"Goddamn it, Jillian! I need my hands, I'm a doctor!" Leonard McCoy shouted across the kitchen, after his wife threw the small portable replicator. He had put his hands up as a reflex action to try and protect his face. Luckily the replicator had veered a little to the right and missed him completely. It did smash through the front of the china cabinet, but that didn't matter too much. McCoy had hated that china pattern ever since Jillian picked it out. For their wedding. It had little pink flowers on it and gold around the edges. How was a man supposed to enjoy eating off of hideous plates that cost half as much as their apartment?
"I wish it had hit you in the head and you had concussed!" Jillian shouted back, "Then you'd fallen asleep and slipped into an irreversible coma! Doctor McCoy!"
"Why in hell did I teach her about these things?" McCoy whispered to himself. Something whipped through the air and fell short of colliding with him.
His Great Uncle Hector's crystal decanter shattered at his feet.
"Oh god," Jillian gasped, holding her hand up to her face in horror, "I didn't mean to throw that, Leo. I really didn't."
McCoy knelt down, his face in a deeply concerned expression, and examined the shards of crystal scattered on the floor. It seemed to be a clean break without too many small pieces, and he figured he could repair most of it. Particularly if he used some of his lab equipment. Carefully, he began picking it all up. The bottom of the decanter was intact, and he used it to hold all of the smaller pieces.
"Leo…" Jillian said, the anger drained out of her voice. But there was nothing else she felt she could say, the horrible silence that stood between them already held it all. Every complaint, every accusation, every insult and every half-hearted apology.
"You want it? You got it." McCoy nodded, his jaw tight and his eyes full of bitter disappointment. He stared Jillian down an icy eternity before taking what was left of the decanter and heading into the bedroom. She followed him.
"What should we tell Joanna?" She asked, watching him pull his suitcase down off of the closet shelf.
"She's ten, not an idiot," McCoy answered harshly, "She knows what's been going on. The whole damn building knows. The doorman asked me when we were getting our divorce. I guess now I've got an answer for him."
He packed all of the clothes he actually wore and an extra pair of shoes, and then looked around for something he'd obviously misplaced. Whatever it was wasn't on top of the dresser or in the nightstand cupboard, or under the bed. McCoy stomped over to the computer panel and pressed down the enquiry button.
"Where the hell is my copy of A Survey on Cygenian Respiratory Functions?" He barked, and received only the twittering beep that indicated an error.
"Unable to process request." The computer's voice replied.
"Why did we get this thing? It doesn't work!" McCoy grumbled, and began piling more essential items into his suitcase. He walked into his small study, the automatic doors opening with a soft woosh, and began packing his medical travel bag.
As it turned out, his copy of A Survey on Cygenian Respiratory Functions was sitting underneath his favourite photograph. It was of him and Joanna and their most perfect sandcastle. Fort McCoy. Joanna was only four at the time, and she was wearing one of those funny little girl swimsuits with the ruffles on the bottom. She also had a starfish-patterned pail on her head, because she needed sturdy gear if she was going to defend the fort.
McCoy picked up the photo and took a few calming breaths as he held it in his hand. He knew that Jillian was standing behind him, probably twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. Like she always did when she was uneasy.
"I'm going to a hotel. I don't know which one, but I'll call when I get there. You can talk to Joanna tonight," He sighed deeply, "And tomorrow, I'll pick her up from school. I'll take her to the zoo and down to that Andorian ice cream place she can't get enough of. She's gonna have questions, and I'm gonna want to answer them."
---
Joanna watched with amusement as her old man pushed the Andorian ice cream around in his bowl with a disgruntled look on his face. They were sitting in an out-of-the-way booth by a window that faced a magnolia tree. Magnolia trees were something they had in common.
"It's not going to kill you. Try it." She instructed. Squished into the side of the booth next to her enormous stuffed giraffe her father had bought her because he was sorry. She'd also gotten to visit the kangaroos; so she figured if it was going to make him feel better about everything, she might as well sacrifice her afternoon.
"What's it made with?" McCoy asked, crinkling his brow.
"Andorian cream." Joanna shrugged her small shoulders, and took a long sip of her root-beer float. She managed to drain about half of the glass in one go.
"Please tell me that it comes from Andorian cows…"
"Sure. It comes from Andorian cows."
McCoy gave her his version of a stern fatherly expression. Somehow, it always lacked the gravitas he intended. Getting after her for her sense of humour was more than a little hypocritical.
"Listen," He cleared his throat and looked her square in the eye, "It's no good to keep dancing around the subject. I suppose your mom explained the situation to you?"
"Yup. You two are calling it quits. And she's going to move in with that cheerful fella she's been running around with." Joanna said with an awfully familiar sort of dry cynicism.
"Damn it. Did she tell you she was going to do that?" McCoy shook his head. He had been hoping that somehow his daughter hadn't found out about her mother's affair.
"Not directly. I overheard her on the communicator with Aunt Sandy. Are you going to join Starfleet?"
"Join Starfleet? Where'd you come up with that?" McCoy chuckled. Sometimes it was as though his little girl pulled her ideas out of thin air.
"I saw some posters that said Starfleet medical was looking for the best doctors on Earth. And I thought about you, and since you're not going to be doing much else…"
"Hey, now!" He scolded, "Just because I'm not living with you doesn't mean I'm gonna start sittin' on my hands. I've still got patients, you know."
"Not if Mom can take 'em away from you." Joanna scoffed under her breath.
"Fair enough," McCoy replied under his breath, and then tried to put the conversation back on track, "I'm flattered that you think I'm one of Earth's best doctors."
"A man ought never be flattered by the truth, Daddy," She finished off the last of her float. McCoy's ice cream was still melting in the bowl, so she reached across the table and grabbed it from him.
"Don't make yourself sick." He warned.
"I think you should join Starfleet. Did you know that the Federation is expanding every day? And we're launching three new exploration vessels in the next five years. It only takes four years to complete the Academy, three if you're real smart. And it's in San Francisco! You can visit the Golden Gate Bridge and everything! And then you get to see the stars! And seek out new life and new civilizations! Just like Zefram Cochrane said!" Joanna gradually became more and more excited as she spoke.
"What do they do? Play propaganda films at your school?" McCoy smiled broadly, "Honey, you know I wouldn't do well in space. They wouldn't be able to get me on the shuttle to San Francisco, let alone off the planet."
"Okay. But keep your options open," Joanna advised as she polished off his ice cream, "I hate to think about you sittin' around all depressed in some hotel room on my account."
"Do the other kids your age talk like this?" McCoy asked, resting his elbow on the table and leaning his face against his fist.
"Nope. Most of 'em are puh-retty slow. I often wonder why that is…"