A/N: This piece is in response to a challenge at Ad Astra. Write a ficlet a day, each 100-500 words, for a week. I elected to find seven pivotal moments in the life of young Leonard McCoy.
A full explanation for the events depicted in this chapter can be found in my story 'Aftermath.'
Childhood's End
Forrest
Summer, 2235 old Earth calendar
Atlanta, Georgia, USA
He was numb all over; had been for the last week. He had wanted the tears to come, today of all days, but it was as if there were none left to fall. Like the day it happened. That day, he'd stood in the ankle-deep water, hands clenched into fists at his side, his ears filled with the bloodcurdling screams of his best friend's mother—a woman who had just lost everything. At the time, it was as if his brain couldn't process what his eyes had seen. Understanding, along with the tears, had come several days later, when he was alone, lying on his bed as he was now.
There had been no coffins at the service today; you couldn't bury that which hadn't been found.
It took several moments to register that someone was knocking at his door. A gentle voice was calling him.
"Lenny, are you okay?"
Silence.
"Can I come in?" A beat. "Please?"
"Is he with you?"
"No, I'm alone. Please let me in, sweetheart."
"It's not locked," he replied softly, resignedly.
Soft, rapid footfalls padded their way into his room. A weight settled on the bed beside him, the springs groaning slightly in protest. A petite hand brushed back the hair from his forehead. Soft lips planted a lingering kiss there, etched with sorrow. A perfumed cheek rested against his head. An arm found its way about his shoulders, drawing him close. He reached out; clung to the woman holding him, burying his head in her neck. "I'm so sorry," she whispered into his hair. "I know it hurts, but it will get better with each passing day, I promise."
"Why, Momma, why?" he managed to choke out.
"I don't know why, love. All I know is that you loved them, and miss them, and it's okay to feel that way."
"It's all Daddy's fault," he railed. "If he'da come with us like he promised, he coulda saved Forrest and Mister Tatum."
"Yes, your daddy's a doctor, and had they found them he might have been able to resuscitate them, but they didn't. It's not fair of you to blame him. Your daddy couldn't have helped even if he'd been there. No one could."
Leonard turned to face the wall, wriggling out of her grasp. Right now, that didn't matter to him. He had watched his best friend and that friend's father drown—something no eight-year-old should ever see. Someone had to be responsible. And since he was too afraid to put the blame on God, for now his daddy would have to do.