Oh boy, I am nervous about this one. I haven't written much slash until recently, and Star Trek slash only once. I'm also a little nervous due my handling of the subject matter, and the fact that fanfics about what McCoy goes through during and after the events of "Mirror, Mirror" are not rare. However, I did want to do my own take upon this. Originally, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but due to excessive length, I had to split it into chapters. Canon and non-canon materials were researched for this.
The mirrored version of Spock's prediction about the crew suffering due to McCoy is a nod toward "Plato's Stepchildren." Surprisingly, my influences for this fic were eastern. The mind meld scene was written while I listened to "Game C" from the Death Parade soundtrack. The entire fic itself was inspired by "Kiri" by Monoral, the OP for Ergo Proxy.
He could understand why Janice left.
McCoy hadn't been unsympathetic to her, far from it. She had not expected for her captain, of all people, to turn on, and assault her in such a manner. While it had not quite been Kirk, the damage had still been done. How could one live and work alongside another, after being subjected to such desires that lurked just beneath the surface?
Rand had been efficient after the incident, but quieter, more subdued, withdrawing upon herself. McCoy had spoken to her a few times on it, the first while checking her for injuries from Kirk's duplicate manhandling her. Rand, however, had not been willing to speak often. With a shake of her head, she would reply, "Doctor, it's over. I don't wish to talk about it any longer. The captain is himself again." Her tone, however, grew colder, addressing Kirk as "the captain" when referring to him among others, or simply "Captain" when speaking with him.
Nevertheless, he had prescribed her time off the ship to take her mind off things. Rand was left off at a nearby starbase with a few other crew members that were due for shore leave for two weeks' time. Closing her file after the Enterprise left dock, McCoy wondered, in retrospect, if that had been the correct thing to do. Still, keeping her on board would have only worsened matters.
However, when the crewmen returned, and Rand's resignation was with them, his intuition had proved to be correct. "I'm sorry, Jim," he commented as Kirk glanced over Janice's letter on his PADD.
"It can't be helped," Kirk commented, although the note of regret was plain to hear in his voice.
McCoy, twisting his pen between his fingers, leaned forward. "Jim, what's bothering you?"
He placed the PADD down. "I made sure to give her a glowing recommendation for her next posting. She left because of me. I understand that it was an exaggerated version, but nevertheless, he was still a part of me. Makes living with it a bit harder."
McCoy put his pen down. "We all have our demons, you know that."
Kirk sighed in annoyance. "I know that, Bones, but it's small consolation. I have the memories of both halves, and I," his fingers clenched inward, "I can still feel it within me, that carnal desire. I wanted another human being, and didn't care about her consent." He dropped his hand, and shook his head at himself. "One year in, and I am already doubting myself. This voyage is going so swimmingly," he concluded, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"I'd be more concerned if you weren't," McCoy replied evenly, pointing to the chair behind Kirk, "Sit down. You're having a drink."
Kirk tugged the chair over, and sat down upon it. McCoy reached into the cabinet under his desk, and procured a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. After topping both off, he placed the bottle aside. Kirk held up his glass. "To Yeoman Rand." McCoy nodded, and they touched their glasses together before taking a drink.
Smacking his lips, McCoy decided not to comment further upon her, as it would, at this point, be pointless, and a complete invasion of her privacy. On Kirk's angle, he was concerned for the loss of a functioning crew member, as well as doubt it cast upon himself as an officer. For McCoy, it was concern over Janice's health. Perhaps moving on was the better route, but there was also a chance that this new behavior could continue. In either case, she had been changed by the experience, and not for the better. It was Rand's decision as to where she would go from here.
XXXXXX
When the other Spock's eyes snapped open, McCoy felt a mixture of relief and disturbance. A living being's life had been saved, but the predatory look in his eyes was unmistakable. Instantly, he realized what he had just done, but he hadn't a chance to outmatch the Vulcan's speed, or strength. The other Spock seized his wrist in a vice-like grip. He tried not to think further on how easily he could crush him, or rip him limb from limb. His head shoved back against the wall, he twisted slightly to the side, trying to angle himself as far as he could from him. Reaching his hand sideways for his dagger, he kept his eyes fixated on that dark gaze, intimidating and holding a hunger beneath it. His hand twisted in the air, brushing up against the hilt of the dagger before slipping off as Spock's mirrored image sunk into his mind.
"Our minds are merging, doctor," his voice was like a caress, "Our minds are one. I feel what you feel. I know what you know." He leaned in close to McCoy, who realized, much to his own disgust, that the Vulcan was enjoying himself, on a perverse level. He slipped into semi-consciousness, memories ripped from him, and held up the bright light of this universe's medical bay. In his mind, he could feel the mocking contempt Spock's counterpart had for him. McCoy, for however much he expected it, still felt stripped bare, in a way, by the callousness with which this intruder treated moments he would rather keep private.
He was in his office again, on that quiet day. Spock, his Spock, was tracing his thumb over his lip. He could feel his fascination through their touch, Spock quietly contemplative of him. McCoy grasped his hand, and slowly lowered it. He leaned forward, his heart pounding, and pressed his lips to his. The Vulcan jerked at the contact for one moment. The next, however, he seized the doctor by the shoulders, tugging him close, and deepening the kiss.
Grabbing a fistful of Spock's dark hair, McCoy shoved him against the wall of his quarters, rattling the medical books upon a shelf, growling to him suggestively, "What's the matter, Spock? Afraid you're wrong?"
Picked up, and tossed upon his bed in a manner that he would have regarded as playful, McCoy raised an eyebrow at him. "The contrary, doctor," he replied, moving toward him, his hair tussled, and a shift in his gaze that made McCoy's breath catch as he knelt between the doctor's legs, and placed his hands upon his shoulders, pushing him down firmly onto the pillow and blanket, "I find that you have lost your argument."
His fists clenched, McCoy glowered at this crooked parody of his lover. "Had your fun?" He pointed away from himself, and hissed, "Get out!"
Spock's counterpart, however, did not move. "Fascinating," he commented.
"Stop it," McCoy hissed, his eyes widening. Spock, however, refused, and brushed the memories he had picked through aside, focusing upon harsher ones that cut into Leonard, which still brought pain to him that he attempted to ignore. Bottles of alcohol lay, turned sideways, upon a table before him, his head in his hands. Jocelyn, his Jocelyn, stared at him, her arms folded in contempt as she admitted that she had been seeing Clay all along behind his back. He held Joanna close to him in his arms, and felt utterly nothing, a shell of a man even as he whispered comforts to her. She'd awoken from a nightmare, and had asked to sleep beside him for the night. She'd done that a few times right after Jocelyn left. Perpetual gray light filtered down upon him, bathing his medical books and tools in dullness, his head throbbing from exhaustion and sheer boredom.
His fists clenched as the memories were drilled back into him, while on the physical plane, he felt the sash about his waist being unwound. He lifted a hand to try to shove Spock off, but it was pinned backward with a such a first that his wrist threatened to snap. He moaned, wincing as he felt the Vulcan's fingers brush over his crotch, palming and stroking at it. It felt so deceptively soft, and familiar. Unwittingly, he arched up into the touch with a groan.
"GET OFF ME!" McCoy snapped, despite knowing full well that he lacked the mental fortitude, in contrast with the intruder, to effectively push him out. His antagonist could quite easily shred his mind if he so wished to. Yet, it seemed, for his own amusement or curiosity, he handled him similarly to how a cat batted about a toy. His fingers twitched as Spock unzipped his pants. He let out a moan as Spock fondled his balls through the fabric of his underwear. He felt utterly humiliated, and trapped, his own body betraying him, and his mind prodded and poked at by an uncaring hand. He wanted out, and now, but Spock only seemed to clench his grip about him tighter, reality slipping further from his grasp, and forcing him back into the mental plane. Fear crept upon him. Was this what he intended, to leave him a prisoner of his own mind, never to regain control of his body?
Spock's mental image, however, betrayed nothing, his gaze merely calculating. Having fallen further into this unreality, however, McCoy felt more aware of his presence, and detected, much to his own disturbance, that there was a second presence, a mere shadow, perhaps one that was not aware. Someone else was there. Who…? "No," he whispered, incredulous as Spock detected McCoy's growing familiarity with it, "It can't be…"
Within his own universe, Spock had called him "t'hy'la" endearingly, while McCoy tended to call him "love," or "darling." Lying beside him in bed, the disjointedness of Spock's dreams twisting about through their bodily contact, he had contemplated what the future between them entailed. Wasn't their sharing of bodies, as well as their companionship, enough? McCoy knew that Spock would not intend to harm him, but he still had his reservations. He had considered himself bound, heart and soul, to another living being before, and that had nearly killed him. There was also the fact that he would be connecting himself completely to someone who was not fully human. Humans themselves were difficult enough to manage. McCoy was cognizant of his many failings, and was not thrilled to air them. Perhaps his mentality would shift away from what it was, and the potential modification of his persona was something he would much rather avoid. With a smirk, he would lie back down, and curl in closer toward his lover, burying his head in his neck. It would take from the fun of their arguments, anyway.
Spock's mirror image saw no need for verbal confirmation, rather he seized upon McCoy's surprise, as well as a steadily-growing curiosity perhaps even the doctor himself was not yet aware of. "You wish to know, don't you?" He inquired dryly.
McCoy scoffed. "I've had enough of your universe. I don't need to see how broken I am in it."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "But you are curious." Despite himself, Leonard knew he was correct, though he just as much dreaded what the answer would be. Spock found it interesting that this rather easily-manipulated version of McCoy hadn't yet melded with his alternate self. Was it fear that prevented such a thing, or stubbornness? His own t'hy'la had at first been stubborn over it, but the violence of their own universe forced his hand. If there was not at least a single ally to be kept, then it would be easy to be killed.
McCoy was easy to distract with the image he presented him. Jocelyn appeared sharper in this universe, her eyes narrowed, and predatory, but still utterly beautiful, more so with her midriff exposed, and her plunging neckline. Leonard, despite himself, found himself captivated by her for a moment. That was, until he felt Spock biting down upon his nipple, forcing him to cry out from pain. Jocelyn's mouth twisted into a smug grin, her expression betraying nothing as she stood before him, a phaser drawn. Or it wasn't him, McCoy realized, rather, it was the man who looked just like him, though with a much harder expression, and several knife-cut scars lancing through his face and neck. This version of Leonard, seated on the edge of his desk, looked utterly bored, as if the threat was a waste of his time. A wedding band was upon his left hand. His phaser lay on the desk. "Go ahead," he stated dryly, "shoot."
She shook her head. "You're more valuable alive. Once I inform the commodore of your tampering with the Capellans, your career is over."
He shrugged. "Useless shock troops. The race was used, and met its end. As does anything else." His alternate, viewing the scene in the manner of a captive audience, swallowed back outrage.
Jocelyn's phaser shook once. "You used an entire race as an insurgent force, Leonard!"
McCoy exclaimed in disdain at that, but his counterpart remained unmoved. "And?" He asked, "They were likely to be wiped out, anyway, due to how primitive they were. You should know this already." He shook his head. "Frankly, Jocelyn, I'm disappointed in you. You were far from the first person to attempt to seize upon this as an opportunity to dispose of me. I thought you would use a different manner." Jocelyn said nothing, and he sighed, reaching to the side away from his pistol.
"Leonard!" She warned.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he replied, procuring a hypospray that lay behind his computer. Holding out his right wrist, he positioned the hypospray over it. McCoy's eyes widened as he realized the level of intensity that his counterpart had set it on. Injecting it would kill him. Jocelyn stopped to switch the setting of her phaser. The hypospray dropped to the floor, and Leonard seized his. He fired it, and she crumpled, lifeless, to the floor, her phaser clattering noisily. He shook his head in disgust, while his counterpart stared at her corpse, feeling as if he was about to be sick.
"Come here, sweetheart." The scarred McCoy knelt before Joanna, his hand outstretched.
The little girl, her hair slightly tangled, shrunk back against the custody officer, who held her out, as if wanted to be rid of her. Joanna shrunk further into the woman's leg. "No, don't make me go! Daddy scares me! I want my mommy!" The custody officer, however, shoved her roughly forward, allowing her father to grasp her arm in an iron grip. She began to cry, straining against him, and trying to yank herself free as he brought his other arm about her, holding her possessively to him.
Held in place as he viewed his doppelganger's memory, McCoy shook his head and cried out powerlessly, swiping his hands at the air. "No, no! Leave her alone! Joanna! Damn it, she's just a child! She's innocent!"
Time accelerated, and he saw a much older Joanna saluting the Terran symbol with a dagger sheathed at her side. McCoy's counterpart proudly clapped her on the shoulder. "That's my little girl." But it wasn't her any longer, the softness in her eyes, still existent in the first McCoy's universe during her time as a medical student, was completely gone, and replaced by something harsh, aggressive, and cold. He turned his gaze away.
Mentally, Spock seized him, and forced him to look. "If you consider yourself a good doctor, then you would try to understand."
"I understand that he turned her into a cold-blooded killer, much like you, or anyone else, for that matter, in this damned universe!" McCoy snapped, "She was born just like any of us were in my universe, frightened and alone. He twisted her mind! Why?"
"He was protecting her," Spock replied bluntly, knocking McCoy off-kilter again. Another image from his own past was yanked free of his grip for cold analysis. His darting forward to save Edith Keeler from an oncoming car, and being half-ready to hit Kirk after she collapsed, dead from the impact, Kirk holding him back. "Had he not come to claim her, she would have been conditioned as a child soldier, among other orphans. Under him, she at least had a parental figure, a luxury many children in our era lack. It isn't safe in our universe, Leonard. He was teaching her to protect herself, to kill or be killed, as it were. Had you left me to die, I would not have you in my hands at this moment."
Despite McCoy not wanting to admit it to himself, he felt jealous of his counterpart, as he had raised his daughter. "I—" He broke off and shook his head. "I couldn't—I can't accept this as a reality! I would go mad!"
Spock released him from the visual of Joanna nodding to her father, and taking his hand with a firm shake. "You would, doctor, as you do not belong here. Perhaps we were better off without you, or, for that matter, any of your kind. The only one who is suffering here is you." He shook his head at the image of McCoy hesitating before shooting the entity that had taken on the appearance of Nancy Crater. "This is not new for you, however, as you tend toward sentimentality, even when it would cost you your life."
"I don't give up on my patients," McCoy growled, "What of you, Spock? When something doesn't go your way, you torch the entire operation!" For a moment, realization dawned upon McCoy. The bitter anger that had built up within this version of Spock, set against the cold calculations of his mind, were difficult to manage. While he had ribbed, and argued with, the Spock in his own universe about his dismissal of the humanity within him, this one felt utterly off-balance to him, if not broken, trapped between the worst of both worlds, both of which had been over-emphasized by experience.
Spock raked his fingernails across his chest, and he cried out from the pain. The mental image of him, however, wavered for a moment as McCoy, despite himself, challenged, "Go ahead, make me bleed! You can take it all out upon me!" It was utterly foolish, but it didn't matter. Kirk, Uhura, and Scotty would be safe, his having wasted this Spock's time. His life didn't matter, not anymore. He had feared, for a moment, what his counterpart would have done to his Spock, or his Joanna, but even that was moot. They couldn't be harmed. And perhaps, it was that sense of contempt he felt for this Spock that threw everything out of whack. The Vulcan's eyes narrowed at him, and his nostrils flared. For a moment, fear twisted within McCoy, and he recalled exactly how physically powerful Vulcan was in comparison to a human. Unleashed upon him, it would be easy for him to be torn limb from limb. Shutting his inner eye, he silently apologized to Joanna, Spock, and Jim. The next moment, however, his eye was forced back open by his adversary, who pointed accusingly at him. McCoy cried out as he was hit with the pain he had felt over the years.
"Damn it, Leonard!" His wife screamed, slapping him across the face. She'd been furious, he'd recalled, from his being unable to get off work for her birthday. "Don't you care about anyone other than yourself?!"
"I'll see you again, won't I?" Joanna asked him, her voice watery, and tears running from her puffed-up eyes, ruining, as her mother would put it, her nice dress as she, alongside her aunt and uncle, saw him off.
Kneeling before her, McCoy wrapped his arms about her. Swallowing a few times, he replied after finding his voice again, "I promise, sweetheart." Kissing the side of her head as her much smaller arms tightly wrapped about his sides, he continued, "Be strong for me, now. I love you more than anyone in the world."
"I promise," she whispered before burying her head back in his uniform.
He clutched his father's withered hand one last time, tears spilling from his eyes. "Dad, I—I'm so sorry." His father, wheezing from the pain, gave him a slight nod. Reaching over, McCoy brought down his hand, terminating his father's life support. Standing before an open casket lid, he felt immense regret, as well as the cold stares of those in the viewing room with him.
Following were so many others. Mind-control by Landru ripping his consciousness from him…Shock and utter fear over whether he had blinded Spock, Kirk looking ready to hit him over it…Being run through by the jousting knight's blade…Being reduced to a wild, animal-like mentality after an accidental injection of cordrazine…
He collapsed under the pain as Spock, smugly, placed before him the image of Khan, murder in his eyes, and his hand wrapped around McCoy's throat. "Doctor," he stated plainly, "while I will acknowledge the fact that you are skilled in your trade, your mentality ultimately hinders you. You are, quite frankly, too soft, and easy to trample upon," McCoy winced as he felt Spock, on the physical plane, moving his hand to cup his chin in a manner that could be considered fond, "Perhaps it will not be today, but your crew will suffer because of you."
McCoy sucked in a breath of pain as Spock slammed him roughly against the bulkhead. The Vulcan's hand flew to his neck, and he squeezed, hoisting him up in the air. McCoy gasped, his hand tugging at Spock's, despite knowing it was for nothing. What did he want with him? He could easily snap his neck, and he had taken all the information he had wanted. Why prolong it? Spock's disgust with him radiated through their physical contact, and realization dawned upon McCoy as his vision began to fade to black.
Something crashed, and he was sprawled on the floor, with pieces of broken metal and glass strewn about him from a medical cart, now tilted on its side from Spock throwing him into it. Leaning forward, and bracing his palms upon his knees, McCoy coughed, and spluttered, trying to force air back into his lungs. One hand stung. Stunned, McCoy held up his hand, his vision wavering, and saw blood on it from the glass. His head was throbbing from hitting the metal, and he felt the warmth of blood beginning to seep down from the back of it. His shirt was still rolled up, exposing the bite and claw marks to the air, his pants undone.
Spock dropped his sash on his lap. "Clean yourself up, and get dressed," he ordered coldly. Folding his hands, he continued, "I can see now why my counterpart has chosen not to meld with you. You simply are a waste of time, and effort." McCoy lowered his shirt, his gaze remaining locked on Spock, who warned, "If you continue to look at me, I will have no issue with putting my thumbs in your eyes." McCoy dropped his gaze, noting the bloody handprints he left on his uniform and sash.
Led roughly by the arm, he had barely registered his surroundings. Uhura gasped at the blood on his uniform. Spock shoved him roughly over to Scotty, who grasped him by the arm, and led him away. McCoy felt relieved for a moment, but it was swallowed by numbness as he stared at this twisted version of Spock. He'd gotten everything that he had wanted, now, and frankly, Leonard just wished that he would shut up, and go away, his currently crippled mindset forcing his thoughts to be disjointed.
The hums and lights of the familiar Enterprise were relieving to him, and he had felt as if he had come home. Once again, however, it was fleeting before he fell into numbness. Spock's hand fell from the panel at the sight of his utterly dead expression. McCoy's hand flew to his neck, attempting to cover the purple marks from where Spock's counterpart had jammed his thumbs deep into them. He averted his gaze, not wanting to look at him, and, in fact, to be far from him.
The dermal regenerator hummed as it ran over his skin, slowly eliminating the scars. The door to sickbay hummed open. He glanced up, his shoulders slackening with relief. "Hey, Jim." The words sounded hollow, as if they weren't his own.
"Bones, are you—" McCoy sat down heavily in his chair, and Kirk's words died in his throat. The dermal regenerator slipped out of McCoy's fingers to thump and roll slightly upon the desk. His arms hung over the armrests of the chair in an utterly helpless gesture. Kirk's eyes widened, and McCoy appeared relieved that he didn't have to verbally recap what had happened. The next moment, however, his elbows were planted upon his desk, and his head was in his hands. He gave a heavy, shuddering sigh. Kirk's footsteps thumped over to him, and he knelt beside him. "Bones, he can't hurt you again."
A blue eye appeared from beneath McCoy's fingers, and he hissed at him, "I know that, Jim. But I can still feel it, as if he's still here with me." The eye sunk back beneath the fingers. The elbows collapsed, and he brought his head down upon his folded arms. "Please," he murmured into them, "just leave me alone."
"Not near the sharp objects," Kirk replied. Shaking him slightly when he didn't reply, he continued, "Come on, go get some rest. It's been a long day for all of us."
"If you post a guard near my room, I swear…"
"I won't," Kirk replied firmly, "but I know you."
After a pause, McCoy, his eyes closed, raised his head, and rubbed at them. "Where's Spock?"
"Taking data from Scotty and Uhura about the alternate universe."
McCoy sighed, pausing in his ministrations. "He's worried about me, isn't he?"
"Who do you think gave him the order to do so?" Kirk asked.
"Well, what do you know, he's not a machine after all," McCoy muttered. Dropping his hand to his lap, he opened his eyes, and looked at his friend. "When will I feel up to facing him again, I wonder?"
Kirk shook his head. "Don't concern yourself over that. Right now, just worry about eating something, and getting some sleep. We'll go from there. I'll be keeping an eye on your alcohol intake."
"Jim—"
"I am your commanding officer, as well as your friend," he cut him off, his voice becoming firm, "I will not have my surgeon becoming too inebriated to function. Am I making myself clear?"
"Clear," McCoy growled, snatching the dermal regenerator off his desk, and walking away, leaving Kirk to contemplate his friend's plight. His fists clenched, and he wished for not the first time to have yanked McCoy out of that sickbay, and dragged him to the transporter room.
XXXXXX
"You okay, Dad?" Joanna asked in a concerned tone of voice, leaning forward over her desk, and adjusting her camera slightly. "You look tired, and a little upset about something. You've been taking care of yourself?"
McCoy ran a hand over his face with a laugh. "Worried about your old man, Joanna? I'm all right." He'd retired to his quarters a few evenings after the universe-crossing incident to contact, and check in on her. Clad still in her scrubs from her volunteer shift, Joanna's long, brown hair was down. A plate of food sat not far from her. In the background, a poster advertising a revival performance of an old Earth rock opera stood on the wall, depicting a youth sitting in a low-lit back alley. Bags from tiredness sat under Joanna's brown eyes, causing her to more closely resemble her father.
She was less than convinced. "What's wrong?"
"Just tired, sweetheart. It's been two long years," he replied, gesturing to the stack of PADDs beside him, "These findings here are merely the tip of the iceberg."
Joanna's eyes lit up at them. "I can't wait to see what information you have! Frankly, I'm jealous. It must be amazing to encounter new worlds, and new people."
McCoy felt a slight twinge at that, recalling his ordeal in the other universe, but he was careful to hide it. "Perhaps you will one day. You're still young, Joanna. The universe is a fascinating place. Likely, you'll encounter beings that we wouldn't have yet discovered."
She looked over her shoulder with a slight smile at that. "If I ever get my feet off the ground. I don't think I can leave the hospital," she shrugged, "Too devoted to it, I guess. Wasn't expecting a committed relationship with a building, of all things."
McCoy chuckled at that, drawing back her attention. "You sound just like Jim. He's married to the Enterprise."
Joanna frowned at that, and a sadness entered her brown eyes, so much like her mother's. McCoy's heart sank as he realized that his humor had backfired. "I suppose objects are easier to rely upon than people."
McCoy shook his head, and he wondered how long this had been going on. Perhaps it always had, and never left. He regretted what his child had been exposed to under her own roof during the marriage, and more so leaving her side, being too deep into depression to the point of considering suicide. Would that rift always be between them? It hurt too much to think on it long. Knowing that he could not order her about, rather only advise her, he replied, "Joanna, you can't close yourself off from others. It isn't healthy. I only meant that Kirk is devoted to his profession as my captain. A ship can be replaced. He knows that much. If he lost the crew, however, it would break him." Joanna's eyes widened at that, and McCoy confirmed his statement by following it with silence.
She glanced away. "I miss you."
"I miss you, too," he replied sincerely, leaning back in his chair, "How's Centaurus City?"
She shrugged. "Same as always. Night life's active. Parties are wild. Don't worry, I won't be sullying the family name."
He grinned. "I don't think you'll have much to worry about. Anything that you've done, I'll have already covered."
She grinned back, but it slipped as a shadow passed over her face. "I used to always tell the other kids at school about my dad, the big hero, saving lives all throughout the galaxy. But," she paused, "why'd you call me now? Seems a bit out of the blue. Usually you write." She picked up a PADD for emphasis. "I still read over your depictions of the Twentieth Century. I find human behavior from another period interesting. So different from us." She placed it aside.
McCoy shrugged. "Haven't seen you face to face in a long time. Besides, you're my kid. I shouldn't need a reason."
Despite the nonchalance with how he had answered the question, he had the feeling that it didn't quite satisfy her. She was too clever for her own good. Joanna reached forward, and placed her hand upon the side of the screen. "Hey, I gotta get going. Early class tomorrow," she sighed, and continued, "Dad, please don't shut me out. I love you." She cut the connection from her side, and the screen went to white.
McCoy sighed, and, propping his elbow upon the desk, ran his hand over his face.