|
Don't Ask Fandom: Star Trek (2009 movie) When it comes to what the regs coyly describe as personal relationships, Starfleet adopts the age-old policy once described as 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell'. Of course, the kind of social prejudices which once made that necessary have long since vanished, and the policy now has a different rationale behind it: when you deal with over three hundred healthy adult individuals of different sexes, species, social backgrounds and religious beliefs living and working together for months or years on end, the only sane approach is to let everybody get on with whatever the hell they want to do behind closed doors and not inquire too closely. It's a good policy, and one McCoy wholly endorses. The only problem is, as Chief Medical Officer, he's the only person on the ship who can't follow it. Sometimes, someone has to ask the embarrassing questions. He sighs. "How many times, Ensign?" Chekov is actually blushing. "Only once, I swear!" McCoy raises an eyebrow. He's been watching Spock and practicing in front of the mirror, and he's getting better at it. "Mr. Chekov," he says, "if you don't tell me the truth, then the dose of antivirals I'm about to give you will be too low, and you'll start developing symptoms. First your fingertips will turn purple. Then your toes. Then you'll start to experience embarrassing swelling of --" "Five times!" Chekov blurts out. "Actually, kind of six. We didn't, um. Finish that one." McCoy is impressed. He remembers what it was like to be seventeen and have that kind of stamina. "Right, that means you're going to need at least double this dose," he says, and turns away to get another hypospray. "Will this..." Chekov kicks his heels against the side of the bed, looking for all the world like a kid who's been caught stealing sweets, "...cure it?" McCoy takes pity on him. Hell, everyone in the Fleet has had inadvisable physical relations with a member of a non-compatible species once. Although only ever once. At least Chekov's getting his lesson out of the way early in his career. "Sure," he says, administering the spray to
Chekov's neck. "But next time a pretty Ferrellian asks you to go
to bed? Word of advice: play hard to get." |