McCoy didn't know much about armies. Not much, but he knew they marched slow. As was now becoming the new norm, the Houses of Healing were in an uproar regarding the return of the last stand of men against the Gates and Doors and all that. But he and Ioreth were putting their heads together for an altogether more daunting task.
There were two hobbits dying in their care, and McCoy was a hair's breadth from crossing the line on the Prime Directive. Perhaps.
Ioreth threw her hands in the air as she paced in the supply closet. "Again! One more time, and maybe this wild yarn you're spinning will amount to sense!"
His perch on the footstool was uncomfortable for more than one reason. Ioreth was sharp, and she wasn't having any of his bull. McCoy needed to cook up something and quick.
"Alright." He sighed. "Here's as much of the truth as I've got."
That put a halt in Ioreth's pacing. McCoy took a deep breath before continuing.
"I wasn't lying to Merry when I said I was the first explorer from my land to come here. Even though I'm no military man or navigator or any of the important things like that-... We have rules. Anybody who goes to a new land for the first time- if it's not… If there are Men in the land, we're supposed to act as scouts first. I'm not allowed to say anything about the place I'm from, or the things I have. Had y'all not caught me with 'em right out the gate, I would've been duty bound to hide the crates until I met up with someone else from my ship."
McCoy paused. "That's our law. And as a member of… our crew, I have to abide by it. But as a- healer, it's harder." He had carefully hidden what he could from Ioreth. Luckily, tricorders look pretty innocuous closed and without power. Most of the truly mind-blowing stuff he'd been able to hide, but the Head Healer had seen enough to know he had a few tricks up his sleeve.
"So you won't help them." She said flatly.
"Now I never said that!" McCoy rose from his seat indignantly. "What you're not hearing is that I'm not magic. I'm not Gandalf with his staff and mysterious ways and a hundred or so names! All the things I've brought are things all my people can use. They're just… refined herbs and medicines inside our special devices. And we don't have kingsfoil where I'm from." He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "This Black Breath everyone keeps catching- I don't have a magic cure for it."
"But one of your boxes-"
"They don't do that!" He nearly erupted again. "It's like- You don't have your nurse put a hand to a patient's forehead to cure a fever do you?" She shook her head. "Because that's what those little boxes do. They're gonna say 'oh boy these fellas sure are feverish' and we're right back at square one!"
Ioreth dragged a hand down her face and groaned. It was more a sound of resignation than anything else. "Forgive me for accusing you thus. I'm sure you're aware of how weary I- how weary we all are."
McCoy nodded. "I know. And I wish there was more I could do to help. But all we have is stone knives, bear-skins, and our wits and we're gonna have to make do."
At this, Ioreth straightened up and adjusted her apron. She had a bone-tired look about her. Exhaustion lined every crease in her face.
"Fine. Let us make do."
/*\\
Everybody and their blasted, dadgum dog wanted to talk to the 'two bravest halflings that ever lived' and McCoy was this close to fending them off with a broomstick. Three near-sleepless days of the most backwards, medieval medicine he could muster up and he was sick to death of people trying to undo all his hard work.
Merry, he had reluctantly allowed a visit. And the Steward, who apparently knew the halflings- hobbits, whatever- well enough to differentiate the two. Yes, there had been a test at the door for anyone claiming kinship with the two recuperating inside. Yes, McCoy had chased off all but Faramir.
Word was beginning to spread, and few dared face the wrath of the 'mad healer' that Ioreth had long since left to guard the room on his own. At least the patients within weren't trying to escape, and there wasn't a Vulcan in sight to nerve pinch him. All the onlookers could take their rubbernecking and shove it. McCoy wasn't budging from this spot.
Especially not for the guard and the two hooded men walking with all sorts of purpose his way.
"Sorry, gents, but nobody's seeing the hobbits until Aragorn himself gets back. So unless you wanna take it up with the Steward, then I suggest you take-"
"We have no intention of disturbing their rest, Healer."
"Aye. 'Twas you we came t'see, McCoy. I cannae imagine the argument you'd have for that-…"
He about died on the spot. Perfect timing, wasn't it? No sleep, no breaks, no sense in this dadgum madhouse-
"Spock, Scotty, if they'd let me carry a weapon I'd flay you both alive!"
He ignored Spock's pointed "Thank you" to the accompanying guard and strode forward to accept Scotty's hug. He'd been so wrapped up in the goings-on in Minas Tirith he'd almost forgotten the possibility of a rescue.
"What a strange way to greet your crewmates, Doctor!" Scotty said with a grin as McCoy stepped back and knocked the hood off his head.
To that, McCoy scowled. "Really! Comin' in here dressed like specters tryin' to scare me- Spock, take that fool thing off."
"Doctor, if you had not yet noticed-"
"They got elves here, y'ain't shocking anybody!"
Spock's eyebrows did it the roof however, as he removed his hood. The guard backed up McCoy's claim with a non-reaction. Almost. Spock did differ quite a bit from the run-of-the-mill elves on this planet. He had his hair all different for one. And he seemed… strange still in a way McCoy couldn't quantify.
"Though these northern elves do dress mighty different from your people." McCoy gave as a hint. "But, they seem to mostly be off with the army, which is due back any day now."
Neither Spock or Scotty knew what to do with this information. They had arrived ahead of the forces of Men, but behind all the big action. Was there a good time to explain? And how would McCoy go tip-toeing about the dance he'd been doing with the Prime Directive?
Luckily, the cards were falling his way all over the place.
Another guard appeared in the hallway. The first one stood at attention, so he must be some kind of a deal. McCoy stared expectantly.
"The Steward-" this new guard began, "-requests your presence and that of your companions at once, Healer McCoy."
"Oh goodie. Must be time for his medicine." McCoy rubbed his hands in a way that made all present pity the Steward. "Be a pal and guard that door, won't you? Nobody goes in or out unless it's Aragorn, Ioreth, or his Stewardness, alright?"
The first guard saluted and took up a new post by the door. Hopefully he'd follow those orders to the letter. That, or face the wrath of every healer in the place. The second guard seemed awfully eager to leave, too, lest he somehow anger the powers that be in the healing ward.
Unfortunately, they had to hike all the way up to the seventh level to get to the chambers of the Steward. McCoy had given them the 'best just play along' sign and they'd both complied. Far be it from Starfleet officers to just go to pieces over some stairs.
Of course, there would be reports… His would be brief and he would do all he could to keep their hides out of the fire. All McCoy had to do was convince Spock and Scotty that things were a-okay. Couldn't have them rat him out.
The Steward's office was luxuriant, but not what McCoy had expected of Faramir. This was not the long, white room they had walked through earlier, but a dark space lit by firelight and adorned with animal trophies. There were signs of war and signs of peace in the gloom. On the heavy desk sat paperweights of fine metal and gemstones near ink quills made from exotic feathers. A sword rack stood to one side. Blades of varying sizes and purposes gleamed in the flickering light of a brazier. The Steward himself was buried half in paperwork, and half in a great coat of dark fur which seemed to climb over the back of his chair in an effort to reach.
Faramir broke the tension with an "Ah!", hastily guzzling a cup of tea. "No need for another dose, healer, I've just taken one." He nodded to the guard. "Thank you, Thurmaen, you are dismissed."
That left the four of them in the musty room with only a crackling fire to cut the silence. Until Faramir decided he had about finished with the room.
"Well," he stood quickly and clapped his hands together, "this business stands not on such formality." With an energy McCoy couldn't source, Faramir practically bolted from the desk to the door. "Why not have our chat in the gardens, shall we?"
So they were led again through the walls and halls of the White City. Faramir seemed awfully eager to put the tight indoors behind them. On top of that, the helter-skelter pace didn't give the three Starfleet men any time to corroborate their stories. It was anyone's guess what kind of yarn Spock and Scotty would try to spin. As it was a mystery how long they'd been scouting the planet and what info they had gleaned already.
Faramir marched them out to a different garden table where they could discuss business in the open air. How different this setting seemed from the gloomy office, and yet how much more like Faramir. He took a seat in the sun and gestured for the others to follow suit. They did. Now it was just the four of them sitting around a table. Silent.
"So," Faramir began, "I hear these are other explorers from your crew, McCoy."
Leading statement as it was, it gave him an opportunity to impart some of the half-truth to the others. "Yes. These are other officers from our ship- the First Mate Spock, and our Chief Engineer Scotty." He gestured to his shipmates before continuing. "Though, I'd sure like to hear how you managed to find me after that storm and me gettin' lost and all." He turned to Faramir with a grin. "Hopeless about directions, y'know. And I'll admit we don't have storms anything like that in the south."
Hopefully that was enough clues without it seeming obvious. The Steward was possibly too quick for his own good. Scotty didn't much have a silver tongue either, but maybe Spock could swing something.
Right now, the Vulcan was giving him the most withering of non-emotional expressions. Spock was well and truly peeved.
"Indeed. It took some doing in locating you. Our route from the south and around the mountain range was treacherous, to use a human expression, and we were quite amazed that you had survived the trip. It was even more unexpected that we would find you in the service of the city…"
There was a thinly veiled 'We'll talk about this later' as Spock finished off his non-explanation. It looked like an invitation for more explanation, probably an unsubtle probe into whether or not the Prime Directive remained intact.
"Worry not, Mister Spock." Faramir said. "While we owe him a great deal, we have no designs to keep him. Your Healer is almost more trouble than he is worth."
That left Scotty howling and McCoy sputtering. Spock, probably had some comment, but at the risk of upsetting his Vulcan sensibilities made a visible effort to hold it back. When the riot calmed a bit, Faramir continued.
"In all seriousness, McCoy you have been invaluable to us and have no doubt saved a great many lives that would otherwise have been lost." He missed the look Spock shot across the table as he went on. "Ioreth tells me she has only seen a handful of men so skilled with the saw and so quick in their ministrations. We have been lacking in our medical recruitment, but now that the war is decided I shall personally institute an effort in training a new stock."
McCoy was feeling the combined heat of flattery and a Vulcan death stare. "I only did what any healer with a good bonesaw would do. I'd hardly say it was all that…"
Sensing some of his embarrassment, Faramir changed tacks. "Well, you've hardly the hands of our King, but I daresay you've done as well as any common healer. Even if your knowledge of herbs leaves much to be desired."
Some of the disapproval leached out of Spock and he interjected before McCoy could 'defend' himself. "Indeed. I find McCoy's attention to matters of higher learning are often inadequate. Your statement is quite correct."
Faramir could hardly seem to believe that an 'elf' had made a joke, but he recovered quickly enough. "We will sing the praises of his hands and his blade, but not of his bedside manner."
"Alright, alright," McCoy had to butt in for the sake of his pride. "That's enough. I'd rather have no songs at all than the kind you two are proposing. Though uh, kingsfoil- If you could spare any amount at all I could study it, maybe look for more on the way home."
Faramir nodded. "A noble pursuit, since you seem to have so little knowledge of it."
Just as Spock seemed ready to ask a question of his own, another guard hurried into the courtyard. "Lord Faramir, I apologize, but Ioreth requests Healer McCoy's presence. One of the halflings has awoken."
"Well, I suppose I'll uh... catch up with you three later." It seemed McCoy was dismissed. Dismissed, and leaving his crewmates behind to both hear and tell all sorts of things.
Ooh boy. Maybe it would've been better if he'd had Gimli run him through with his axe.
A/N: Yay! Spock and Scotty at last!
