McCoy stalked down the halls even more grumpily than usual. His shoulders were hunched up as far as they could go and his long legs moved rapidly and gracefully as if he were trying to outdistance the spry, young, blonde man who was nevertheless keeping pace with him while talking animatedly and gesturing.
The captain did not seem to notice McCoy's stronger than usual irritation. He had been complaining about his first officer all through breakfast and had even considered the subject important enough that he had decided to accompany the ship's doctor to sickbay to continue it.
Despite McCoy's frequent Harrumphs however, Kirk's monologue did not subside. Instead, his voice just increased in volume and speed.
"I thought that after we defeated Nero, everything was cool between us," Kirk monologued. "We had risked our lives for each other, learned to respect each other. He even volunteered to be the ship's first officer while joking about character references with that smug Vulcan smirk on his face. I swear, Bones, for a Vulcan he was being sociable. He had even loosened up enough to hold hands with Uhura in the corridors. Then Shatoom," Kirk said dramatically with a violent hand gesture that almost knocked the PADD out of the hands of a passing ensign, "He went full out Vulcan. If I didn't know any better, I would say that he had gone through Kholinahr. Now he and Uhura seem to be on the outs, and," there was a pause and Kirk continued in a far more hushed and regretful tone as he tried to look into Bones' eyes, "He treats me like a stranger and won't allow me to engage him in "frivolous" conversation, much less spend any time off the bridge with me."
Bones too had noticed the change in Spock's behavior over the past two months of their acquaintance, but, unlike Kirk, he hadn't mined it that much. After all, Spock was a Vulcan, and Vulcans were not meant to express anywhere near as much emotions as Spock had been. This improvement in his control was probably a sign that Spock was starting to fully recover from the destruction of his home planet. It was a sign that his mind was again becoming stable. There were other reasons that McCoy was happy about this change in Spock. It was immature, but he had hoped that, with Spock gone all super-Vulcan, Kirk would start dropping by his quarters for a drink again. Ever since the Nero incident, Kirk's involvement in his duties and commitment to his nonexistent friendship with Spock had resulted in McCoy spending a lot of time alone. Unfortunately, according to the captain's reaction to Spock's changed behavior, his hopes were "illogical."
However, after hearing the hurt in Kirk's voice, the doctor in McCoy was awakened and, with caring, understanding eyes, Bones finally stopped walking and turned to face the younger man to offer what reassurance he could give.
"You are worrying about nothing, Jim." Kirk started to interrupt but McCoy silenced him with a look and continued talking. "Spock and you did share a bond when the two of you defeated Nero. Nothing has changed that. Trust me. Just because Spock is hiding those feelings does not mean that they are no longer there. Remember, he has lived through the destruction of his planet and the death of his mother. This may just be a delayed reaction to his grief. Let him cope in his own way, be patient, and for God's sakes stop whining to me with all of your relationship troubles. You are as bad as Chapel. If I wanted melodrama, I would get married again."
Kirk gave his friend a small smile of gratitude that began to grow bigger as a thought occurred to him. "You know what? I bet he likes chess! Maybe Spock'll play a few games with me after Alpha shift." With that, the Captain jaunted away with his usual confidence to the turbolift to go to the bridge and regain command.
McCoy watched him go with an odd mixture of grumpiness and devastated disappointment on his face as he muttered in his oh so characteristic way under his breath about the idiocy of Starfleet in placing so many damned hormonal and needy kids in charge of a starship. However, in a part of his mind which he was trying desperately to ignore, McCoy was contemplating another evening spent in his quarters listening to some old southern blues and folk with a bottle or two of bourbon as his only friends. He had known when he woke up this morning and remembered the date that today was going to be rough for him, but he had hoped that Jim's company might relieve some of his pain.
"Keep it together, man," he muttered bracingly to himself as he entered the wide, automatic doors of sick bay with his head bowed and his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
With his eyes downcast, he nearly ran into Nurse Chapel who was walking by with her vision obstructed by the twenty odd sickbay blankets that filled her arms. The nurse quickly apologized, and McCoy, with a voice only slightly more gruff and caustic than usual, inquired as to whether there was anything in need of his attention.
"Not in particular, doctor. No new patients have come in since last night. Mr. Chekov seems to be recovering from the Andorian measles he contracted at Starbase 23 very nicely."
McCoy grunted in satisfaction and began to head to his office where he was determined to bury himself and his thoughts by going through the latest medical research papers when he was stopped by Chapel's gentle hand on his back and a murmured "Doctor."
'Here it comes,' he thought as his perpetually tightened shoulder muscles relaxed by a fraction in what he was surprised to recognize as relief. Someone had realized what today was, what it meant to him. Someone had noticed his far-away, troubled expressions from over the past week. Someone had cared enough to notice his pain and actually wanted to help.
But Chapel's following sentence was not what he had hoped for.
"Although he is recovering nicely, Chekov could probably use another checkup… and a visitor," was the nurse's tentative statement.
McCoy's shoulders became tense again in an instant. He realized now that her compassionate tone was meant for the emotionally delicate, young Russian boy not for himself. Rather than being comforted, the doctor was being asked to comfort someone else, for, despite his gruff manner or perhaps because of it, he was exceedingly talented at bringing even the most desolated crewmember into a positive frame of mind. This talent was especially evident when dealing with the brilliant, young workaholics who were the ship's officers.
As he slouched towards Exam Room 4, he tried to shake off the disappointment he was feeling in his friends. After all, how were they to know what today meant to him? He had always made sure to keep his private life… well, private. He had hoped that Jim would remember- they had spent three years together inseparably and there had been that night three years ago… but—no, it was better for him to deal with the matter in his own way. The people on this ship were already dealing with enough problems and strain. As CMO, he should be lessening their duress, not increasing it. Besides, what would these young, single kids fresh out of the academy know about being a parent? How could they understand the pain?
He had just pushed the last of these thoughts out of his mind when he pushed back the curtains surrounding Chekov's biobed. What he saw was, as predicted, adorable. The officer was curled up under the covers with only the top half of his face with its curly hair sticking out. From what little he could see of the face, McCoy could tell that Chapel had been right. The boy was in need of cheering up.
As he began scanning Chekov and taking readings with the whirring sound filling the silence, McCoy hunted for a way to begin a conversation. The beginning was always the most difficult part for the kind but reclusive doctor.
"Damn these no-good army doctors. They're all so gall darned busy earning promotions and being soldiers that they miss simple things like making sure that all crewmen are up on their vaccinations before shooting them out into space," he grumbled.
It wasn't the best opening ever, but it was good enough. Chekov turned to make eye contact with the doctor and asked sadly and assuredly, "Dey are all laughing at me, da?"
"What? Why in the hell would "they" be laughing at you?"
"The measles. I am sure dat dey are all saying, 'Of course it is Chekov who gets ze measles since he is zo young."
McCoy sighed in exasperation, but then he saw the expression on the kid's face and once again awoke his more sympathetic side to say gently, "It's not like your case of Andorian measles is any more entertaining than anyone else's illness, kid. However," McCoy got a mischievous look in his eyes, "you should have seen the captain when he caught the Andorian measles. That was priceless."
"The captain got them too?"
"He sure did, but, unlike you, he wasn't smart enough to report to sickbay immediately. By the time he came in for treatment, his skin had turned bright purple and his hair had begun to fall out. That cramped his style with the ladies for weeks." McCoy looked into the distance and smiled at the thought.
He was brought back from these happy reflections by Chekov's words of gratitude and then he headed into his office where he stayed for the rest of the shift. Thinking of how he should have been comforting his little girl back on earth instead of this ship full of infants. Thinking about how much he wanted to be there for her today on her birthday.
This was not the first time he had missed Joanna's birthday. Getting Jocelyn's permission was always difficult, but he had managed to always make it until three years ago during his first year at the academy. Although he had applied for leave three months in advance, Star Fleet had canceled it last minute due to a sudden outbreak of some Rigelian virus amongst the students. After a long day of vomiting cadets, he had returned to his and Jim's dorm room to discover that there had been four messages from Georgia throughout the day worriedly asking where he was and whether he was alright, and he was back just in time to receive the next call.
He had looked at Joanna's worried face and saw that she had been crying. The knowledge that he had frightened her and caused her pain still to this day tormented him to the point of drinking.
He tried to think of something to say, some way to explain why he had not been there, but his mind went blank when she said, "I thought you had gotten hurt."
"No, no, Joanna. I'm so sorry, honey. I was all packed to go, but my leave was cancelled when a whole bunch of the students here got sick."
"Oh. Will you be here tomorrow?" she asked hopefully.
"No, my leave was for today only, but I will try to get permission to see you as soon as possible. Did you get a lot of nice things for your birthday?" he said trying to change the subject, "How does it feel to be ten years old?"
"Okay, I guess," she said brightening up a little, "I got the awesome chemistry set you ordered for me. When you get here, we should do some of the experiments together."
"That sounds wonderful. Happy birthday, sweetheart."
They talked like this for a little while before Jocelyn finally cut him off.
In despair, he had gone to a shady bar that night and gotten royally pissed by even his standards. He dimly remembered getting into a fight and leaving the bar and he figured he must have gotten mugged because when Jim found him, he was lying in an alley not far from the bar crying, bleeding from a gash in his head, missing a tooth and his money, and muttering semi-incoherently about Joanna.
When he had woken up many hours later, an impatient Jim had interrogated him as to the reason for his sojourn into insanity. Using the threat of raising his voice to aggravate McCoy's considerable hangover as a means of getting him to talk. McCoy told him everything and was surprised to find that it had actually given him some of the relief he had sought for in alcohol.
Jim had helped him through that time, and, at that moment, McCoy had felt sure that he had finally met someone who would not leave him and would help him through all the other bad times that were sure to come. Although McCoy never talked of his family problems with Jim again, believing that Jim understood was enough to get through the rest of his time in Star Fleet between his visits with Joanna.
Yet now he was all alone. He was on a ship full of kids and his only friend now had his hands full with the responsibilities of being captain and spent the rest of his time struggling to accomplish his impossible goal of getting onto the good side of a Vulcan. He rarely saw Kirk since their duties caused them to be stationed on opposite ends of the ship. McCoy had attempted visiting the bridge on various pretenses and had seemed to be welcomed by the people there, but he still felt like an outsider. The bridge grew was a tight knit team and it was obvious that McCoy was not a part of it. Now, in his free time while on duty, McCoy just hid himself away in his office until he was needed.
Also, whenever he was on the bridge he seemed to get into a fight with Spock, and he couldn't deny to himself that this was probably due to his jealousy and anger at the Vulcan for not only stealing his best friend but not seeming to be interested in a friendship with said friend.
McCoy had to admit to himself that he always instigated the fights. But he believed that he would be able to control himself if that damned Vulcan just stopped talking to him. While he was now behaving coldly towards the captain, Spock would awkwardly attempt to start up a conversation with McCoy whenever they ran into each other. McCoy was of the opinion that Spock, in a sick way, enjoyed the arguments. Probably because he, for the most part, won them.
Today, however, after looking at his clock and realizing his shift had ended ten minutes ago, McCoy realized that he would prefer even the hobgoblin's company to nobody. With a heavy sigh, he slowly rose and headed to his empty quarters and his large stash of bourbon. He had already decided to attempt a repeat performance of actions during his daughter's birthday three years ago.
Please review. If I am to continue, I would like to know if it would be worthwhile to anyone other than me. I'm trying to improve as a writer. I welcome critiques and suggestions.