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Everyone was born with the Mark somewhere on their body. Throughout the entirety of space, it was the one thing that all species had in common. Usually small, it was different for each person, except for the one it matched. That was your soulmate, the one (or sometimes more) that destiny decided would be your perfect fit. Leonard McCoy hated it. The sunburst that lay over his heart mocked him whenever he looked at it. He hated that he had no apparent control over who he could love and be with. That attitude led him to convince his high school sweetheart to marry him, despite their different Marks. They truly loved each other-until she met the man that bore the same Mark as herself. She left him in a heartbeat. He went to that shuttle to Starfleet with no other choice.
(Looking back, he had to admit that they probably would have separated sooner or later whether she had met her match or not)
“All I got left is my bones,” is what he told that yahoo that would become his best friend. At the time, it was certainly true.
Three years later, and he was still wondering why the hell he hung around Jim Kirk. Then he would do something stupid again, and he would remember how therapeutic it was to make fun of someone who made it so very easy. Like taking the Kobayashi Maru. Again.
Idiot.
And really, he couldn’t leave Jim moping in the hangar looking like a lost puppy (and he may have wanted to get a one up on that green-blooded hobgoblin), so he took him along. And then the shit storm happened. Explosions and screams and death-not the way he intended to become senior medical officer-and the destruction of Vulcan along with the disappearance of the captain. Then of course, Jim had to rile up the pointy eared bastard and get himself ejected from the goddamn ship.
Aaaaaannd returns. With a weird Scotsman. And manages to emotionally compromise Spock, of all people. To become captain. What even.
But no. This obviously was not enough for the fucking universe to throw at him. He’s arguing with Jim about what the hell he plans to do now when they’re interrupted by an excited Russian accented voice. The young man is explaining some sort of complicated plan when Bones felt something like a pull inside of him. He looked over-and caught sight of the Mark on the kid’s neck. His Mark. His goddamn matching Mark right for everyone to see. And the owner of it explaining what could be quantum physics for all he knows.
“Wait a minute, how old are you kid?” The question’s out before he could stop himself.
“Sewenteen, sir,” the kid says proudly. There is also a note of curiosity in his eyes that makes him wonder if he felt the pull as well. McCoy lets out a helpless breath at that and turned to Jim.
“Oh, good, he’s seventeen.” There must have been something in his face that gives his (mostly) hidden panic away, because Jim frowns. A quick look over to the kid-Chekov or something?-and his eyes widen almost imperceptively when he sees what his friend had seen. They had roomed together at the Academy, and Jim knew what that Mark meant to Leonard. Luckily, he shook the matter off, and they got on with trying to save the damn planet. McCoy sighed, shoving his little crisis to the back of his mind. He’d deal with it later.
After everything was done-bad guys defeated, awards won, Kirk as captain with Spock as first officer (he did not see that playing out like it did), and back in space-did McCoy think about the implications of the Mark on Chekov (Pavel Chekov, he got the name from one of the other crew members). The boy was so young, and Leonard was...not so much. So many things could go wrong and...it just wasn’t worth it. He’d gone this long without a soulmate, he could get through the rest of his life without one just the same. He ignored the voice in the back of his mind whispering questions of what the kid would want. He knew it wouldn’t be him. He would ignore the pull that told him to find the young man and make sure he would never leave his sight again. That was what he would do, and no one would convince him otherwise. So, of course, Jim had to come and pester him about it.
“Come on, Bones, you could at least give it a try,” he wheedled.
“No,” he replied flatly. Jim frowned.
“Why not? Most people would be ecstatic at finding their soulmate.” McCoy ignored the slightly wistful tone the captain’s voice had taken on. He hadn’t found his match yet, his own Mark resembling a bird’s wing on his right shoulder, though his method of coping (sleeping with anything that accepted his advances) would probably let him find his sooner or later. Maybe.
“And would you want your soul mate to be a prickly divorced man over fifteen years your senior?” McCoy scoffed. “Trust me Jim, I’m doing this kid a favor. And I know you are going to do nothing to interfere.” The last was said with a glare that threatened many terrible things. Jim raised his hands innocently.
“Cross my heart and hope to die, Doc,” he said with a smile, backing out of the examination room.
“Cross your heart my ass,” he muttered.
Despite his best intentions, McCoy finds himself on the bridge more often than not when he has free time. He’d like to say it’s to watch Jim make a fool out of himself (though he does seem to be doing that less and less under the (very) watchful eye of Spock), but from the way his eyes are always drawn to the Mark on Chekov’s neck, he can’t even fool himself for long. That’s without the knowing looks he starts to get from Uhura, Sulu, even Spock occasionally. At least his-the kid stays oblivious.
And of course the kid is a genius, of course he has an almost permanent positive attitude, of course he is sometimes so damn beautiful that McCoy can’t breathe for several long seconds. He’s over half-way gone on the kid before he even realizes he’s begun to fall. And the Mark is still there on his neck, on display for the world to see. Bones pretends it doesn’t kill him inside a bit every time he sees it, equal parts possession and despair warring within him.
(He was so focused on trying hide his own growing feelings that he missed all the times that Chekov’s eyes were turned towards him)
It’s time for the bi-annual exams (and if he is gentler with a certain Russian than anyone else, no one would know but him) when Bones gets a laugh of his own. He was just finishing looking over Spock when he sees the Mark on his hip. It is shaped like a bird’s wing, the exact same as Kirk’s. He manages to keep a straight face until the first officer is out the door. Then proceeds to laugh himself sick. He is finally winding down when here is a hesitant knock on the open door. He looks up to see Chekov (and pointedly ignores the lurch his heart gives).
“Doctor? Ze keptin wants you on ze bridge.” The kid is still side eyeing him, and Bones realizes the slightly hysterical grin is still present on his face.
“Ever just get blindsided by something you completely did not expect?” is his only explanation (and yes, he got the irony, thank you very much). Chekov nods, giving a smile of his own. Bones waves his hand, telling the other to walk with him. “So, what does our esteemed captain need me for?” Bones had the inkling that it would be something trivial and just a ploy to get him talking to the kid.
“I believe he had started arguing with Mr. Spock as soon as he got back and wanted a second opinion.” McCoy snorted.
“Of course he does.” He just couldn’t wait to see the look on the captain’s and first officer’s faces when they found out that they were bonded. Then again, Spock had split with Uhura recently, and the two did spend a lot of time together...
Whatever.
He was aware that they had fallen into a silence that, while not completely uncomfortable, seemed heavier than it should. He found his eyes wandering back to the sunburst on Chekov’s neck. This time, the younger noticed, fingers coming up to press it self-consciously.
McCoy flushed and looked away.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. Most people considered their Marks extremely private things, something just between them and their match. Chekov shrugged.
“Is fine. I have yet to find to my dusha.”
“Dusha?”
“Da. Means, umm...soul. Is how we Russians call it.” Chekov’s smile dimmed and he looked away. “I have not yet met mine. There is someone I hoped...but is impossible, I am thinking.” McCoy did his best not to look like that sentence just damn near broke his heart.
“Listen, kid. I don’t need to tell you that this universe is bigger than all of us can imagine, and it could take years to find one person in it. So if there is someone you think can make you happy, even if they don’t match you, go for it. Anyone would be lucky to have you, and screw anyone that tells you otherwise.” He had not meant to be that honest, and he had no idea what the expression he had was saying. But from the way Chekov stared up at him, searching his face like they held the answer he wanted, McCoy felt like his jig was up. But damn if he wanted to see the kid smile, even if it couldn’t be him that gave him reason to. Chekov opened his mouth to speak-
-and hell broke loose. Again.
“Goddammit, Jim,” Bones growled as the ship shook violently. Both of them raced the rest of the way to the bridge. Emergency lights flashed, and he knew he would have to get back to the medical bay. Just as soon as he figured out who the hell his friend had managed to piss off this time. The doors opened to chaos, everyone racing to their stations and yelling out the stats of the ship. Jim spotted him at once, just as Chekov ran to his post.
“Klingons in our territories,” he said without prompting. “Not my fault this time, but we need you back in medical, pronto.” Bones risked one last glance at Chekov, and Jim softened his tone. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Now go.” So he ran.
After the battle (the cowards turned tail as soon as the Enterprise started to open fire) the med bay was busy, but there had been no deaths. The shields had held, though the impact explosions had sent many people stumbling into lacerations and broken bones, with a few concussions. Nothing he and the nurses couldn’t handle, though some of the people didn’t deal with the pain well. Babies. It was enough to take hours to get through, and he was dead tired by the time Jim came down, along with Spock and Chekov. He immediately looked over all of them, and, seeing no injuries, let his body relieve the tension he didn’t know it held.
“All accounted for and healing,” he said, rubbing his tired eyes. Chekov made a distressed noise, and suddenly the Russian was right in front of him, touching his arm with an anxious look. Once he managed to tear his eyes away, he saw that one of the patients had managed to scratch at his arm before he put them under.
“And you are also all right, doctor?” The kid sounded so earnest and worried, staring up at him. And he was so very close. McCoy would only have to lean forward the slightest bit to-he cut that thought off before he could finish it.
“I’m fine, darlin’. Just a scratch.” He honestly did not notice the endearment slipping out until Chekov blushed a bright red, the hand that remained on his arm tightening the slightest bit, and he felt the pull pulse with energy. Jim cleared his throat, making them jump apart. McCoy caught the apology in the captain’s expression before he spoke.
“I actually came to order you to get some sleep. I know how you get when you have people in here. We’re well into the neutral zone, so there’s very little chance of anything happening.” Bones raised an eyebrow.
“With you at the helm, that’s no reassurance. Just send a message through the com if you need me.” He walked towards his quarters without looking back at anyone. Who knew what would manage to slip out next?
(He didn’t notice the way Chekov eyes followed his departure wistfully as Jim face-palmed at the blind stupidity of his crew)
Something changed then, in a way that McCoy was definitely not complaining about. He and Chekov seemed to have more time off together: meals were spent together with their other friends in the mess (it didn’t escape his attention that everyone shifted one day so that they always ended up sitting together). Whenever Jim needed to tell Bones something, he would send Chekov instead of calling him up on the com. Little things like that. Whenever McCoy would try to confront Jim about it, the captain would only change the subject. He probably wouldn’t have minded so much if it didn’t seem like Jim had recruited the whole damn ship into some sort of matchmaking company. Then again, whenever Jim annoyed him too much, he would just mention how he’s stopped sleeping around with everyone and decided to spend his time instead by playing chess with Spock. Then Jim would change the subject for a different reason.
(Bones had decided not to tell Jim that he had found his match, thinking that it would be better for them to find out for themselves)
It was over a month and a half after the incident in the medical bay when Jim forced everyone he could claim as a friend on the ship to go with him to a bar on shore leave. Bones knew that this would not end well. Jim and bars don’t mix, unless it’s with the blood of the captain and whoever he managed to piss off. Not to mention he would be keeping a close eye on Chekov (now 18 and over the legal drinking age for the planet they were on) to make sure that he didn’t get in trouble either. Unless it was the type of trouble that he’d want to be in. Which Bones was trying very hard not to think about.
They sat at the biggest table they could find, a booth in the corner of the crowded establishment. McCoy smiled as Chekov bounced in his seat, excited after being on the ship for so long.
“I’ll go get us some drinks. Any preferences, Chekov?” Jim asked. Chekov smiled.
“A Red Russian, please.”
“I have no idea what that is, but I’ll order it anyway.” McCoy raised an eyebrow as Jim walked away.
“Two questions: what is a Red Russian and did you order it just because of the name?” Chekov smiled cheerfully.
“Is mint tea and wodka, surprisingly good. And ze name is good to. The Russians inwented wodka, of course.” Everyone (except Spock, of course) at the table laughed.
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Uhura commented. Sulu was telling everyone about his plants by the time Jim got back with the drinks. Bones grabbed his (a plain beer, thank you very much) and drank sparingly. He knew he’d probably have some need to be clear-headed by the end of the evening. He was still on his second while the others were on the third and fourth drinks by the time that he figured out that Chekov could not hold his liquor at all. By his second, he started to smile uncontrollably wide, and laugh just a bit too loud, by the fourth he would randomly giggle and sway slightly ever so often. McCoy was finding it very hard not to find this adorable. And more than a little distracting, the way the Russian would glance at him, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling and half-lidded with drink (he’s a doctor, dammit, not a saint).
Unfortunately, he was not the only one to notice the young man. Bones, Chekov, Spock, and Uhura were the only ones at the table, the rest having gone off to dance, when a human came up to the table, eyes glued on Chekov. Completely ignoring everyone else at the table, he leaned down to address the Russian.
“I couldn’t help but notice you. I wondered if I could buy you a drink.” The way he stated it made it seem more like a command than a question. The others bristled at his entitled tone as Chekov blinked, looking slightly uneasy.
“Thank you, but I think that I have maybe had enough for ze moment,” he said politely. The man shrugged, smile unabated.
“Would you like to dance then? I’m sure your friends wouldn’t mind if I took you away from them.” Chekov shook his head, still managing to look polite.
“Sorry, but I would not feel comfortable leaving them.” McCoy was trying not to let his temper get the best of him and pushed down the urge to punch the smarmy bastard. Suddenly he didn’t wonder at all how Jim got into so many fights, if this was how he made others feel. Spock and Uhura also looked irritated on Chekov’s behalf, but also weren’t trying to interfere. Chekov had looked back at his friends, trying to indicate that the conversation was over. Smarmy Bastard didn’t like that. He tried once again.
“Hey, don’t be like that. I don’t bite-unless you want me to.” And that was all Bones could take. He glared at the stranger, slipping a proprietary arm around Chekov’s shoulder and letting his fingertips just barely brush against the Mark on his neck. He felt the bond surge in interest, and prayed to god that there would be no lasting effects, no matter how much he wanted them.
“I think he said that he was not interested,” McCoy drawled, southern accent coming out thicker with his anger. He tried not to let his body react to the way Chekov shivered at his touch and leaned into him. The stranger looked between his glare and the way he touched the Mark and took a step back, making the assumption that Bones had hoped he would.
“Look, he should have said he was bonded already. He could give people the wrong idea with how he acts.” Bones bared his teeth in the rictus of a grin.
“Or you could take a hint and pike off when someone clearly ain’t interested. It’s called decency, something you could get more of. Now scram.” As soon as he was out of earshot, he looked down at Chekov.
“I know you could have handled that yourself, just thought that that would be faster,” he said, worried that he might have offended the younger man. Chekov shook his head.
“Nyet. I don’t know how to say stop, and I appr- appreci- liked your help.” McCoy smiled helplessly at the jumbled sentence, and everything was back to normal. It wasn’t until he looked up to see Spock giving a pointed look that he realized he hadn’t removed his arm, and was still absently stroking the Mark. He took his fingers away. He didn’t remove his arm. Their friends returned and, seeing their positions, were given a brief explanation of the events that occurred. There was no surprise at the possessive display. Bones thought that should worry him, but decided he did not want to deal with this hiding bullshit anymore. At least not for the night.
McCoy didn’t realize how much of a lightweight Chekov actually was until the full weight of his body leaned into his side. McCoy froze, looking down to see the young man had fallen asleep against him.
“Chekov?” he asked warily. His only answer was garbled Russian as his companion burrowed further into his side, hand clutching at his shirt. “I’m not a damned teddy bear,” he muttered, voice strangled with (stupid, stupid) emotions. He sighed, looking up at his friends. Uhura and Scotty looked like they wanted to take a picture, Spock looked emotionless but still radiated impatient irritation, Sulu had hidden his face in his hands, and Jim looked...well, Jim looked angry.
“I swear to God Bones, you have got to stop with this useless pining and tell the brat how you feel. You could be happy, he could be happy, and someone will finally win the betting pool that’s been going around for nearly a year now.”
“You have a-? Never mind.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “Mark or no Mark, he shouldn’t have to settle for a grouchy old doctor when he could have just about anyone he wanted. I already had one person leave me when they found something better, and I don’t want to have to go through that again.” Especially when what he felt for Chekov far eclipsed what he had felt for his wife, though he wouldn’t mention that. Surprisingly, it was Spock that answered him.
“You may find, Doctor, that the results you may get far outweigh the risk of failure, in this case, at least.” McCoy sighed again.
“Look, I’m-well, not happy, but content with how we are now. If you guys are just seeing what you want see...I don’t want to lose what little I have. So it’ll stay how it is, and no one will say a word. Right?” He glared at them until they all agreed. Once they did, he gently shook Chekov awake.
“Hnn?” He blinked up at him.
“Time to head back to housing, sweetheart,” he said gently, letting the endearment out with the knowledge that Chekov would probably not remember it and ignoring the pointed looks from his friends. Still mostly asleep, Chekov nodded, stumbling out of the both and steadying himself on the table.
“You good?” he asked. The Russian smiled at him.
“Da, lyubov’ moya,” he slurred. Both Spock and Uhura (both able to speak Russian) looked more than a little surprised at his words. McCoy decided not to ask, as he let Chekov lean against him as they left the bar.
(As soon as they were gone, Jim pestered them until they told him what Chekov had said. Then he hit his head against the table repeatedly, muttering about idiot doctors and officers too stupid to realize what they could have if they would just say something)
It took Chekov nearly falling on his face three times for McCoy to realize that letting him walk wasn’t the best idea. Knowing he’d never hear the end of it if it got back to the captain, he picked the young man up, arms behind knees and shoulders and thankful that vanity had made him stay in shape. Chekov didn’t seem to mind at all, arms automatically winding around his neck and happily muttering in Russian. Then he had to go and freakin’ nuzzle against him, burying his face in his shoulder and smiling like a loon. The kid was going to be the death of him one of these days. He ignored the way the bond pulsed happily between them. He somehow made it to Chekov’s room, managing to get the key card from the loopy man and putting him to bed (and wasn’t that a turn of phrase that the doctor tried to keep away from, if only to preserve his sanity). He closed the door with a sigh, making his way to his own room. He barely had energy to undress and throw on some sleep pants before falling into bed and wondering when his life had acquired so much drama.
The next morning, McCoy woke up to knocking on his door. He groaned, happy that he hadn’t had more to drink so that his headache wasn’t worse. The knock came again.
“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses.” He shuffled to the door, not bothering to see who it was before he opened it. Chekov stood there, looking sheepishly down at the ground.
“I vanted to apologize. I think I was most odd last night, though I can’t really remember it zat vell.” McCoy chuckled, noticing that the accent got thicker with a hangover.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Just turns out that you’re an affectionate, sleepy drunk.” Chekov flushed and shuffled his feet before looking up.
“Still, I should-” He stopped abruptly, staring at Bones’ chest. That was when the doctor remembered that he only wore a pair of low-slung sweatpants. Nothing else. And that his Mark was on full display. Chekov’s eyes narrowed.
“Durak,” he hissed. Without warning, he pushed McCoy back into his room, following him and shutting the door behind them. “Pochemu ty ne skazal mne? Ya khotel tebya mesyatsami, a ty nichego ne govoril!. Idiot!”
And with that, he firmly grasped the doctor’s face, pulling him down into a fierce kiss. McCoy’s body reacted on instinct, hands grabbing the other’s hips to pull them flush together, and deepening the kiss as he felt his Mark burn under his skin as the bond solidified. All the reasons he had tried to stop this from happening fled from his mind. There was a flurry of movement, and then he had Chekov pressed against the dresser for leverage as they continued to move against one another. McCoy broke the kiss, immediately moving to bite and suck at the Mark (his Mark, their Mark) on Chekov’s neck, the way he’s wanted to for months. He heard a gasp, followed by broken Russian in a breathy voice that he wanted to listen to for the rest of their goddamned lives.
“Nyet, let me-” he heard before he was pushed back just far enough to get some space between them. He caught a glimpse of eyes as dark as he knew his own must be, then they were gone as he leaned forward again, pressing his mouth softly against the Mark over his heart. And Christ, it felt like a bolt of energy to have someone-no, to have Chekov touch him like that. No wonder he had reacted that way the night before. Chekov kissed the sunburst once more. Then he bit it. Hard. McCoy yelped in surprise as Chekov glared up at him.
“Stupid man,” he said. “Worrying about stupid things only you worry about. I wanted zis, and I believe you did, too. Idiot!” McCoy snorted, grinning crookedly at the other.
“You could have said something yourself, darlin’,” he replied. Chekov grinned dopily at the endearment and shrugged.
“You were married at one point. Someone like her could have been what you were wanting, not Russian boy too smart for his own good.” McCoy pretended to consider that for a moment.
“Nah. No comparison.” He kissed him again, softer and without the desperation of before. Chekov’s answering smile lit up the room.
It was two days later, after they returned to the ship and departed, when Bones made his way to the bridge. As soon as he walked through the door, Jim accosted him, looking frantic.
“Okay, so I don’t know what happened, just...don’t go ballistic or make that heartbroken puppy dog face that I know you can make even though you always deny it.” McCoy would have been concerned if he didn’t already have a good idea of what Jim was worried about. Wordlessly, he walked around Jim and headed over to where Chekov sat. He pretended not to notice that most everyone in the bridge was looking at them as surreptitiously as they could manage. Chekov looked up, smiling happily as his skin flushed, making the marks visible on his skin from their...earlier exertions stand out even more. Knowing that the others were watching, he rolled his eyes before bending to kiss his soulmate’s forehead, letting his fingers brush obviously along their Mark.
“Fucking finally!” Jim yelled. Spock berated him for language use, but also managed to look mildly pleased. Sulu and Uhura traded Cheshire cat grins (he did not want to know what that was about) and he pretended not to notice money exchanging hands (it also turned out that Scotty had won the large pool, something the Scotsman thanked them for, as it allowed him to buy more scotch). Damn nosy bastards. But, as he looked into the smiling face of the one he had come to love, he found he wouldn’t change anything.
(He got his revenge several months later, when Spock caught sight of Jim’s Mark on an exploratory on-planet mission, and sent everyone into hysterics when they came back bonded)