcan, who nodded cordially.

"Briefly, but yes," Carter returned the nod, knowing the Vulcan's distaste for touch.

"And of course you know Doctor McCoy. This is my helmsman, Lieutenant Commander Sulu, my engineer Commander Scott, and my Communications Officer, Lieutenant Commander Uhura." Kirk went down the line of officers who could be present for the dinner, and Carter and Fisher shook hands with each of them in turn.

They took their places around the table, sitting where the place cards told them to, and everyone sat down after Kirk had sat. Within moments, waiters whisked out of the galley and set down salad plates and began pouring a white wine. The salad was seaweed, with a sharp briny dressing. Carter began to have strong suspicions about the main course. She picked at her salad. She had more important things to do than sit here and make small talk.

Kirk spoke up. "I'm sorry that my Navigator, Mister Chekov could not join us. He had some urgent business to attend to this evening."

"I'm sure we will meet him soon enough," Fisher said, carefully eating the salad, taking care not to splash dressing on his uniform.

The atmosphere around the table was quiet, and mildly uncomfortable. Carter ignored it, attributing it to the fact that if it weren't for their mission, the Enterprise would surely be off doing "important" things.

"So tell me, Lieutenant," Kirk looked up at Carter. "How is it that you know Doctor McCoy so well?"

This garnered a harsh look from McCoy. Fisher coughed suddenly.

The salads were finished, and soon the waiters began whisking them away.

"With all due respect, sir, I prefer to keep some information confidential," Carter said without pause, looking agitatedly for the waiters to return.

"Ah," Kirk nodded. "Well I can certainly understand. How is it that you came to be in intelligence? Can I ask you that?"

McCoy took a big gulp of his wine.

"Of course," Carter smiled too-warmly. "I had been schooled as a diplomatic attache, but was approached by the OSFI to become an agent."

"Is that because you speak many languages, lass?" Scott asked, genuinely interested in the career path of a spy.

"Well," Carter considered. "Jonathan speaks more fluently than I, but I can bumble my way through Orion and Klingon."

"Addy's specialty is diffusing hostile personalities," Fisher said quickly, catching Kirk's quizzical glance.

"Then what's your specialty, Mister Fisher?" asked Scott.

"I diffuse Addy," he winked, and finished his first glass of wine.

The dinner plates arrived, and Fisher choked on his glass of wine when he saw the unmistakable bright colors and patterns of sashimi. He glanced at Carter who was grinning from ear to ear and breaking apart a fresh pair of chopsticks.

Scott looked at the plate set before him, looked at the chopsticks, and then reached for the nearby fork. He mumbled something under his breath that no one could quite understand.

Spock looked at the rolls of rice and vegetables that had been specially prepared for his vegetarian sensibilities. Uhura pointed. "Do you think that I can be a vegetarian for tonight?" she said quietly and grinned.

Spock merely raised a brow and exacted a careful grip on the chopsticks.

"Is there any wasabi?" she glanced at Sulu. Sulu reached up and handed her a small plate of bright green paste. He then turned to his own colorful plate with a gulp.

"Ad," Fisher dropped his napkin and leaned down to pick it up.

"It's okay, Jon," she spoke quietly and sensibly. "Actually, Mister Scott, Jonathan has been providing some excellent cover stories for the team."

"This is an nteresting choice, Captain," Fisher sat up and resettled the napkin in his lap.

"Ginger?" Carter cocked her head and poured a capful of soy sauce. A small dish of pinkish slices was passed to her.

"I didn't know that this was a part of the replicator's," Fisher paused, poking at the slices nervously and hunting for the right word. "Repertoire," he finished with a forced smile. He passed the pale pink slices of ginger across to his overeager partner who was already setting up a slice of fish with pale green wasabi.

"The replicator can produce many things, but we had this prepared by our chef," Kirk poured from a small china decanter that a waiter had set before him, and sipped at the hot sake.

"I was not aware that the Enterprise kept a chef on regular staff," Carter stopped midway to taking a bite, balancing the slice of fish and ginger on her poised chopsticks. "I was under the impression that a staff chef was reserved for diplomatic missions."

McCoy looked at his plate and scowled at Kirk. Kirk glanced back with a look of cunning and finished his sake. "We arranged for a chef for this mission, seeing as how there's not going to be much going on."

Carter smiled at the opening shot and put the first bite of sashimi into her mouth. Fisher coughed slightly and pulled apart his chopsticks. As he glanced at his napkin, he saw that Carter was holding open her OSFI communicator in her hidden left hand, and the words "SALMON" and "NAMA SHAKE" flashed alternately on the screen.

"Well, I have to say it's been a long time since I've had good nama," he smiled, grabbing a slice of fish with an awkward grasp and began shaking it.

Carter put her hand to her mouth to hide her laughing grin. She set down her chopsticks and put her hand on Fisher's awkward grasp on the chopsticks to stop him from shaking the bruised fish any further. "Tell your chef that I'm very impressed with his selection of salmon. I think the only time I've had it better was in Japan."

"I don't think I went with you on that one, Ad," Fisher was doing his best not to laugh as well.

"You sure didn't," she went back to her careful mixture of soy sauce, ginger slices and wasabi.

"How long have you two been partners?" Uhura asked.

"Since we graduated," Carter replied.

"We're like penguins in that place," Fisher grinned. "We mate for life. Right, Ad?"

"But I thought you said that you weren't," McCoy began uncomfortably. "Together" was the unspoken word.

"Oh, lord no," Fisher scoffed. "Of course not. That would be just silly."

"And against the rules," Carter added.

"Can I ask your opinion about this mission? Off the record," Kirk asked bravely.

Carter looked up with an eye. "Not without compromising details."

"We had requested more time, I'll tell you that." Fisher's smile never seemed to dim. "But we can make do. Can't we, Ad?"

"Sure," she nodded, and matched his smile.

The Enterprise crew, long accustomed to strange dishes, managed to get down the raw fish, but not with the enthusiasm of Carter. McCoy and Fisher were the only two who didn't finish their plates of sashimi, and when they were taken away the only person who didn't breathe a sigh of relief was Carter. She set down her chopsticks and put her napkin on the table.

"I have to admit that this was the best dinner onboard a starship I've ever had. I appreciate your hospitality, Captain," Carter said cordially. "Is there something in my file about sushi being one of my favorite foods?"

"No," Kirk seemed disappointed.

She looked across the table at him and smiled an equally cunning smile, much like Brer Rabbit must have smiled at the Mr. Fox.

McCoy leaned against the wall. "Raw fish, Jim? What the hell were you thinking?"

"I don't know," Kirk sat in his chair. "I didn't think it would go over as well as it did."

"Are you planning on making them all sick and then you'll have to take them home?"

"Bones, it's hard to get sick off of sashimi."

"You say that now, but don't you come crying to me when you get a bad case of worms. I'm going to go give myself a vaccination," McCoy turned to storm out.

"A vaccination against what?" Kirk called after him.

"Against your stubborn head!" McCoy answered and the door slid shut after him.

"Ad, I'm sorry," Fisher held up his hands. "I haven't had that stuff since training."

"Yeah, well, thank your lucky stars that they didn't trot out big plates of yellowtail, because then I'd be gagging." Carter settled behind her desk and put her feet up.

"What's the difference between fish?" Fisher sat down on the bed.

Carter shook her head. "I don't know why, but yellowtail has a really bad texture. I can't stand it."

The comm whistled. "Brown to Carter."

"Carter here."

"If you're free, we have something that you might be interested in seeing."

"Sure, go ahead."

"I think you need to see this."

Carter and Fisher both raised a brow to the remark and stood up quickly. "We're on our way."

Once at their new office, Brown pointed out a dotted line across a star map indicating a line of travel from the Terran System to the Arcturan System. "Somebody was in a hurry to beat us out here, and he didn't let anything stop him. Not even a bum engine. Judging from the exhaust that our intelligence drones picked up, the ship he was in was barely able to go a parsec, much less go all the way to Arcturus."

"These readings couldn't have been put out of an interstellar scout," Fisher mulled aloud. "Maybe he was going to have it repaired there,"

"But even then, he wouldn't be able to get an inspection or change his classification on Arcturus. He can only do that on Terra." Carter sat down. "I wonder if this has anything to do with that scout that fired on me a few nights before we departed."

"There was one arrest from that night, and as far as I know they still have that guy in custody. The Arcturan they kept, but the human who called himself the pilot of the scout they let go," Fisher said.

"I'd like to get the transcripts of the interrogations that were done on these fellows. Get it by morning and we'll review it then. I'm going to my quarters to get a drink." Carter unbuttoned her formal jacket and stepped to the door. "We're meeting in the Rec Deck in thrity, right?" she pointed to Fisher.

"Is that an order?" he asked.

She shook her head and stepped out.

Kirk did like to take some time to mingle with his crew, and there were a few crewmen on the Rec Deck. They were playing a few quiet rounds of three dimensional chess, and Kirk gave pause to offer a few pointers before moving on to the quiet picture window towards the aft of the ship.

As he stared out the window, he watched the stars go by and thought about the injustice of this mission. True, he did appreciate the occasional "gravy job," but after a series of routine repairs and maintenance, he did want something that would push the ship to some limits. Even if Scotty didn't approve.

He sighed, tapped the window with his fist in some degree of frustration, and turned to leave. He stopped when he caught a flash of movement from a lonely corner of the deck.

"Excellent," he heard Carter say, and he stepped into the frame of the door to watch where he presumably couldn't be seen.

Fisher, with a large bow of some Orion design, stepped to a makeshift target and pulled an arrow from its center. "That's five, Ad," he waved the arrow, and stepped back to the table.

"Five it is," she nodded, and poured a shot of whiskey from the bottle on the table. She drank it quickly, paused a moment, and then turned the glass upside down on the table, puddled with more whiskey. She picked up her bow, similar to Fisher's and swayed for a moment longer.

Fisher handed her the arrow, and she stepped up to a crudely drawn line on the deck, a full thirty feet from the target. She knocked the arrow and began to draw back.

"Ad," Fisher said suddenly.

Carter took aim. "Yeah."

"Do you think we're being margarinized?" he slurred.

"If you mean 'marginalized', yes. I do think we're being marginalized." She again refocused her attention on the target before her.

"Ad," Fisher asked again.

"What?" Carter asked, irritated.

Fisher waved a drunken hand in her direction. "I'm just trying to annoy you," he grinned.

"Stop it. You're not that drunk." She aimed quickly and released, sending the arrow slamming to its target. "But you will be quick enough," she turned to him and smiled. "Six." She pointed to the small table, and Fisher threw up his hands and poured another shot.

Kirk watched, silently laughing at the two of them.

Carter repeated the process, removing the arrow from the target and brought it back to Fisher. Kirk could only imagine that the game would go on until one of them could no longer shoot straight. Fisher aimed, fired, and made the target perfectly without a word from Carter. Perhaps she didn't feel the need to annoy him.

Kirk glanced at the chronometer, and wondered how long the game would go on, how long he should watch, and how interesting it might get. He grinned, crossed his arms and waited.

Carter paused a moment before pouring her shot. She got a sly smile and held up the half empty bottle. "Hey, Jon, I'll bet you fifty credits I can do a double and still make the shot."

Fisher handed her the arrow and shrugged. "Might as well get out my wallet now."

She poured one shot, paused and drank it. Pouring another, she got the feeling that perhaps this wasn't the best idea in the world. She looked at it for a second, and drank it quickly to avoid any further hesitation.

Fisher sat on the edge of a stack of gym mats and waited, leaning haphazardly on his bow.

Carter stood straight and sighed, watching the target move in and out of focus and across her field of vision before resting again thirty feet before her. Content that the target was no longer moving around, she knocked the arrow and drew it back. The dark tip of the arrow came sharply into view, and she thought about the furred tip vaguely for a moment. She then returned her sights to the target, feeling the room shift beneath her as though she were in the midst of a slow earthquake.

I really have to pee, she thought, and let out a small laugh at it all. She had no idea where the closest lavatory was, and there was surely some kind of hell to catch regarding drunken archery games on the Enterprise Rec Deck.

Kirk leaned forward, watching her carefully. She was taking too long, he thought.

From the rushing sounds in her ears, Carter caught the sound of a footfall trying not to be heard, and a breath being drawn not far from her. The liquor in her laughed and rolled over in her stomach, giving her an intense feeling of nausea. The trained spy in her seized the opportunity and took over.

In a single movement she dropped to one knee, aimed and fired at the source of the sound.

"Sweet Jesus," McCoy gasped and slowly raised his head. The arrow had buried itself deep in the bulkhead where he had been standing. "What in god's name are you doing?"

"Holy shit, Addy!" Fisher struggled to contain his laughter, and Carter stood wide eyed at the near miss accident.

"Len! What were you," she began, but Kirk's shout interrupted her.

"Bones! Are you all right?" he jogged to McCoy's side.

"I'm fine, Jim," McCoy said quickly, glaring at Carter.

Kirk grabbed the black arrow, jerked it out from the metal, and examined the deep hole it had made.

Carter was admitting to herself that this had been a terrible mistake, and that this exercise was best done on the safe ranges of the OSFI where such things were not only tolerated but encouraged. "Sir," she did her best to speak clearly and tried to collect some semblance of rational thought. "I can explain," was the best she could come up with.

Fisher had staggered up to Kirk and clapped him on the shoulder. "I've got an idea," he grinned.

Kirk glared at him, and McCoy was looking rather wantingly at the whiskey on the table after his close call.

"You play," Fisher pressed the arrow to his chest. "If you beat us, we take the job of your choice for a shift. If one of us beats you, then you call this even."

Kirk looked at Carter, swaying on her feet and looked back at Fisher. "You realize that you two are pretty far along."

Fisher threw out his hands. "Then, what do you have to lose?" He offered the Captain his bow and stepped back.

McCoy, seeing his chance, stepped to the whiskey bottle and gratefully poured himself a shot. "I think it's a fair deal, Jim, considering."

Kirk considered for a moment. "All right," he nodded. "But I think to be fair," he paused at the table and poured himself a shot. "I think I had better catch up with you two." He drank it down and laughed at the idea of a man his age playing drinking games.

He stepped to the line, and then took a step back. Carter smiled in spite of herself. Kirk took a careful aim, and a sudden wave of wooziness hit him. He began to understand why this particular drinking game was so fun.

He drew back and fired a perfect shot to the center of the target, and turned as Carter and Fisher toasted their two glasses to him. "Salud!" Fisher said quickly before drinking.

McCoy grabbed a glass and had a shot himself, smirking at the game. "I dunno, Jim. They might beat you even if they are halfway gone."

Fisher chuckled dramatically, and quickly fired off a perfect shot. "It's the half that's still here, that's the good half," he went back to his mat pile and leaned awkwardly.

Kirk poured for Carter and himself and paused to touch her glass with his. "Salud?" he offered.

"Salud," she nodded, and drank quickly.

She took the arrow, returned to the line, and fired off another bullseye.

"Is this ever gonna get interesting?" crowed McCoy, who had easily drank four shots in the time it had taken them to start the game.

"I think that's going to be up to the spies," Kirk took aim and fired off another perfect shot. "What kind of bow is this?" he asked Fisher, handing it back to him.

"Orion," Fisher replied. "Spend enough time on the narco trafficking routes, and you make some friends. Isn't that right, Addy?" he called over to Carter, who was strangely quiet.

Fisher took his bow, retrieved the arrow, and poised himself to fire. He laughed and muttered to himself inaudibly and fired.

The arrow was a full six inches from center.

Fisher looked up, and Carter laughed out loud. "You brought this on yourself," she pointed accusingly.

"Hot damn, Jim! Looks like you've got some volunteers for galley runs tomorrow," laughed McCoy.

"That's if I'm feeling generous," Kirk cocked his head and smirked. "I think I'll celebrate." He poured himself another shot.

"Captain! I have had a thought!" Fisher shouted, staggering a little.

Kirk looked over suspiciously. "No, I think you're looking for a way to weasel out of this."

"Weasel? No. Out of the bet? Yes!" He stepped to the table and refilled Kirk's glass. "All right, you made that last shot, and I missed this one," he draped his arm over Kirk and pointed to Carter. "But if you give her one shot," Fisher held up his index finger.

"Now, wait a minute," Kirk pushed his hand away.

"I'm not done, sir," Fisher shook his head melodramatically. He pointed to Carter. "Addy does a triple. If she makes the shot, then the hole in the wall is forgotten. If she doesn't," he paused. "We'll spit shine your hanger deck floor."

Carter's eyes widened and she felt sick at the very prospect drinking another drop. I'd rather polish the floor, she thought.

Kirk glanced over at her and grinned. "The two of you?"

Fisher nodded and crossed his arms. "The two of us. Carter and myself. On our hands and knees in your hangar deck."

Kirk reached over and filled Carter's shot glass. "One," he smiled cunningly.

Carter drank it fast, and waited as Kirk filled it a second time.

"Two," and he filled it a third time.

"Three," Carter cut him off, and tilted back the last shot with a fiery glance to Fisher.

He handed her the arrow as she passed by, and for a moment it looked as though she were going to hit him. Standing before the target, she gave a lengthy pause.

Carter felt as though she were drunk enough to laugh about the absurdity of it all and yet cry over lost loves, dead cats, or any other remotely tragic incident blown out of proportion to the amount of whiskey she'd been coerced to consume. Even if I make this shot, she thought, I don't know where my cabin is to collapse in.

Her throat burned, her eyes watered, her stomach roiled in protest, and yet she raised the bow to the target.

McCoy stared, his hand poised midway between the table and his mouth, an overflowing shot glass in his fingers.

Carter paused, breathed, closed her eyes and released. There was a brief whistling and a thunk as the arrow hit a perfect bullseye. She looked up, and gave a small smile in gratitude. It was over. She turned, and caught herself with her foot before she fell to the floor. "If that is all, Captain, I think I'll be retiring to my quarters."

Kirk laughed and gave her three loud claps of applause. "Very impressive. But don't think I've forgotten about the hole you made in my bulkhead." He felt lightheaded, but he was sure that Carter was positively sick.

Fisher stood and performed an elaborate bow. "Thank you, sir. I believe that I, too, will be retiring for the evening." He looked towards the door, where Carter was leaning and holding her head in one hand. "However," he turned back to Kirk. "It appears we lack the directional ability to locate our respective quarters at this time, sir. Might you be gracious enough to show us the way, sir?"

Kirk laughed again, staring at Fisher incredulously. "You're telling me that the agents of Starfleet Intelligence can't find their way around a galaxy class starship?"

With a flourish, Fisher produced a small compass from his pocket and opened it. "Useless!" he cried. He snapped it shut again and shrugged dramatically. "I suppose I could wander the decks for a few hours," he snapped his fingers with a jazzy flourish and turned.

"All right, all right," Kirk moved to grab his arm. "Bones, you take Carter. I'll take this one."

McCoy stood, finished the last sip of whiskey from the bottle, and touched Carter's shoulder. "You all right?" he asked at her quiet figure.

She nodded, silent. McCoy thought that she might really be too sick from all the alcohol, and decided that it might be best to get her to bed as quickly as possible. "You know," he started in on a lecture.

"Don't start," she staggered briefly and caught herself again. "Just leave this. I'll send one of the trainees to get it in the morning," she waved at the glasses and bottles.

"Do they know that their commanding officers drink so hard?" McCoy lifted a brow.

"They ought to," she nodded knowingly, and made for a door. McCoy followed quickly, taking her bow.

They walked silent through the corridors and up the turbolift, McCoy growing more and more concerned about her.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked again. He made a mental note to harass Kirk about getting an officer to drink so much.

Carter nodded, carefully avoiding his eyes.

Once in her quarters, Carter took the bow from him and set it on the desk amongst piles of papers and rolls of drawings. "Thank you, Len," she said quickly. She leaned against the desk and rubbed her eyes.

McCoy took her by the arms and studied her. "Addy," he began sternly, but when her eyes met his, he thought he understood her hesitation. He understood, because he felt the same way about her.

Taking a chance, he drew her in and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him, practically going limp. But after a moment, she startled and withdrew. "Len," she pulled back. "I think you'd better go," she said gently, quietly.

"Yeah," he breathed. "I think you're right." He released her and stepped back. He turned quickly and stepped out into the hallway, and then cursed himself. The cursing continued as he entered the turbolift and headed back to his quarters.