PART ELEVEN [CLOSED]
PART ONE PART TWO
PART THREE PART FOUR HERE
PART FIVE HERE PART SIX HERE
PART SEVEN HERE
PART EIGHT HERE
PART NINE HERE
PART TEN HERE
PART TWELVE HERE
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"That's not true." McCoy stumbles and Kirk tightens her grip on his waist to keep him upright.
"Oh, no?"
"No. You enjoy being with people. Doesn't make you a whore. You choose who you want to be with. It's consensual. It's alright," McCoy says slowly. "Scumbag back there didn't understand that."
Kirk sighs again, shaking her head. They don't say anything for the rest of the walk back to his building. When they get to the entrance, Kirk reaches across McCoy's groin and sticks her hand in his pocket. McCoy's somewhere between confused and flustered until she pulls out the small cylinder that'll let them into the building and swipes it against the pad on the doorframe. A light blinks green and she pushes the door open, practically dragging him across the threshold. Thankfully, he's on the first floor, so she drags him down the hallway and uses the key again to get into his room.
She guides him straight into the bathroom and drops the lid closed on the toilet and pushes him onto it. Then she locks the door that leads to the other dorm the bathroom is shared with and starts rooting through the medicine cabinet. Once she's pulled out some antiseptic salve and a penlight, she dampens a facecloth and turns to McCoy.
"Could be worse, I guess," she mutters. Then, gently, she lifts McCoy's chin with one hand and dabs his face with the other. "I don't think I've ever had to clean you up before," she says, smiling a little.
"You're generally a helluva lot more trouble," he replies.
Kirk makes a noise of agreement in the back of her throat, now just swiping the facecloth across his forehead, mopping up sweat, he supposes. "You're supposed to keep me grounded."
"But I'm not allowed to keep you safe?"
She freezes. "I can do that myself."
"But you shouldn't have to. Someone should be looking out for you every once in a while."
And now she drops both her hands and straightens up. "You are not my protector, Leonard McCoy," she tells him, blue eyes steely. "You are not my keeper or my father or my boyfriend or my knight in shining armour."
McCoy drops his gaze to the floor. "Sorry."
"Yeah," Kirk says, and then drops the facecloth and grabs the salve. "Just don't let it happen again. You're a doctor, not a fighter." Again, she holds his chin while she rubs a bit of the salve across his cheek. It stings, so he guesses there's a contusion there she's treating for him. The whole unusual situation, with her taking care of him after a fight, instead of it being the other way around, is both nice and scary. Her touch is gentle and sure, even if her tongue stings a bit. At the same time, his thoughts on her are a little more complex than he ever remembers them being before.
When she's done with the salve, Kirk grabs the penlight and shines it in McCoy's eyes, lips pressed together. "Your pupils are funny," she says, after some deliberation.
Well that goes along with the rest of his self-diagnosis. "I should be fine if I just get some rest."
"Hmm," Kirk says, as she moves back to the cabinet. She pulls out a vial and a hypospray. "This one to avoid cerebral haemorrhaging, right?" she asks, holding up the vial.
McCoy gives a small nod, impressed that she remembers. He generally thinks she's pretty out of it whenever he gives her the same treatment after a rough night. But, apparently, she's paid attention after all. Kirk loads the hypospray like a pro and then laughs a little as she administers it through McCoy's shirt sleeve.
"I've always wanted to do that."
McCoy rolls his eyes, which is a mistake, because it hurts like hell. "Of course."
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