Leonard McCoy is a name you either know and think of fondly or cringe in fear and awe at. The man and the myth, however, are almost two completely different people.
A lot of people see him as some closed-off, calloused, hot-tempered doctor with an affinity for yelling too much. Some people think he simply doesn't care about anything. But the thing about Leonard McCoy is that he cares a great deal about many things; people especially. No matter what anyone says, he cares; a lot. In fact, at times he cares too much. And therein lays the dilemma. If McCoy doesn't separate himself from his work, from caring as much as he does, then he may just break; break as easily as an old, nearly-shattered window.
So this is why he closes off sometimes; snaps at people, yells often. He can't let anyone believe he cares as much as he really does. Why? Well because if they believe it, then he sure as hell won't be able to convince himself that he doesn't care that much either. It's safer to keep a distance sometimes. Of course he still shows care and worry; he is a doctor for God's sakes, just not as much care and worry as he really feels.
Leonard also has a way with people, just not in the way everyone can easily see. There's something, some kind of talent perhaps, which allows him to, in a way, read people. He can instantly tell when someone's hurt or sick, plus the skill doesn't end at just physical pain. He's pretty honed in on sensing emotional distress as well. Maybe he's picked it up over the years or maybe it just comes naturally to him. Whatever the case, the talent proves very useful on occasion.
One such occasion happens to be tonight. A fairly normal night, he would describe it. No threats, no missions, no action. Just a rather ordinary, rather peaceful evening.
He'd been holed up in medbay the previous day for nearly 16 straight hours. Long story short, an away mission ended with a crewmember in critical condition and damned if McCoy wasn't going to spend every waking moment trying to save him. They eventually got the young man's vitals under control and his heart in a normal rhythm. It was easy to assume that at the end of the day, McCoy was exhausted.
He's spent most of his time today sleeping, so naturally it's nearly two a.m. and he can't seem to fall asleep. He ventures around the ship, not passing by many crewmembers off-shift considering the time. As he passes by the rec room, he notes a light filtering out the door from inside. Curious as to who might still be in there, he enters.
The room's empty, of course, who in their right mind would be out this late unless they were working? But then he sees someone lying on the couch, a book in hand.
Upon further examination, he releases the someone is Pavel Chekov. He can tell by the slightness of his figure and the way he flips through the pages just a little too eagerly. Why the boy is awake at such an ungodly hour, McCoy hasn't a clue; especially after he'd had that talk with him about getting more sleep. The kid has a pretty shit immune system to begin with, but adding sleep deprivation to the mix is obviously making it worse.
Fully intent on chewing the boy out for ignoring his instructions, McCoy makes his way over to the couch. Chekov's facing the opposite way, so he doesn't hear the doctor until he's directly over him.
McCoy sees the boy's eyes flit up from whatever book he's flipping through. Chekov jumps slightly, obviously surprised by the sudden presence of another person.
"Doctor McCoy?" He asks. His gaze quickly lands back on his book and he snaps it shut; a poor attempt at hiding whatever he was looking at. Chekov looks back up, expression innocent and hopeful that McCoy didn't see him rush to conceal anything.
Of course McCoy won't even try to play along. He knows the kid's hiding something.
"Late night?" He asks, eyebrow raised.
Chekov avoids eye contact and glances around the room.
"I vas just…um…valking around. Couldn't sleep. I decided to come here. It sometimes helps you get avay from everything, you know?"
McCoy just stares at him, unimpressed by the lie. At least put some effort into a cover-up, he thinks.
"Whatchya got there," McCoy asks, nodding towards the book Chekov still has in front of him.
He can see the boy panic slightly as he tries to come up with another excuse. Is what he's hiding really that bad?
Chekov meets the doctor's gaze once more and McCoy makes sure it's clear that he's not accepting bullshit tonight. Sorry, maybe next time, but not tonight.
Sighing, the boy opens the book to the first page and McCoy finds, to his surprise, that it's not a book, but rather a photo album.
"It vas my mother's," he says quietly, eyes scanning the carefully placed pictures. "She alvays loved putting albums like zhis together. Zhey remind me of home".
McCoy sees the boy visibly sink at the word "home". Ah, the doctor concludes, homesickness. Of course this kind of situation isn't anything he hasn't dealt with before, but he's never actually talked with Chekov about his home. And it's not exactly like he can relate. Russia might as well be an entire universe away from Georgia.
Maneuvering his way around the opposite end of the couch, McCoy takes a seat next to the kid. He looks over the album. It's actually quite beautiful and it's easy to tell it was made with extreme care.
"This her?" McCoy asks, pointing to a woman he assumes is the boy's mother.
Chekov nods. "Da".
"She looks a lot like you," he comments. It's true: those same Slavic cheekbones and green eyes are present.
The boy smiles. "Zhat's vhat everyone told me growing up," he replies. Although she alvays insisted I got my looks from my..."
There's a slight gap between the kid's words, and McCoy doesn't miss it.
"From my father," he finishes quickly, probably hoping his hesitation wasn't noticeable.
McCoy slowly begins to mentally push puzzle pieces into place. He's known that Chekov's mother died at a young age, but obviously there's more to the story than simply that.
"I'm guessing this is him," McCoy continues, pointing to a tall, thin man with short, curly hair and a grin reaching up to his cheeks.
Chekov nods once more, this time a little less eagerly than before. McCoy nods back in acknowledgement, mulling over his next course of action. He looks over the second page of the album: it has a wedding photo from inside a church as well as a picture of a father in the hospital smiling down at the baby he cradles in his arms. There's a third picture as well, one of two parents and their tiny toddler sitting between them. The mother has her head lying gently against her husband's shoulder, and the father is holding onto a very happy child whose toothy grin brings the picture some kind of happy innocence.
McCoy wonders what kind of bad things happen to make such happy things disappear. He glances at Chekov again. The boy is looking down at the picture with some kind of nostalgic melancholy.
"Something you want to talk about?" McCoy asks. Chekov traces the outer edge of the picture in contemplation.
"No," he simply replies.
McCoy isn't convinced. "No?"
Chekov sighs and removes the picture. He looks closely at it, examining every part. He puts it back down, but then hands it to McCoy instead.
"This vas right before my second birthday," he says, his voice small and reserved. "I don't remember taking it, but my mother used to say it vas her favorite picture. She alvays used to keep a small copy in her bag. I found it there zhe night she…"
The boy shakes his head, not wanting to revisit that memory.
"I kept it. I still have it inside a book I brought from home".
McCoy feels some kind of pain in his chest as he looks over the picture. "I'm sure she's glad that you found it," he says. "That you kept it". He hands the photo over again.
"Maybe," Chekov mutters as he returns the picture to its original place. "But I suppose I'll never really know".
There's something in the kid's tone that McCoy hasn't heard before; almost like some form of pessimism. And if there's one thing Chekov's not, it's a pessimist. McCoy wonders where it could have come from. His gaze once again falling on the man in the picture, McCoy ventures to ask the question he'd been wondering since he first saw the photos.
"Is this about your father?" He asks bluntly.
Chekov's head snaps up sharply and he turns towards the doctor, his cheeks turning red in disbelief.
"Zhat's a bit personal, don't you think?" He asks incredulously.
"I didn't mean to pry," McCoy replies, "I was only wondering. You never mention him, only your mother. And you're looking at these pictures as if it's some kind of other lifetime".
Chekov hums bitterly. "I guess you could say zhat".
McCoy's taken aback by the boy's response. Never has he heard such anger in Chekov's tone.
"You don't have to talk to me about it. Or anyone really, for that matter. I'm just giving my personal opinion as a doctor. I know that sometimes getting something off your chest helps a hell of a lot more than any kind of resentment ever can".
Chekov looks at the Doctor and McCoy suddenly feels like he's the one being scrutinized. There's a moment of silence until the kid finally speaks.
"I left him," he says simply.
McCoy isn't quite sure what that means. "You what?"
"I left him," Chekov repeats. "I ran avay. To come here. To join Starfleet".
"Your mother had died?" McCoy asks, slightly hesitant in bringing up the subject.
Chekov nods, not meeting his eye. "She had been gone for a vhile," he says, "probably sewen years at zhat point. My father vas ze only von who could take care of me. And he tried. He tried very hard to give me all that he could. But it hurt him to lose her. I didn't only lose a mother; he lost his best friend, his wife. He vasn't really ze same after she died. But zhen again neither vas I".
McCoy wonders what that means and tries to imagine an eight year-old Chekov, unaware of the hardships to come. He stops thinking about it after a few seconds though; it only makes him sad.
Despite his obvious discomfort talking about such things, Chekov continues.
"School vas especially hard. I vas in a university by thirteen and vhen I mentioned the possibility of Starfleet?" Chekov scoffs, probably remembering his father's reaction to the suggestion. "He forbid it. And I hated him for zhat. I thought he vas trying to control me, trying to hold me back. The more I look back on it now though….the more I think he just didn't vant to lose anyvon else".
The last sentence hangs in the air as McCoy processes all he's been told. Sure, he understands losing someone like your wife can be hell, devastating, in fact. But that's different when you have a child. Despite all your pain, you fight through it. You battle your way up every mountain and across every desert for your kid. Because they're all you have left in the end, right? Why lose anything else?
McCoy understands the grief of losing someone, but that doesn't mean you alienate everyone else around you.
"Have you talked to him since then?" McCoy asks.
Chekov shakes his head. "I still remember zhe last thing I said to him. Zhat I vasn't a child anymore. Zhat he couldn't keep treating me like von. Sometimes I vish he vas here, so zhat I could just explain things to him. But zhen I realize I don't even know vhat I'd say if he vas here".
McCoy watches the boy's shoulders fall slightly, the weight of the conversation finally tolling on him. This isn't what the kid needs. He deserves so much better than what his father gave him. As irrational as it seems, McCoy finds himself disliking a man he's not so much as even talked to once in his whole life. And yet to him, it seems rational. Because that man's actions are affecting this kid he's grown to care so much for.
"Well I know I would have a few things to say to him if he was here," McCoy replies truthfully.
Chekov looks up, somewhat curious now, and McCoy turns his attention fully on the kid.
"Well first off," he begins, "I'd tell him that everyone has lost someone in their life. We all have people we loved, people that left. But that isn't an excuse to forget about everyone else around you. Especially your kid".
He continues, now completely focused on talking.
"Then I'd tell him that he has a brilliant, talented young man for a son; and that he should appreciate that more than he does".
Chekov smiles slightly and McCoy can only hope the kid realizes just how gifted he really is.
"But most importantly," he says, garnering Chekov's attention once more, "I'd tell him that he should be proud of you".
He pauses.
"I know I am".
It's the honest truth. For all his commenting on Chekov's youth and his inexperience equaling getting easily hurt, McCoy can never say that he isn't damn proud of the person the kid's becoming. To be so young and yet so passionate and determined is something of a rare combination. McCoy sees so much eagerness within the boy and he knows he's going to turn out just fine one day.
Chekov is still silent, but McCoy doesn't mind. As long the kid understands what he means to this ship, to this crew, well then at least McCoy can say he's done something good tonight.
A few more minutes pass by in silence and McCoy thinks Chekov may have finally fallen asleep. But before he can even try to check, he hears the boy speak.
"Thank you, Doctor," he simply says, grateful in every aspect of the word.
McCoy nods in acknowledgement. "You're welcome, kid," he replies.
Leonard McCoy definitely has a way with people; it's been proved true on many occasions. Just not in the way that every person can easily see.
Hello all! I've been thinking about this for a long time and really wanted to try and expand on McCoy's character more. I hope I did him justice in this one-shot. Anyway, please review! I really want to know what you guys think of this. As always thank you so much for your support and I hope you have an awesome day!