Numbing the Pain
By: Stella McCoy
The Star Trek series is owned by Paramount. I
own Al the monk and the plot. Don't sue me, I haven't got anything worth
taking. Problems? You know where to find me. Ja!
Leonard McCoy sat on the windowsill, gazing
half-heartedly at the heavens above him. Right now, he'd rather be among them
than on Earth. One could easily get lost in the heavens, but on Earth it was a
little harder. "Jocelyn," he whispered, raising the bottle of Scotch to his
lips, too tired to comprehend the fact that he hated Scotch. "It could have
worked."
He knew, deep down, that it wouldn't have.
He and Jocelyn had always fought terribly, and the divorce hadn't really come
as a surprise. But that hadn't stopped the shock, and he was in withdrawal from
the world. Jocelyn had left him for Treadway, the living God, and he had to
accept that.
The door creaked open, and his childhood
friend Al was there. Al was a monk in this monastery where he sought refuge
from the world. Though he refused to eat, they often made him anyway. "Hey,
Len," Al said softly, setting the tray of food down. "Come and eat."
"Hello, Al," Leonard said dully, tracing the
crooked lines of Pegasus. "Come to force-feed me?"
"You need to eat," Al insisted, taking the
Scotch and handing him black coffee. "You can't go to space in this condition,
and the monastery can't keep you forever."
"Not gunna go," Leonard muttered, heedlessly
burning his tongue with the coffee. "Ain't got anythin' there."
"You haven't got much here, either," Al said
kindly, bringing him the roast beef sandwich. "Starships are always in need of
doctors, and you're going to be in the Fleet, right?"
Leonard chewed the sandwich, knowing Al wouldn't
leave until he did. "Wha' about Joanna? Jocelyn cain't take her."
Al smiled. This was the most he'd spoken in
weeks. "Leslie took her to Centaurus. She can stay there, and you can visit on
leave."
Leonard looked out at the sky again.
"Starships are flyin' embassies," he said, watching a shooting star streak
across the sky. "At any moment, we might be assigned to ferry the Treadways
somewhere." It stung saying 'Treadway' and knowing that Jocelyn was no longer
his wife.
Al shrugged. "You can spend your life shut
up from the world, watching the stars, or you can be out there making the
difference between life and death, as doctors should."
Leonard sighed. "Righ' now, I'm a drunk, not
a doctor."
Al smiled. "You're making too much sense to
be THAT drunk."
Leonard got up and yanked the Scotch back.
"Then I'll just get drunk'r."
"You're a mess, Leonard McCoy," Al said,
taking the tray. "But not even Jocelyn wants to see you closed up with a bottle
of Scotch, which you claim to hate." He paused, regarding his friend. "You've
picked quite a prison for yourself. Quiet, dark, empty, and no decent liquor to
drown yourself in." With that he left.
"Ouch," was the only thing Leonard could
bring himself to say.
The weeks went by, leaving Leonard to
withdraw farther into himself. He slept fitfully during the day and traced the
constellations of the autumn sky at night. None of the monks ventured near him
save Al, who tried to bring back the old Leonard. "Here Len," he said, shoving
a piece of paper into his hand. "Message from Centaurus."
Leonard drew the back of his hand across his
mouth, wiping away any stray Scotch. He looked at it, reading silently.
" Hi,
Dad!
How are you? It's lonely without you.
Aunt Leslie and Uncle John took me to the museums here, but they aren't very
fun. When are you coming to see me? I miss you.
Lots of Love,
Joanna"
Leonard looked up, eyes wavering. Despite
the fact that Leslie had written it for Joanna, it still sounded like his
daughter. Joanna would be six in July, he realized. "Al," he said softly, "how
long have I been here?"
"About a month," Al answered.
Leonard snorted. "Why'd ya let me stay
cooped up in this prison? I got to head for Starfleet. I've got a commission to
get."
Al simply smiled, and led the way out.
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