Chapter 14- Misery Business
I showered and changed into my dancing bear pajamas, which McCoy had a lengthy laugh at. "Ok," I sniggered pouring the remaining whiskey into his glass, "so as long as you are in confessional mode, mind telling me why you were such a dick to me when I first came?"
McCoy jerked his head in my direction and smirked. "Whadda mean?" He asked in a mock hurt voice. "I saved your goddamn life! Did you want a foot massage to go with that?"
"That you did." I conceded. "But after that, you were so mean! 'Put food in your mouth and chew?' What kind of medical advice was that?" I asked laughing. "Damn, man! I had just been unthawed from forever ago and you expected me to just fall in with no problems? I didn't know how the ship worked! You could have shown a little more compassion."
He pointed at me and shook his head. "That warm fuzzy shit is your job. Why do you think I was so fucking fast to get you to work? I sure as hell am no good at that. I fix things that don't talk back and that's the way I like it. Nerves and muscles don't give you shit about the way you put them back together. All of the other whining stuff is an unfortunate side effect of consciousness as far as I'm concerned."
"Not entirely true." I challenged taking a hit from my bottle of Bailey's. "I have seen you show mercy before. You are capable of being compassionate, you just choose not to. I know, it is more comfortable that way. My job would be so much easier if I didn't have to listen to the painful details of people's lives. There is so much evil out there that it is amazing anyone can keep their head on straight. But I know you can be nicer. You were nice to me once." I smiled lazily.
"Once?" He asked returning the smile.
"Yeah. I remember it. It was right after I saw the Romulan, remember? You were nice to me then, so why not before?" I queried.
His smile faded and his eyes grew dark. His voice was edgy and hesitant. "Wanna know why?" He growled. "I didn't think you were going to make it. There. I said it. When I found out you weren't eating, I thought there was some permanent damage in your brain and not eating leads to death, you know. I had fixed everything that I could, and I thought you were still going to die. I tend to take things like that personally, it looks bad for a surgeon. But more than that, there was so much fucking pressure from Starfleet to keep you alive I thought I would lose my goddamn license if you didn't make it." He drew his knees up and hung his head with a sigh. "That's why I didn't have much to do with you. I was looking at a dead woman who hadn't laid down yet and a career that was even more dead."
"I can understand that." I sympathized. "I haven't lost anyone yet, but if I ever do I would probably feel the same."
He looked up at me in surprise. "So you don't think I was being a selfish bastard?"
"I think you could have handled it differently, but that is a lot of stress to deal with. Your entire career hinged on the actions of another over which you had no control. That sucks." I chuckled.
"Sure as hell did." He smiled, "But you made it more or less intact and I still have my license. All's well that ends well and all that happy shit."
"So what do you do when you lose someone?" I asked gingerly. "It is almost inevitable in your field, you can't save everyone no matter how hard you try."
He nodded with a grimace. "Doesn't mean I can't give it my damndest. I used to get pissed off, but that was when I first started and I just knew I could save the world if only I tried hard enough." He shook his head and chuckled. "Several years and perhaps a couple hundred fatalities later, it feels more like hopelessness. I could work on someone for hours and pump gallons of blood back in, but it won't make a damn bit of difference. Maybe just knowing when you have been beat is a sign of maturity. I know at the end of the day that I did everything humanly possible, but I still spend hours going over it in my head wondering if there was anything I could have done differently. I know that in the grand scheme of things other forces beyond my control dictates when a person dies, but still it feels like an indictment on my skills as a surgeon every time I lose one."
I reached out to pat him on the shoulder. "Well, I for one am glad that you were on duty to help me. You are a fine surgeon who is very dedicated to his patients even though it is sometimes hard to tell." I sniggered again. "But I get it. You have to be fast, not necessarily fawning."
He looked at me and then his eyes fell as he smiled, broad and natural. "It is nice having you around too." He muttered almost shyly, although I knew for a fact he was not in any way shy. "I just don't know how in the hell you can listen to all of the horrible things that people go through. I would be so fucking depressed I would want to off myself."
I smiled and shook my head. "It can be intense sometimes, but you learn to find the good things in life that make you smile and remember that the world is not wholly comprised of evil and suffering." He huffed incredulously. "Come on, McCoy." I prodded. "You and I are both in the misery business. People never come to see us just to say how good they are feeling. We only see people when they are in pain and in need of help. Don't tell me it doesn't make you feel just a little bit satisfied when someone survives who would have otherwise died because of you."
He shrugged nonchalantly, but couldn't hold back a beaming smile when I playfully punched him in the arm. "I guess." He grudgingly admitted.
"Well, it is the same with me." I concluded.
"Yeah, but the shit you deal with is personal!" He protested. "I worked in a clinic during my psych rotation in med school and I couldn't believe half of the shit I was hearing! People raping and beating others, drug habits, fucked up fetishes, you name it. I had nightmares for months. I just can't listen to stories of people abusing others." He shook his head adamantly. "Give me a sucking chest wound any day."
"Well, I am not sure I would know what to do with a chest wound." I laughed. "It is all according to how you are trained. For whatever reason, stories like that do not bother me. Maybe I have just heard too many and it now takes something over the top to get my attention."
"But how do you separate the story from the person?" He asked with an intense look in his eyes. "How do you listen to someone describe raping another person and then look them in the eye when you pass them in the hall later that day? I am not so sure I could stop myself from beating the hell out of them."
"This is where the secret keeping comes in." I replied shifting uncomfortably. "You will hear things that are illegal and dangerous, but you have to keep your mouth shut and pretend that you know nothing so that others will not catch on. It is something I struggle with, but I made a promise when I went into this field to keep everything strictly confidential and I intend to keep it."
He smiled as he said, "Then you are a better fucking person than I could ever be. I just couldn't keep shit like that from getting to me." He stretched languidly and stood up. "I'm hitting the shower." He announced. "I've got to get out of this fucking monkey suit. Be back in a few."
"I am going to rifle though your things while you are gone." I called with a devilish smile.
He didn't even look back at me to reply in a bored voice, "Knock yourself out."
"You won't say that when I find your porn stash." I yelled over the sound of the shower.
He peeked around the door with a twinkle in his eye and a playful smirk. "Bottom right drawer of the desk." He smiled wide when I stared at him like a deer in the headlights. Was he being serious? What if I looked in the drawer? Hmmm….
"Security to Dr. Collins." Came a feminine voice from a speaker somewhere in his room.
I looked around for an intercom button, but couldn't find one. "Yes?" I asked hesitantly, not knowing if it was voice activated.
"You are needed in Pavel Chekov's quarters immediately." The steely voice informed.
"Uh, ok." I stammered. "What is wrong?" I asked.
"We have no details for you at this time, Doctor." She monotoned. "Please proceed to Ensign Chekov's quarters immediately. Security out."
The door to the bathroom flew open and McCoy sprinted to the closet with a towel wrapped around his waist. He rifled through the closet and dried his hair simultaneously. "Go ahead," he barked. "I will catch up with you."
I numbly nodded and ran until I reached the computer interface by the turbolift. "Computer" I commanded, "where is Ensign Pavel Chekov's quarters located?"
"What the hell are you waiting for?" McCoy asked running past me to the turbolift. I followed him and wondered how he got dressed so fast. He rummaged through a first aid bag and loaded a hypospray with something and yelled at the lift to go to deck 8. He had his war face on and it was fierce.
"Does he have any kind of history?" I asked trying to get a jump on the crisis.
"None." He growled. "God knows what's going on."
The doors opened and we ran to a door that was surrounded by several security personnel as well as Sulu, looking very worried. From inside we heard a primal growl and a loud crashing noise. "Is there anyone in there with him?" McCoy asked the bystanders.
"No, Sir." Sulu answered. "I was, but he kicked me out."
McCoy turned to one of the security officers and barked, "Don't just stand there, open the goddamn door before he tears the place apart!"
After the manual code was entered, the door slid open to reveal a room that looked like a tornado had gone through. Papers and bits of furniture lay everywhere and in the middle of it all was Pavel- wild eyed and breathing heavily.