McCoy takes a long drink out of his flask, looks across the room – in a place like this, it’d be surprising if someone doesn’t end up drugged, willing or unwilling. Some idiot’s blasting music, and he thinks they’ll all be deaf in a year if Kirk keeps suggesting holes like this for after-mission parties. He’s designated driver for the evening, although that’s more making sure no one does anything they’ll regret too much in the morning than actual driving, since they’ll all be beamed out of here when time’s up.
Spock’s covering Uhura, who has apparently decided to get roaringly plastered. He’s not sure if their romance is still ongoing – and don’t think he doesn’t know about it, they aren’t that subtle whatever Kirk thinks – but Spock would be chivalrous. He’s apparently drinking something only mildly alcoholic, as, unlike the majority of the officers, he’s still upright.
Sulu’s got his hands full with Chekov, over at the bar – the little brat is wound around him, absently patting his hair and the side of his face with all the additional enthusiasm of the drink taken. If they hadn’t been draped against a semi-deserted wall near the med bay, kissing like it was going out of style, he’d have thought now that Chekov was just an overly affectionate drunk. He’s piped up with something, and McCoy’s never seen the pilot blush so hard.
Actually, if Chekov hadn’t been the one to have Sulu pushed up against the wall, he’d be a concerned – he’s not a bastard, and Chekov’s a good kid. Annoying as hell, but a good kid, and they need him. And he doesn’t want to have to handle a bridge full of protective officers, which is what he’d get – and shit, Kirk’s headed over.
He doesn’t seem to have seen the kid yet – Kirk prefers to mingle with the crew, and by that McCoy means he is getting his Captainly ass as drunk as possible as quick as possible, and screw responsibility. So he’s a bit nearsighted. Probably Sulu’s so blurry that arm wrapped around his neck just sort of blends right in.
McCoy edges nearer, wondering if there’s any sort of damage control he can do, and fatalistically listing the ways he can restrain Kirk should he decide to pull some idiot stunt like punching Sulu. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Spock pick up Uhura and start moving towards them, apparently also aware of the imminent catastrophe.
Which of course happens when McCoy is just close enough to hear, and not close enough to do anything. Chekov’s messy blond head pops out from behind Sulu, and he says,
“Hello, Commander! I am being seduced!”
He’s got to give the kid points for sheer cheerfulness under pressure.
“What?” Kirk says, and McCoy shakes his head. It’s kind of cute, although the pile of evidence that Kirk was dropped on his head as a baby is starting to look damning.
“Sulu is seducing me!” Chekov continues brightly. “Only very hard to make do anything.”
He prods Sulu petulantly, then kisses his ear. Sulu is redder than a Vulcan ruby, and making feeble sorts of fending-off gestures.
“No – not – Captain, I would nev – Chekov, you have to – please –“ Concerned, McCoy checks to make sure Chekov hasn’t accidentally started throttling Sulu. He’s positive Kirk’s choking kink is not contagious, and therefore Sulu is unlikely to enjoy being strangled. But no, the boy’s just more embarrassed than Kirk caught trying to escape the med bay in a hospital gown. And hadn’t that been an enjoyable view.
“Can’t sedooch – sedoosh Chekov, he’s Russian. Wait. No.” Kirk pauses. “Well, he is. But he’s, he’s like a puppy. Can’t seduce that.”
Sulu is obviously beginning to wonder if the Captain is drunk enough to forget all of this by the time he turns around. McCoy could’ve told him it was a lost cause, if he’d been near enough. Kirk never forgot anything. It was one of his more obnoxious habits; he’d so far failed to forget to remind McCoy that walls, despite anything he’d been told, were completely incapable of procreating, and if they somehow managed, probably wouldn’t need a graphic description of every possible disease they could get if they weren’t careful about it.
Chekov pouts. “Can too. Sulu, tell Captain can be seduced.”
“I’d rather not.” Sulu says firmly. “Captain, I am a gentleman. I would never – I certainly wouldn’t seduce my colleagues. It would not only be ungentlemanly, but unprofessional.”
If Kirk believes that, he’s an idiot. Of course, Sulu’s probably telling the truth, but Sulu’s not the one doing the seducing. If anything, Chekov’s getting his conjugations mixed up. And there’s nothing ungentlemanly about getting seduced; gentlemen did it all the time.
“Chekov can be seduced?” Kirk asks the air. “Spock, tell me Chekov can’t be seduced.”
He has to give it to the pointy-eared bastard, he’s never seen anyone manage to always be unnervingly behind your shoulder when he’s needed.
“Captain, I regret to inform you that the evidence suggests a contrary conclusion is more logical. Although, in all fairness, it would appear that Ensign Chekov is not actually being seduced, but seducing.”
McCoy stops trying to step over the wriggling pile of bodies surrounding him. They aren’t going anywhere, and it appears that he isn’t going to be needed since Kirk usually got violent before he got curious, and he’s hit the petulantly asking the air questions stage. He perches on a table. Most entertaining thing all night, and the least likely to keep him up all night in the med bay. He might even get them all back to the ship without any of the bridge down for alcohol poisoning, although he shudders to think what the remaining crew of the Enterprise is going to be like. Then again, that’s not his problem, he remembers with an evil grin. He has hordes of subservient ensigns to look after everyone else. The perks of being chief – you just had to supervise, and look after the bridge. Of course, that was probably more of a perk on other ships. The Enterprise’s bridge had its own special something.
“Oh.” Kirk looks at Chekov as severely as he can. “Ensign Chekov, is your hand up Lieutenant Sulu’s shirt?”
“Yes, Commander.” He wiggled it around a little to show. It made an odd sort of bulge right around Sulu’s heart. The pilot squirmed – McCoy remembered from Sulu’s physical that he was ridiculously ticklish, needed to relax a bit. Fencers. Tensest bunch of over-exercised athletes he’d ever had the misfortune to treat.
Spock shifted Uhura to his other arm. “May I suggest that you resolve this with some speed, Captain? We are due to return to the ship shortly, and it would be advisable to conclude any controversies off-ship.”
McCoy suspected his hurry had a little more to do with the possibility of Uhura drooling on his shirt. She was asleep now, and looked likely to remain so. Sulu sighed, swiveled around, and pulled Chekov onto his lap before turning back to Kirk. Chekov wrapped his arm around Sulu’s neck again, and snuggled into his chest.
“Sir, Ensign Chekov and I have been involved in a personal relationship for some time now.” Sulu said, resigned. He tucked Chekov more firmly against him, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders to hold him in place.
“I was starting to think that might be the case, Lieu – Sulu,” Kirk replied. He waved vaguely in their direction. “Carry on, carry on. That’s what the Captain’s supposed to say, right, McCoy? It’s cool, and all that? Because Sulu totally needed to get laid, and he fences, that’s hot, I bet Chekov saw that and he’s a genius, course he wanted to snap that up. Although Chekov getting laid is just too weird.”
Judgment pronounced, Kirk waved a hand at the ceiling. Chekov mimicked him from against Sulu’s chest.
“Beam us up, Scotty!”
Which was ridiculous, since Scotty was somewhere in the bar, there were minutes to go until they were supposed to return, and there was no way anyone on board ship could’ve heard them, but it was Kirk. McCoy shook his head as the sparkles spun around him, and by the time his feet hit the transporter pad, he was ready to catch Uhura as she tumbled towards the ground.