"But you're a girl."
"How astute of you, Doctor," Cara replied with a smile, her mouth lifting accentuating her cheekbones and crinkling the corners of her brown eyes defying any attempt at concealing amusement.
McCoy answered in a grumbling tone, "I can see the headline now, Starfleet Physician Mistakes Human Gender."
Her response was immediate and delivered matter-of-factly, "No. Enterprise Chief Medical Officer Bewildered After Seeing Sex." She paused and then ticked off the bullet points with her fingers, "Prominent ship, recognized personality, alliteration, and … well … sex, all the necessary elements for effective click bait."
Lifting his chin and fixing her with a stony glare, McCoy considered whether that was her intention.
She held his gaze for several seconds and then shook her head. "Teasing."
"Not funny," he muttered, "thought you were writing your next article."
"If you read any of my work, I hope it would be clear I'd never write such a headline nor publish the accompanying juicy details," Cara replied emphatically. She tilted her head slightly to the side and added with a hint of mischief, "Though don't underestimate the public's interest in the flagship's dashing healer."
"I'm just a simple country doctor," McCoy said as he scrutinized his scanner's data. "And I did review the briefing materials for our embedded journalist which included a sampling of the work of Charlie March. Hence my surprise."
"Ah, so Chris … sorry Admiral Pike … only listed my nom de plume?"
He repositioned the scanner. "Again, simple country doctor who does not speak whatever language you just uttered."
"Name of feather, you know, like the old-style quills?"
His glare returned.
"Pseudonym. Pen name. I publish under Charlie March. And for the record, Charlie is a common name for multiple genders."
"Not where I come from ma'am," McCoy replied in his deepest southern drawl. "Humor me. How did Cara Aguirre become Charlie March?"
"Oh …" She started and then her cheeks pinked. "It's not an interesting story and would probably sound silly to you …"
"Try me," McCoy responded in his soothing professional tone as the scanner whirled. He had noticed her anxiety rising on hearing the equipment and assumed the reaction was typical white coat syndrome.
"It was a childhood thing …"
He raised an eyebrow and composed his face in a credible imitation of Spock. "Curiosity flummoxed the Vulcan."
"I was … on my own a lot as a child," Cara began.
"Why?"
She shrugged. "Different reasons. We settled on Pavlopetri when I was eight."
"Isn't that the ocean world where the inhabitants live in underwater cities?"
"Yes. My father is a marine biologist, my mother an engineer. There were no other children near my age."
"Because the Pavlopetrians propagate their species via cloning?" McCoy asked. He was pleased her vitals calmed as she continued explaining.
"That was one factor. I'm an only child but longed for sisters. And I read a lot. So I wrote myself into the March clan as Charlotte."
He closed the scanner. "The Marches were friends of your parents? It doesn't sound like a Pavlopetri surname."
Her eyes widened. "The Marches? Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy? Arguably literature's most famous sisters?"
Shaking his head, McCoy raised his hands, palms up, in a question.
"Little Women by Louisa May Alcott?"
"Never heard of it."
"Where did you go to high school? The Klingon home world?"
"Georgia," he replied.
"If you ever have a daughter, read it with her. It's that good." Cara missed the brief pained expression that crossed the doctor's features. "Charlotte, me that is, is younger than Jo and older than Beth. I have notebooks filled with their adventures." Suddenly feeling shy and vulnerable she looked away.
"Not silly at all," McCoy pronounced in a firm tone. He took out an instrument resembling a space age version of a twenty-first century stethoscope. Placing it on her chest he instructed, "Deep breath. Good." Repositioning he said, "Again. And Again." Noticing Cara's puzzled expression, he explained, "Medical scanners are necessary, but nothing replaces a physician's five senses." Switching the diaphragm to her back he said, "Deep breath. Again. Again."
Discarding the stethoscope, he held up his hands. "May I?" After receiving permission McCoy added as he palpitated her neck, "Another can join us if you prefer."
"Not needed."
Satisfied after conducting the hands-on physical examination, McCoy cast a set of metabolic results on the mounted viewscreen. He stabbed a finger at the data. "How in the name of all that is holy does a journalist end up with these readings? Dehydrated and with electrolytes a mixture of bad, worse, and still worse?"
"Had a bit of trouble on the rim. I feel fine, no need to overblow it," Cara assured.
"Oh, it's a big deal to me." Retrieving two hyprosprays from the replicator McCoy administered both, one on the side of her neck, one on her inner wrist. In response to the unspoken question he said, "Vitamins and time-released hydration fluid packets inserted just under the skin."
McCoy continued in a stern tone, "And eat three balanced meals a day." He then warned, "I will be checking."
"You're very thorough," Cara said with a faint smile.
Hands on his hips, McCoy retorted in a raised voice, "Damn right. This isn't a luxury cruise taking in the scenery between Earth, Vulcan, and Andoria. In deep space minor problems can escalate fast, too fast. Losing someone over something I can prevent is not an option."
"I apologize. It was not my intention to belittle the dangers nor your commitment to the crew."
"Well then … okay …" he stuttered. "You didn't … We're done."
Standing, Cara held out her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Doctor."
Accepting her gesture McCoy replied as they shook hands, "I'm certain that sentiment will pass in time, once you get to know me better." He added in a mumble under his breath, "Just our ask our first officer."
As he dictated his notes, McCoy realized he omitted the usual eye examination and added a reminder in her medical file.
ooooo
Obtaining a tray from the replicator, McCoy joined Kirk and Spock at their table in the senior officer's mess hall. Spock's eyebrow shot up after observing the doctor's choice for dinner.
"Don't start with me you pointy-eared food critic," McCoy warned. "It's not even a proper steak!"
"But Doctor, it is, imprecisely, amino acid residues joined by peptide bonds and therefore the very definition of a genuine protein," Spock replied. Kirk caught a hint of amusement in the Vulcan's eyes.
"Geesh! As if you would know anything about a good steak. And I suppose mating is merely genitalia contact between one or more beings," McCoy retorted.
"Perhaps for yourself or your partners," Spock replied with a deadpan yet serene expression. "However," with perfected comedic timing he paused, "I possess multifaceted techniques."
"You … you," McCoy sputtered.
"Give it up Bones; he got you. Concede and depart the field gracefully," Kirk said between chuckles.
Enterprise's CMO jabbed a bite of steak on his fork with more force than necessary. "I met the embed today. And she's a girl." McCoy winced at his inadvertent reference to the day's earlier embarrassment.
Creasing his forehead, Spock looked as if he couldn't decide what to say first, a sort of Vulcan silent stuttering.
Kirk asked, "Is she pretty?"
Spock found his voice. "Did you manage that Sherlockian-worthy deduction on your own or was a medical scanner required?"
Rolling his eyes McCoy responded, "Yes."
"To which?" Jim queried.
McCoy smiled and resumed eating.
"I presume your faulty assumption stemmed from reviewing only the provided briefing materials rather than further exploration of her work?" Spock asked.
"I spend the bulk of my days and nights keeping the two of you alive and somewhat whole. That leaves little time for recreational pursuits," McCoy grumped.
"Charlie March, aka Cara Aguirre, won a Pulitzer for her articles documenting the ice hurricanes and the colony they decimated on Uranus," Kirk said.
"You too?" McCoy huffed.
"This ship runs like a well-oiled machine thanks to its first officer, and the crew is healthy thanks to their chief medical officer. So I have time to indulge now and then." Kirk then repeated, "Is she pretty?"
"And your extensive research did not include a hologram, vid, or photograph?" McCoy asked.
"Personal assessments take precedence," Kirk answered with a grin.
"Not your type," McCoy said with confidence.
"That is … unlikely," Spock interjected.
Kirk turned and stared at his XO.
McCoy echoed the Captain's earlier advice in a sarcastic tone, "Jim, concede and depart the field gracefully,"
Shaking his head, Kirk picked up his finished tray and said before leaving, "Gentlemen, dinner tomorrow evening, 7:00pm. Skip the uniforms. It's only polite for this ship's senior officers to welcome our journalist on board."
ooooo
Later in his quarters McCoy retrieved the latest packet of news about his daughter. These infrequent offerings from his ex-wife were like an oasis in the desert. The first was a recent picture of nine-year-old Joanna on her first day of fourth grade. His fingertips traced her profile.
He replayed the video of Joanna's ballet recital identifying each of her graceful movements as he watched. The vid of her championship soccer game from last season was also cherished and he called it up. She played center midfielder, an alternate; fast and agile, good at reading the other team's intentions, and on her way to first string.
McCoy thought back to the hours he spent in the pool teaching Joanna how to swim before her first trip to the ocean. There she squealed with delight when a pod of bottlenose dolphins joined them in the water within petting distance.
The hours of bedtime stories were the most joyful and painful memories of their time together. After she learned to read, they took turns each night. Curious after this morning's conversation, McCoy called up Little Women from the ship's library and quickly scrolled through its contents.
One line caught his attention: 'I don't like to doze by the fire. I like adventures, and I'm going to find some.' He chuckled and thought, Yep, that's Joanna.
As he scrolled other passages piqued his interest: 'Now and then, in this workaday world, things do happen in the delightful storybook fashion, and what a comfort that is.'
'So she enjoyed herself heartily, and found, what isn't always the case, that her granted wish was all she had hoped.'
'She preferred imaginary heroes to real ones, because when tired of them, the former could be shut up in the in the kitchen till called for, and the latter were less manageable.' That invoked thoughts of Jim and Spock and prompted a snort.
'I've got the key to my castle in the air, but whether I can unlock the door remains to be seen.' For reasons unknown to McCoy that sentence felt like a foreshadowing and a promise.
And this one pierced his heart: 'I do think that families are the most beautiful things in all the world.'
He closed the display and rubbed his chin. Damn. Tears threatened. McCoy pushed them back. Joanna's voice, like a ghost from the past, beckoned to him, as she had on the night he lost a young patient, "Daddy, I'll read a story to you, and you'll feel better."
An idea coalesced. Should I … maybe … it would be a way to feel close to Joanna … but … no … Jocelyn won't allow it … and I promised to stay away, not to interfere in their lives … not to confuse my daughter … but when she's grown Joanna might contact me … and this would show she remained in my heart …
He opened the book again. "Computer start a new journal and record."
"Joanna, today I learned of this book. The main character, Josephine, reminds me of you. Nine years old is probably too grown-up for bedtime stories … Computer pause."
McCoy stared at the wall. After a sigh he said, "Resume … but indulge me."
"Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Chapter One. Playing Pilgrims. Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo lying on the rug …"