0John submits to the usual battery of tests and doesn’t bother to wait for the results. M’Benga will have nothing to report but perfectly healthy readings for an adult human male. In fact he may even proclaim McCoy’s excellent health as “flawless” but, really, John’s heard such descriptions before and he makes a habit of shrugging at the news and acting like it’s a fluke. Geoff, being a man with an inquisitive mind, might try to probe deeper but John’s old health records are altered and there won’t be much medical evidence to support a theory that Leonard McCoy is anything other than typical.
He has taken many steps for countless years to keep himself safe, particularly during the times when he worked for one institution or another. Always blend in; always stay off the radar.
John admits that his decision to chase after Khan was not the best method for maintaining a cover of normalcy. He knew it had to be done because chances were no one but the Reaper could survive one-on-one with a genetically enhanced human like Khan Noonien Singh. Even now, when his secret life is close to being exposed, he doesn’t regret his choice.
John repeats to himself, “It had to be done.”
“Might I come in, Doctor?”
John looks up from behind his desk (maybe not his desk much longer, he grimaces) and motions for the Vulcan to take a seat. “Door’s open, Spock. You don’t need permission when it’s open.”
“I would understand if you do not wish company at this time.” Spock says this as he sits across from the doctor.
John looks away. “This might be the last time we talk, Spock, so why not?” How ironic, since they rarely talk without arguing.
Spock wants to know, “Why do you assume your career is in jeopardy, Doctor McCoy?”
He bites back the urge to tell Spock to call him Leonard. In that moment, John realizes he does believe his life as Leonard McCoy is over—and that bothers him. It wouldn’t be the first time he has been forced to change his identity by unforeseen circumstances.
“I don’t know,” he answers tiredly. “Some things just… don’t work out, no matter how much we wish they would.”
Spock’s silence indicates that he is considering McCoy’s words.
John opens a desk drawer and pulls out a bottle. “I’d offer you a refreshment, Mr. Spock, but I’m afraid I don’t have anything you would care to drink.”
Spock tilts his head. “Why do you keep an alcoholic beverage in your office?”
“It’s part of my practice,” he explains. “As a doctor I have to know when to comfort as well as treat a patient. This—” John holds up the small bottle of whiskey. “—is as medicinal for bad news as a shoulder to cry on.”
“Fascinating,” murmurs the Vulcan. “Do you anticipate bad news, then?”
Spock is trying extra hard to get the doctor to talk. Though why Spock wants to concern himself with John’s problems is beyond the man. He changes the subject instead of answering. “If I ask for M’Benga’s report on your injuries, will I be disappointed in the lack of care my staff has provided you?”
“The Medical department was efficient and most gracious,” Spock says in a grave tone, like he thinks John is seriously questioning his staff’s proficiency. “However, I declined further treatment once I was sufficently recovered.”
“Mmhm. Then am I to believe that my definition of ‘sufficient’ coincides with yours?”
“It may not,” concedes Mr. Spock.
He places the whiskey unopened back into a drawer. “Since neither of us is overly occupied until the Captain calls, why don’t I look you over?” John pauses then adds more convincingly, “It will ease some of Jim’s worries.”
Spock, bless his heart, agrees. They stand up and leave the CMO’s office together, seeking a vacant examination room.
John is pathetically grateful for the distraction. If he doesn’t keep busy, he suspects a chat with Jim will never happen. The Enterprise will end up with one less shuttlecraft, and John will be flying to the backwoods of the galaxy, having shed Leonard McCoy like an old skin.
It’s better this way, John thinks as he sidelong glances at the Vulcan accompanying him through the medical bay. It’s better if I face this demon. I owe it to Jim.
John informs Captain Kirk of Mr. Spock’s condition, mainly outlining that the First Officer has no lasting damage from Khan’s attack and is fit for duty. (Spock hinted that if McCoy pushed for a short medical leave, the Vulcan would be compelled to disobey.) He almost hopes to remind Jim that he is pretty much hanging in the balance until Kirk decides to address the issues between them. Jim, however, gives no indication that he cares about McCoy’s concern, only remarks idly at the end of John’s brief report, “Thank you, Doctor McCoy. Kirk out.”
It’s not like I’m trying to pressure him, John thinks as he turns about his quarters for the third time, seeking a distraction. The wait is becoming unbearable. He may just have to do something foolish, like storming the Bridge or lying in wait in the Captain’s quarters.
But that would only add to the mess of trouble John is in. With an ache bordering on despair, he grabs the closest thing to hand—a personal PADD he rarely uses—and chucks it at the wall. The resulting noise and scattering of broken bits of plastic are a relief, so much so that John drops into a chair and begins to laugh until he is close to crying.
His face is hidden in his hands when Jim finally shows up. Swallowing down embarrassment and a touch of shame at his loss of control, John quickly schools his face to blankness and lets Kirk into his quarters with a calm that belies his miniature breakdown.
Kirk stops just inside the doorway while John walks around picking up the remnants of a PADD. “Khan?” asks John roughly.
“Dead. Scotty has offered to repair the damage to Khan’s cold chamber and we will return his body to the SS Botany Bay, then take the ship to Starbase 12 as planned.”
John can’t imagine that the decision to leave the other super-humans alive is easy for Jim; but Jim is strong enough to make and uphold the hard choice.
“What happened to that?” Jim asks him, nodding at the scraps in John’s hand.
“Accident. Broke it,” he replies and dumps the PADD into the trash bin.
Then they are back to square-one, neither one saying much but with too much that needs to be said. John pulls out an extra chair for Jim but the man shakes his head.
John thinks it best if he doesn’t stand for this sure-to-be-painful conversation. He leans forward once he is seated, clasping his hands between his knees. Thinking it would be easier to just dive straight in, he begins, “How long do I have?”
Jim remains still. “That depends. Can I trust you on my ship?”
“You did before.”
“I thought I knew who you were before, Bones.”
John’s eyes sting at the sound of his nickname. So Jim doesn’t hate him that bad. Thank God.
“I haven’t changed,” he says quietly, “from the first day I set foot on the Enterprise.”
Jim steps forward, then, to stare at him. “I’ve always had questions about you but I thought you would tell me what I needed to know if it was important. I think—I think I made an error in judgment. I should have asked those questions, because I see now some of those answers affect more than just us.” Jim is close to him now, so close that John can see the earnestness in Jim’s eyes—and the resignation in them, too. “If it were just us, Bones, I would keep waiting. But it’s not.”
“I know.” John looks away. “And I’m sorry, Jim, God knows I am. I can’t tell you anything.” I’m not ready. He grinds the back of his teeth, almost despising himself. Two hundred years of never breathing a word of his condition to anyone and killing those who attempted to learn it are difficult habits to change.
“Then you can’t expect me to trust you.”
“And I can’t expect you to keep a man you don’t trust on your ship. I understand. You can,” he says, muscles tight to prevent a shudder, “transfer me, if you want. Or…” He glances up at Jim to search his expression. “I can disappear. Be a fatality, so no one thinks to look for me. Whatever you want me to do, kid.”
“How?” asks the Captain, face giving nothing away.
John smiles, feeling sick. “It wouldn’t be hard. I have contingency plans; always have, wherever I’ve been.”
“Can you tell me why, Bones?”
John feels the words clog in his throat but he tries to force them out. “I can never stay in one place too long,” he admits, choked.
Something passes across Jim’s face. “Are you wanted?” John is questioned in a carefully bland voice.
“Yes.” At Jim’s arrested look, John tries to tell the kid the truth without saying more than he has to. “But not for a crime, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s more… more like I’m an endangered species,” he says dryly. “People would want me and not as a kindness to anyone, especially me.”
Jim opens and closes his hands for a moment, then walks to the empty chair next to John. He sits down gingerly and doesn’t look John in the face. “I don’t understand, Bones.”
“I know you don’t. Believe me, if I thought I could say more without jeopardizing you—” John drags in a breath and finishes, “—I would.” He grabs his head with both hands, shocked. “Fuck.”
Jim sounds anxious. “What?”
John simply shakes his head. “Just… never mind.” But it isn’t nothing because he had just said that he might tell Jim his secret one day—and though the thought seems impossible, he had meant it. Not even with Jocelyn, the woman he married, had John considered the possibility.
“Bones,” asks his friend, “how do I know I can trust you?”
John turns his head to Kirk. “You can’t, Jim. Even if you let me stay on as CMO, you would never know what I really am. You would never know because I won’t tell you, and if I stayed, it wouldn’t be for more than a handful for years. Ten, tops—and that would be pushing the limit.”
Jim doesn’t ask why again. He startles John with “How can you live like that and be happy?”
“It’s damned hard,” John answers honestly. “It’s… lonely and, shit, it isn’t living at all.” He stares at his hands, thinking of how many scars he ought to have but doesn’t. “Everything has a price, Jim. I’ll be paying mine until I die.”
And knowing that he might never die is enough to make him want to cry. Except the last time he cried was over Samantha’s grave and then for weeks afterward, feeling like an orphan. He doesn’t have tears left for an old wound.
Jim doesn’t say how sorry he is, despite the misery in John’s voice, and John is glad for it. Kirk keeps him company for a few minutes in silence, and that is all John really needs to patch himself back together.
“What’s next?” John needs to know.
“Tell me about Khan.” Jim leans back in his chair, hands on the armrests like he is on the Bridge.
“Didn’t Spock tell you about him?”
“He did,” replies Kirk. “I meant, tell me why you went after him, Bones.”
John frowns. “To stop him. Why else?”
“Could you have?”
“Yeah… without distractions,” he says after thinking on it. “I’d have survived, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“And you weren’t worried about your cover?”
He snorts. “Contingency plan, remember?” Then more softly, he adds, “Would have been worth it. Khan was a monster.” John pictures the mutants of Olduvai.
Jim is nodding. “I know what you mean.” John suspects Jim has his own brand of monster. Then Jim sighs and speaks like they are discussing the weather over tea. “I talked to Spock before I came here. Do you know what he suggested?”
John grimaces. “A new CMO with a better attitude? I bet he’s got a list of prospective replacements already.”
Jim shoots him a strange look. “You really are an idiot. Spock respects you.”
His surprised “No!” isn’t faked. “Since when is harassing me a form of Vulcan respect?”
“He doesn’t understand how he intimidates the crew.” Jim shrugs. “Since you aren’t intimidated, he says it makes you ‘less illogical’ than a majority of the confused humans aboard this ship. Congratulations,” Jim remarks dryly.
“Only that green-blooded bastard can deliver such a backhanded compliment.” John feels a pang somewhere in his gut, like an anxiety, but he doesn’t understand why he feels it at the mention of Spock.
Jim shifts in his seat. “Spock suggested I keep you under discreet observation. You haven’t become a threat to the Enterprise yet; to act otherwise would be premature and potentially unwarranted. Not my words.”
John is inexplicably glad that he didn’t ignore the Vulcan earlier that day. “I didn’t think Spock would be a man for second chances.”
“He’s not unfeeling, Bones. People have preconceptions of Vulcans and that’s how they see him, despite that Spock, as an individual, is nothing like you or I would expect.” Jim’s narrow-eyed look is trying to convey a message to John. “He leaves the task of discovering who he is to the other person. You are like that, Bones. The two of you have more in common than you realize.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t offer you a second chance until I have a few promises from you.”
Jim trusts John not to make a promise he can’t keep, at least. John says, “Tell me.”
“I need to know in advance if you can help in a situation in a way that no one else can. Before you go AWOL, not after.” Jim’s mouth quirks. “I might even agree to deflect Command’s inquiries on your behalf in the aftermath.”
“If someone finds out, Jim, it could cost you your career.”
“My career is less important than protecting this crew, the Federation, and those who need our help. You’re a great doctor, Bones. If you can do more, then I’d be a fool not to use you—but only if you consent to help and, more importantly, if you ask.”
“Fine. But you can’t ask for explanations every God-damned minute.”
“Fine.”
John rubs his palms on his pants. “What else?”
“Are you Leonard McCoy?”
John’s heart pounds for a moment. “Jim…”
Jim won’t be budged. “Yes or no.”
“Yes, I’m Leonard McCoy and, yes, I made him up. No, it’s not my real name.”
“I’m less concerned about your identity in some commander’s system,” Jim explains quietly. “You’re Bones to me. Can you promise to still be Bones?” Jim’s eyes search John’s face for the truth.
“I don’t know what you are asking for, kid.”
Jim sighs again. “What can I ask for? I don’t want to look at you and see a stranger. We—we never talked much about where we came from or who we are, but I thought I had a good idea of the basics. You like your coffee black. You don’t sleep more than three or four hours a night.” Jim swallows as he looks at John. “Even when I annoy the hell out of you, you never turn me away.”
John tells him, unhesitant, “All those things won’t change.”
“Then promise me, whatever it is you’ve been doing as… as Bones won’t change someday. I need that. It wasn’t all lies; it couldn’t have been.”
Jim sounds raw and it’s painful to hear.
“Damn it, Jim, I don’t want to hurt you!” John says, almost raising his voice as he rises to pace. “I don’t fucking know who I am half the time. I am—“ He breathes deeply and runs a hand through his hair. “—what gets me by. If you want me to play a role, I can try. Hell, I’ve been trying to be the good doctor. It’s not entirely me, but it’s not entirely unlike me, either. If I had gone into the medical field long ago…” He stares at Jim and says with bitterness, “What-if’s and maybe’s. I screwed up. Do you want to be friends with a man like me?”
“Do you want to be friends with a man like me, Bones?” Jim asks in return. “For what, ten years?”
“Hell.” John closes his eyes. “We’re both crazy. If you give me a head-start, I can be off-ship in an hour.”
Jim’s instant fury surprises John into opening his eyes. “No. You don’t run! If I can’t run—” Jim begins but breaks off. He visibly calms himself. “We’ll work through this. We’ll do it because no one would expect us to.”
John steps aside, uncertain, when Jim stalks past him to the door. He almost calls to Kirk but holds back. This is a no-win scenario, kid but John does not have the heart to say that.
Jim stops at the door, turning to John. “The last promise,” he says evenly, “is for Spock. You have to learn to trust Spock like I do, or we have no hope of accomplishing much at all.”
Kirk doesn’t wait for John to answer. Alone, John realizes he just survived the scariest confrontation of his life. While he and Jim may be at an impasse (until they are ready again to discuss such an emotionally charged topic), John comforts himself with the knowledge that there is something he can do for Jim, for everyone. During gamma shift, John leaves his room, quietly slips up behind the transporter tech on duty and renders the young man unconscious. Within a minute he is aboard the SS Botany Bay, working under a time constraint until he is pulled back to the Enterprise.
John reforms on the transporter platform to find Spock waiting for him. He steps down, asking, “The lieutenant?”
“Comfortably retired to his quarters. I took the liberty of explaining that he was involved in an impromptu security training session and alerting the Captain of any… unauthorized activity would be unnecessary.”
“How did you know I was here?”
Spock doesn’t bat an eye. “My computer monitors your quarters.”
Jeez, Spock, that doesn’t help my paranoia. John sighs instead.
Mr. Spock talks as he works behind the transporter console. “Was your mission successful, Doctor?”
“We’ll know in a minute.”
The ship’s computer announces Records cleared.
Spock is being very calm and helpful. John says, “You didn’t have to do that.”
“While I infer that you know how to erase your activity, I would be obligated to mention our encounter unless I had sufficient cause not to.”
Like being a co-conspirator? Jim was right. John has clearly missed some notable personality quirks of Spock’s.
Spock walks around the console to join the doctor. “Perhaps you should consider widening your circle of confidence before you engage in your next excursion.”
John realizes that Spock is saying You can trust me. His hand twitches at his side as he thinks about reaching out to touch Spock, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming. “Thank you,” John replies, meaning it.
The Vulcan inclines his head. They exit the Transporter Room, walking side by side through the corridors of Deck 14. Spock breaks the companionable silence. “Have you and the Captain come to an agreement?”
John hesitates then halts. Spock stops and turns to look at him.
“The best I can guess is Jim doesn’t hate me, and he doesn’t want to turn me over to Command for reprimand and review. Beyond that…” He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Spock says, voice oddly gentle, “You underestimate the Captain’s capacity for compassion. Had you recklessly endangered another person, Jim would not be willing to understand your behavior; but you acted on the contrary, with the intention of sparing all but yourself from harm.” The First Officer’s dark eyes bore into him. Spock goes on to say, “I admit that you puzzle me, Doctor McCoy. Yet I do not believe, as you might say, this is ‘a bad thing.'”
John clears his throat, caught under that gaze. “Well puzzle to your heart’s content, Mr. Spock, but don’t expect to solve the mystery any time soon.”
“Indeed,” replies the Vulcan. “Were the mystery simple, it would prove disappointing.”
John resumes walking. A message over the intercom system interrupts their second companionable silence. “Bridge to Mr. Spock.”
John lifts an eyebrow, saying in McCoy’s drawl, “Why are you on duty two shifts in a row, Mr. Spock?”
The Vulcan’s eyebrows rise in response. “I am not on duty, Doctor, but the Bridge has explicit instructions to notify me before the Captain of alerts warranting attention unless the ship is in immediate danger. Captain Kirk requires more rest than I.”
And I require less than you, John thinks amusedly. Boy, Jim would be thrilled to know where he ranks.
Spock strides to an intercom, John in close attendance.
“Spock to Bridge.”
“Mr. Spock, we’re picking up unusual radiation spikes from the SS Botany Bay.”
The Vulcan sounds unnaturally calm. “On my way. Spock out.” Spock merely looks at John after ending the call.
John obliges him. “You have another fifteen minutes before the nuclear engine blows. Never can trust those old ship models, you know?”
“Warp factor three should suffice to carry us a suitable distance from the explosion.”
John locks his hands behind his back and jerks his head in the direction of the turbolift. “See you on duty then, Mr. Spock.”
Spock pivots without another word, destined for the Bridge, and John decides he might need his three hours of sleep tonight after all.
John has often wondered if the vacuum of space would kill him, but the thought of it failing to do so is more frightening than the thought of death. To imagine his oxygen-starved body clinging to life, trying to recover from the crushing damage of vacuum…
John shudders, thankful that Jim hasn’t opted to pitch Leonard McCoy out of an airlock and be done with him altogether.
“Are you all right?”
John turns to find Christine Chapel, armed with PADDs, watching him.
He smiles, if a bit weakly. “Fine.”
Christine’s look is measuring and he meets her frank assessment with a careful, empty expression of his own.
His staff is noticeably different in how they interact with him. John wonders if he has done irreparable harm to his image, considering their covert stares through lowered lashes or intense regard of his every word or action, like they can’t see him the same way as before if they tried.
Will it pass? Will he have to endure their maddening suspicion each time he is “odd” or acts like someone other than the man known as Doctor McCoy?
John realizes belatedly that Christine’s hand is on his arm. She squeezes his bicep to regain his attention.
“Where did you go?” asks the nurse, a clear and curious look in her eyes.
He manages to keep his voice even. “Just wondering when things will return to normal.”
“Oh, they will soon enough, Leonard,” she tells him with an unexpected understanding. “Right now, you are a fresh case study in how people can be surprising. That’s a good thing. We shouldn’t take each other for granted.”
Her acceptance eases his mind somewhat. John’s smile grows. “Did you earn a psychology degree while I was gone, Chapel?”
“I took my share of psych courses and then some, Doctor McCoy” he is informed with indignation. “Treating the mind can be a crucial component in the treatment of the body. I do what little I can until the patient requires an expert. I’ve seen you do the same. Don’t deny it!”
He wisely does not. Instead John wants to know, “So what’s your advice for a man who won’t trust others?”
Christine frowns, asking sharply, “Why would you say that?”
“Hypothetically,” he hedges, “suppose I were someone completely different than the person you think I am. What would you tell me to do?”
“I would tell you to soak your head in a bucket of water until your ego reduces to its normal size. Honestly,” Christine explains, ignoring his attempt to interrupt her, “consider the way you’re talking to me. You don’t tell me everything, you lie when you think you ought to, and yet if you expect me to believe you haven’t spoken or made a single gesture in honesty in the last ten minutes, you are only fooling yourself. You can never completely hide who you are, and therefore you can never truly be someone you aren’t.”
“You believe that,” John says slowly.
“Yes, I do. A person presents himself and allows his audience to develop an impression of him. The more often two people meet, the more layered the impression. People want to build their impressions on truth, and if they think you are worth knowing, they trust their instincts to tell them what’s true. It’s my hope, Leonard, that who I believe you to be is built on the small pieces of the real you I see shining through all the—” She waves her hand at him. “—the muck!”
“Muck?” he repeats dryly.
Christine’s narrowed eyes warn him not to laugh. “You know what I mean, Doctor.”
John nods, shoulders slumping as he feels more like McCoy than he has in several days. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she responds, slightly bemused. Then the woman shifts her weight and her bundle of PADDs, a slow smile lighting on her face. “Are you going to let your staff continue to tip-toe around you, or are you going to remind them why you’re Dr. Leonard McCoy, Chief Surgeon and Medical Officer?”
“You think they want remindin’?” he asks, curious.
Christine leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “It wouldn’t hurt.” Then her eyes gleam in an almost wicked way. “You do realize that Medical is now the recipient of envy, don’t you? Everybody wants to work with The Great McCoy.”
John stares. “Excuse me?”
“That’s your new nickname, right after Grumpy Dr. M. and, my favorite, Hotpants. Nyota and I keep your reputation, hmm shall we say, endearing?”
He hopes to God that she is kidding. The curve of her lips says otherwise. John begins to think that floating in the vacuum of space might not be the worst fate in the universe.
She resumes her professional demeanor. “I have patients waiting. Why don’t I summarize this talk? The crew doesn’t know why you went after Khan, Leonard, or even if you were in your right mind but we are comforted to know that you did. You are a doctor and a hero.”
“I’m not heroic,” he argues, finally distracted from the name Hotpants.
Chapel brushes past him, apparently finished with their conversation, and calls over her shoulder, “Then we’ll just brand you a kook!”
“I’m not crazy, either!”
Christine’s laughter drifts back to John long after she disappears from sight.
For the first time, Jim feels stifled aboard the Enterprise. Everywhere he walks is not far enough. He can’t sit without wanting to pace, and he can’t pace without wanting to run.
The crisis is over but Jim feels like it left behind a chasm that threatens to swallow whole everything he has come to cherish, to believe in. Kirk doesn’t know how to put his world back into order; he wonders if order is even possible.
Damn you, Bones.
He tries to find a measure of comfort in the stars. They are too calm, pinpoints which are millions of light-years away.
He prowls the recreational rooms but finds that crowds make him antsy even though he returns every greeting and “Captain” called his way.
Jim is at an utter loss of what to do.
“Damn you, Bones!” He punches the inside wall of a turbolift, instantly grateful no one witnesses his outburst.
Jim sags on his feet, thinking that this anger at Bones is useless and maybe he was right, Kirk, he needs to go. With sick resignation, Jim makes up his mind to look into a transfer for McCoy—and fuck McCoy, who is McCoy, really?—when the ship shudders.
Everything falls away, then, leaving behind only a flash of inexplicable terror. No, it can’t be, Khan is dead.
Jim runs, despite that he was present when Khan’s body was placed on the SS Botany Bay, despite the implausibility of a dead man rising to take away everything Jim loves.
Spock seems to expect his Captain to burst onto the Bridge but obviously Spock does not expect the pallor of Jim’s face or the suppressed fear in his eyes. The First Officer reaches out to steady Jim like he might be swaying (maybe he is) and says quickly, “The SS Botany Bay malfunctioned and detonated.”
Jim stares at Spock, uncomprehending.
“Jim,” repeats the Vulcan in a lowered tone. “Do not be alarmed. All is well.”
“Is it?” he asks thickly.
Spock releases him. “Yes.” When the Vulcan moves back, Jim realizes Spock was shielding him from the view of the other officers on the Bridge.
Kirk lifts his chin and takes measured steps to his command chair, legs feeling like lead. He sits, telling the people around him, “At ease. Spock, show me.”
Spock obliges, not needing clarification. Jim fixes his eyes on the screen, drinking in the sight of the wreckage of a long nightmare finally at an end. Relief fills him, easing one layer of tension. Sadly, it does nothing to help Jim with Bones.
[ previous | masterpost | epilogue ]
Related Posts:
- Of Sacraments and War – Posting Date – from April 29, 2011
- Of Sacraments and War – Epilogue – from April 28, 2011
- Fic Update: Last Chapter – from April 24, 2011
- Reaper vs Khan Countdown – from April 29, 2011
- PODFIC HAS ARRIVED! – from March 15, 2014
