YES YES A THOUSAND TIMES YESSSSS (and also thank you)
“Oh my god,” she whispers, taking a step back and then another one and seriously contemplating just booking it down the street before the Commander can finish turning around.
“Oh my god,” she breathes again, instead of what she should do, which is either make a break for it or stand up straight and try to act as professional as she can.
She’s wearing heels. She’s not sure how far she’ll get. She’s also three Cardassian Sunrises into her Saturday evening and she’s not entirely certain that ‘professional’ is something she has in her.
She mostly has rum in her. And some Denubian brandy. And what she’s pretty sure is an increasing sense of doom as she feels her career crumble around her in the echo of the feeling of his shoulders under her hands and the eyebrow that is rapidly rising, the one she knows from lectures and isn’t something she should be seeing on the sidewalk outside of Mo’s on a warm evening when it wasn’t even supposed to be him with his back to her but McCoy.
She’s going to recommend to someone important - an Admiral maybe or the president of the Federation - that medical staff and science officers get different colored shirts. Or maybe she’ll just tell them that they shouldn’t have even issued McCoy one because he’s still a cadet, even if he’s also some hot shot doctor who from the back looks a hell of a lot like her Advanced Morphology instructor.
Or maybe he doesn’t look like him at all and that’s the shot of jack she wouldn’t let Kirk pay for talking.
She’s scrutinizing him, trying to figure out which it is when she realizes that he’s been speaking to her.
“Is there something that you require?” she hears him ask and really, really hopes that she hasn’t missed anything else he’s said. Or, actually, hopefully she missed an entire dressing down and now it’s over with and she won’t even have to remember it. She’s pretty sure that she can wipe the rest of this entire encounter away with enough Slusho mix, too.
“I-“ she starts, then from somewhere down deep, the same place that probably got her through her Academy entrance exams and every single interaction with Kirk and the Commander’s midterm paper, she clears her throat and says, “I was hoping to ascertain if you had received my application for the position of your teaching assistant next semester.”
She tries very hard to not let her hands fidget, which is harder than the pop quiz he gave them in class last week because at least then she had done the reading and now she’s suddenly aware of standing in front of him in a very, very short and very, very tight dress.
“Is that all?”
No, not really because she really wants to know what he’s even doing there and why he’s out on a weekend instead of in some lab somewhere and who picked out that sweater of his because it looks frankly delicious on him.
Which is irrelevant. Illogical, probably. She can ask him about it on Monday morning in class except for the fact that she is never, ever going to think about this moment again for the rest of her life.
Somewhere along the line she must have nodded and she just really hopes it wasn’t while she was taking in how well his slacks fit him, because he gives her one last inscrutable look before turning around again and continuing wherever he was going when she first saw him.
And jumped on his back.
She needs that Slusho mix. And also to not be staring at his ass like she is.
“Who was that?” she hears from behind her and turns to find Kirk also watching the Commander’s retreating back.
“Nobody.” McCoy is really only still a cadet because Kirk wouldn’t let him quit that first week, which basically makes this is entirely his fault, so she feels no guilt in saying, “We need more drinks. You’re buying.”