2257 A.D. – September
"Bones!" Jim jogged over to his irritable friend.
"Dammit, man, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that," Leonard McCoy growled.
"Lighten up, Doctor. You're gonna die early if you keep on being so cranky." Jim enjoyed pushing McCoy's buttons. But it was only fun because it worked. If Bones wouldn't react, Jim would have no reason to say half the stuff he said on a daily basis to his best friend.
McCoy shot him a withering look.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing. Can't I say hi without wanting anything?" Jim tried on innocence to see how it felt.
"No. Now what is it?" McCoy wasn't buying any of it.
"Okay, okay… I want you to help me. I'm taking the Kobayashi Maru next week and I'd like it if you could be there – be one of my crewmen." Jim knew that a favor like this demanded honesty.
McCoy stopped and looked at his friend. "Really? You want me there?"
"Well, yeah."
"You know everyone fails it, right?"
"I'm not everyone. I'm Jim Kirk."
"I hate to break it to you but that test doesn't care who you are. You're gonna fail it." McCoy watched as Jim's smile deflated a bit. "But, hell, if you want me there, I'll be there."
"Thanks! I knew I could count on you. You'll watch history being made when I pass it on my first try."
"Yeah, well, you can always take it more than once," McCoy muttered but Jim's attention was drawn away by a cute Orion girl walking by.
"Hey, I'll catch you later, okay?" Jim was hot on the girl's heels.
"Unbelievable." Leonard rolled his eyes and continued on his way to his clinical rotation.
Because he received his medical degree and practiced for several years before enrolling in Starfleet, McCoy was at the head of his medical class. But this also meant he spent most of his time in the clinic rather than the classroom. His fellow students looked at him as one of the instructors, and many of them were considerably more afraid of him than the actual professors. McCoy knew he wasn't exactly what you would describe as warm and fuzzy. He knew he snapped at the younger medical students and had no patience for stupid mistakes. But honestly, how was he supposed to deal with all these kids who had never taken a medical class before ending up in Starfleet? Were these really supposed to be the doctors that entire ships would rely on? It made him nauseous to contemplate how inexperienced so many of them were. They were gonna get everyone killed up there if space didn't kill them all first.
Space. He hated flying. He hated fighting and anything that endangered life. So why was he doing this? It had started as a way out after the divorce but at some point, he'd become a valuable asset at the Academy and he knew multiple captains would be vying for him to come on their ships as a part of the senior medical staff after he graduated. But could he really do it? Was he gonna make it up there? Everyone had told him that once you got on the ships, it didn't feel like flying. He thought they were all liars or idiots. How could you not feel it? He'd been a fool to sign his life away to these people. His thoughts were dark and full of possible space-related deaths as he walked into the clinic.
"Hello, Doctor. We've got a busy schedule tonight." The nurse who greeted him had a PADD brimming with cases for him to attend to.
"Nurse Heston," McCoy nodded at her and she fell in step with him.
"Who's the other doctor on rotation with me?" McCoy would be there from 3pm until 3am, if there were no issues. It all depended on how competent his fellow doctor was. Nurse Heston looked down at her PADD and clicked to another screen to access the schedule of doctors.
"Let's see….tonight, you have Latour with you."
"Hmm. I don't think I've worked with Latour yet," McCoy tried to recall which one Latour was. "Male or female?"
"Doctor Latour is a terran female. She's relatively new to the clinical rotation; I believe this is her 5th shift. She's the one who always wears gloves." She looked over at him as though that were somehow significant. McCoy had no idea why.
"Like you, she got a medical degree before coming to the Academy so she's better than most of the 'idiot kids.' The nurses like her so try to be nice."
"I can be nice," he replied, provoking a sound from Heston that was half-snort, half-laugh.
"Sure you can – to me. Give this one a chance and maybe we'll all have a pleasant shift."
McCoy rolled his eyes and then smirked at Nurse Heston. "No promises."
"Okay, Doc."
Heston hurried off to conduct shift changes for the nurses. McCoy liked Heston. She was no-nonsense and she knew exactly how he liked things to run when he was the acting doctor at the clinic. The nurses could always be counted on to know the latest scuttlebutt and to share any scoop they had. McCoy didn't keep abreast of school gossip but he did appreciate when nurses would share their insights about particularly stupid or troublesome cadets and conversely, he liked to know when they were pleased with a cadet, even if he didn't always agree with them. Of course, he spent a fair share of time being just as critical of the nursing cadets as he was of the cadets seeking to be doctors. And since this clinic was meant to train cadets, and was mainly staffed by cadets, it meant he intimidated both nursing and MD cadets alike while he was there.
He still couldn't remember which one Latour was but if she already had a medical degree, maybe she wouldn't be completely incompetent. He headed to the men's locker room to change into his medical clothes. Once changed, he went back to the nurse's station to get a run-down of patients.
Upon arriving at the station, he saw a woman in the same medical scrubs as his – Doctor Latour. Her strawberry blonde curls were haphazardly pinned up but he remembered her immediately. She'd been in a couple of his classes. He was pretty sure she was a year behind him at the Academy because he hadn't seen her before last year. She had caught his eye quickly, not because she was particularly beautiful, though she wasn't at all unpleasant to look at. No, it had been the way she had conducted herself during lectures. While other students frequently zoned out or sent messages to one another on their PADDs, she listened attentively – almost vigilantly – to all the details. McCoy had also seen her frequently in the library, pouring over books. He wouldn't have guessed that she'd already received a medical degree before arriving at the Academy. The questions she had asked in class indicated that she was thirsty for basic information on procedures that a medical degree should have already afforded her. He wondered if the night was going to be a disaster after all. And Nurse Heston was right – she had gloves on. They didn't need gloves for most procedures but these didn't look like medical gloves anyway.
"Doctor Latour, I presume," he said as he joined her in front of the monitor where the day's patients were tracked. She took a step away from him, leaving a good foot of space between them.
"Doctor McCoy. It is a pleasure to finally work with you," she said, though her tone indicated it was perhaps not a pleasure at all.
"You sure about that? Something tells me you're not excited to spend the next 12 hours with me." McCoy had downloaded the patient list to his PADD and was scrolling through it, only half-interested in the conversation.
"Well, your reputation for making medical cadets cry precedes you," she said wryly, while also scrolling through her PADD.
He looked up in surprise at her.
"What? You are not aware of your ogre status?" she challenged him, with a twist of the mouth that could almost be called a smile and a spark in her eye.
"Ogre, huh?"
She nodded in confirmation.
"Good," he continued. "I don't want people thinking they can come in here and lollygag about. This is a clinic, not a classroom. We're treating real patients."
"Yes, I know. This is not my first rotation. Just the first with you."
"Yeah, well, if you stay out of my way and tend to your patients without problem, we should get along just fine."
"Mmmm, is that all? I just need to be competent?" She was definitely goading him but he wasn't going to take the bait. Not until he knew whether she was actually capable.
"Yes, that's all. Seems to be a tall order around these parts. Now which patients do you want?"
She looked down at her PADD again and back at him. "We could just split the list in the middle. I am fine with that."
McCoy noted the cadence with which she spoke and her word choices. She had just the slightest hint of an accent and he couldn't place it. He had the distinct impression Standard was not her native language, which would be somewhat odd for a terran because almost everyone on Earth grew up learning Standard in addition to any other languages. If he had to guess, he'd say that Latour had learned Standard slightly later than the average terran. He supposed there were still pockets of the world where it was treated as a secondary language, despite Standard's dominance on Earth and throughout the Federation.
They divided the patients amongst themselves and began their shifts, checking in with each patient on their respective PADDs. The clinic was small because truly dire emergencies could be sent directly to the local hospital just down the street from the Academy. But they could treat minor injuries like the broken bones that cadets frequently received in combat training, sicknesses, and whatever else befell Starfleet cadets. The majority of their cases involved hangovers, engineering idiocy, and allergic reactions, as beings from across the Federation would come to San Francisco and adjust to the terran atmosphere and food. Because the clinic was so tiny, McCoy and Latour would often end up in the same room, talking to patients on opposite ends. McCoy could see Latour had a good bedside manner – certainly better than his – and that she knew what she was doing. She was efficient in providing diagnoses and adept at administering the necessary hyposprays along with other basic procedures. For someone so new to the rotation, she really had won all of the nurses over; McCoy sensed their eagerness to assist her, an eagerness seldom present when he asked for a nurse to assist. He felt himself relaxing after the first few hours, semi-confident that he wasn't going to end up babysitting his fellow doctor through the rest of the night.
During lulls, nurses and doctors gathered at the nurses' station to chat with each other. McCoy rarely joined in on these sessions, using the time instead to either catch up on the latest issues of his favorite medical journals or to sneak into the clinic break room and comm his daughter in Georgia. But tonight, he found himself drawn to the others. Latour had a fast wit and she enjoyed socializing with the staff. To his surprise as much as anyone else's, McCoy joined in on the conversation and laughter coming from the desk. He couldn't remember another shift in which everyone was so relaxed and things had run so smoothly.
At one point, Latour stepped away to check on a broken leg that she'd reset and used the bone-knitter on. McCoy was about to leave when he overheard the two nurse cadets on his left talking softly to one another.
"Well, I don't care if she is manipulating us all with her mind – the shifts when she's here are more fun."
"Do you think she is though? I mean, I heard that's why she wears the gloves – because she can only manipulate through touch."
"Maybe so. I heard she can do it all without touching. But I've certainly never seen it."
"It's so strange. She's definitely terran, right? Not Betazoid or part Vulcan?"
"Well, she's not part Vulcan – those ears are always a giveaway. But Betazoid would make sense."
"She doesn't have the eyes of a Betazoid."
McCoy backed away from the two cadets and grabbed his PADD, retreating to the break room. They had to be discussing Latour. And now that he thought about it, he vaguely recalled rumors he'd heard at the start of his second year about a terran cadet with telepathy at the academy. He'd thought that was all they were – stupid stories that immature young adults told each other about anyone who was the slightest bit different. Like the rumors about the Orion sex gang that, much to Jim's disappointment, turned out to be untrue. Or the rumors that the Academy was going to start taking Klingon students. Surely the telepathic terran was just another made-up tale. But what if it weren't? From a personal perspective, he really didn't care if she had telepathy, though the idea that she might be manipulating moods – specifically his – bothered him. But from a medical perspective, he wanted to know more – wanted to study her and figure out if and how a terran could have telepathy. As he sat there, he searched for medical articles, wondering what literature on terran telepathy existed.
McCoy was so engrossed in his search that he didn't hear Latour come in until she nudged a chair out with her leg to sit across the circular table from him. He looked up quickly and cleared his search from the PADD screen. In her hands, she held two cups of the swill they tried to pass off as coffee here at the Academy.
"Want some?" she asked, nodding to the cups in her hands.
"Yeah, thanks," he replied, taking one of the cups from her. As he grabbed it, his fingers brushed against the material of her gloves. She pulled her hand away quickly, as if burned, and he wondered if he had inadvertently spilt coffee on her. The fabric of her glove was soft – like cotton or suede. But the gloves seemed to cling to her hands in a way that cotton wouldn't. They were white and ended right at the top of her wrists. McCoy decided to just go for it.
"So what's the deal with the gloves?"
"Ah… you heard the rumors and you want confirmation." She arched an eyebrow at him. He wanted to deny he'd heard any rumors but the nurses' conversation was fresh in his mind.
He cocked an eyebrow right back at her.
"Yeah, I suppose so. I'd like to hear the real story from you."
She stared hard at him before answering, her eyebrows knitted over some internal struggle.
"Fair enough." She set her coffee down and leaned towards him in her chair, placing both hands on her edge of the table.
"I am a touch telepath. With a side of telekinetic abilities because it is not awkward enough to just read the minds of others." Her mouth twisted into something akin to a smile at that. "Unfortunately, I have not mastered sufficient control of either ability yet."
"You must be fun at parties," he quipped.
"Maybe I am – for different reasons," she shot back. He liked the feistiness.
"So it's all true then?"
"Mmmm, no. How much have you heard? I am not a shape-shifter. I am also not Vulcan. I was born and raised here on Earth. I do not spy on peoples' thoughts to cheat on exams. And I do not manipulate the moods of others. I cannot just make things float around for fun." Her eyes flashed as she grew more vexed listing the various things she'd heard around the Academy.
"Easy, easy." He held his hands up to signify his harmless intentions. "I didn't think you were Vulcan, and the only evidence I have of mood manipulation is how relaxed the staff is tonight."
"Maybe that is because most of them are normally scared of you. Maybe you should try being nice to them more often."
Her chin jutted out defiantly and for just the briefest minute, McCoy wondered what it would be like to kiss her. He shook his head to get the thought out of it and let the comments about his demeanor slide because he was more interested in learning about Latour's abilities.
"I can't say I've heard of a telepathic or telekinetic terran in modern times. Common knowledge holds that terran telepaths were killed during the genocides of the late 21st century. But obviously, you exist," he added hastily, seeing her eyes narrow.
He decided not to mention to her he'd just learned about the killings of telepaths at the end of the eugenics wars in the moments before they started talking, while he had been searching for information on terran telepathy.
"I guess some must have made it through the purges," she shrugged, falling quiet for a minute or two before speaking again.
"I did not realize it was so rare in humans – terrans." She chose her words carefully as she continued. "My grandmother … some of my friends … were like me so I assumed there would be more of us."
It was clear from her body language as much as her words that discussing this was difficult.
"How many of you are there?" He was starting to feel bad for having said anything about the damn gloves in the first place but his curiosity kept getting the best of him.
She ignored his question. Her reticence to speak made McCoy think this wasn't a common discussion for Latour. He wanted to ask her where she was from but she started speaking again.
"It was difficult when I was young and had no real guidance. I have gained a good deal of information and assistance here at the Academy. It has been useful getting to know more beings with the same abilities. The Betazoids are especially helpful."
"What things have you learned here that you didn't know before?"
She shifted in her seat. "Just more discipline. How to keep myself from always doing a full mind meld. See, there are levels. Mind melds are the most dramatic form of telepathy – a complete sharing of two or more minds; memories, emotions, and thoughts. I am learning other options – just sharing emotions, or just using telepathy for mental conversations. These are fairly basic skills that telepaths like Vulcans and Betazoids learn young. I am like an old dog learning new tricks. Does that make sense?"
He nodded and she continued.
"As much help as I have gotten here, I still feel a bit isolated. I do not know anyone else who is quite like me."
"What exactly makes you so different?" He asked the question gently. She appeared to size him up before answering and he wondered if he'd been found wanting.
"Not so much different… but stronger than most telepaths. More sensitive to those who are receptive to telepathy. There are some people – some species of beings – that can resist any attempts to communicate via the mind. But I can break through most defenses. I penetrate minds more quickly and deeply than many other telepaths. However, without full control over what I can do, it is onerous. You would not want to shake my hand and then we suddenly both know every secret the other has hidden away in their mind, hmmm?"
When she put it that way, McCoy realized he was sitting awfully close to her. Maybe they needed another table or ten between them. She seemed to sense his discomfort.
"Do not worry. I have gloves on. And I am not going to touch you. I am very particular about my personal space, for obvious reasons."
"I'm fine. I didn't think you were going to…"
"Yes you did. I could see it in your eyes." He looked at her hard, wondering if maybe she was seeing his thoughts and she rolled her eyes. "You do not have to be a telepath to know when someone is uncomfortable. A pretty natural reaction after someone tells you they could perhaps read your entire mind just by bumping into you."
He shuddered and sat back in his chair, as far away from her as possible.
"Please do not be scared of me," she implored. "It is so very unlikely you would be that sensitive to telepathy; generally non-terran life forms are the ones I must be careful around. And I do not want in your head any more than you want in mine. Having the thoughts of another being in your head is exhausting and painful."
Her earnest appeal to him caught McCoy off guard; it stirred something inside him. He decided to shift the conversation.
"What about the telekinesis?"
"It manifests when I am very stressed or agitated. I am not able to use it on command yet." She would not make eye contact with him and McCoy had a feeling there was more to the telekinesis than she was willing to tell him but he didn't push it further.
"You do realize you're a bit of a modern marvel, don't you?" McCoy couldn't help but want to know more from the medical perspective – it was hard-wired into him. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Surely, others have mentioned what a feat it is to be a terran telepath and telekinetic. It would be amazing to learn more – to conduct a study."
She sighed and he realized that he probably should have phrased that better.
"Yes, it has been mentioned a few hundred times. But I am not a lab rat, you know. I do not want to be studied and picked apart. I am more interested right now in learning to corral my skills than I am in other doctors who want to write dissertations on me."
"But you're a doctor – you know how useful that information could be to others who might be like you."
"Of course I know – why do you think I went into medicine? I want to understand and to help. If studying my abilities would do the universe good, then I want to provide insight. But we know so much from other cultures and species that use telepathy and telekinesis and as you said, there are so few terrans with these skills; it is not like there is a burning need to study me."
"Says you."
"Yes, says me. And I am the only one who can give permission to study me. So you will have to wait before you write up that article on me for Medical Today." Latour's eyes were flashing again, her voice was raised, and he realized he needed to de-escalate the conversation. It had grown too tense.
McCoy was accustomed to this – he had been mostly unable to talk to a woman without starting an argument ever since his divorce. This had not done wonders for his love life, but he'd been perfectly fine with that till now. For some reason, he didn't want this particular woman to be angry with him. He took a deep breath.
"Hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have implied that you belong under a microscope."
She stared at him, perhaps gauging his sincerity. After what felt like an eternity she spoke.
"I understand. I do. If it were not myself, I would want to study me too. But not yet."
"May I still keep asking you questions? I won't write any articles, promise." He gave her a half-grin. She returned it with that same twist of her mouth that he had seen earlier – not quite a smile but not a frown.
"Sure… Yes… Ask away. I reserve the right to not answer if I do not like the questions."
"Seems more than fair." McCoy was proud of himself for successfully circumventing another disastrous bout with a woman.
"How do the gloves fit in exactly? It's skin to skin contact, right?" His thoughts were stuck on the whole contact issue. Her partially bare arms were distracting him.
"Yes, and it is concentrated in my hands – specifically my palms." She held them up to illustrate.
"So if I just bump shoulders – bare skin anywhere but my palms – with the average being, I won't pick up anything. Ninety-nine percent of the population here at the Academy is safe as long as I wear the gloves. Once I have full mastery of my skills, if I do bump into someone and that skin-to-skin contact leads to a telepathic connection, I can limit it. I am not there yet."
"But you will be?"
"Yes. Eventually. Right now, it is like I have been given a book to read. The book is Shakespeare. And I am learning to read and understand it with the skills of a six-year-old."
"Well, that's comforting," he cracked, reclining back in his chair once more, not out of fear, but because he was relaxing.
"Yes, no need to worry at all." Latour gave another twist of her mouth and leaned back in her chair as well. A thought occurred to McCoy.
"Your palms…you're not like Vulcans in terms of…," he grew flustered, realizing where he was going with his question. She understood right away.
"Oh God, no. I do not make love with my hands – I am terran – I do all of that just like you do." She was blushing as she finished speaking.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. I just wondered if the Vulcan hand… thing was a shared trait among touch telepaths." He realized that for two doctors, they were sure having a hard time talking about a bodily activity they frequently discussed with patients and fellow cadets.
"Mmmm, no. Maybe a general sensitivity isolated to the region where the powers of a touch telepath are concentrated. But not the sex thing. "
He noticed that Latour had a habit of absentmindedly twirling a small section of her hair that had broken free from its pins around her fingers while she talked. He couldn't stop watching her play with it as they talked.
"How do you handle rounds?" McCoy couldn't imagine going through rounds worried about touching others – it was such an integral part of what they did.
"Well, the gloves really work. I got them from Nara II – a friend gave them to me. Apparently, young Naralians whose abilities are focused in their hands wear them until they master control. So if I have them on, none of my abilities should come into play. I can touch patients and do whatever a normal doctor would do. I err on the side of caution though and do try to limit my contact with other beings, just in case there is a sensitivity to telepathy."
"Ah," McCoy didn't know much about Naralians, outside of the fact that their planets were a common stop for ships on shore leave due to the large number of brothels. But evidently Naralians were touch telepaths. He made a mental note to look up more information on the Nara system and telepathy. McCoy was skeptical about a thin piece of cloth, or whatever that material was, keeping her telepathic abilities at bay. He found himself staring at her hands in their gloves.
"How do I know you aren't reading my thoughts right now? I did brush your hand when I grabbed that cup from you," He gestured to the coffee in front of him and kept his tone light, to keep from coming off as accusatory.
She looked at him candidly. "If I were in your mind, you would know. For one thing, you would feel it – I am not practiced enough to hide it. And you would be experiencing all my thoughts and emotions as well."
"So, basically, I've got to take your word for it." He couldn't help that a bit of skepticism seeped out. He preferred hard evidence to peoples' words.
"My word has been sufficient up to this point."
"You recoiled when we touched. What was that all about?"
"Habitual reaction. I avoid contact as much as possible."
"You always flinch when you accidentally touch someone?"
She hesitated before speaking again and when she spoke she rushed the words together.
"If you want more proof, you can touch me – skin to skin contact." He stared at her incredulously while she began to turn a deep shade of red.
"We will not share any thoughts and you can stop worrying that I will accidentally bump into you and know everything in your head."
He continued to stare at her as though she'd grown a second head.
"Remember that I have as much to lose here as you. I do not want to share my mind with you. I make this offer because that is how certain I am we will not share a connection."
She looked like someone who had been dared to do something and was terrified but not enough to back out.
"That's okay. I don't need to touch you in order to believe you."
He meant it. Her willingness to risk contact with him in order to make her point was enough proof for him. He certainly didn't need to tempt fate by actually touching her. Even if he found a part of himself wanting to reach out and brush the curls away from her cheek.
"Are you sure?"
She held her arm out to him timidly, bare from the wrist to the sleeve of her medical scrubs, and, despite all his reservations, he found himself again wondering what it would be like to kiss her, this time by trailing kisses up her arm. McCoy shook his head more violently and she retracted her arm. She was difficult to read but McCoy thought perhaps he saw a trace of relief in her eyes.
"No, really. I trust you." The person he didn't trust at that moment was himself. What had gotten into him tonight?
"Okay, good. Because I would never enter another person's mind without their permission. It violates everything I believe in. Doing that to the mind of someone….it is equivalent to rape."
His eyes snapped over to hers at that. "I am serious," she said solemnly. "I cannot think of a greater violation to the self than to have someone read your thoughts or manipulate them non-consensually."
"So that means everyone here is in a good mood tonight because they just really like working with you." McCoy wanted to lighten the mood. The look in her eyes as she discussed mental violations troubled him. He wondered just what had happened to her along the way.
"I guess so. And you. I know the staff likes it when you are here, even if you are a cranky asshole who scares most of them. You know what you are doing and that is better than a friendly idiot on any day."
He smirked at her and worked to put all thoughts of forced or undetected telepathy out of his head. "I guess I deserve that after prying into your secrets right after meeting you."
"It is not a problem. I like that you asked me. No one ever does. They whisper behind my back and think I do not notice. I would rather more people were blunt like you."
"Yeah, well, I'm a fine one to turn to if you want bluntness. I'm a blunt – what was it you said– 'asshole.'"
"You have not been so bad yet. Maybe I caught you on a good night?"
"Or maybe you're just a good doctor so I don't have anything to be cross about. Precious few good doctors around here."
"Mmmm, I do not agree. I think you are being too hard on them. You remember how difficult medical school was. And think of how much worse it would have been if you were taking all these additional Starfleet classes at the same time."
Before they could continue the conversation, Nurse Heston interrupted.
"Doctors, you're needed on the floor – new batch of patients just arrived from the engineering building,"
Both doctors groaned. Engineering injuries were always the worst and they always came in batches of at least two or three.
"How many?" Latour asked while grabbing a tricorder.
"Eight," Heston replied dolefully.
"God help us all," McCoy grumbled, grabbing his PADD and a tricorder. The night had just become less relaxing.
Despite the influx of engineering cadets, the rest of the shift was, if not pleasant, at the very least tolerable. Between McCoy and Latour, the injured were attended to; wounds cleaned and skin regenerated, hyposprays administered to all. Now that he was aware of it, McCoy watched how Latour kept herself from any contact beyond what was absolutely necessary. Perhaps that explained her upbeat bedside manner; she wouldn't touch patients to soothe them but she did what she could with her words. Similarly, he now noticed that when she talked to the nurses at their station, she maintained a barrier, frequently positioning herself on the opposite side of the counter from everyone else. He wondered what it was like to be her, constantly negotiating spaces to keep yourself away from others while trying to maintain normal friendships and working relationships.
Come 3am, McCoy was ready to head home and catch a few hours of sleep before his next shift. But after changing, he found himself waiting patiently for Latour. He told himself he was only doing it because the gentlemanly thing to do would be to walk across the campus with her to cadet housing. The Academy was a safe place but it was still in the heart of a big city and no one should have to walk it alone at night.
After a few minutes, Latour showed up at the clinic entrance. She was surprised to find McCoy still there, waiting for her.
"I thought you would be long gone by now. You did not wait too long for me?" She asked the question with genuine concern. Doctors understood how precious sleep was when working the clinical rotation.
"Only a few minutes. I wouldn't be able to sleep if I knew I had left you to walk back alone."
"Ah, your southern hospitality shines through." She grinned that same pseudo-grin at him and they began their walk home, separated by nothing more than the 6 inches of air between them.
"You can tell, huh? I guess the accent gives it away."
"Yes. One of my closest friends is a southerner – from Mississippi."
"Really? Well, how 'bout that. And where are you from?"
The question seemed to give her pause. McCoy cursed himself for asking her yet another question that she didn't want to answer. Their talk in the break room had held enough awkwardness and gravity for one night. At the same time, he wondered how she managed to make friends if asking where she was from made her uncomfortable.
"I guess I am from a little bit of everywhere. We moved around a great deal."
"But you aren't American, are you? I hear an accent but I don't recognize it…." McCoy couldn't help it. He was curious by nature and he wanted to know more about her.
"No, I am not American. My dad was half-Ivorien – from his mother – so I grew up speaking the dialect spoken there."
"Ivorian?"
"Côte d'Ivoire – Africa." He really heard the accent when she said the name of the country and he felt foolish for not realizing an Ivorian would be someone from the Ivory Coast. He also noted that she used the archaic title for the country. It hadn't been called Côte d'Ivoire for quite some time. He had worked with Ivorians before and remembered their accents sounding much different than what he was hearing from Latour but he took her at her word – perhaps moving around a lot had given her a mélange of accents.
"Ah, okay. That explains it." McCoy decided to turn the conversation away from Latour, in hopes of putting her at ease. He still had questions but he figured it was best to leave them unasked for the time being.
"So, quite a shift tonight, huh?" He wanted to kick himself for his inability to find a better topic.
"Mmmm…those engineering cadets are going to kill us all if they are not more careful." He liked the little hum she made every so often when speaking.
"I don't understand why they were messing with a warp core to begin with."
"One of them told me they were hoping to plug one warp core into another to see what would happen. Something about an interdimensional rift they were hoping to create? We are lucky they did not show up in body bags."
"Jesus. They've all got a death wish and to hell with everyone else."
McCoy found that as long as he didn't ask a question that led to discomfort on Latour's part, they were able to converse easily. They kept the conversation light, discussing various funny and awkward situations involving patients. Before he knew it, they were in front of the complex where Latour lived.
"Well, Latour, it was a pleasure. I'd be happy to have you work a shift with me again."
"I feel like I just aced a very hard test. What an honor to not be chewed out by the fearsome McCoy."
"I'm not that horrible, am I?"
"No. I enjoyed the shift. I think the medical cadets have greatly exaggerated how much of a curmudgeon you are. I believe I saw you smile at one point." Her eyes twinkled.
"Hmph. Don't tell anyone. I'd hate ruining my reputation."
"Your secret is safe with me." At this, there was a lull in the conversation. McCoy knew he should make his exit but he didn't want to leave yet. Despite the fatigue he felt all the way to his bones, he wasn't ready for the night to end.
"After spending this much time together, I ought to know your name… Your first name," he added as she opened her mouth to tell him he already knew her name. She took a moment to regroup and then responded.
"Ah, yes. We did not do formal introductions. My name is Sabine."
"Sabine Latour." He said her name as though it were a bourbon he was tasting. A bourbon he liked.
"I'm Leonard, but no one calls me that. You can call me Leo or Len. That's what my friends call me." He deliberately omitted the nickname Jim had been using since the first day they'd met on the shuttle from Iowa to the Academy.
"Leo McCoy, hmmm?" She smiled at him. "Well, Leo, it was a pleasure meeting you."
This time, he believed her. She stuck her hand out and he took it in his without pausing, holding it briefly before letting it go. It wasn't until he'd let go that he realized the implications of touching her hand. He searched her face, trying to divine if she had experienced any hint of telepathic activity. McCoy hadn't felt anything but the warmth of her hand in his for far too short a moment.
She smiled at him. "The gloves – they really work."
"That obvious what I was thinking?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Hey, look, would you like to get together sometime?" McCoy surprised even himself with his forwardness. She hesitated to answer and he saw a number of conflicting emotions pass over her face.
"Nothing serious," he added to reassure her. "We could just study, grab a quick bite to eat, take care of all the injured engineering cadets…"
As he rambled, McCoy realized he was feeling something he hadn't felt since undergrad; the fear and exhilaration of asking a pretty girl out. He hadn't thought this would happen while at the Academy. Before he'd arrived, he had sworn off all women for the rest of his life. But more than 2 years had gone by and here was a pretty girl that he wanted to spend more time with. He didn't have to marry her. Hell, he was half-afraid to touch her. But he sure wanted to talk to her again.
Sabine finally spoke. "Yes. I would very much like that." Her voice was soft and thoughtful, as though she had carefully considered the positives and negatives of both responses.
McCoy broke into a rare wide grin. "Well, that's just great." They exchanged information and he made his goodbyes, realizing that she was as eager to catch some sleep as he was.