Title: McCoy's Hands
Fandom: Star Trek 2009
Pairing: McCoy/Chapel ish
Spoilers: pre-movie at the Academy
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Doctor up, McCoy, apparently I've broken my ankle."

A/N: This was originally written for the McCoy-a-thon happening over at LiveJournal. I've finally cleaned up the grammar and spelling. Let me know what you think! Its something of an outtake from another story I'm considering. Pure, unadulterated fluff and UST.

"Fancy meeting you here," a voice murmured into her ear.

Christine Chapel looked up and over at McCoy who dropped into the chair next to her.

"Up for your field medicine certificate renewals too?" she said.

"Unfortunately," he said his voice rough and scratchy.

"Just how much did Kirk make you drink last night?" she asked wryly as she looked over his slumped posture.

"I'm a grown man, no one makes me do anything," he said. Then with a quirk of his lips, "And I lost count after awhile."

"Grown man indeed," Christine said. She shook her head and turned to pay attention to the instructor.

The man went over all the latest tech for field medicine and Chapel did her best to attentive and studious, the opposite of McCoy. She hadn't realized a person could actually snore with their eyes open.

Finally the instructor told them to pair up and practice rudimentary bandaging on each other. Chapel fought the urge to roll her eyes and accidently elbowed McCoy in his ribs when she stood up.

"I'm awake!" he said loudly. Christine's face flushed as the class looked over.

"What?" he bellowed at them, scowl firmly fixed on his face.

"You know it's a damn good thing you're as good as you are," she said through clenched teeth. McCoy snorted as she walks away to get the sample bandages and their mock scenarios.

When she got back he seemed to be marginally more alert.

"Will you kick me if I say ladies first?" he asked, his scowl more sheepish than grumpy.

"Nope, but I will ignore you," she said. She tossed the bandages in his lap. "Doctor up, McCoy, apparently I've broken my ankle."

He made a face and gestured for her to sit in the chair. She sat and he knelt on the ground in front of her muffling a groan as he went, she smirked a little and before she can say anything, he cut her off.

"Not a word, Chapel," he growled.

"Lips are sealed, McCoy," she said.

McCoy placed the bandages on the ground and with his customary furrowed brow, put his hands on her calf and raised her right leg. He swiftly pushed her pants leg up to her knee and carefully unzipped the boot. He pursed his lips and slowly slid the boot off her foot. Christine all of a sudden remembered the socks she'd thrown on that morning and winced. McCoy took in the pattern on her sock and to his credit, only allowed a small smile to cross his lips. He looked up at her with the question apparent in his eyes.

"Are those pink and purple kittens?" he asked.

"A gift from my niece," Chapel admitted. "Because I can't have a pet on campus."

"Thoughtful," he commented.

"She's six," she explained.

"Extremely thoughtful," he said. Then he grinned and Chapel rolled her eyes.

"Let's go Doctor, my ankle won't heal itself," she said.

He set her boot down and adjusted himself so that her still sock-clad foot rested on his thigh. Chapel set her lips and watched. McCoy reached up and started to peel her sock off of her leg and she had the irrational thought that she's glad she remembered to shave her legs and oh dear Lord... Her lips relaxed and she suppressed the urge to sigh.

He peeled the sock off so slowly (to make sure he doesn't jar any of the broken bones, her nurse voice said) but do his hands have to be that warm? And firm? And incredibly large?

The sock was off and on the ground and he settled her foot back on his thigh and Chapel remembered that she was supposed to be breathing. He placed one hand on her calf and slowly pressed all along her shin bone, his thumbs made slight circular motions and she had to tell herself not to sigh, don't sigh, unprofessional to sigh, you're a nurse, don't sigh!

She sighed.

His hand froze. She froze. He looked up.

"Problem, Chapel?" he asked with that eyebrow thing he does. "Would you prefer me to just jump right in without the preliminaries?"

"What?" she said blankly, because his hands are still on her leg and they're warm and has it really been that long since a man touched her?

"I'm checking that the break didn't go further than your ankle," McCoy explained patiently as though she weren't a nurse with the education and field work to back her up. "I'm not going to just bind it up without seeing the whole picture."

Oh, he was talking about the ankle. Right.

"No, no, you're the doctor," she told him loftily, attempting to mask that she felt terribly unsettled by his touch. He glared at her and then went back to her foot.

He finished pressing along her shin bone and then put his entire hand along the base of her foot and how is his hand that big? The tip of his middle finger went just a bit past the tip of her foot, and McCoy began to press each and every inch of Chapel's foot, so she fixed her eyes straight ahead and pretended to read the notes left on the screen down front. Her mind however, continued to blather.

Oh my goodness gracious me... Oh I say... She has no idea when her libido picked up an English accent, but crikey, the man could touch.

His fingers were strong and (dextrous, so dextrous, imagine what they can do to other parts of your anatomy) they pressed along the top of her foot feeling each bone and how are they so smooth? This was McCoy. The guy to complain about relearning stuff with. He was not supposed to have sex hands.

He pressed the underside of her foot and he found each and every one of her tense spots and when he came across one particularly hard knot he took a moment to massage it. Then he gently squeezed each toe and rotated them slightly (ascertaining their range of movement, her nurse voice helpfully piped up with). A finger diligently pressed the juncture between each toe. He trailed the pads of his fingers along the line of her instep and around her heel. Then he moved on and pressed all along her Achilles tendon and God, if she didn't know any better, she'd have thought he was doing this on purpose. She couldn't believe how thorough he's being and if he knew the effect he's having on her, he'd never let her live it down. She glanced down and that's when she saw it.

He was smirking.

The sonofabitch is smirking.

It's a small smirk, just a corner of his mouth is turned up slightly, but it was there.

Damn it.

Damn him.

Damn him with his skilled surgeon's hands and prickly exterior that constantly lulled her into a false sense of security. Because there is no way that the McCoy who admonishes Jim Kirk when he flirts with the world and answers simple questions with a growl, could have hands that are so gentle and steady that if he brushed against the pulse point in her ankle one more time she was going to embarrass herself.

And he knew it.

Double damn it.

Double damn him.

And while she's at it, double damn her for being this responsive to someone touching her. She's glad she's got all those years of training behind her so she can hide the fact that she was unbelievably turned on and seething with anger behind an impassive face.

Consummate professional, that's her.

McCoy reached for the bandages and began the process of binding her foot. He brushed up against that spot on her ankle and she couldn't stop the slight hitch her breath made and because he's McCoy, he noticed.

"Too tight?" he asked, both corners of his lips (he's got soft hands, that could mean his lips are soft too, her libido chirped) turned up.

"No, its fine," she said after a moment. "I can take it."

"I have no doubt of that," he said. He went back to wrapping her ankle.

He picked up the adhesive with one hand and using his teeth, tore off a strip.

Why? Why is that hot? She asked herself as she watched him finish bandaging up her ankle.

"Well, Chapel, you are all set," he said as he set her foot down on his thigh. He looked up at her with a terribly knowing look. "Anything else I can take care of while I'm down here?"

Her mouth dropped open and she was all set to lay into him when he chuckled a little and looked down.

"Sorry, Christine," he said. "I've obviously been hanging around Jim too long. It just sort of came out."

McCoy raised his head to look at her and he looked so penitent and still hungover that she only chuckled and decided to mark the whole exercise up to both of them being tired and bored.

"Forget about it," she said and looked down at the neatly bandaged ankle. He did a good job; it's very compact and no frills. She tried to rotate it. "Pretty good. If you can be this competent with a hangover, I can't wait to see what you can do stone cold sober."

"Thanks a lot," he said sarcastically and he started to undo the bandage. The bandage came off and as the pressure around her ankle loosened Christine started to sigh, but it caught in her throat when McCoy blatantly trailed a finger down the underside of her foot. Her eyes widened. He looked back up at her with that smirk.

"I never took you for being ticklish," he said impishly, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Yeah, well," she said. She tore her eyes away and with as much dignity as she could manage she pulled on her kitten sock and zipped her boot back up. McCoy continued to kneel there with an amused, measuring look on his face. Christine glanced over at the mock scenario she'd been given for him and slowly began to grin.

She stood up quickly and he fell back a little to rest on his haunches. Christine towered over him still grinning. McCoy started to look worried. Good. He should worry.

"Lay down, McCoy," she ordered him. "You've fractured your pelvis."