"Congratulations, you've officially become a medical miracle," McCoy announced, tossing you a PADD.
You blinked up at him in confusion. "I've . . . what?"
"I can't find a single thing wrong with you," he said, grinning. "You're free to go."
"Finally!" you exclaimed, jumping out of the med bed and giving him a relieved hug in your bout of excitement. "I told you I heal fast!"
He chuckled. "Yes, you did, and it looks like you were right."
"Pff, of course I'm right," you teased, snatching up the PADD. "Have I ever been wrong?"
"Well, I believe you were wrong about that last away mission being safe," he said, a twinkle in his eyes. "You almost died as a result of some screwed-up ship's readings."
You rolled your eyes in an exaggerated way. "I lived. Therefore it was safe enough."
"I don't think that's how safety works."
"Well, that's how it works for me," you declared. "I'm supposed to report to the lab now, right?"
"As soon as you leave," McCoy agreed, then paused. "Say, (Y/N), do you think you'll be busy after your shift?"
"Probably not," you said thoughtfully. "Why?"
"Would you like to join me for dinner?"
You blinked, then stared. "Um‒"
No one had ever asked you out before, and you were caught off-guard by the suddenness of it. You didn't really see the doctor as a potential partner. There was nothing wrong with him; you even considered him a possible friend, which was an entirely new area for you to begin with. But dating? No. You weren't sure why, but you felt like you just . . . shouldn't.
You tried to smile, hoping not to offend him. "E-erm, I'm sorry, but I – I have, um, plans. I'm sorry."
You cringed internally. What kind of an excuse was that?! You had just told him you didn't have plans about five seconds ago!
He looked mildly disappointed, but he didn't push the matter. "That's all right, (Y/N). I just thought . . . never mind."
"I'm sorry," you said awkwardly. "I just – sorry."
"Don't worry about it." He grinned, poking your nose with the PADD stylus you had accidentally forgotten to grab, and you were relieved to see that he didn't seem too terribly hurt by your rejection. "Now, you keep yourself out of here. No more dying, got it?"
You managed to nod and stride out of sick bay, but you paused in the corridor, frowning to yourself. You had never dated before. When you were younger, you had sworn that you would give any guy at least one chance, but here you were, having just rejected the first and only person to ever show interest. What had changed?
You tried searching the deepest dregs of your mind for an answer, but all you could find was a peculiar, gnawing feeling. Guilt. For some reason you weren't presently on terms with, you would have felt guilty if you had accepted McCoy's invitation. But why?
