The Assignment

Star Trek – Animorphs

A balanced meal, as they say, balances out.

He'd hoped for a better metaphor to come to mind, but if the faint unease lingering over his oft-used personal study computer meant anything, Dr. McCoy really couldn't be bothered to waste time thinking of another.

Simple porridge, sweetened of course. Liberal sprinkles of fruits and nuts over the nutritionally-enhanced, never-failed-yet breakfast bowl sat solidly by fresh, distilled water, cutlery sparkling silver on the side.

The chief medical officer didn't tend to make house calls bearing food trays but it paid to get on a mysterious visitor's good side. Particularly if that visitor was perfectly capable of taking a literal bite out of anyone who looked at her sideways.

Tray cutting into his hip, a mild curse at how it dug into sore muscle - not bad enough to need regenerating, he didn't like to self-medicate when nature worked just as well - McCoy passed his free hand over the buzzer.

A muffled welcome and step inside met the bad hair day of a Ms. Crawford. Her eyes bulged comically wide, as if shocked to see someone actually enter after ringing the doorbell.

He laid the tray down, glad not to have spilled it this time, to give her a critical look-down.

"Hmmm." Leonard made a show of patting his chin. "Well, now. I don't see any tentacles... Looks like you've made a full recovery, Missy."

The girl rubbed her face. A groan blew between her fingers.

In fact, he'd seen a lot more than missing cartilage and toothy suckers. Most preferred to forget the constant surveillance aboard a Federation vessel, himself included, but for a case like this the footage almost always came in handy. Why, if she'd chosen to go missing like the bird friend of hers, the more advanced security systems could better pick her up in the isolation ward.

And the night before gave him reason for concern. Not necessary for Ms. Crawford to know the most outlandish theories, but in case she had some questions, worries, it didn't sit right with him not to talk it over.

Though it truly rumbled the guts to see a wrinkled nose over sweet, old-fashioned honeyed oats.

"Not to your taste?" He let the disappointment show. It didn't do to put on a face and pretend he didn't mind someone disliking his own home recipe.

That's what he told himself, and McCoy was sticking to it.

A flicker of hurt, or something like fear drew her arms back. The girl hugged herself.

And hell, it didn't hurt to show some true honesty and some genuine concern at the same time.

"I suppose you might like it less sophisticated-like. Maybe it'd go down easier if it were raw," he said, half an eye to the bio-monitors but most attention on the way the poor thing curled up as if he'd made a threat to her safety.

When Ms. Crawford did speak, it squeaked out like a squashed mouse. "No... No, I don't eat that. Raw meat. I mean..." A wary look and grimace preceded picking up the spoon and dipping a tiny mouthful for herself.

The surprised delight started up a storm of bowl-clicking and licking fingers. Truly. Not so sophisticated, then. But hungry. It did a man good to see the small thing filling herself up. It wouldn't surprise him if all that transforming into different creatures, Terran creatures mind you, took a lot of energy.

Dr. McCoy used the distraction to sit. From long practice, he knew exactly how far to perch without falling off the bed or landing on her feet.

When Ms. Cindy finished and yawned, arm politely over what must be an oat-stained mouth, she didn't react poorly to him being so close.

Instead, the girl did the exact thing he'd been doing since she lost the big teeth. Ms. Cindy looked him up and down. Studied him. Now, so close, he felt a little better to take in the details beyond immediate physical health. It helped to not be worrying about everyone both in and out of the room, including himself.

It didn't strike him as unusual, precisely, to be examined by a teenage girl. Yet not quite so young as she might look, was she?

Cindy. Not an odd name, for a human. And the precision, he didn't miss that. It didn't take a genius to see her studying his arms, the muscles shifting as he moved on the bed, lifting just a few inches on hairy forearms to get comfortable. The insignia on the blue Starfleet medical uniform. Even his hair, if there was anything of interest there, though he doubted it.

But humans don't have the ability to turn into different things. People's skulls didn't melt and move around like...

Bones shuddered.

A touch. Not jittery, not defensive, simple surprise and a warm interest to see Cindy reaching out to scrape a finger on his sleeve.

Before he could do a thing, she'd drawn back. Into herself. The blanket, thin but thermal and damn good in the cold of space, drawn up to her shoulders.

Contact. Deliberate.

It decided him. Not that he was going to do anything else, make a different approach, anyway, but it made for a good kick-off. "I thought, maybe, we could get to know each other. You know. From a fresh start."

Because I know I wouldn't be sleeping that whole scenario off overnight, especially after getting special treatment from our resident Alien Brain Invader, profuse enough to make him shiver.

A shift. The girl'd moved her feet. She cleared her throat. Took the water, a sip, watching him without making eye contact. That warm brown gaze met his own concern from time to time. He didn't push it.

"...Yeah. You're a doctor, right?"

Hope. Is that hope? It couldn't be, unless he'd read the whole situation wrong. Or maybe Cindy hadn't been in her right mind before, hadn't understood that McCoy had wanted to help.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm the ship's CMO. Chief Medical Officer," he added in response to a light crush of confusion on her baby-smooth forehead.

"The ship..." Ms. Crawford rubbed her hair, scraping through the short black buds. "Are we in space?"

An eyebrow lifted despite McCoy's decision not to break character. Calm and unsurprised. Safe.

"We sure are, heaven help us."

The snort, a splattery giggle, nearly startled him right off the bed. Now there's the teenage girl. And another question mark that almost set his teeth on edge, heart building to the usual thrill. It didn't make sense. And yes, heaven help him, he couldn't help but glory in it.

"Sorry - sorry, it's just," a chip in her helpless grin, genuine but for a split second he saw the horror cutting at her, "it's been a long couple days."

"I bet. And it's only the mornin' of the second one."

They let the soft beeping of the equipment fill the space. Not knowing everything didn't quite push Leonard like it did his fellows, his friends, and he didn't feel the need to pry. But something about the dawning in Ms. Cindy's eyes gave him a sense waiting would provide, and in very short time.

So he stood. The trays needed cleaning from last night, a faint stink lingering under the second serving cover and even mentioning raw food seemed to provoke a nasty reaction. Disposed of down the chute, and yes, McCoy caught the girl looking away as if he'd believe she wasn't considering throwing herself down after it.

"'S a single chute, no branch-offs, all the way down to recycling." A shrug, passing the stress off easily, as if he didn't mind answering another hapless tourist's questions. "Y' know, disintegration, reintegration as other matter. Food and whatnot. Damn if I know."

To her credit, Ms. Crawford didn't show disappointment. If anything, a growing smile marked new life in her, the teenager practically wiggling under her blankets.

A fine reaction to porridge, if he did say so himself.

"So, Doctor..." The questioning lilt and a hand emerged to gesture caught him on pretty quick.

"McCoy."

"I, uh, need to ask you about something."

"Hmmm." Everything read as good, normal human signs. "I've got some things to ask you about, young lady, so how about we cut a deal?"

She knew where this was going. Practiced patience cupped her hands in her lap, sitting up to let the sheet pool comfortably round her waist.

Making for eye level should help things along. The boxy tricorder and the report loaded on its display screen weighed his palm down 'til it rested on a knee, propped on a stool dragged to her bedside.

"Let's say when either of us ask a question, the other's got a free answer to their own. You ask, then I ask. We can clear the air and get all the confusion done nice and quick." A quick smile, set gaze on the bright eyes to keep from assessing the perfectly fine oval shape of her skull all over again. "Deal?"

"Deal. So, I have a medical question."

Huh. That was quick. He leaned back, arms crossed. Then uncrossed. "Alright, shoot."

It must've been a doozy, as she displayed some ten of the most common signs of shame to typically prevent a person from asking for medical help before finally blurting out, "In your opinion, uh. Say that someone could become a..."

Faster respiration, not high enough to start an alarm. In fact, it might do them all better not to warn someone out of the loop that the girl could show some real signs of distress. He could disable the alarms... No, no. What if she did have some kind of medical emergency? If anyone came barging in without comm'ing him first, anyway, there'd be a breach of protocol, and he could always set the room to a privacy mode if they got to the juicy stuff.

"...An animal. A wolf."

Never actually had it happen right in front of him, but here the prime example was, sweating out what sounded more like a confession than wanting advice. Gaw, she didn't think much of his mental capacity if the girl thought she'd get away with that one. Her dark skin flushed darker still under a level stare.

"...Yeah. I think I've heard that one before."

"But what if that's normal - and, the way they turned into one was fine and made sense, sort of, but this time it didn't. This time it didn't happen like it should, and it kept going, and it won't go away -"

Heart rate fairly steady, despite the babble. She ignored a raised hand, a feeble attempt to keep her calm and keep the floodgates open, keep her talking.

"- And now she's half girl, half wolf, and it's all wrong and I've lost my control." Hiccups. A grip on the loose gown over her chest moved with the diaphragm, breathing still not quite fast enough to cause real concern. "And - and I smelled it." Teary gaze, strangely pink on the cusp of spilling over. "And I wanted to -"

Pink tears. Blood.

A real wail. "I wanted to eat it raw! Like some kind of animal!"

Finally, a spike. McCoy used the opportunity of coming to her side, rubbing her back as Cindy sobbed her poor heart out, to disable the alarms. They flicked off quiet and without a fuss from his patient. The clutch of her arms around one of his own almost dragged the doctor down to his knees and, throat tight, he let himself sink down to wrap both around her.

It seemed paltry. Yet the little sounds, cooing, ones appropriate to a teenage girl experiencing some rapid body changes (and didn't that sound just ridiculous in this situation, helping a youth through some sort of alien space puberty) let the girl cry in peace. Beads of bloodied tears dripped on his fingers.

A gasp. It wracked the both of them, almost moved the bed. Unsettled, thinking about bright orange shellfish with jagged beaks, McCoy thought he might stand back and give her some space.

"I." Gasp. Pause for breath. "I'm not an animal. I'm just a girl, and I... I'm not a wolf. But I can smell things... And it smelled good." She licked pale lips.

"...It sounds like you're experiencing... a lot of changes. Bodily ones. Perhaps a tad more dramatic than the normal, human kind-"

"But I am human!"

This close, the faint grease on her cheeks, every thirsty pore, sleepy discharge tainted red in that infuriating closeness to the familiar and understood left nothing to the imagination. Breath raw, honestly foul as a dead thing and coming too short for his comfort, Cindy Crawford honestly believed what she'd just blurted out.

And the way she nibbled her lip, teeth perfectly formed and white as cottonfields. A form of understanding, then. Bones didn't sit back, didn't pull away. He sat to wait, knees complaining very shortly.

Any composure left crumpled inwards to a softly sobbed "Sorry," to which McCoy mistakenly gave his forgiveness. Cindy wiped her eyes and steeled herself.

"Look. I'm asking - because it's happening to me. And it doesn't make sense. So, I wanted to know, if you think there's something wrong with me."

"Beyond the obvious?" No, wrong tactic. "We'll leave the 'human' claim for a moment. Well. I suppose, if you - er, this person we're speakin' of, can just turn into a four-legged sort at a moment's notice, then I wouldn't be surprised at all at any side effects. Could be a natural reaction."

Sniffle. "Never happened b'fore though." The trembling started to numb his arm through her fingers.

McCoy said it carefully. "And this isn't her first rodeo? Has she been doing this for a long time?"

The whisper of cloth over a restless leg. The grip weakened, then dug in, talons made flesh in the muscle and connecting membrane between his radius and ulna. As if waiting for an answer she already knew, thin schoolgirl muscles barely visible despite the tension radiating out of her, Cindy peered up at him. An intense scrutiny. Looking for something.

He didn't dare move. It felt strong, if he could put it that way. Momentous. About to break in.

"...Yes. For over a year."

Warmth in the way of a mild, short fever brought the faint taste of bile to his next considered response. After all, McCoy told himself, he'd known their little chat would go this way eventually. All he had to do was bring out the real reason for coming in this morning, show her the report, make good on the back-and-forth promise and get out with his skin intact.

What he hadn't exactly considered, despite knowing better, hunched miserably by his side and clung to the first sign of humanity thrown her way.

But Lord, if it didn't creak the black alloy under his grip to hear that this girl, this little crying child, had been at it for over a year...

And at what? Not just the transforming, no, not just going through what must be a traumatic experience, but going through it over and over, back and forth. According to this now, not even ending when it should've.

But let's not stop there. The doctor shook his head, determined to say it. "And not just the wolfening. I hear there's been a lot of trauma going on in your life, missy, and no mistake."

Cindy sounded genuinely bewildered. "What's that?"

Fiddling with the edges of it, head ducked, McCoy produced his coup-de-grace. It sat in his palms like a particularly ugly Christmas present. Before the eyes bulged out of her skull, and with his luck and her strange abilities that might not be out of the realm of possibility, he pressed the report to play in audio. Resting on her lap, it played the dry auditory cardboard of a regulation Second Officer log.

Had to say something. Foolish, cowardly to leave it all to someone else's audio log, and Dr. McCoy wasn't any kind of coward. "Remember when you woke up, turned off the squiddy tentacles?" Her slow nod, gaze flickering between her and the blank screen. "Well, the man speaking now, you probably recognize him. His name is Spock."

"Yeah, I know Mr. Spock." Dazed. A check of palm on her forehead didn't make for high temperature but he kept a closer watch on the dried blood tears, ignoring the shock turned faint amusement as Cindy accepted attention without a fuss.

"Spock is a Vulcan; a telepathic race."

"Yes, he - he touched me. Held my hand."

Quite an intense touch to get the reaction he'd been wringing out of a bare-bones log sent through encrypted channels to the CMO's priority box.

Spock began the report. McCoy paused it. Tried sympathetic, dropped it a syllable in, adopted the honesty of shared experience. "He did a lot more than that. Spock didn't mean to pry, but he saw things in your mind. He saw a lot of terror. A lot of bloodshed."

And didn't the girl not look surprised at all. Morose. Bottom lip trembling, she cast her gaze around the room. Avoided him.

"I don't say it to bother you, just wanted you to know I've already listened to this. It's not pretty, and as I've been trained in psychology as well as my usual trade..."

Disbelief, short terror in an animalistic baring of teeth and huff straight through her nose.

Goose bumps prickled all the way up his arms, the burst of dark stormy cave memory a shot of adrenalin right when Bones needed some patience, and her look of mixed condemnation and regret must be that wolf sense of smell picking up a noseful of pheromones.

Dr. Leonard Horatio McCoy might feel a bit fearful, at times. He might even be brave enough to say it. But in no way, shape or form did he back down when someone needed his help.

And this girl hadn't one lick of the stubbornness, the rebellion, of his own Joanna.

This mighty beast of the wilds quailed below a tempered Georgian stare-down.

"...so let's have a listen, and I'll be right here with you."