Authors Note (the brand spankin' new format) :
Firstly, sorry this is moving so slow... but worry not, your prayers will be answered soon! And updates may not be very often, but I'm trying. I just want to get as much done in the last few weeks of summer.

Love.

Begin Chapter 4 :

Chekov couldn't believe his bad luck. After all his problems that day, he had to run into the one person that could make things a thousand times worse without even realizing it. He turned to the older man.

"Sorry sir, I was not looking where I was going" he continued to avoid the doctor's gaze, making as if to continue down the hall.

"It's alright, just watch where you're going next time." He noticed that the Ensign was holding his arm protectively against his body. "You okay, kid?" He said, pointing.

"Da sir, I am fine."

"Sure doesn't look like it." he said, stepping forward "There's something wrong with your arm." It was more of a question than a statement.

"Nyet, I just bumped it on my way here, it is fine, really." He stared up into McCoy's eyes, as if daring him to press the issue further. The doctor obliged.

"You should get that checked out. Oh, don't try to deny it," he stated firmly as Chekov opened his mouth to protest, "I'm a doctor, not a mind-reader, but I can always tell when someone's trying to bullshit their way out of a trip to the medical bay."

Chekov shook his head, "I am fine! See, no problems."

He lifted his arm up as if to prove it, then brought it down with a grimace of pain, all the while backing up, as to make a quick getaway down the adjacent hall.

"Cut the crap, kid. If you're going to be so stubborn, I'll bring you there myself then." McCoy grabbed the Ensign by his good arm and led him gently back the way he came.

"You have bad habit of dragging unwilling subjects to the medical bay." Chekov observed, trying to get his mind off the man's hand grasping his arm, or how their hips brushed together when he accidently moved in too close.

"It's my job." Bones replied gruffly, his mind following the same path as the young man's beside him. This kid is going to be the death of me...

Their eyes met for a split second before McCoy glanced up quickly, focusing on getting the Ensign to their destination. Chekov blushed, turning his head so that the doctor could not see his expression.

This was unsuccessful. Bones quickly looked back, only to see the slight blush creep onto the navigator's high cheekbones. His face looked almost angelic, if it weren't for the slight grimace of pain that still resided there.

Luckily, it was Chekov who broke the awkward silence with a question, although he already knew the answer to it.

"What did you leave the sickbay for? You were headed for the bridge."

McCoy snorted, "I was going to ask the Captain what the hell happened a few minutes ago. He gave no warning whatsoever, then suddenly half the medical staff are thrown off their feet in an emergency stop. He won't answer the com either." He glanced down at Chekov, "I guess you'd know what happened, your shift is now isn't it? It was probably it was another one of Kirk's stupid mistakes."

"It was a...miscalculation." Chekov sighed in resignation, averting his eyes.

McCoy noticed this look, immediately understanding the situation.

"Oh, really... does it have anything to do with why you're wandering the halls instead of sitting at the helm?" The two entered the sickbay and McCoy gestured for Chekov to lift himself onto one of the beds.

"Da..yes." The young man stared down at the floor dejectedly as he explained what happened.

McCoy felt a surge of compassion flow through him. The navigator was only a teenager, he should be worried about what brand of shirt he was wearing, not the correct trajectory of a starship.

"I'm going to kill Kirk next time I see him," Muttered the doctor, "A simple mistake is nothing to suspend you from an away mission for. Sure, we all may have all been burnt to a crisp," McCoy gave Chekov a rare grin, "But as far as I know, you're usually pretty consistent in accurate calculations."

Chekov couldn't help but to grin back. He then decided that McCoy should smile much more often.

Bones turned his attention to the teen's arm.

"Roll up your sleeve."

Chekov did so, holding it out as McCoy drifted the medical tricorder around it. He sat in silence, simply taking in the presence of the older man. Through his Starfleet uniform, traces of a lean, toned body could be seen through the fabric. A final beep from the tricorder broke through the quiet, and the doctor spoke.

"Looks like a hairline fracture to the radius, I'm gonna have to put it in a brace. Other than that, you'll be fine." He reached into a translucent cabinet beside him, pulling out the proper brace and strapping it to Chekov's arm. "Try to stay away from any rigorous physical activity for a while. You can come back in a few days so I can check up on it."

He then took out a hypospray, "This is just for the pain."

As he reached forward to jab it into the Ensign's neck, the tricorder dropped off the counter with a light clatter, but it was enough to make Chekov turn his head quickly, causing the hypo to enter his neck at a painful angle. He yelped in response, his hand shooting up to his neck.

"Shit! Jesus, kid, I'm sorry." McCoy leaned forward to check for any damage. "It still injected properly, at least."

Chekov shivered as the man's fingers trailed along his neck.

"I-it is okay, it was my fault, I should not have moved..." he trailed off, his face inches from the doctor's. He could feel the man's soft breath against his neck. Bones turned his head, brown eyes meeting large hazel ones. Shit.

Chekov blinked, shaking as the gap between him and McCoy grew smaller. Then, unsure whether it was by his own doing or the doctor's, their lips touched. It was light at first, unsure, tentative.

Neither of them knew if the other was going to pull away suddenly, but both were filled with desire for the other. As he felt Pavel lean into the kiss, McCoy deepened it, moving his hand from its position on the teen's neck to cup the back of his head, fingers lacing themselves his soft curls. Feeling this action, Chekov also lifted his good arm up, pulling himself even closer to the other man. Their bodies pressed together, McCoy let his tongue travel along Pavel's bottom lip, earning him a light groan. The sound aroused him and he pressed on, his tongue now entering the younger man's mouth.

Younger... This brought McCoy back to reality. What if they were seen? The kid wasn't even eighteen, for crying out loud! He pulled out of the kiss abruptly, Chekov staring at him with a hurt expression on his face, looking just about ready to cry.

"I-I'm sorry kid," the doctor shook his head, backing quickly away, "It would be best if you left."

Chekov needed no more urging. He slid from the biobed and left without a backward glance.

McCoy watched him go, and all the while he felt an emptiness consume him. He, who had gone through marriage, divorce and many other relationships in between, couldn't even handle kissing a seventeen year old.

He's underage. A voice in his head reminded him. What did you expect? Why did you have to do something stupid like that in the first place, damn it?

McCoy entered his office, slamming the door behind him. Within seconds, his ever-present flask of whiskey was in his hand and he had downed his first drink. He knew it was ridiculous to sit and wallow in self-pity; to angst over a situation he himself had caused.

He kissed you back.

He swore under his breath, not that there was anyone around to hear him. He had screwed himself, and bad. Gotten himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. Any attempt to block the Russian from his life would cause them both pointless amounts of emotional pain. But was it necessary? If he hadn't pulled away, had continued the kiss, who knows what could have happened afterwards?

If anyone had found out it, would cause a shipwide controversy. He could lose his job, and as could Chekov. Starfleet had strict regulations about relationships with your superior officers.

But he didn't really care.

The thought shocked him. He had no idea how far he was willing to go to be with the Ensign. That is, if he didn't pass his feelings off as lust; a simple infatuation, sprung from his sadly failing sex life.

No, he shook his head inwardly. It was against his nature to act in such a way. He knew he could never just use the kid, going by Kirk's seemingly never-fail solution of "love 'em then leave 'em". He either had to act on his emotions, or completely smother them. McCoy frowned. He had always been good at suppressing his emotions, until now, that is. Something about Pavel Chekov had changed that.

He sat at his desk, now-empty flask in hand, brooding, his eyes boring holes through the holoscreen before him. The internal conflict still raged inside. If he decided to go against his better judgement and make amends with Chekov, every aspect of his life would be turned upside down. He would give into his emotions and allow the walls around him to be penetrated, all the while risking his whole career.

I'm starting to sound like that pointy-eared bastard now... unwilling to show any emotion.

But he would do it.

Pavel Andreivich Chekov had that effect on him.

________________________________________________________________

Eyes brimming with tears, Chekov leaned against the smooth white walls in the hallway outside the sickbay.

He hated crying. It was showing weakness, and people already judged him for his youth. For them to see him cry was to lower himself even more than he already had, and he knew he couldn't afford to do that. Sniffling a bit, he began the journey to his quarters, keeping his eyes fixed to the floor, avoiding eye contact with anyone walking by.

Finally, with shaking hands, he accessed the door to his room. It closed with a whoosh behind him, just as he collapsed on his bed, tears now flowing freely down his face. He was overwhelmed with confusion, his body a whirlwind of emotions.

McCoy had kissed him back. Heck, he had partially initiated the kiss! But then he had pulled away, no explanation given, leaving Chekov to wonder. Had he done something wrong? The Ensign let out a small sob, burying his face into the sheets for a few minutes before sitting up and wiping his face. He still could not stop the tears from falling.

As he sat on the bed composing himself, the scene played over and over in his head relentlessly. Each time he saw McCoy pull away, he felt a hard tug on his heart, threatening to bring a new wave of tears streaming down his face.

"Pull yourself together." Chekov muttered to himself in Russian. Sulu would be back soon from his shift and would be wondering what was wrong. It wasn't like the navigator could tell his friend what happened. Walking to the bathroom, he stared into the mirror, barely recognizing the young man looking back at him. His eyes were puffy and red from crying, his body, normally bursting with energy was slumped over as if in defeat. This was not a good look for him, he decided, splashing water on his face and straightening up.

As he slowly walked back into his room, he remembered; Sulu had replaced him on the away mission and would not be back for even a few days. Chekov was alone: temporarily suspended from the bridge and unable to walk around the ship for fear of running into curious crew members, or worse, the doctor.

He felt like a... what was the American term for it?

Pussy. He remembered, letting out a sigh.

The only way he could find peace of mind would be to face McCoy and apologize, however embarrassing it would be. This wasn't something he was good at. Years of being ridiculed for who he was had taught him to stay quiet in any situation that could go wrong. But McCoy... everything about him made Chekov want to keep trying, to stand up in front of the world and defy everything he had been taught. He felt lifted up by the man's very presence, and that was what drove him to face Leonard McCoy again.

Little did he know that said man had similar plans.

__________________________________________________

Chekov could tell by the lack of people roaming the halls that it was getting late, and most crew members had headed back to their quarters. He hoped that McCoy was still awake. Chekov knew that unless it was by some random stroke of insanity, he would never be able to convince himself to approach the doctor again.

Bone's quarters were located close to the sickbay, for obvious reasons, but it took the young Russian longer than normal to get there. He walked slowly, thinking through what he would say when he finally came face to face with McCoy.

"Oh, hello, sir, I just stopped by to apologize for kissing you and causing you to pull away in disgust for some unexplained reason."

Yeah, right. Somehow, he didn't think that would work to his advantage.

He stopped walking suddenly, seeing he had already arrived at McCoy's door. Chekov took a deep breath, then rang the com hesitantly, stuttering,

"C-can I come in, sir?"

He was surprised when within seconds, McCoy had complied and the door slid open. He was even more shocked when he came face to face with the doctor, soaking wet, clothed only in a towel and looking severely startled.

The navigator, who was already shaking with nervousness, took one look at the half-naked man in front of him and passed out.

__________________

Within a matter of seconds, Leonard McCoy had gone from grouchy, to flustered with embarrassment, and finally to utterly dumbfounded. He now stood staring at a recently functional Pavel Chekov, whom now resided on the floor in front of him.

Bones had no idea that it was the Russian who had rang the com. He had assumed it was another nervous crew member, coming to tell him of some problem or other in the medical bay. Chekov was the last person he expected to approach him, especially after his display earlier.

Bringing his attention back to the situation at hand, bent down and picked the younger man up, praying that no one would pass down the hallway as he did so. McCoy carried him back into the room, setting Chekov down gently on the bed. Glancing behind him every few seconds to see if the Ensign was awake, he pulled on a pair of Starfleet issue sweatpants and shirt.

He was just beginning to towel off his hair as Chekov came around. The young man groaned softly, rubbing his head as he sat up and took in his surroundings. His eyes finally fell upon McCoy, whom was now fully clothed and standing awkwardly near the end of the bed. He sat tensely, clasping his hands, now sweaty with nervousness in his lap.

"I, um, I assume I lost consciousness e-earlier?"

"You assume correctly, Pavel."

Chekov's head jerked up at the sound of his first name. McCoy, noticing this action, gave a little smile and sat down beside him on the bed.

"Listen, kid, -"

"I'm sorry." The teen blurted out before Bones could say any more. "I should not have...have kissed you back – I mean, kissed you. It was stupid. I do not know what came over me."

"Neither do I."

The words seemed harsh to Chekov at first, and he bit his lip, willing himself not to leave right then.

"The question is, Ensign, do you regret it?"

Did he regret it? Truthfully, he did not. The moment had been something almost out of a dream for him. When Chekov thought back, he knew that he would never take back what happened. He plucked up the courage to finally answer.

"No." Then in a move normally to bold for him, he asked, almost angrily, "But you doctor, do you regret it? Did it mean anything? Or was this just game to you? Please, if nothing was meant by the act of kissing me back, I will just take my leave now."

Bones stared at Chekov, shocked by the uncharacteristic outburst. He uncertainly reached out and placed his hand over the younger man's.

"Yes. Yes, what happened back there meant something to me. Hell, it meant more than you know. I just had a hard time dealing with that. I still do. That's why I pulled away." He looked into Chekov's eyes, only to see they were filled with hesitance and doubt.

"Come on, Ensign! You must realize the repercussions of me having feelings of that sort towards you. I don't want you to get hurt. And not by me," He added, standing up and beginning to paced back and forth.

"But had someone found out...if this continued... you know what kind of shit both of us would be subject to. Yeah, I'm aware that it's the freaking twenty third century, and prejudices about this sort of thing are very rare. Starfleet has regulations though. You're an Ensign. I'm the Chief Medical Officer. I didn't want to risk something bad happening. Not without giving you the choice."

"I do not think this has anything to do with choice, sir." Chekov said softly. He stood up and faced the doctor. "I am aware of the situation. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a child. I made my choice a few hours ago in the sickbay. I...I had thought you made yours as well." He turned as if to leave, only to be stopped by Bone's hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, ki-Pavel. I had chosen this ages ago. I obviously didn't have the balls to accept it. Jesus," he shook his head, "I think I'm going crazy. But I don't think this could go any other way." With that, he pulled the navigator into a swift, chaste kiss.

They stood there in each other's embrace for a moment before McCoy spoke again. "So, seeing as neither of us is due for duty anytime soon, I suggest you come with me to the mess hall for some late-night coffee. At least then it will stop people from prying into today's earlier incident."

"Coffee, sir? At night? Isn't that a little unhealthy?" Chekov grinned cheekily up at him, all traces of his former animosity gone.

"Listen, Pavel, I told you earlier...no more of this 'sir' crap. It's Leonard. And sometimes, a bit of unhealthy activity can do you some good." McCoy smiled back at the younger man. "Now get going."

As he followed the Ensign out, McCoy thought about what Pavel had said earlier.

This whole thing had been decided the moment they had kissed. He smiled a bit. It's not like he ever had a choice on the matter to begin with.

Iight, this ain't over yet, so don't get too excited.

And review puhleease (: