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McCoy walked into the cargo bay-cum-refugee-barracks, and stopped short just beyond the doorway when he caught a glimpse Chekov sitting on Luka’s bunk, next to the young Vulcan.
Chekov was holding out a small wrapped parcel. “It is a tradition,” Chekov said. “Noviy god, we call it. I know it seems silly, when we’re not actually orbiting a star, and so there can be no real concept of what it is to complete an annual orbit, but still…”
Luka raised an eyebrow at Chekov, but did not take the package.
“Where I come from, they use this day to celebrate and to mourn the passing of the previous year.” Chekov clasped his hands together between his knees. “I know that this year has been difficult for me, and I cannot precisely imagine how it has been for you.”
“There is enough to mourn and to celebrate,” Luka said.
Chekov extended his gift again, and this time Luka took it. Chekov stood. “We’re having a celebration later, a few of us, in my quarters. Len thinks it is silly, these old traditions, but he doesn’t mind the excuse to celebrate with friends. And to drink. You will come?”
“Yes,” Luka said, still looking at the parcel in his hands.
As Chekov started out of the makeshift room, Luka called after him, “Thank you.”
Chekov’s eyes widened when he saw McCoy hovering near the doorway. It occurred to McCoy then that eavesdropping wasn’t the most gentlemanly thing to be doing, especially to the partner whose trust he’d worked so hard to earn. But Chekov merely caught McCoy by the hand as he passed, and tugged him along the corridor and into the turbolift.
Into the silence, McCoy said, “I don’t think it’s silly.”
A small smile crept over Chekov’s face. “So you will drink champagne with me when the ship’s clock strikes midnight?”
Picturing that scene sent a warmth spreading through McCoy’s chest that was absolutely not holiday cheer, no matter what Kirk said with that knowing twinkle in his eye. “Sure.”
“Also,” Chekov said casually. “At midnight, there is usually a kiss between those who love each other.”
McCoy pulled their joined hands up and pressed a kiss to the back of Chekov’s hand, then glanced up to meet his eyes. “I’m honored to mourn and to celebrate with you. This year and every one, as long as you want me.”
Chekov’s answer was an enthusiastic preview of their midnight celebration.