Section 2: Dance to the Music

Chapter 3: Away, Away, My Heart's on Fire

The remainder of the afternoon passes amicably. The men toss their shirts into the AC, and by the time they have each finished showering, their clothing is clean and fresh. McCoy pulls his shirt on again; Joe changes into something a little more formal for supper at his mother-in-law's. Anon declines the opportunity to strip, slipping instead into the bathroom for an extended period and reappearing adequately clean and groomed. McCoy makes a vague excuse for her seemingly hyper-modesty, which Julie accepts with only a brief eyeroll.

"No need to explain to me, Lenny. I'm the intragalactic social worker of the family, remember? People do all kinds of things for all kinds of reasons – it's not my affair, nor anyone else's."

Alexi and JJ have to wash up twice: once before they are allowed tea and biscuits, and the other after another round of Rocky Mountains/Tripping Hither, this time on the playground. Julie forbids their begging Anon to join in, but the ensign watches them closely while they sing and climb, and their pleasure is clearly mutual.

As for the iced tea, cold and refreshing, and the biscuits, served with a variety of homemade jams, Anon is in her element, especially on learning that Julie herself had baked the biscuits and cooked the jams. She peels the layers of a biscuit, thinner and thinner until they are translucent. She takes small spoonsful of each jam, inhaling their fragrance, holding them up to the light, spreading them over the biscuits, carefully nibbling on pulp and seeds when she finds any, rolling each bit around her mouth before swallowing. She concludes by announcing, "Another Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat!" Only McCoy knows where the phrase originated, but it elicits roars of laughter and agreement.

"Bless your heart, Ms. Soli!" Julie gushes. "You can be a guest at my table any old time. You make me feel like the goddess of the kitchen. I tell you what – tomorrow morning, bright and early, you and Lenny must join us for breakfast. Tonight, I'll get us set up to bake a couple loaves of sourdough bread together. It'll be such a pleasure." McCoy thinks his sister is laying it on a bit thick, but Anon beams.

"Bake bread? I've never done anything like that in my life. I can hardly wait. Thank you, Ms. Julie."

McCoy nods gratefully at Julie, and steels himself for supper at Ma's.

Seated around the ancient dining table, its oak surface battered but gleaming, extended with both leaves to accommodate their numbers, the family passes dishes and chows down and trades banter.

Mostly. The matriarch and the space alien sit quietly, seated far apart, while the children and grandchildren chatter and laugh, a little forced at times, but overall smoothly.

Anon had greeted McCoy's mother with a shaky, "Good evening, Ms. McCoy. Thank you for inviting me to supper." Shaky but without stammering – McCoy suspected that she had been practicing during her long isolation in the McCoy-Robinson bathroom. She did not extend her hand this time. For her part, Ma said, "Good evening, Ms. Andersen. Please come in." She didn't extend her hand either. One hurdle passed, McCoy thought, one times infinity to go.

Despite his and Julie's worst trepidations, they have gotten through dinner and are in the home stretch. Anon, having learned the rule of thems-that-cooks-don't-gotta-clean from her many times at her adoptive family's home, gathers plates and cutlery, bowls and cups, and brings them into the kitchen. Kim the dog, ever hopeful but never begging, no never, joins her.

McCoy hesitates but pushes his chair back and when the sounds of scraping and stacking begin he springs to his feet.

"Sit down, useless boy," Ma orders him. "You won't know where anything goes. I'll supervise the goings on in my own kitchen."

Is she joking or threatening? McCoy's internal alarm is blinking red and sirens shrieking, but he slowly sits down. "You just let me know if I can help, okay, Ma?" No response. He and Julie exchange worried glances but remain at the table.

In the kitchen, Ma watches Anon for a long, uncomfortable moment. Anon breaks the silence. "Is that the kitchen AC?" and she points to the likely appliance. "Mor likes to have dishes lined up just so. Do you have any preferences?"

"Everyone does," replies Ma, confusingly. "I'll load up the AC myself. Kim gets the scraps by the way. Her bowl is over there." Ma points with her foot, then passes by Anon to open the AC.

"Thank you, Ms. McCoy." Anon crosses to pick the dog's bowl off the floor, then stands, rotating the bowl in her hands.

Ma's look is one of contempt. "Put the dog's bowl in the sink. Scrape the orts into the bowl. Hand me the dishes. Give the dog her bowl. Clean the sink. Not so hard, is it?"

"No, Ms. McCoy, it is not. Thank you." Anon follows the instructions, but her hands are trembling as she attempts to pick up a plate to push the leavings into the dog's bowl.

"Give me that," Ma mutters. "You're going to break something the way you're going."

Anon quietly sets down the plate, clasps her hands together, shuffles backward.

Ma doesn't pick up the plate but regards Anon. "Tell me. What exactly are your designs on my son?"

Anon's eyes widen and she bites her lip before answering. "Well, I'm not sure what you mean, but I do love to talk to him. He's so interesting, you know. And I love to watch 2Ds with him – he has such a good sense of humor and we laugh at the same things – and we share music together. And I love to have sex with him. It makes him so happy. He's …"

"Whore! Tramp! Parasite!" Ma slaps Anon hard across the face. All hell breaks loose.

"Oh! Monster! You attacked me!" Ma bends double with pain, holding her cheek. "Get out of my house! Get out!"

Anon stands frozen for an instant. Then she intones, "Thank you so very much for the wonderful dinner, Ms. McCoy. Goodbye. Have a good evening." She runs out of the kitchen, the door slamming shut behind her.

Alexi and JJ are screaming. "Mama, it hurts. Papa, Papa!" McCoy, Julie, and Joe simultaneously gasped at the sharp blow they felt across their faces, but then Julie and Joe immediately thereafter turn, fumbling, to their children, who throw themselves into their arms.

McCoy shoves his chair back with such force that it tumbles over, and he storms into the kitchen rubbing his smarting cheek. Ma is rubbing her cheek as well, wailing even more than the children. "Leonard, what have you brought home! It attacked me, it hurt me! I told you …"

"Stop, Mother, just stop. I know damn well what happened. Where did she …" McCoy's question is answered by the golden glow of the transporter that penetrates the window curtains. He stomps outside anyway but can see Anon is already gone. He runs halfway to the kiosk before pausing. He can still hear his mother sobbing, although the children have quieted. His cheek is fine now; he knows of course he didn't actually experience the blow, but it felt real and his reaction was exaggerated by the tension he had experienced all day. He throws his arms up in surrender and turns back to the house.

McCoy put his mother to bed, and Joe has taken the children home. The McCoy siblings have finished cleaning the kitchen and are back at the table. McCoy with a postprandial whiskey, Julie with a sherry. Both are anticipating at least a second glass.

Julie starts the conversation. "First of all, Lenny, why are you still here? You should be with Soli."

McCoy swears under his breath and growls. "Because I know that as soon as she got to the Enterprise she went into a meditative state. It's what she does. She would have wanted to try to understand what happened and why and how. I can talk to her afterwards, whether or not she has had any insight, but, it doesn't work to talk to her when she needs to meditate. Trust me, I've tried, and it's no good."

"Fair enough." Julie sips her sherry, purses her lips, sips again. Now she feels free to speak her mind, and she has at it. Has at him.

"Why, Lenny, why? You could have told me. Hell, you could have told Ma. She wouldn't have behaved any better, I am quite sure, but you would have spared the rest of us. Especially Soli. She pretty obviously had no idea about Ma. What the hell were you thinking, if anything?"

McCoy turns his glass in his hands, shrinking before the scowl of his irate older sister. "I was thinking – and yes, Jules, I've thought about this constantly since I fell in love with her – I was thinking that if Ma heard nothing but wonderful things about her, that she would at least give her half a chance instead of rejecting her without even meeting her, which you know she would have done."

Julie nods her head and lifts her shoulders helplessly. Both take sips from their respective glasses, and Julie offers glumly, "But Ma's always been this way, Lenny, for as long as I can remember. She hates the Federation, she hates that my job frequently involves interspecies mediation, she was furious when you joined Starfleet. She forgave you, of course, but now …"

McCoy interrupts, "I know, I know. I was stupid. But honestly Jules, I've never seen her interact with a person of a different species. It was all theoretical from my point of view. I didn't believe she would be … like she was, in an actual encounter. Especially with Soli. I'm crazy about her. Now that you've met her, am I right or am I right?"

"Is that a multiple-choice question?" Julie sips delicately, sets down the glass, and reaches over to pat her brother on the arm. "She is adorable. She's an odd duck, but so are you, dear brother. And she loves and trusts you. Or at least she did. I don't know what the future holds."

"Shit." McCoy slams down the rest of his whiskey, reaches for the bottle, refills his glass. "I don't know the distant future but I do know short-term. Tomorrow morning, she'll break up with me. Again. She always does when there's a problem, whether big, small, or imaginary. Not because she wants to, mind you, but because she thinks it's better for me."

"Really." Julie tips her head and studies her brother. "I don't like it. It sounds manipulative. Who honestly thinks that way?"

"She does." McCoy pushes his glass away, puts his elbows on the table, and rests his chin on his clenched fists. Julie waits for him to gather his thoughts. She's good about that, he thinks, and he smiles at her reflexively. She smiles back, briefly.

"She does, Jules. She loves me. She wants me to be happy. If she thinks she's making me unhappy she's willing to step away. It's genuine. She's not human, she's not acculturated to human norms. Well, except for watching her romantic movies. But those more affect what she believes about what I think, not what she herself thinks. It can be pretty comical sometimes."

"A comedy of errors," Julie suggests.

"Sometimes," McCoy reflects. "But I have no doubt that she loves me and wants to be with me, so long as it makes me happy. I've never known a woman who felt that way about me."

"Hey!" Julie protests.

"Present company excluded," McCoy hastens to add. "But come on. It's not the same thing and you know that damn well!"

"I do, brother of mine." Julie laughs at him but promptly turns serious. "What are you not telling me?"

McCoy feels his cheeks burning, partly discomfiture, partly the whiskey. He doesn't answer, but Julie persists. "What happened between Ma and Soli that all of a sudden everybody was in pain and hollering? Does she have some sort of telepathic abilities? I've known several species that do. Was she striking Ma with it? Please tell me, Lenny. I know that you know."

McCoy is jolted by Julie's suggestion that Anon attacked their mother. "No, Julie, not at all! It wasn't Soli's fault, not at all! Not her fault! She didn't do anything to Ma or anyone else." McCoy pushes himself to a stand and begins pacing the room. "Julie, I can't talk about this. Only a handful of people aboard the Enterprise know, and even most of those few aren't supposed to. She … Never mind about that. But … to hell with it. You were affected, and I'm not going to lie to you. You have a right to know.

"Yes, you'd call it telepathy. She doesn't. She was raised by people with the same ability, and they all call it neural communication. What you felt was Ma slapping her, not her hitting Ma. Her telepathy is very strong when she touches or is touched by someone skin-to-skin. If she's not prepared, and there's no way she was prepared for Ma hitting her, everyone around, for twenty or thirty meters at least – left, right, above, below – feels what she feels, for better or worse. That's why she wears gloves, why she didn't want to take them off or any of her other clothes to get cleaned up at your place. Too risky."

Julie watches him thoughtfully as he walks, finally tries to follow up on his rant. "Does she …"

"Sorry, Jules," McCoy interrupts. "I really can't talk about it anymore. I trust you to keep it to yourself. Oh, I expect you'll tell Joe, but nobody else, okay? Please? Pretty please?"

Julie smiles at his lame attempt at humor and pacification.

"Sure, Lenny. It'll take some time to think this through. I mean, for her to be that strong a whole room away. The telepaths whom I know get and give only vague sensations with other people. Vulcans need time and touch to do their mind melds. The ramifications with Soli are pretty complicated. Wow. Lenny, how do you…"

"None of your damn business."

"Point taken, baby brother. Hey, let's toast to love and other foibles." McCoy laughs, bends down and kisses his sister on the forehead, and clicks glasses with her.

"I'll drink to that."

As McCoy had predicted, Anon is in her quarters. She had finished her meditation on the day's events, she had fallen into her coma-like sleep for the usual two hours, and now is plugged into her music console, earbuds jammed in tightly, keyboard unrolled, both listening and playing. A flashing light grabs her attention, and she unplugs herself, spinning around, seeing that someone is at the door.

"Come," she commands, and the door obediently slides open. "Simbolllah. Oh, my friend."

As Anon stands, Simbollah enters, and they embrace. Simbollah checks Anon's hands to be sure they are gloved; they are, so Simbollah takes her friend's hand and walks her over to her berth, the only place in the tiny room for two, and sits down with her. "What happened, Anon? I just got off shift or I would have come sooner. Your eyes were … and your cheek. Here, I brought you a cold pack. It looks like it's already bruising, but maybe it will help anyway."

Anon gracefully accepts the by-now useless cold pack and holds it to her cheek. Simbollah puts her arm around her and asks again, "What happened?"

Anon takes her time but eventually replies. "I am just not sure. I've been thinking and meditating and I did actually sleep, which a lot of times I can't do, well, once in a while I can't do when I'm upset, but I did anyway so that's good."

Anon leans her head on Simbollah's shoulder. The red shirt waits a bit longer before asking again. "What happened, Anon?"

Third time's the charm, so the cliché goes, and this is one of those times when it's accurate.

"Leonard's mother hated me. Immediately. She didn't even say hello. She didn't take my hand to shake it like I'd been practicing. You know."

"Yes, I know." Simbollah was at the other end of that extended hand enough times to be a witness. As she often does, she notes Anon's reference to Leonard instead of McCoy. Anon is the only person she knows in Starfleet who calls people by their first names and gets away with it. Only ever McCoy and Andersen, but still it is worth noting. Simbollah loves her friend for many reasons, and this is one of them. "You had practiced shaking hands with me. How did your greeting go?"

"Oh, I stammered a lot. I was so mad at myself but I always trip over my tongue so what can I do. I got it all out eventually."

"But she didn't even say hello." Simbollah echoes Anon's words.

Anon shook her head, still holding the cold pack to her face. "No. She told Leonard to go back to the house with her, and they had a big argument. I tried to ignore it but it was pretty loud and I played and sang with the children to drown it out and distract myself and everybody else but I still heard it."

"You played with the children? You met the rest of Dr. McCoy's family then?" Simbollah takes the cold pack from Anon's hand, refolds it, and gives it back. Anon reapplies it to her cheek.

"I did. I think they liked me. Actually, I think they loved me. They were wonderful to me." She smiles wistfully, then her face darkens. "But not his mother. She let me come for supper. She was trying to keep her promise to Leonard, and to Julie, that's his sister, really trying, I think. But after supper, when I was helping with cleanup, she asked me what my designs were on Leonard, and …"

"You're kidding. Your designs on him? I thought that was only in those old movies." SImbollah has straightened up. This is turning into a good story, worthy of a 2D.

"Yah, me too. I still don't get it. I didn't know what to say, so I told her how interesting Leonard is, and how much fun, and how I love to have sex with him, I thought she'd be really glad about all that. But she slapped me. Hard." Anon's nictitating membranes have covered her eyes, and her hand covers her cheek. She leans against her friend and draws a quavering breath. "Why does she hate me? Janay loved me and her family loves me. They adopted me. Leonard loves me…"

Anon's breadth and depth of knowledge of the sciences and the performing arts is so vast that Simbollah is always at a loss when her understanding of people is exposed as childlike in its limitations, binary in its possibilities. Everybody does this. A equals B therefore C.

Simbollah makes a valiant effort. "I've only had two serious boyfriends, Anon. You know, serious enough to meet their parents? The first meeting was a disaster; I was lucky that we broke up. The second went beautifully. The only reason I regret breaking up was that I still miss his parents. No lie. I loved them."

Anon laughs, then hiccoughs, and laughs some more.

"So anyway, one was awful, one was great. You never know. McCoy's was awful, but," she hastens to add, "that could change. Sounds like she didn't even give you a chance, so if she tries I'm sure she'll love you. But, Anon? Don't talk about sex with your boyfriend with his mother. Can't speak for other species, but not with human mothers. They don't want to hear it. Trust me on this."

"I do trust you but I don't understand. Everybody has sex. Mothers most obviously. Why wouldn't they want to know their children are happy with their partners?"

"Anon, they just don't. McCoy will always be her baby boy; you are the predator snatching him away."

Simbollah casts about for a way to wriggle out of this subject. "Look, I don't know! But you're better off with a mother like that than one who would pump you for details. In that case you'd want to run screaming in the opposite direction."

"Oh." Anon mulls this over. "Okay, got it. Thank you, my dear friend. You just keep saving me. When will I ever do something for you like you deserve?"

She hugs Simbollah hard, then resumes leaning against her. Suddenly she sits up straight.

"You said you just got off shift. You must be exhausted. Did you eat?"

Simbollah stretches and hops down from the berth. "Yes, yes, and not yet. I need a meal and a long kip as they say. Are you okay now? I can stay with you if you need me."

Anon rushes to the small cooler and peers inside, but it is empty. "I have nothing. I'm so sorry. Go, eat, rest. I love you so much. You're such a good friend."

"So are you, my dear. I'm looking forward to Shore Leave being over so we can get back to a normal schedule and our music again. Best thing in my life, honest and true."

Anon eyes her. "Not the very best, I hope. Get some sleep and you'll feel differently. I hope." She ritualistically kisses her gloved fingertips and touches Simbollah's forehead. Simbollah reciprocates and departs Anon's quarters.