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The Captain’s in the Doctors Bed, the First Officer is Playing You All, and Yoemen Run the World:

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Oddly enough it was M’benga who found out.

 

This was Odd, because out of all the crew who were trying to figure out whether or not the Captain and the CMO or sleeping together, he was not one of them. Not that he didn’t join the betting pool. Everyone joined the betting pool. Admiral Archer joined the betting pool.

 

(However this may say more about the gambling habits of StarFleet officers then the behavior of their command crew.)

 

Of course, we must precede this by saying he was not trying to find proof at the time. He was a doctor, he was on duty, and he had not been speculating about the romantic exploits of his very, very, very - attractive Captain. And commanding officer. Nope.

 

No, he was just trying to get a second opinion from one of the five doctors currently on board, two of which were interning residents, with limited (but rapidly growing, thanks away missions!) experience, one of which was him, and the other one had just gone off duty after supervising a twelve hour burn treatment and had told anyone who would listen that she kept a hypo with the tsarilen flu on hand. In case someone got any ideas about waking her up before her next shift. Which was not for another twelve hours.

 

So M’benga did the logical thing, and knocked on McCoy’s door. Normally he would comm him, but there was a good chance he’d already fallen asleep, and nothing but a red alert would wake him before his alarm. It wasn't even that late. There was nothing awkward about dragging your boss out of bed with a house call.

 

He should have just commed him.

 

Thankfully, McCoy answered after the first knock.

 

Dressed in sweats and a ratty t-shirt that was almost too small for him, but awake.

 

“Need you down in medbay Asap. Didn’t want to risk the comm not getting through.” The incredulous eyebrow raise alone made him rethink most of his life choices, but he’d seen it too many times to let it affect him. Much.

McCoy let the door remain open while getting ready, and Geoff could see just past the living space into the bedroom. The CMO quarters were bigger than most, and he’d always operated under the assumption that Len’s living space would be as neat as his office, with not a thing out of place. He was wrong.

There were pads scattered everywhere, with sweaters and dishes and an actual paper book lying open on the couch. The heap of blankets on the bed, he could understand. Maybe McCoy had been sleeping after all. But then the heap of blankets moved, exposing a freckled expanse of golden skin, buried and warm and he really wished that was him. Sleeping, that is. Not specifically here though.

He thought it looked vaguely familiar, in a “ haven’t I treated that ” way, and it wasn't till the blankets moved again and a blonde head buried its way further into the pillows with an adorable little huff that his brain made an odd clicking noise  and he realized he was looking at the captain.

 

In the doctor's bed.

 

Huh.

 

But that was neither here or now, and he filed away that bit of information until such a time as he did not have an Andorian showing symptoms of acute appendicitis, despite Andorians not having appendixes, and shouldn’t everyone just get those fuckers preemptively removed, honestly, it was just safer that way.

 

So it wasn't until 24 hours later that his brain reopened that specific file he’d so neatly tucked away, and right in middle of the mess hall too. Thankfully he still had enough peace of mind to find a seat, sit down, and pour an entire cup of coffee down his throat. And promptly reach for the pitcher at the center of the table, trying to pretend he wasn’t imagining the captain curled up, warm and content and those ridiculous lashes fluttering shut….

 

More coffee. Three cups was acceptable, right?

 

Sulu and Chekov looked up from the padds they were not modifying to act as electronic bookies, vaguely interested and definitely amused at the doctors sudden overconsumption of caffeine. The doctors on Enterprise all cracked at some point. M’benga had held on the longest.

 

M’benga knew precisely why they were looking at him like that. Medbay gossip was the best gossip, since it never had anything to do with the patients. No really, you’d be surprised what people babble about when getting routine vaccinations. He knows more about the ensign dating pool then he ever thought necessary.

And those two definitely had some kind of betting pool running out of rec room three on alternate Thursdays.

 

But M’Benga isn’t thinking about any of that. M’Benga is staring straight ahead, with the sort of detached wonder normally reserved for discovering dilithium, or curing the common cold, or really good chocolate.

 

Setting his now empty cup down with a heavy thunk, he slowly focused on the space between Sulu and Chekov, where the Captain was barely visible behind the hand gestures and waving padds that followed him off duty. Nothing if not professional on the bridge, nothing if not over-enthusiastic off it.

 

“The captain.” He said, swallowing.

 

Chekov and Sulu glanced at each other, a thousand water rations and meal cards dancing before their eyes. They leaned forward, and echoed back, with an almost uncanny precision.

“The Captain?”

 

“The Captain” Geoff drawled out, almost as though he was sure the words would disappear right out of his mouth. “Is in the doctor's bed.” There was a slow, almost dreamy smile that appeared as he poured his fourth cup of coffee.

 

A lesser man would look at the faces before him and speed walk, of not run, in the opposite directions. However Geoff served aboard the Enterprise, where de-aging incidents and slime monsters were called Tuesday, and even then he still felt a little shiver travel up his spine at the absolutely unholy grins creeping over their faces.

 

Or maybe that was just excitement. After all, he had just won a full weeks worth of hot showers.