Hello Everyone,

Welcome to Act II of our story. It gets more intense from here on out, so a comment and a gentle warning. First, all emotions can be complex and our McCoy is certainly more sensitive than most. Sometimes our emotions can drive us to think and do things that we don't want to think and do. (Thus the angst category for this story).

Which leads me to the warning: there is a reference to intimacy. Nothing explicit (to me), but it is slightly more than what you've already read in a previous chapter. I am certainly no prude but I try to be sensitive to other's concerns while dealing with my character's situation as authentically as I can. When you see the *, this is the start of an intimacy reference. You can skip to the next chapter without impacting the story.

Beyond that I just ask for a little compassion for Leonard H. McCoy. As you will see, he's doing the best he can.

And as always, reviews are appreciated.

~Coop

CHAPTER 10

McCoy sat at his desk watching the chronometer. He'd finished updating Lieutenant McGraw's medical file over an hour ago but couldn't bring himself to schedule the next crewmember due for a physical. He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he should bring Scotty or one of the other men in from Engineering for a random colonoscopy.

That would teach them for hijacking Aggie. The thought was filled with more sadness than anger. Since Aggie had agreed to help in the Engineering Labs, Scotty had been keeping her so busy that McCoy hadn't been able to speak more than three words to her in as many days. He'd caught a glimpse of her that morning though, looking elegant in a simple black dress that hung to her knees. It reminded him of something a ballerina might wear on her day off, and he wondered what other styles of clothing the ship's computer had created for her. He hoped there was something green to match her eyes.

Of course, she could have worn a washrag and McCoy would have thought her beautiful. Unfortunately, he wasn't alone in that thought. He'd waited that morning, like a lovesick fool, near the main turbo-lift that lead to Engineering, hoping to snatch a few minutes of conversation with her. He'd told himself that it was no big deal, but he had rehearsed the casual invite to dinner all the way from his quarters.

When Aggie finally came around the bend in the corridor, the invite had died on his lips. She had been surrounded by a group of young red shirts, each vying for her attention. It was obvious that they'd all had the same idea— to arrive early and escort Aggie to Engineering— and each of them looked simultaneously smitten with her while annoyed with each other. Aggie had laughed as they all jostled to fit in the lift. There had been a good-natured shouting match as several of the men had to shuffle in order to reach the lift operator. Finally, the deck level had been selected and the lift doors slid shut.

And Aggie had never once looked in his direction.

I'm a damned fool, McCoy thought, fiddling with some of the tapes on his desk. Aggie didn't see him as anything other than a friend. An old friend, at that. He recalled how excited, how happy she'd been, when he'd asked if she would like to volunteer in the Engineering Labs. For a few precious moments, McCoy had allowed himself to bask in her light and pretend that she was smiling at him, that she was happy to see him. He had gotten so wrapped up in the moment that he had almost blurted out how he truly felt.

The pretending had been a mistake; he knew that now.

The dreams, the fantasies, the very idea that Aggie might come to . . . what? Love him? What a joke! McCoy's lips twisted into a grimace as he corrected himself. No, he was the joke. God Almighty, if the crew found out how he truly felt about Aggie, he'd be the laughingstock of the entire ship. How could a country doctor even begin to compete with Star Fleet's youngest and finest graduates?

The answer was simple: he couldn't.

McCoy glanced at the chronometer again. His shift had ended awhile ago and the supper hour was nearly gone. He had lingered in his office, telling himself that he wasn't waiting for Aggie to appear, despite the fact that his office had become their place the last few weeks. They had shared almost all of their meals together here, provided by the small food synthesizer that was installed to accommodate a doctor's sometimes hectic schedule.

His gaze lingered on the cream-colored couch, remembering how Aggie had doubled over with laughter at his outlandish description of how Tribbles, self-impregnating balls of fur, had nearly overtaken the ship. It was also where he'd held her as she wept bitter tears after overhearing crewmembers discussing how she'd been found, among so much garbage and filth. McCoy had demanded to know their names, of course, but Aggie refused to say.

And then she'd asked the question McCoy had been dreading: how long? How long had she been asleep? He'd been tempted to sidestep the question, to beg off, but the look in her eyes pierced his heart and he had told her.

But what about my parents? Or friends? Didn't somebody miss me? She'd asked, her features twisted into misery. What did I do? Did I do something wrong?

McCoy had gripped her shoulders firmly to get her attention and gazed deep into eyes bright with sorrow. "Listen to me, Aggie. You've done nothing that deserves what happened to you. Do you hear me? Nothing." He'd shaken her slightly then, emphasizing his words, and when she finally collapsed against him, he'd stroked her back reassuringly. "I told you before, darlin'—you're not alone anymore."

McCoy tore his gaze away from the empty couch and closed his eyes against the memories. Everything ached. His body, his mind. It washed over him like a wave, bringing with it a fatigue that encouraged him to give up, to leave, to stop hoping. Aggie wasn't coming. He needed to stop torturing himself. Eyes still closed, he nodded a little in agreement. Yes, if he truly cared for Aggie— and he did— he should feel happy for her. She deserved the best. Adventures. Friends. A lover. . .

"You're a damned fool, McCoy" he whispered brokenly, then stood up, turned off the office lights, and walked out.

The sonic shower was definitely going to leave bruises this time. McCoy maxed out the pulse dial and then twisted it harder, getting every bit of power the machine had.

It hurt–God, how it hurt!–but it still wasn't enough to distract him from the hollow feeling in his chest or the constant desire that was shredding his nerve ends.

With a roar of frustration, he slammed his fist against the dial and the unit snapped off. He slumped against the metallic privacy screen, panting, and stared at his knuckles. They were already bright red and swollen. Broken? He flexed his hand tentatively. No, but it hurt like hell. But it also felt good. There was a strange sense of satisfaction to see a visible sign of pain. It was a nice change.

McCoy left the shower and dressed in soft gray sweats and matching shirt, intent on heading to the gym. He would need an excuse for the injury and a few rounds in the ring with swollen knuckles might offer a little distraction from his thoughts.

McCoy pulled on his gym shoes and grabbed a small towel from the bathroom, and charged from the room—

—and right into the person standing on the other side of his door.

"Oomph! What the—?" McCoy reared back, eyes widening in disbelief. "Aggie?"

"Jeez, don't get so excited, Len," she joked, steadying the tray she'd been balancing on one hand; she'd been reaching for the door buzzer with the other. She jerked her head to one side to flick a strand of hair from her eyes and smiled up at him. "I mean, it's only pie."

"What?" McCoy repeated dumbly, then stared at the two covered plates on the tray. It took him a minute to absorb her words, and he still didn't trust what he was hearing. Was he so desperate to see Aggie that he was hallucinating? Or maybe he was dreaming again? He was positive he'd never told her where his quarters were located. And why would she come to see him, anyway?

"What are you doing here?" McCoy asked, after expelling a loud breath.

His response was obviously not the one she'd been expecting and her face turned a bright pink, making the few freckles on her face appear darker.

"Oh, I, um . . . I just thought you might like some dessert. Scotty kept me late again, and you weren't in your office. You weren't in the mess hall, either, so I thought . . ." She stumbled over her words as she took in his gym clothes. Then her eyes focused on a point just over his left shoulder as she continued. "You know what? I wasn't thinking; you're busy, of course. I'm so sorry to bother you, Dr. McCoy, I'll go."

McCoy was still drinking in the sight of her when it finally sank in that she had been looking for him, that she had come to see him. And now she was leaving . . .

A small part of his mind was screaming at him to just let her go, that he couldn't keep torturing himself, that he was getting too involved, but the larger part of his mind snarled for the smaller part to Shut the fuck up.

McCoy grabbed her arm just as she started to turn away. "Hey, what's with this 'Doctor McCoy' business? And where are you going?" He pulled gently until she was facing him again. "You just can't show up with pie and then leave. Well, that depends," he said, exaggerating his southern drawl. "What kind of pie is it?"

Aggie still looked uncertain, but said, "Peach." She gave an embarrassed shrug. "Because . . . you know. You being from Georgia, and all."

"Well, that settles it," McCoy said, stepping aside so Aggie could enter his quarters. "I can't let you leave until the pie is gone." In truth, he'd always thought the synthesized peach pie onboard the Enterprise had plenty of room for improvement—his mother used more cinnamon—but he gave the covered plates a hungry look.

Aggie hesitated, glanced at him again, then relented. She gave him a shy smile as she entered his cabin, and McCoy closed his eyes. Ah, yes, there was that knife-to-the-chest feeling he had from earlier. Why not jam it in a little farther and give it a twist for good measure? "Would you care for a drink?" he asked as the door slid shut behind him.

Three hours later. . .

Aggie took a sip of her drink, rolled it around her mouth once, then swallowed. She let out a long sigh of contentment.

"I've missed this," she murmured. She was sitting in a chair next to his bed with her legs propped up on the mattress. The empty plates along with a half-empty bottle of brandy had been placed on his desk.

"You've missed staying up late and drinking alcohol?" He asked, deliberately missing her point. He was slouching in a chair at the foot of the bed, his knees pressing into the mattress. His quarters were better than most, but it still lacked the luxury of a living room. "I'm a terrible doctor to introduce you to such vices."

Aggie rolled her head against the back of the chair so she could look at him. "No," she said, smiling lopsidedly. "Don't be silly. I mean this. Talking."

Warmth spread through McCoy that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He resisted the urge to look at her, afraid that she would see how much her words had affected him, and kept his eyes locked on the small view screen hanging on the wall. It was a live feed from a monitor on the port side of the ship and with the lights dimmed, it looked as though the stars were drifting into his cabin.

"How can you miss talking," he teased gently. "I hear Scotty's communicating in full sentences again."

Aggie laughed quietly. "Oh, yeah. It's 'aye' this and 'nay' that. I kenne understan' the lad sometimes," she said in a poor imitation of the chief engineer's accent.

McCoy smiled, feeling more relaxed than he had in days. "Are you getting anywhere with the trans-warp beaming thing?"

Aggie considered the question. "Hmm, maybe," she said finally. "It's strange. I have all this knowledge in my head—I don't know where it comes from, certainly don't remember learning it—but sometimes if I phrase a question to myself in a certain way, I can come up with an answer. Sometimes it's even right."

"I think that's more amazing than strange," he said. "Could've used that in med school."

Aggie rolled her eyes. "Trust me, it's weird—the knowing and the not-knowing at the same time. It could drive a person crazy, the not-knowing parts." McCoy silently agreed, thinking about all the unanswered questions he held in his heart.

A few moments passed in silence until a small sniff caught his attention. Glancing at Aggie, he saw her wiping at a wet track on her cheek. It left a damp smear which was quickly bisected by another falling tear.

"Hey, now," McCoy said soothingly, leaning forward. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, embarrassed, and waved at her eyes as if to dry them. "Sorry," she said in a tight voice. "I didn't want to do this."

"Aggie," McCoy prodded again, his voice husky. "Tell me what's wrong."

Her lower lip trembled and she pressed a finger against it. She shrugged, then whispered, "I just don't know . . .if this is . . . real."

"Real?" he repeated.

She flicked a hand in his direction and then around his quarters. "This. You. The Enterprise." Her face contorted with rising panic. "What if . . . what if I'm still in that box, Len? And I-I'm just dreaming and this isn't even reality!"

McCoy his shook his head in misery. "Aggie, no. Darlin'. . ." It felt natural for his arms to open wide, and in a blink of an eye, Aggie was in his arms. He held her tightly, holding her close as tremors wracked her body. He pressed his cheek to her hair, making reassuring noises. "Aggie, Aggie," he whispered, then sighed as his heart broke for her again and again. "How can I make you believe this is real? That you're truly free." Without thinking, he reached for her hand and pressed it to his chest, just over his heart. It thudded against her hand, willing her to believe in its existence. In its love for her.

"This is no dream, darlin." He chuckled to himself as a new thought struck him. "If anything, you're the dream come true."

Aggie stiffened against him, and McCoy realized in horror what he'd just said. For a moment, the veil of friendship he'd so carefully crafted had slipped. And his feelings had shown through like the noonday sun.

McCoy remained frozen as Aggie shifted away from him. Her hand remained braced against his chest, but she was staring down at him with wide, searching eyes. Not wanting to see his vulnerability and shame reflected in those beautiful eyes, or worse, see the look of betrayal or disgust, he looked down. He desperately wanted to run but couldn't move. He was trapped.

"Len?" Her voice was soft and questioning. He could practically see her mind working, linking his past behavior with his near-confession. She was but a breath away from understanding his true feelings.

A small part of McCoy felt profound relief: It would soon be over. She would know. And either she would accept him or reject him. There was nothing he could do to change any of it.

He watched as her lips parted again, but before she could speak, a sharp whistle pierced the silence that had enveloped them. It was from the intercom.

"Dr. McCoy. Attention Dr. McCoy."

He felt Aggie ease herself off his lap. From beneath his lashes, he watched her move to stand next to his desk. The announcement repeated itself, insistent. Moving mechanically, McCoy stood. Aggie didn't look at him but stared down at the tray with the empty plates.

Feeling sick, McCoy depressed the intercom button. "McCoy here." His voice was rough sounding to his own ears.

"It's Nurse Jones, Sir. We have a situation with two of our staff."

"Well, what is it?" He asked, watching from the corner of his eye as Aggie slipped on her shoes and returned the empty glasses to his desk.

"Starpox, Sir. Two of our staff have the resistant strain. Must have picked it up on the last run to Halo."

McCoy swallowed. "Well, can't you get Dr. B'Menga to handle it?"

"Sir, Dr. M'Benga is one of the staff members with Starpox. You're the only one that can administer the modified vaccine."

His eyes finally locked eyes with Aggie, and she gave him a small but distant smile. "You'd better go, Len. I can take care of the dishes." She moved to pick up the tray but he jerked his head once.

"Leave it," he said, bitter disappointment making his words sharper than he intended. He repeated himself in a softer tone. "Just . . . leave it."

He turned to depress the intercom button as Aggie went to stand by the door. "I'll be right there, Jones. Prep the hypos, will you." He heard the door to his quarters slide open. "I just need a few seconds, all right?"

"Yes, Doctor. See you shortly."

Inhaling deeply, McCoy turned around, wanting to explain. . . what exactly? But it didn't matter. When he turned around, Aggie had already gone.

(*See Warning Above ~Coop)

It took two minutes and three seconds to reach Sick Bay, nine minutes and thirty-two seconds to administer the vaccines, and a lifetime for McCoy to return to his empty quarters. The door slid shut behind him with the finality of a coffin lid closing. He stood just inside the room, his eyes drifting to the small indent on the bedcover where Aggie's legs had rested. That and the tray on his desk were the only signs that she had ever been there.

Well, the visible ones at least.

He closed his eyes and felt her slender fingers pressing against his chest once more. He tried to remember the last time he'd felt so captivated by a woman's touch, but couldn't. Only Aggie had the ability to make his abdomen tense with desire even as his heart felt like it would explode with love.

And now I've lost her, he thought, stumbling toward the bed. He had nearly driven himself mad while administering the vaccines, wondering if she had realized . . .

Miserable, McCoy lay back on the red-netted sheet, not bothering to undress. He didn't want to think about it anymore, but he couldn't stop remembering how she'd felt in his arms. Never again! He'd never get to hold her, comfort her, be there for her. Grief made him suddenly reckless—defiant, even—and he allowed himself to imagine what her kiss would have felt like, tasted like. He imagined her hand on his chest moving lower and lower until—

"Damn it." His voice was half growl, half pleading. "Come on, McCoy. Don't do this."

He didn't want to imagine the sounds she would have made as he touched places that no other man had ever touched or the feel of her hair gliding across his bare chest. His body tensed as he became aroused against his will. He didn't want to think of how tightly she would have held him within her body or how gently he would have kissed those damp places after their bodies had been satiated.

Aggie was everything he'd ever wanted.

And now she was gone.

McCoy squeezed his eyes shut against the mental onslaught but the lack of sight only served to heighten his other senses. He'd become so aroused that it was painful.

With shaking fingers, he pushed down the sweats and his hips twitched as the cooler air of the room brushed against his sensitive flesh. He imagined he was feeling Aggie as he gripped himself, and began a rocking, stroking motion that would finish him off quickly. His breathing became ragged, his hips jerked upwards once, twice, and then with a sharp cry, McCoy found his release.

Immediately feelings of self-loathing and shame slammed into him. He was disgusted by what he'd just done. He got up, used the towel he'd retrieved earlier to clean up the mess, then undressed in the dark. He slid naked beneath the sheets and curled onto his side.

McCoy had never felt so alone in all his life.

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