Star Trek 2009 Fic: Take Off Your Kid Gloves, McCoy/Chapel, M, 3/5

[seren_ccd]

I wonder if he’s seen The Bed, Christine thought as she re-heated the spaghetti and pulled out some plates. Oh, God. He probably thinks I’m some kind of hedonist.

And that’s a bad thing? a little voice asked.

Yes? No. Yes. I don’t know, she thought tossing a salad quickly. Why does he have to be the Anti-Roger? He just jumped right in. Manhandling that steamer like it was nothing.

She pulled out her pitcher of iced tea and lemon slices. She started to pour two glasses, still musing to herself.

I wonder if he’d be adverse to helping me with the gutters? I wonder if he does any carpentry? I wonder if he’d do me?

She stopped mid-pour, a little aghast at herself.

The last thing you need right now is a relationship, she told herself. You don’t need more complications and the minefield of problems that they inevitably bring. The man’s only been in town a week and it’s a really, really bad idea. I don’t care how big his hands are.

“And they are really, really big,” she said out loud.

“What are?”

McCoy’s voice in the doorway had her spinning and clutching the pitcher to her chest.

“Sweet Jesus, stop that!” she exclaimed.

“I’m sorry. Truly.” The smirk on his face belied any actual remorse. “Can I do anything?”

“You can sit down and stop scaring the life out of me,” she said pointing at a chair by the kitchen table.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said giving into a proper grin.

Christine’s eyes narrowed and she turned away before she did something dumb, like sit on his lap and nibble on his ear.

She handed him a glass of iced tea that he took with such a look of gratitude her knees practically buckled. Then she served up lunch.

They both dug in with identical vigor. Who knew ripping down wallpaper was such an appetite enhancer?

Once done, Christine leaned back and sipped at her tea, while McCoy finished off the rest of her spaghetti.

“That was incredible, Chapel,” he said earnestly. “Thank you.”

“Hey, anyone who works on my house is entitled to a free lunch,” she said. “It’s only fair.”

“So then I should come around next weekend?” he asked. “If only to get a healthy meal to compensate for my abysmal diet during the week?”

“How are you with gutters?” she asked before the rational part of her brain could come up with a suitable reason why he shouldn’t.

“It just so happens I was the chief cleaner of gutters throughout most of my adolescent life,” he said. “Kept me out of trouble.”

Christine found herself grinning. “I can only imagine.”

He chuckled and looked down and she noticed that he had some adhesive stuck in his hair, just behind his ear. “Oh. You’ve got… May I?”

She reached over as he looked up. With a small smile, she raked her fingers through a small patch of his hair, tugging gently on the bit of glue and wallpaper. Her nails scratched lightly at his scalp and Christine couldn’t miss the way he shivered and how his eyes actually dilated.

Her lips parted and she found she couldn’t look away from his eyes, her hand still carded through his hair. They held hers for several moments before they darted down to her lips.

That pulled her out of her daze and she pulled her hand away, the bit of wallpaper in between her fingers.

They both started to talk at the same time looking anywhere but at each other.

“You just had some—“

“Yeah, not surprised. Was that—“

“Yeah, I think I got it all.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

They actually sat there in awkward silence for a few minutes before McCoy made some sort of choking sound. Christine looked over in concern and then laughed, because he wasn’t choking, he was snickering.

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since someone touching my goddam hair got me all flustered?” he asked her. “What is it about you, Christine Chapel?”

“It’s probably the fumes from the wallpaper glue,” she said giggling, “you’ll get over it.”

“I highly doubt it,” he said wryly still smiling and her stomach was doing flips and there were butterflies and quite possibly bumblebees and oh, she wasn’t going to do this, remember?

The smile slowly fell from her face as did his. She had no idea what expression was on her face, but noticed that his had transformed to worried.

She opened her mouth to say something but the front door banged open.

“Christine? Are you home? Do you have a screwdriver I could borrow? Don’t ask me why, because I can’t tell you—Oh! Hello!”

Gaila stood in the doorway to the kitchen looking carefree and cheerful in her flowery flippy skirt and tanktop, smiling brightly first at McCoy and then at Christine. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, no,” Christine said quickly standing up. “Gaila, this is Doctor Leonard McCoy, the new doctor I told you about. Doctor, this is my friend, Gaila Murphy. She owns the salon in town.”

McCoy stood and offered his hand to Gaila. “Ms Murphy.”

“Oh, it’s Gaila, please,” she said enthusiastically shaking his hand. “And may I say, it is wonderful to finally put a face to the name. I’ve been hearing all sorts of lovely things about you.” She caught sight of Christine’s glare and added, “From the town, of course.”

“Thank you, it’s been a good week so far,” he said politely glancing at Christine. “I should probably…” He gestured in the general direction of the door.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Christine said hurriedly. “Thank you again, for all your help. I really appreciated it.”

“Anytime, Chapel,” he said meeting her eyes and causing the butterflies and bumblebees to riot in her stomach and nether regions.

“Let me walk you out,” she said as he nodded at Gaila and turned to leave. Christine ignored Gaila’s thumbs up and ostentatious winking and followed him out.

They stood on her porch, McCoy looking up at her gutters. “You really need those seen to,” he said. “I’ll be here next Saturday.”

“Look, McCoy, I wasn’t serious before,” she said. “You honestly don’t have to…”

“Oh, I know, Chapel,” he said patiently. “But, and how does this strike you? I want to.”

Once again, she felt caught in his stare and despite the little voice in her brain shrieking ‘Abort! Abort! Not in the plan! Complications, ahoy!’, she simply said, “How do you feel about meat loaf?”

“I love it with a passion that cannot be contained,” he said seriously.

“Then that’s what you’ll be getting for lunch,” she said just as seriously.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said. Then he grinned. “See you Monday, Chapel.”

She watched him walk with an easy grace down to his car and turned on her heel and went back into her house.

Christine closed her front door and leaned against it, staring blankly down the hall.

She was only somewhat aware that Gaila had joined her and was leaning against the door next to her.

“That is one fine specimen of a man,” her friend said.

“Yes. Yes, he is,” Christine said.

“Big hands.”

“Un huh.”

“Your living room looks great with that tacky wallpaper gone.”

“I know.”

Gaila leaned her head on Christine’s shoulder. “He seems nice.”

“I think he is,” Christine said leaning her head on top of Gaila’s. “I think he might be a genuinely nice, good man.”

“This is a problem?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

Gaila nodded. They contemplated the hallway a bit longer, then Gaila said, “Chris? Would you still be my friend even if I did something monumentally stupid?”

“Monumentally stupid as in, dying your hair purple or selling babies on the black market?” Christine asked.

“Somewhere in the middle,” Gaila said.

“Yes, I would still be your friend if you did something monumentally stupid,” Christine said giving Gaila’s curls a quick kiss. “Are you about to do something monumentally stupid?”

Gaila sighed. “Maybe.”

Christine frowned at the tone of her voice. She lifted her head and looked down at Gaila. “Sweetie? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing yet,” she said softly. Then she bumped Christine’s hip with her own. “Are we all still on for brunch tomorrow?”

“I hope so,” Christine said. “I’ve been looking forward to a mimosa all week. I think Jan is bringing Nyota.”

“Good. I like her,” Gaila said. She sighed. “You said you had a screwdriver?”

Christine found her a flathead screwdriver and Gaila left with a wave and a smile that didn’t come close to her usual cheerfulness.

As Christine wandered back into her freshly stripped living room and sat down on the floor, she wondered just what the heck was going on.

---

Hikaru Sulu was exhausted. He’d spent all day at the drive-in site making sure that everything went smoothly, that Jim Kirk didn’t cause any delays, and that Spock understood just why they couldn’t physically create some of his designs due to the constrictions of gravity and the laws of physics.

All he wanted was to sit in his living room with a beer and watch the game.

He’d just settled into his old lazy-boy when he heard something downstairs. He shook his head, thinking he’d imagined the sound.

He took a sip of his Grolsch.

Then he heard the sound again. With a groan, Sulu got up and went to investigate.

He lived right in the center of downtown Enterprise in a building that used to house the original hardware store. The building had been converted into apartments, one on each of the three floors, in the mid-80s. His was on the second floor and the bottom had been vacant ever since the Robertsons moved to Seattle.

Sulu grabbed his keys and using the back stairwell, headed down.

Just as he reached the door of the downstairs apartment, a figure appeared in the tiny foyer.

They both yelped and took a step back.

Sulu frowned and said, “Pavel? Chekov, is that you?”

“Sulu?” Chekov said nervously stepping into the dim light the small bulb gave off. “You live upstairs. Right. I remember now.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sulu said raking a hand through his black hair. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

Sulu looked Chekov over and noticed the young man was wearing black clothes from head to foot, including a black cap that covered his curls and flattened them to his forehead. He also had a small toolbox.

He also looked very anxious.

“Okay, Pavel,” Sulu said crossing his arms over his chest. “What the hell is going on? Please tell me you haven’t taken up a life of crime because you’re bored?”

“What? No! Of course not!” Chekov said indignantly. Then he looked sheepish. “Well, not exactly.”

“What?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Chekov said.

“It looks pretty bad from where I’m standing.”

“Well, I can explain, my friend,” Chekov said. “See—“

“Pavel! Are you here yet? I think Sulu may be home, I saw a light on—Oh, hell.”

Gaila stopped mid-sentence as she walked into the small foyer and she grimaced as Sulu looked her over. She was also wearing black from head to toe and held a screwdriver in her hands.

“Right. What the fuck?” Sulu asked flatly.

“We can explain,” Gaila said, her eyes wide and her tone even and placating.

“I’m all ears,” Sulu said still feeling a little angry but willing to admit that he was extremely curious.

Chekov looked at Gaila and made a motion that pretty much said for her to take it from there.

“Hikaru, have you ever heard of the Kirk Jewels?” Gaila asked a conspiratorial smile slowly spreading across her face.

---

Christine woke up on Sunday morning to the sounds of the wrens in the dogwood tree just outside her window. She smiled and let her fingers continue to trace the smooth, firm outlines of the figure above her head. Her index finger dipped and ran along a lovely curve and the wood felt cool and decadent beneath her fingertips.

She sighed and stretched her legs looking for a cool spot on her mattress.

Wait.

Wood?

Christine slowly opened her eyes and craning her neck looked up to see her hands were indeed, caressing her new headboard.

She very slowly removed her grip on the headboard and lowered her arms down to her sides. Then she just lay there in her bed.

“How much does it say about me that the most sensual experience I’ve had in the ten months since Roger left is a result of me stroking a headboard?” she asked out loud.

Neither the bed nor the wrens outside had much of an answer for her. She grabbed one of her pillows, held it over her face, and screamed into it.

Once that was done, she got up, cast a properly baleful glare at The Bed. It was mocking her with its hugeness, dammit. Angrily, she stomped into the bathroom for a shower. Afterwards, she came back into the room wearing her robe and her wet hair done up in a towel turban, still glaring at The Bed with the sheets and quilt all rumpled.

“It’s not fair,” she said as she sorted through clothes in her closet. “I mean, just because you’re big and beautiful and comfortable, that does not give you the automatic right to give me the best sleep of my life. Honestly, it’s just not right.”

She pulled out a navy blue sundress that she hadn’t worn in ages and laid it on the bed. Getting her hairdryer out she started to dry her hair, still talking to The Bed.

“You’re just a bed,” she said loudly over the roar of the hairdryer. “You shouldn’t actually possess any supernatural qualities. I don’t care if you do look like sex and passion personified. Or anthropomorphized, or whatever. Just stop being so damn big.”

She turned her hairdryer off. The Bed remained large and luxurious.

“You’re making me think I can have stuff that I clearly don’t need,” she said softly, her hair in complete disarray around her face. “You really need to stop that. I’m not ready for something that’s going to change my life and has a lovely backside and warm eyes. I’m just not ready. Okay?”

The Bed seemed to exude disappointment and Christine just huffed and dropped her hairdryer to the floor. Then she pulled on her sundress, made up the bed, making sure to pull the sheets as tightly as she could and with one last look at The Bed, she left her bedroom to go have brunch with people who actually talked as opposed to staying and talking to an inanimate object.

“Because that’s crazy,” she said as she walked down her stairs cringing when she stepped on the creaky step. “Sane people don’t talk to their beds. They also don’t think the delivery of a massive, sinful bed is a sign that they need to drastically change their outlook on life. Be more sane, Christine. Stop thinking about the damn bed.”

Think about sexy Doctor McCoy instead, a little voice said.

The image of him flushed and manhandling the steamer flashed behind her eyes and she felt a little weak in the knees.

“Oh, shut up,” she said out loud to the world in general. She let her front door slam behind her as she started the walk to the café.

---

Janice and Nyota were already seated at a table at Martha’s. Christine grinned to see the pitcher of mimosas already on the table.

“Please tell me you’ve already ordered,” she said taking her seat in a bit of a huff. “I’m starving.”

"Uh, no," Janice said not repressing the amused curve of her lips. "And did someone get up on the wrong side of the love boat this morning?"

Christine glared while Nyota blinked. "I'm sorry," she said. "Love boat?"

"Christine has a new bed," Janice explained. "It's sex made out of mahogany."

"Nice," Nyota said. She looked over at Christine who was pouring a large glass of orange and champagne. "Is it nice?"

"It's amazing," Christine said after a long sip. "But, it's too much. I woke up this morning stroking it. I have to send it back."

"No! Why?" Janice asked pouting. "It's gorgeous and made for sex. Sex, Christine. You remember sex, right?"

Christine rolled her eyes. "Yes, I remember sex. It's overrated." She told the voice in her head, that was about to counter her statement with the image of McCoy's hands and low voice, to Shut Up.

"You haven't been having the right kind of sex," Nyota said not quite smugly, but with a definite gleam in her eyes.

Janice and Christine exchanged glances. Spock was quite the attractive man, Christine had always thought so. So urbane and intelligent and perhaps in some other universe, Christine would have considered him as a possible partner. However, one had only to look at him when Nyota was in the room and see the utter love in the man's eyes.

That being said, Nyota rarely commented on the relationship, so…

"Oh, do go on, Ms. Uhura," Christine said. "I am all ears."

Nyota merely sniffed and said, "I'm simply saying that sex, when done correctly, is quite fulfilling and enjoyable."

"Is there an incorrect way to have sex?" Janice asked cocking her head to the side.

The three women paused to consider the prospect of incorrect sex. They all shuddered simultaneously.

"Yes," Christine said taking another sip. "There is definitely an incorrect way to have sex. I just had a flashback to my first year in an emergency room. Someone really should invent brain bleach."

"I'm fairly sure I don't want to know," Nyota said making a face.

"You don't," Christine said emphatically.

"Gross," Janice said wrinkling her nose.

"What's gross? Morning, ladies," Gaila said as she sat down. Christine frowned to see dark circles under her eyes.

"Gaila, you look exhausted," she said leaning towards her. "Are you okay?"

Gaila smiled at her and patted her hand. "Stand down, Nurse Chapel, I'm fine," she said. "Just had a late night."

"Scotty?" Janice asked with a wink.

"No, nosy girl," Gaila said indignantly. "We agreed to stop doing that."

"Doing what?" Nyota asked.

"Post-marital sexcapades," Gaila said matter-of-factly nodding her thanks to Janice who'd poured her a mimosa.

"I'm sorry?" Nyota said her eyes widening.

"Gaila and Scotty have the kind of relationship that only exists in movies," Janice said. She gave Gaila an affectionate look. "They kept hooking up even after the divorce papers came through."

"Well, I still love him," Gaila said. "And he still loves me and the sex is fantastic. Why should I stop?"

"Why did you stop?" Nyota asked.

Gaila frowned. "Things started to get complicated. And he said it wasn't fair, I should be out there looking for someone else." She sighed. "And work has been really busy."

Nyota still looked confused and when she glanced at Christine, Christine just shrugged her shoulders.

"Anyway!" Gaila said. "Enough about me, what were you all talking about before I got here? And have you ordered yet, I'm starving."

"Sex and no, we haven't," Janice said smiling at the waiter hovering in the background.

He came over immediately. "Ladies, what can I get you?"

They placed their orders (two veggie omelets, one big stack of pancakes with strawberries and one yogurt and granola) and toasted to the fact that it was Sunday. Their waiter came back with a basket of tiny muffins and they dug in.

"Cheers," Janice said.

"So, you were talking about sex," Gaila said. "Anything new?"

"Nyota is the only one getting it regularly, Christine is about to take her bed's virginity and I'm not even going to discuss my love life as I don't have one," Janice summed up with a vicious swipe of butter onto her lemon-poppyseed muffin.

"Maybe we should change subjects," Christine suggested. "As much as I enjoyed Sex and the City, I don't really have the need to emulate it."

"We-ell, Janice and I were talking about careers before you came in, Christine," Nyota said glancing quickly at Janice.

"Specifically, my career," Janice said taking a gulp of her mimosa. "I'm thinking of getting a new one."

Christine felt her eyes widen and wondered how hard she needed to kick Jim the next time she saw him.

"Oh, wow, Jan. Really?" Gaila asked. "I thought you loved your job?"

"I do, sort of," Janice said. She looked away for a moment and then back to the table. "I love organizing. I love diffusing situations. I'm good at it. But, I'm tired of organizing and diffusing the same people every day. The thrill is gone, guys."

"And it's not because of a certain mayor who will remain nameless?" Christine asked gently.

Janice shook her head. "No, it's not. Well, at least not one hundred percent him." She thought for a second. "He's probably forty-five percent of the problem. Which is actually one hundred percent my problem, you know?"

"No," Gaila said shaking her head. "I hate math."

"So do I," Nyota said nodding sympatherically.

They all tittered a little, relieving the tension. Then Janice went on, "Ny has offered me a chance at a job within their company."

"Oh, wow! Doing what?" Christine asked still reeling from the Janice’s news.

"Pretty much what she does now," Nyota said. "But, in a more localized way. We always need someone to handle our public relations and I mean that in the most literal definition of the term. Jan would really be perfect."

"The downside would be the travel," Janice said biting her lip.

"Travel?" Gaila repeated.

"Because your firm works all over the state," Christine said as it dawned on her. "Jan, you'd be moving?"

"I don't know," she said softly.

Christine felt almost gutted. Her best friend was thinking about moving. Leaving Enterprise. How had things gotten this bad? And why hadn’t she noticed?

The table was silent as the waiter arrived and placed their breakfasts in front of them. They continued to sit in silence until Janice shook herself a little.

"Look, nothing's been decided," she said. "It’s something I'm considering. And I'd hardly leave while the town is in the midst of its current renovation, so, we'll just see, all right?"

"All right," Christine said with a nod trying to see the bright side.

"Right," Gaila said grinning despite the concern in her eyes.

Nyota nodded.

"Right," Janice said with a nod to herself. "Now, let's get back to Christine's story about molesting her bed this morning."

“Ooh, and has she told how the dishy new doctor came over and helped to steam her wallpaper off?” Gaila added bouncing a little in her seat.

Christine buried her head in her hands while the other ladies laughed.

---

The second week at the clinic took on a similar rhythm to the first. Mornings were filled with regular appointments; afternoons were filled with a multitude of odd accidents and incidents.

McCoy’s favorite was probably the young man who walked in with a pencil firmly embedded in his chin.

When McCoy asked him what happened, the kid just shrugged and said, “History’s so boring. I fell asleep and when I nodded off, I kinda landed on my pencil.”

McCoy looked over at Christine who was valiantly holding in her laughter and said, “I think we should start a scrapbook of this stuff.”

He felt almost giddy when she started to laugh out loud.

Which was something he needed to work on.

It wasn’t surprising that he was attracted to her, she was beautiful and smart and quite possibly one of the best nurses he’d ever worked with. No. Liking her wasn’t the issue. That made sense.

It was whether or not he should do something about it that worried him.

She was clearly still trying to get over Korby and McCoy knew how that process felt. The last thing he wanted to do was start something she wasn’t ready to start.

That he wasn’t sure he wanted to start.

Who am I kidding? he thought as he watched her talking to a patient on the phone, strands of her hair that had fallen out of her bun tickling the nape of her neck, her voice calm and reassuring. I want to start something. Damn it. Don’t screw this one up, man.

As for Christine, she was still wrestling with The Bed and having some of the best sleep of her life.

“I still don’t see how this is a problem, dear,” Nora had said that morning as they took a brief coffee break. “I’d kill to get a new bed, but Stan loves that old lumpy mattress of his.”

“It’s become this thing, Nora,” Christine said trying to explain. “This symbol of what I’ve been denying myself and it’s making me have urges.”

“Honey, it’s not the bed that’s making you have urges,” Nora said in a kind, and not a little patronizing, tone. “Those urges were gonna come with or without a new bed.”

She patted Christine’s arm and headed back to the reception desk, leaving Christine to frown at the coffee maker.

The only odd thing to occur during the week, and honestly Christine wouldn’t have even clocked it as particularly odd, was when Mr. Gehry came in with a severely sprained ankle.

“He said it happened when he hooked his foot around the leg of his end table,” Nora said snagging both Christine and McCoy before they went into the exam room. “It was out of its usual place. At least a foot away from the couch.”

“So?” McCoy asked.

“So, that man has not even considered rearranging his furniture since his wife, Bess died,” Nora said narrowing her eyes. “That makes two people in with accidents involving furniture in two weeks. Something strange is going on in this town.”

She gave them both a pointed look over the top of her glasses, nodded her head and walked off. McCoy looked at Christine who just shook her head.

“The thing is, she’s usually right,” she said.

“Uh huh, well, let’s see what the damage is,” he said before absently placing his hand on her lower back ushering her into the exam room.

She did her level best not to blush at the contact and most certainly did not consider the sheer width of his hand.

As Friday rolled around and she started to mentally plan which home improvement projects she was going to tackle, Christine wondered if McCoy was actually going to come over and clean her gutters.

He’d made the assertion in earnest and he was hardly the type of man to ever renege on his word. She couldn’t quite put her finger on how she knew that, but there was something in the way he spoke to the patients, how he reassured them and did everything with such care, it all spoke to someone who had integrity. Honor, even.

Jeez, Christine, her inner voice piped up. He’s just a man, not a knight of the round table.

However, just then, the man in question was gruffly handing little, five-year-old Amelia Griffin a grape-flavored lollipop and Christine couldn’t quite remember when she had become a complete and utter sucker for clichés. Because getting all hot and bothered over a doctor being kind to a child?

Mother and progenitor of all clichés.

And yet... It was totally working. His eyes were all soft, and he was tweaking her pigtail while little Amelia gazed up at him giggling. How was this man real? And dear God, the things she wanted to do to him.

Christine shook her head and headed off to exam room two to see if the Baker twins had come down with chicken pox or if it was simply a case of too many mosquito bites.

Chicken pox.

Of course.

After Christine got off the phone with the school nurse to alert her to keep an eye out for any other cases, McCoy popped his head around the corner and asked, “Gutters, right?”

“Only if you’re still in the mood for meatloaf,” she said leaning back in her chair and not even bothering to fight off a grin.

“I’m a guy,” he said. “I’m pretty much always in the mood for meatloaf.” He frowned. “And I honestly didn’t mean for that to sound the way it did. I apologize.”

“I’ve heard worse, believe it or not,” she said. “And do you prefer your meatloaf with a ketchup glaze or without?”

“With, of course,” he said grinning. “I’m not a heathen.”

“Of course,” she said.

“Doctor? Exam room four is ready,” Alice said from down the hall.

“Be right there,” he called to her. He turned back to Christine. “When would you like me there? Is nine am too early?”

“Make it nine-thirty,” she said. “I like to pretend I’m a lady of leisure and give myself an extra couple of hours on the weekend.”

He chuckled. “I can only imagine. Nine-thirty it is.”

He gave her a nod and headed off down the hall. Christine stared after him until Nora poked her side. Christine jumped and gave the other woman a cross look.

Nora just said, “Are you making that man your granny’s meatloaf?”

“Yes,” Christine said steeling herself for whatever saucy remark Nora was waiting to spring on her.

But Nora just nodded and said, “Good for you. It’s about damn time.”

Then she sauntered off to answer the phone and Christine just sat there, wondering if it was about damn time.

---

It wasn’t until McCoy was actually in his car and pulling into Christine’s driveway that he realized he was humming along to the Eagles on the radio.

Once he did realize that he was, in fact, making an ass of himself, he stopped. Then he just sat for a second and stared at the house in front of him.

It was a fantastic house, with a strong character and potential. There was a dogwood tree just next to the house that was about to bloom and he wondered if the azaleas were going to be just as much of a riot of color later in the spring here in California as they were back in Georgia.

Was he even going to be here to see it?

And was he going to be able to sit on the front porch in front of him and see it?

It was a nice thought.

It was a nice house.

And she was a nice woman.

He kind of wanted to be around to see those azaleas.

“Damn it.” McCoy took a deep breath and got out of the car. He’d just lifted his hand to knock on the front door when it swung open, revealing Christine in those jeans again and a fitted blue t-shirt.

They just blinked at each other for a second, before she smiled. “Morning.”

“Morning, yourself,” he said.

“I’ve got coffee.”

“You’re a life-saver.”

She grinned. “You know, I kinda am on occasion.”

God damn it, he really wanted to be around to see those azaleas.

---

“Okay, when was the last time someone even looked at those gutters?”

At the sound of McCoy’s voice, Christine spun around from where she was applying a coat of primer to the walls in the living room. She lowered the paint roller and bit her lip to hold in the laughter (and lust, let’s be honest) that bubbled up at seeing him so disheveled.

He got rumpled at the office, his tie getting more and more askew as the day wore on, but this was a different type of disorder.

This was sweaty and dirty with streaks of mud on his arms and his shirt.

He looked delicious and it had been some time since she’d thought that about a man. Roger hadn’t really done…sweaty. Urbane and polished? That was Roger.

Filthy and hot? Apparently, that was McCoy. She wanted to lick him. Sweet Christ, she wanted to run her hands up under his shirt and have his mouth on hers. She wanted to trace the line of his neck with her tongue and…

Jesus Christ, Christine! Stop it! Stop it right now! a voice shrieked in her head.

“It’s been a while,” Christine said faintly, referring to the gutters and not her libido. “The people my cousin sold the house to were less than enthusiastic about home improvement. Is it that bad up there?”

“Well, it could be worse,” he said rubbing his palms on his worn jeans. “The gutters themselves aren’t in bad shape, they’ll last you another year, I reckon. There was just an awful lot of muck in them. There’s a patchy section of roof I saw, on the far east side.”

She frowned. “I know. I think it may already be leaking into the attic.” Inwardly, she went over her budget and wondered if she needed to hold off on some of the more superficial repairs and sort the roof out first.

“I can fix that.”

His voice once again had her lifting her head in surprise. “Really?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “It’s not a big section, should only take me an afternoon.”

“Really?” she said again, not quite comprehending the fact that he was voluntarily offering to replace a section of her roof.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes. It’s not that big of a deal, Chapel. You need the roof fixed, I can fix it, it’s as simple as that.”

Christine had a feeling it wasn’t as simple as that, but hey. Someone that wasn’t her was going to fix her roof.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m almost done with this coat and then I’ll put lunch on.” She caught sight of the time on her watch and made a face. “Well, more like late lunch.”

McCoy suddenly looked uncomfortable. “You know, you don’t have to feed me. I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

Christine laughed and turned back to the section of wall she was painting. “‘Trouble’ is getting up on a ladder and scooping out decade old leaves and dirt. Cooking isn’t trouble. Go wash your hands and help yourself to a drink.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She glanced over her shoulder to see him grin and give her a salute, then he headed up the stairs, cursing when he stepped on the step that always creaked loudly.

She quickly finished the wall and cleaned off the paint roller. Then she headed into the kitchen to wash off her hands. It took a while because McCoy was using the bathroom upstairs and the pipes don’t share the water very amicably, but she got most of the paint off.

With a twist of the dial, she turned the radio on and grinned as the local station was still in the midst of its Grand Ole Opry revival.

She pulled out the food she made the night before and slid a pan into the oven. Then she got out the veggies she planned to sauté. As she was bending down to pull a head of lettuce out of the crisper, she had the sensation of someone watching her, so she turned her head.

McCoy stood in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb, and he was looking at her butt. His eyes moved quickly to meet hers when he realized she was looking at him, but she’d seen him.

He had been checking her out.

She was glad the refrigerator door was open and the air spilling out cooled her cheeks, because she was pretty sure she was blushing up a storm.

Christine turned back around and finished getting the salad stuff.

No one said anything. She didn’t know what to say. Did you thank a person for checking you out? She kind of wanted to. It’d been a while.

She heard him make his way over to the fridge and pull out the pitcher of iced tea. When she looked over he held it up in a silent query. She nodded.

“Glasses are just there,” she said nodding at the cupboard next to her head.

He reached up and she had to tear her eyes away from looking at the way the muscles in his lower arm moved easily under his skin and the strong sturdiness of his wrists. He poured them both a glass of iced tea and Christine gratefully took a sip.

She continued cooking, while he leaned against the counter. His lips twitched when the radio played something by Hank Williams and she couldn’t stop the fond smile that spread across her own face.

“You have, ah, a little paint,” he said eventually as she sliced a tomato.

“Do I?” Christine frowned looking down at her arms.

“In your hair, actually,” he said. He reached over and those long, strong fingers of his threaded through a section of her hair just above her ear. They skimmed the length of her hair, just brushing the shell of her ear and she gasped.

Honest-to-God gasped. He froze with his fingers still touching her hair.

“Soft,” he said absently.

She turned, tomato forgotten and the knife going slack in her hands. “What?” she asked.

“Your hair,” he said. “It’s soft.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said calmly as though his fingers weren’t still caressing strands of her hair and she wasn’t spontaneously combusting internally. “I use Johnsons and Johnsons Baby Shampoo. It makes Gaila furious.”

“Why?” he asked distantly, his fingers now tracing the curve of her ear.

“Oh, God,” she said breathlessly, her eyes closing, chills racing up and down her spine at the feel of his touch. “Because she spends a fortune on salon stuff and I use the cheap baby brand stuff.”

“Whatever works,” he said. “I think your greens are ready.”

“What?” she said dumbly, her eyes opening. He dropped his hand and nodded to the pot about to boil over on the stove.

“Oh. Oh! Crap.” Christine hurriedly took the pot off the burner and gave it a quick stir.

“May I help?” he asked not bothering to hide his grin.

“No, you may not,” she said firmly, turning to face him, knowing her face was seven different shades of red. “You may sit down at the table and stop distracting me.”

The man had the audacity to wink at her and then followed her instructions and sat down at the table.

Lunch, well, dinner was pretty quiet. She asked a few questions about the hospital in Atlanta and he asked about New Orleans.

The praise he gave her meatloaf made her beam with pleasure and she confessed that it was her granny’s recipe.

Once they finished, she walked him out and they stood on the front porch, watching the sun begin to go down, the air turning crisp.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked not quite meeting his eyes as she leaned against the side of the house. He mimicked her pose across from her and leaned against the porch rail.

“Always,” he answered which made her smile.

“Did you get over it?” she asked wondering if she was pressing her luck, but desperate to know. “Your divorce. Did you get over it?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No. That’s the big lie, Chapel. You don’t ever get over it.” He took a deep breath and looked out onto the quiet street. “You move on. You adjust. But you don’t ever get over it.” He shrugged and looked back at her. “But, if you’re lucky you learn something along the way.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said with a sigh, scuffing the floor with her tennis shoe.

“My turn,” he said firmly, his eyes soft as they looked at her. “Do you not have a car because it’s too expensive? Because you’re trying to pay for this house all on your own?”

Pride, that damn Chapel pride, sat up straight in her chest, which in turn made Christine straighten up and look him in the eyes.

“Yes,” she said. “I sold my car and I’m lucky enough to have friends who live nearby and don’t mind giving me a lift. But, yes. I can’t afford it.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything else. They stood in silence before he let out a dry laugh.

“I think you should know something,” he said looking down at the porch floor. “I like you,”

Christine opened her mouth to say something witty but all that came out was, “I like you, too.”

He looked up and she shrugged helplessly. “I do. I like you. And I have no idea what to do with that.”

“Who says you have to do anything with it?” he asked.

“Well, no one,” she said looking away and picking at a bit of the peeling paint. “I didn’t plan on this happening again.”

“‘This’?”

“You know, a relationship. With someone I work with,” she said.

“It can make things awkward,” he said. “But, it’s not impossible.”

“True.” Christine felt odd, as though the rational part of her was having the conversation, the giddy part of her was still dancing around in response to him saying he liked her.

“And, for the record, I’m not him.”

Christine jerked her head to look at him. He looked determined and almost grim. “I know that,” she said. “Oh, believe me, I know you’re not him. I’m not making comparisons.”

“Sure you are,” he said casually and she made as if to argue but he kept going, “It’s perfectly natural, Chapel. Of course you’re going to compare me to Korby. I’m gonna compare you to Jocelyn.” She frowned at his irrefutable logic. “But,” he went on, “I’m going to do my damnedest to not expect you to behave the way she did. I hope you can do the same.”

“I’ll try,” she said slowly, knowing that most of her hesitation came from still feeling hard done by Roger. “I imagine you come with your own set of issues.”

“I’ve got a U-Haul full of ‘em,” McCoy said with a quirk of his mouth. “Just like you do.”

“Please,” she said airily. “As if I’d use a U-Haul. Mine come in a lovely matched set of luggage.”

McCoy let out a bark of laughter and said, “You know the first night I was here, someone said you were a classy woman. They weren’t wrong.”

Christine grinned and laughed a bit herself.

“So...are we doing this?” he asked still looking amused.

She looked away again and peeled another bit of paint. “Can I have some time? To think?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly reaching out a hand to touch her face. The backs of his fingers trailed down the curve of her cheek and she shivered.

He dropped his hand.

“I better go,” he said. “You’re a gorgeous woman, Chapel and I’ve only got so much self-control.”

“See you Monday, then,” she said, fighting the urge to press her fingers to her cheek to hold the sensation of his hand on her skin.

“Yeah, Monday.” He gave her a tight smile and headed for his car.

“Hey, McCoy!” she called. He turned with that eyebrow of his raised. “Next Saturday?”

“Yeah?” he asked warily.

“You fix my roof, I’ll fix pot roast,” she offered.

A look of bliss came over his face. “You’d better stop saying things like that, woman; or else I’m coming back up there.”

Christine just grinned and waved her fingers at him. She could hear him chuckle as he shook his head and got inside his car.

She tilted her head to the side and watched him pull out of her driveway and head down the street, then she wandered back inside.

The front door closed behind her with a soft click. Then, because she could, because it was her house and there wasn’t anyone around, she let out a happy shriek and ran up her stairs, hopping over the creaky one, dashed into her bedroom and flung herself on her ridiculously massive bed.

The Bed held firm when she landed (as she knew it would) and she laughed and kicked her feet, messing up her neatly made up sheets.

Then she lay there, listening to her heart beat and her breathing, the sounds of the house soothing and calming. She stretched her arms up over her head and ran her fingers along the headboard.

“He likes me,” she whispered to the house feeling like a teenager. She thought those kinds of feelings stopped eventually. That you outgrew feeling giddy and happy all because someone liked you.

But if her current mood was anything to go by, apparently they didn’t. Christine laughed and kicked her feet again.

Then, because she was still an adult, even if she was having a truly teenage moment, she jumped up out of bed to go and clean up dinner.

But, in a nod to adolescents and their apparent wisdom, she put some Pat Benetar on, and danced around her kitchen to Love is a Battlefield while she did the dishes. Somethings deserved an 80’s soundtrack.

---

Something had shifted between McCoy and her, Christine noticed on Tuesday. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on, but something felt different. Light. Fun. Flirty.

It was probably her. Something inside of her had just given up on fighting what was clearly The Bed’s influence. She found herself smiling more. Usually at McCoy, which made him all sorts flustered and adorable.

She had also indulged in actually physically flustering him, purely to see if she could.

She’d been in the supply room doing a quick inventory of their anti-histamine samples when he’d come past.

“Do we have a dermascope?” he asked coming inside and scanning the shelves, his presence instantly making the small room just that much smaller and the scent of him invading her nose.

“Oh, um, yes,” she said setting her clipboard down. “We should.”

She scanned the shelves herself and saw the black case that housed the instrument. “There it is.”

They both moved at the same time, Christine getting to it first. McCoy inadvertently pressing up against her back as they both reached for the case.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he gently collided into her.

Feeling brave and rested and just plain because she wondered if she could, Christine grabbed the case and turned around slowly, letting her body slide against his. She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. His hands hovered just above her shoulders.

“Here you go, Doctor,” she said her voice going throaty as she looked up at him.

He swallowed hard once more and said, his voice going a bit hoarse, “Thank you kindly, Nurse Chapel.”

His long fingers brushed against hers as he took the case from her. Christine kept her eyes open and unblinking, her mouth curving upwards ever so slightly.

“You’re most welcome,” she said.

His lips twitched in what she hoped was amusement and then he was gone.

She let herself slump against the shelves and pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks. Then she smiled, straightened up, and went back to her inventory.

It was turning into a pretty good week.

---

Gaila walked into Scotty’s pub to collect lunch for the herself and the girls back at the salon and felt a pang at the familiar smell of oak, beer and the grill working in the back. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she missed Scotty and the life they’d had, but she wasn’t going to be that woman who went crawling back to her old life when her new one threatened to get overwhelming.

Scotty came out from the kitchen and as soon as he spotted her he grinned. That mad, loving, wonderful grin that had charmed her out of her wits. And panties, come to think of it.

“Afternoon, sailor,” she said giving him a grin of her own. “Tell me you have got some fine, fried food for me and mine behind that counter of yours?”

“Of course, my love, anything for you,” Scotty said reaching down and bringing back up a bag with three to-go boxes. “Yours is the one with the extra pickle.”

“You spoil me so,” Gaila said with a sigh. “How much do I owe you?”

“Not a penny and don’t argue,” he said pointing a finger at her. “Just give me and a couple of the boys in the back a trim one of these days.”

“Deal,” she said grabbing his finger and pressing a kiss to it. She pulled the bag towards her and closing her eyes, she breathed in the smell of one of Scotty’s fabulous BLT’s.

“You look tired, love,” Scotty said softly and Gaila’s eyes opened and she met his concerned gaze. “What’s troubling you, darlin’?”

“Nothing,” she said too brightly and she winced as he frowned. “Well, mostly nothing. But, I can handle it.”

“You can handle anything, Gaila, that’s not what worries me,” Scotty said. “It’s the fact that you don’t always have to.”

“Scotty, it’s fine,” she said ignoring the voice inside her that was begging her to tell him about the invoices that were piling up, the creditors that had suddenly come knocking at the door, the fact that she was two months behind on her loan. She was going to do this herself, remember? “And I don’t look too bad, do I?” she asked running a hand through her curls.

“There’s not a thing in this world that could ever make you less than beautiful,” he said with such honesty Gaila felt tears spring to her eyes. She looked away, hoping he didn’t see, but he did. He always saw. “Gaila, love?”

“I’m fine, thanks for lunch, I’ll see you,” she said quickly giving him the barest of smiles. Then she hurried out of the pub.

Scotty watched her go with a worried expression that quickly became determined.

---

Janice answered her phone without looking away from her computer or even checking to see who was calling. “Spock’s due at any time. I’ve already briefed Uhura on the changes you wanted to make to the drive-in’s entrance.”

“Does she want me dead still?” Jim asked. “And don’t think that I don’t think it’s uncanny that you always know it’s me calling.”

“It’s just after lunch,” Janice said. “You’re always late after lunch because at least twelve people stop you between here and Scotty’s to ask you something.”

“Thirteen.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Thirteen people stopped and asked me something today.”

“Ooh, a baker’s dozen,” Janice said with a grin. “Nice work, your honor.”

“Hey, that’s how I roll,” he said and she groaned easily seeing his cheeky grin in her mind.

“Never, ever say that to me again,” she said.

“Too much?”

“Way too much.”

“Well, I’m almost to the office,” he said. “I just had to pick something up first.”

“What?” She frowned. “Sarah already picked up your dry-cleaning.”

“This was more of an impulse buy,” he said his voice actually coming from the doorway.

Janice looked up and her jaw dropped. In a bit of a daze, she hung up the phone and took in the bouquet of sunflowers, cheerful and brilliant and already situated in a lovely glass vase. She closed her mouth and swallowed hard. Jim’s head peeked around the blooms.

“They’re sort of a thank you in advance,” he said. “The council is not going to like the new planning permission forms and I know you’re going to have to deal with the fallout, so...here.”

He thrust the flowers at her and with unsteady hands, she took the flowers and said faintly, “Thank you. They’re... Jim, they’re lovely.”

The smile he gave her wasn’t the trademark Kirk smile, carefully developed over the years to charm and impress. The smile he gave her was almost bashful and Janice couldn’t help but remember him giving her that smile when they were kids and she had been so determined to treat him just like any other kid. She smiled back.

“Whenever I have to explain the reasoning behind the new bureaucracy, I’ll look at them,” Janice said trying to regain her equilibrium. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Jan,” he said.

They sort of stared at each other for a few moments. At first in a kind of peaceful and happy way that eventually dissolved into an awkward silence. The vase was cool and heavy in her hands and Janice looked away to find a place on her desk to set it down. She pushed a book about landscaping to the floor and placed the vase down. The flowers jostled a little and a few petals drifted down.

She smiled again at the flowers and looked back up at Jim who was still looking at the flowers.

He met her eyes and opened his mouth to say something and was interrupted by the door behind him opening.

Spock and Nyota entered looking cool and professional. Nyota met Janice’s eyes and gave her a small grin. Janice returned it. Nyota caught sight of the flowers that Janice was still holding onto and raised an eyebrow.

Janice quickly took her hands away.

“We must discuss the facade to the drive-in,” Spock said to Jim without preamble. He straightened his dark-rimmed glasses. “I think we were optimistic in our initial sketches. It cannot overshadow the landscape, it must enhance it.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Jim said with a quirk of his lips. “Come on into my office. We’ll chat.”

Spock nodded at him and then at Janice. He stopped when he saw the sunflowers on her desk. “You have an admirer, Miss Rand?” he asked.

“Uh, no,” she said dumbly. “They’re, ah, from--”

“Me, actually,” Jim said. “In appreciation for everything she’s done lately.”

“I see,” Spock said while Nyota gave Janice a look that clearly said they would be talking later. Spock continued, “Did you know in the Victorian era, flowers were often used to convey messages? The sunflower was used to convey the message of ‘adoration’ and ‘constancy in affection’.”

Janice’s eyes widened as Jim choked on air and Nyota delicately smothered a chuckle.

“Well, I always learn something new when you come around, Spock,” Jim said. “Thanks.”

He then disappeared into his office, Spock giving Janice a small bow as he followed. Nyota stopped next to her desk.

“They’re very pretty,” she said her fingers caressing a petal.

“Yeah,” Janice said eyeing the flowers with suspicion.

“I sent you the application you asked for,” Nyota said quietly.

“Yes, thank you,” Janice said reaching out and lightly touching the center of a sunflower. “I’ll take a look at it.”

Nyota patted her on her shoulder and went into Jim’s office. Janice sat down heavily in her chair.

She stared at the flowers and at the tiny petals that had fallen earlier. Another fell onto her stapler.

“Yeah,” she repeated to the flowers. “You and me, both.”

---

“You guys do realize this is breaking and entering?” Sulu said for what was probably the fifth time since he’d joined Gaila and Chekov on their little treasure hunt. It was an ordinary Wednesday night and they were trying to get into a house on the edge of Main Street. This was complicated by the fact that Main Street was the only one that had actual street lamps after a certain time. Apparently, it had once belonged to Tiberius Kirk’s agent and – according to Gaila – this meant he’d at least known about the jewels. Maybe stored them somewhere.

“Yes, but we’re not stealing anything,” Chekov said so earnestly Sulu struggled not to pat his curly little head. “We’re just looking.”

“For jewels,” Sulu said his eyes darting over the darkened backyard. “You’re looking for jewels. Jewels that may not even exist. And if they do exist, they are supposedly buried in someone’s house under their floorboards. Why am I even doing this?”

“Because you have a raging crush on Pavel and like the excitement,” Gaila said fussing with the lock on the Brewer’s kitchen door. “Now, hush and swing that flashlight over here.”

Sulu sputtered. “I-- What?”

Chekov looked at him with a pleased smile on his face. “You have crush?”

“No, I don’t have crush,” Sulu said quickly. Then at the downcast look on Chekov’s face he said, “I mean, not that you’re not... It’s just... You have nice hair,” he finished quite lamely.

Gaila snorted while Chekov brightened up again.

“So do you,” he told Sulu. “It’s very dark and thick. It’s very nice.”

“I’ve always thought so, too,” Scotty’s voice interrupted.

The three would-be thieves yelped and turned around in unison.

“Oh, crap,” Sulu said shining his flashlight in Scotty’s face. Scotty made a face and Sulu dropped the beam.

“Scotty! What are you doing here?” Gaila hissed angrily, but gave herself away by twisting her hands around her screwdriver.

Scotty shook his head and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Following you, love,” he said, his normally fond smile shaded with worry and not a small amount of concern. “After the other day, I was worried.” He eyed the lot of them and raised an eyebrow. “Seems I was right to at that.”

Gaila lifted her chin. “Everything’s under control. You can go now.”

“Un huh,” Scotty said. “You’re still looking for the Kirk jewels after all this time? Why?”

“I have my reasons,” Gaila said.

“Which are?”

“None of your business.”

“Gaila.”

“Scotty.”

“I think mom and dad are having a fight,” Sulu whispered to Chekov.

“Yes,” Chekov whispered back. “Is not very nice.”

Gaila rolled her eyes and glared at Chekov. “We’re not fighting. Scotty, this doesn’t concern you, just go. Please.”

Scotty cocked his head to the side and said, “The fact that you’re trying to pick a lock with a screwdriver concerns me. Step aside, gorgeous.”

He stepped in close, winked at Gaila and with a grin, he let the pads of his fingers slide up under her black cap. She slowly smirked when she realized what he was looking for and he smirked back when he found a bobby pin. He slowly pulled it out and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

“Stand back and let me show you how to properly pick a lock,” he said. “And turn that bloody torch off, Sulu, before someone sees us.”

---

When Friday rolled around, Christine was still feeling quite good. Maybe too good, she thought as she rolled out of The Bed.

You said you weren’t going to do this, she thought as she showered. You know, the whole awfulness that was Roger is not worth experiencing again, remember?

Well, yes, she answered herself. But, clearly, McCoy is not Roger.

True, but he comes with his own difficulties, she thought. He has an ex-wife. And a daughter. That’s big, Christine. Very big.

Yeah, but I like kids, she thought as she got out of the shower and toweled off. I think I might do this.

Are you sure? she argued.

Nope. But the prospect of not ever kissing that man is not an option, she thought firmly looking at herself in the fogged up mirror.

She didn’t have a counter argument for that one. Christine nodded and went to get dressed and wait for Janice to pick her up.

On the way into work, Janice looked preoccupied, which seemed to be her default setting these days.

“All right, spill,” Christine said. “You look grumpy.”

“I do not look grumpy,” Janice said glumly. “I look conflicted. Which is what I am.”

“You’re really considering taking the job, aren’t you?” Christine asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

“I am,” Janice said twisting her lips. “Is that wrong?”

“What? Considering a job that would give you a wealth of new experiences while letting you exercise everything you already know in an interesting field while working with intriguing people?” Christine said. “No. Wrong is not the word I’d use. I mean, I’m going to miss you like crazy and we’re going to rack up a deadly phone bill, but no. Honey, it’s not wrong.”

Janice sighed. “Thanks, Chris.”

“I think we need a girl’s night,” Christine said. “My place. Saturday. Sangrias and margaritas and all the fruity drinks we can handle.”

Janice grinned. “Sounds like heaven. And I bet Gaila’s up for it. She’s been looking stressed out for weeks now.”

“I’m worried about her,” Christine said. “She was going on last weekend about doing something stupid. Should we ask?”

“Definitely,” Janice said pulling into the clinic’s parking lot. “But, let’s buffer it with fruity alcohol.”

“And brownies,” Christine said with a decisive nod.

Janice grinned. “Your doctor’s here. And it looks like he brought breakfast.” She nodded at McCoy who was leaning against the side of the clinic, a bag of baked goods and a tray of coffee in his hand.

“He keeps doing that,” Christine murmured. “I keep staring at his wrists, Jan. I think I have a problem.”

“Well, it’s easily solved by having an enthusiastic romp in the bed of yours,” Janice said matter-of-factly. “You should get on that. And by ‘that’, I mean his body.”

“Thanks, Jan,” Christine said getting out of the car. “You’re a peach.”

“Love you, too, Chrissy!” Janice called before pulling away.

Christine shook her head and smiled as McCoy straightened up away from the wall. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” McCoy said. He nodded at Janice’s disappearing car. “That Nora’s daughter?”

“Janice? Yes,” Christine said as she unlocked the door.

“You can tell,” McCoy said with a smirk. “Something in the eyes.”

“Not to mention the rapacious wit,” she said as they walked inside.

“And the chocolate muffin goes to the woman who managed to use the word ‘rapacious’ accurately before eight am,” McCoy said chuckling.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” Christine said with a laugh.

They sat down behind the reception desk and Christine sighed happily as she broke off a piece of her muffin, while McCoy ate his own muffin in five bites exactly.

“So, how much do you want to bet we’ve got another three cases of chicken pox by the end of the day?” he asked arching an eyebrow.

Christine shook her head. “No bet. That’s a sure thing. I’m wondering how many fractured wrists we’re going to get. Supposedly a new skate park opened up on the west side of town.”

“Skateboards,” McCoy said shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “I hate those damn things.”

Christine giggled and ate another bite of muffin.

“So, do I need to stop by the hardware store and pick up your roofing stuff?” he asked, taking the lid off his coffee.

“Oh, Nora was going to take me tonight,” she said. “I’ve already ordered it.”

“I can do it in the morning,” he said with a shrug. “Save you and Nora a trip.”

“You don’t have—“

“I know I don’t have to,” he said reaching his hand out and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I want to.” He frowned. “That’s getting to be a familiar refrain, Chapel. I hate repeating myself.”

“Fair enough,” she said smiling. “It’s under my name. Just ask for Dave. He’ll have the order.”

The door to the clinic opened and Nora came bustling in, her hair a mad riot of brunette curls piled onto the top of her head. Christine grinned to see her wearing her bright red scrub bottoms with the matching top with Dalmatians on it. Christine felt so boring in her plain navy blue scrubs.

“Well, campers, are we ready for a fun day filled with chicken pox and broken wrists?” Nora asked cheerfully giving Christine a wink and pinching McCoy’s cheek.

“Always,” McCoy said dryly as he blushed. Christine just laughed and handed Nora her muffin.

Part IV