Personal Quarters - Day 4 (private)
Light slowly trickled into the quarters, announced by the gentle build up of music. It was church music, oddly suited to the echoing of the metal walls, tricking his ear into thinking the ceiling was higher, the walls further apart, the room not so empty. It was the closest Leonard could get to life as he used to know it. He’d lost that too in the divorce.
He woke just as slowly, but nowhere near as gracefully. He was thick-headed and confused like only someone drugged could be. Day Four and he’d caved in about the hypospray. He had his pride and his experience, but neither meant a damn thing in the face of possibly jeopardizing someone under his care. He was a doctor, damnit, not some emo subspace blogger. He couldn’t put himself before his patients. So he’d dosed up, knowing it wouldn’t cure the disease, just treat the symptoms.
Space still unnerved him. Nothing quite felt real yet.
The dull thudding in his head told him it was real enough.
With a grunt, he got up and stumbled his way into a shower. Hallelujahs kept him company, nicely reminding him to cling to consciousness. Today he had a later shift, so he had the luxury of easing into it. He pulled on an old pair of sweats and a Henley, sat down at his desk and kicked his feet up.
For an unknown amount of time, Leonard just listened to the choir, imagining himself back home. Stretching his throat for a note, squirming under his robes from the heat. Ignoring the faces his sister kept making in the hopes of fucking up his lines.
He’d learnt more about focus from Sam then he’d ever did in med school.
If it was a Sunday performance, he could look forward to a dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatos, greens, coleslaw - god, yes, more coleslaw, please -- and pie. He loved pie...
Somewhere during the nostalgia, the music shifted to Blues. Right. Back to reality. Leonard sat up to activate his console. He was as awake as possible without chemical stimulation. He still didn’t feel right in the Universe, but enough so in his corner of the galaxy to wade through his mail. Department memos, meeting agendas… another silly survey from Jim. Not much worth worrying about. That is, until he saw the name “Jocelyn Munroe”.
Fuck.
He didn’t need coffee to feel his heart rate increase and his mind sharpen. Jocelyn didn’t make it a habit of writing him unless it was unpleasant, usually for the both of them. He opened the message with some dread and scanned quickly for any mention about Joanna, family, lawyers or any other bad news.
He got it all. In spades.
A part of Leonard’s mind when numb. Words passed through it only in clumps of comprehension-- “denial of custodial amendment”, “outside the bounds of permissible visitation rights”, “extends the reaches of Terran territory, and therefore lax of Terran regulations ”, “Leonard, I saw the vids about that Romulan freak and I’m not letting you expose our child to that kind of danger”. It took Nina Simone’s deep, brooding croons to bring him back to mind. And then his mind was a hurtful, angry place to be.
Goddamn that woman. He’d played nice, he’d asked politely. All he wanted was to have his baby girl visit him on the Enterprise once, maybe twice, a year. What he didn't want was to lose the only connection he had with Jo. It’d been an uphill battle just getting visitation rights after the divorce and the jackass he’d been. Aside from Jim and being a doctor again, visits with Joanna had been what got him through. If they took that away… if they made him choose…
He didn’t know what “if” would be.
For a terrible minute, Leonard couldn’t express his temper and panic. It welled up in him until it broke free from the thing that kept him a passionate man and not an insane man who lost his wife, his kid, his family, his job. His goddamn home. His hand hit the desktop, hard. Something rattled inside. He knew what that something was even before he pulled out his flask. It shined up at him in the artificial light of his artificial room in his artificial life. In Space.
His eye caught his reflection, distorted by use and design. It didn’t look like him. It wasn’t him. Not no more.
Leonard deflated, shoving the flask back in the drawer. Oh, he still wanted a drink and would likely have one later. But on his terms, and not in this mood. This mood was dangerous, disgracing, and it’d cost him enough already. The only things he had left were Jim, his new job, and his bones. Fuck up this time, and Life might not be so kind as to leave him a morsel.
In the absence of any real emotion now -- save self-ridicule -- Leonard didn’t know what to do with himself. He shut down his terminal and just sat there. Again, some time passed while he simply listened to the music still playing. He heard Fleetwood Mac tell him not to stop thinking about tomorrow, reminding him that yesterday’s gone. Yeah, but not forgotten. And it shouldn’t be. He wasn’t proud of those days, and his pride wouldn’t allow him to repeat that. If Starfleet had shown him anything, it was that Leonard McCoy could still be a student - of Medicine, of Life. If he really wanted this new life, he had to practice until the lessons stuck. He was a doctor again, the CMO.
Well, he best get back to doctoring then.
He changed into his uniform and left to check on Sickbay. He wasn’t due for another two hours but didn’t care. Right now, he didn’t want to care or think about nothing. Except relearning.
He woke just as slowly, but nowhere near as gracefully. He was thick-headed and confused like only someone drugged could be. Day Four and he’d caved in about the hypospray. He had his pride and his experience, but neither meant a damn thing in the face of possibly jeopardizing someone under his care. He was a doctor, damnit, not some emo subspace blogger. He couldn’t put himself before his patients. So he’d dosed up, knowing it wouldn’t cure the disease, just treat the symptoms.
Space still unnerved him. Nothing quite felt real yet.
The dull thudding in his head told him it was real enough.
With a grunt, he got up and stumbled his way into a shower. Hallelujahs kept him company, nicely reminding him to cling to consciousness. Today he had a later shift, so he had the luxury of easing into it. He pulled on an old pair of sweats and a Henley, sat down at his desk and kicked his feet up.
For an unknown amount of time, Leonard just listened to the choir, imagining himself back home. Stretching his throat for a note, squirming under his robes from the heat. Ignoring the faces his sister kept making in the hopes of fucking up his lines.
He’d learnt more about focus from Sam then he’d ever did in med school.
If it was a Sunday performance, he could look forward to a dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatos, greens, coleslaw - god, yes, more coleslaw, please -- and pie. He loved pie...
Somewhere during the nostalgia, the music shifted to Blues. Right. Back to reality. Leonard sat up to activate his console. He was as awake as possible without chemical stimulation. He still didn’t feel right in the Universe, but enough so in his corner of the galaxy to wade through his mail. Department memos, meeting agendas… another silly survey from Jim. Not much worth worrying about. That is, until he saw the name “Jocelyn Munroe”.
Fuck.
He didn’t need coffee to feel his heart rate increase and his mind sharpen. Jocelyn didn’t make it a habit of writing him unless it was unpleasant, usually for the both of them. He opened the message with some dread and scanned quickly for any mention about Joanna, family, lawyers or any other bad news.
He got it all. In spades.
A part of Leonard’s mind when numb. Words passed through it only in clumps of comprehension-- “denial of custodial amendment”, “outside the bounds of permissible visitation rights”, “extends the reaches of Terran territory, and therefore lax of Terran regulations ”, “Leonard, I saw the vids about that Romulan freak and I’m not letting you expose our child to that kind of danger”. It took Nina Simone’s deep, brooding croons to bring him back to mind. And then his mind was a hurtful, angry place to be.
Goddamn that woman. He’d played nice, he’d asked politely. All he wanted was to have his baby girl visit him on the Enterprise once, maybe twice, a year. What he didn't want was to lose the only connection he had with Jo. It’d been an uphill battle just getting visitation rights after the divorce and the jackass he’d been. Aside from Jim and being a doctor again, visits with Joanna had been what got him through. If they took that away… if they made him choose…
He didn’t know what “if” would be.
For a terrible minute, Leonard couldn’t express his temper and panic. It welled up in him until it broke free from the thing that kept him a passionate man and not an insane man who lost his wife, his kid, his family, his job. His goddamn home. His hand hit the desktop, hard. Something rattled inside. He knew what that something was even before he pulled out his flask. It shined up at him in the artificial light of his artificial room in his artificial life. In Space.
His eye caught his reflection, distorted by use and design. It didn’t look like him. It wasn’t him. Not no more.
Leonard deflated, shoving the flask back in the drawer. Oh, he still wanted a drink and would likely have one later. But on his terms, and not in this mood. This mood was dangerous, disgracing, and it’d cost him enough already. The only things he had left were Jim, his new job, and his bones. Fuck up this time, and Life might not be so kind as to leave him a morsel.
In the absence of any real emotion now -- save self-ridicule -- Leonard didn’t know what to do with himself. He shut down his terminal and just sat there. Again, some time passed while he simply listened to the music still playing. He heard Fleetwood Mac tell him not to stop thinking about tomorrow, reminding him that yesterday’s gone. Yeah, but not forgotten. And it shouldn’t be. He wasn’t proud of those days, and his pride wouldn’t allow him to repeat that. If Starfleet had shown him anything, it was that Leonard McCoy could still be a student - of Medicine, of Life. If he really wanted this new life, he had to practice until the lessons stuck. He was a doctor again, the CMO.
Well, he best get back to doctoring then.
He changed into his uniform and left to check on Sickbay. He wasn’t due for another two hours but didn’t care. Right now, he didn’t want to care or think about nothing. Except relearning.