(no subject)
[introspective 3 -- the calm of war; the blood in peace]
“Doctor… Doctor McCoy?”
“Yes, nurse?” The girl, Grace, was offered a small smile as Leonard turned around. “Is this anything that can wait until after lunch? Jocey packed leftovers from last night’s meatloaf.” Grace smiled back, her open face eager to embrace the camaraderie.
“That sounds wonderful, sir. This will just take a moment, I’m sorry for the inconv-”
“Poppycock, Grace,” he said, then grimaced. ‘Poppycock?’ he thought. ‘A 26-year-old doctor shouldn’t sound like a codgy old man. The hell is wrong with me?’ He rolled his eyes at himself, then focused back on his nurse. “How many times have I asked you to call me Len, not sir?”
“At least once more, sir,” she replied.
“Watch it, missy, your cheek’s going to get you in more trouble than a fox in the henhouse.” But he couldn’t help the affection that crept into his voice even as he scolded her. “And another thing: you don’t have to apologize. In fact, I forbid it.” She giggled at his exaggerated stern tone. “Now, what did you want to show me?”
~~~
The clock read 6:16am. Sixty seconds later, the counter clicked and whirled; 6:17. Leonard McCoy sat and watched for any sign- but the seconds moved no slower, nor faster. Time acted as it ever had.
Sighing, he pushed a hand through matted hair. Some small part of him recoiled, knowing he must look like shit. He felt the stench of blood and bourbon and antiseptic clinging like a tainted aura. If he sniffed deeply, he could smell the sweat and, underneath it all, the pungent tang of freshly tossed Tenessee soil.
The shower was two rooms away, but Leonard couldn’t bring himself to move. Each smell served its purpose, and he needed to remember. There was no honor in death, and even less in forgetting.
He wouldn’t forget. That much, at least, he wouldn’t fuck up.
~~~
The file for Maggie Fleming held only bad news, but Grace hadn’t worried.
Anyone who knew Leonard McCoy like she did knew he never accepted defeat, not even if it was written out in big block letters. It only made him more vehement in finding the solution. Patients came to him and put their lives in his hands, and McCoy would do absolutely anything to preserve it. And he was young- too young, some of the old folk down at the church muttered to each other, no proper respect for the dead and dying-but Grace and the other two nurses saw the fire in his eyes.
The problem was, Maggie’s wasn’t like any case they’d ever had. This was a small clinic, meant for runny noses and yearly checkups. But the minute Grace laid eyes on Maggie Fleming’s case file, she knew they had to at least try. What’s more, she knew Dr. McCoy would agree-and he did, telling her to get Maggie in right away.
Maggie, a twelve-year-old with a sharp tongue and bright blue eyes, hadn’t been diagnosed with anything, not specifically. At first, they thought it was because she’d only been examined the local pediatrician, who also doubled as veterinarian. “Not exactly a reputable medic,” Dr. McCoy had grumbled. But it wasn’t as if Maggie’s mother, Mary Jo, had been given much choice. The woman didn’t have any money to spare; she took care of her daughter and ailing father, worked two jobs, and tended her small farm. Grace figured she must have been some sort of saint to last this long without so much as a government check.
Despite Federation rhetoric, all hunger and poverty had not been eradicated from human existence. There was still death, disease, strife, agony. The only difference was now it was harder to find, hidden as it was behind the grand proclamations the Federation so favored. “Swept under the rug,” as Doctor McCoy liked to say. Here, in their small Tennessee town, that poverty so denied by officials was all-too evident. And here, too, in the case of Maggie, thought Grace with a sympathetic sigh.
The days had been long ones, filled with disappointment. The poor doctor hadn’t stopped moving, at least not that she’d seen. First they ran all the tests over again, making sure the other doctor hadn’t missed something. Then, they tried to run diagnostics-but they lacked the resources, the high-tech equipment only found in city hospitals and starships.
McCoy was brilliant as a sun, but Grace knew he couldn’t come up with every answer on his own. The three nurses tried to contribute as much as they could, but it wasn’t much.
Now, at the end of the fourth day of constant worry, Maggie was only getting worse. Mary Joe came when she could, but had to work her two jobs just to keep the heat on. Dr. McCoy had flat out refused her money (as he did with most of the patients he knew had to choose between care and food). But the girl’s grandfather had yet to leave her side, and that plum broke Grace’s heart.
As for the doctor, he was taking it worst of all. The first day, he’d muttered, “If only we had that new tricorder I saw in the journal…” or “I’m sure I’ve seen this symptom somewhere” and dive into his medical texts. Dr. McCoy hadn’t slept, she was sure of it, and it showed in the way he slumped against the wall when he thought he was alone. Soon enough, his comments began edging towards the desperate. “This little girl is counting on us, damnit!” and “If we don’t figure this out soon…” but even the doctor couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence.
And they knew, every last one of them, that Dr. McCoy would go to hell and back to save this girl who’d come in, so weak she had to be carried, with dirt on her knees and a smile in her eyes. Though her vitals steadily grew weaker, Dr. McCoy never once expressed anything but faith in her complete recovery.
But Grace was starting to lose hope.
~~~
“…n’t understand it. I’m a simple country doctor. I love life more than anything. Humans, they’re astounding creatures. Studying the body and the mind only opened my eyes to how fragile and precious each one of us is. To willingly and deliberately take it…”
“It was never that straightforward, son,” Maggie’s grandfather gently reprimanded the doctor as they sat quietly chatting at her bedside. “A lot of the time, there was no choice. It was either us or them. Would you put the life of an alien before the life of a human comrade?”
“I think it is that simple. I’d take neither, even if it meant my life.” It was said with all the conviction of youth, but he meant every word. “I don’t mean to pick a fight with a veteran, but I don’t think I could ever do what you did. I’m a doctor, not a soldier.”
“Starfleet officers aren’t soldiers. They aren’t any one thing. In fact, you’d make a damn fine CMO, if you could let yourself believe in the goals of Starfleet.”
“I believe in human beings-” Both of them instantly forgot their discussion as all the instruments in the room started to beep…
~~~
“Len.”
He swirled the dark liquid in his glass counterclockwise.
“Len. Please. Talk to me.”
The ice cubs bobbed up and down, gasping and sinking in the miniature ocean.
“I know you’re upset, but you have to try to… to move on from this.”
Idly, he wondered if this was what drowning felt like: torturously slow, with a sense of inevitability. No use treading water, not when there was no one coming.
“It’s what she would have wanted you to do.”
Face death now or later, but either way you still ended up a floating, water-bloated corpse.
“I’m your wife, Leonard. You’re supposed to talk to me. You’re tearing yours-tearing us apart.”
Leonard liked to think he’d get it over with, but he knew he’d spend his last seconds fighting the inevitable.
“There was nothing you could do. But you knew that, you knew it was hopeless when you took the case. You told me it was going to… You set yourself up for this, Len, and you knew it.”
Drowning out of water, he finally looked up to her, his last lifeboat-but she’d turned around and was walking away slamming the door behind her.
He looked down at his glass again. The ice had melted. All he had left were the waves.
~~~
“Umm… I… if you’re not busy?” Grace poked her head around the door, fully expecting a projectile to be thrown in her direction. “I’d like you to take a look at this.”
“What is it?” he said and before she knew had crossed the room and was now looming dark as a raincloud above her.
“Just… just some charts from Mr. Henderson,” she managed to squeak out. The PADDs were snatched from Grace’s hands, and she fought the urge to cringe away. Third time this week she’d drawn the short straw between the other nurses and had to approach Doctor McCoy.
In the last five days, Grace hadn’t stopped regretting leaving the clinic when she had. She’d finally went home to change out of her rancid three-day-old clothes and take a shower, intending to go right back to Maggie and Dr. McCoy-but had ended up falling asleep at the kitchen table. Though she woke up a few hours later, it was already too late. That night, everything had gone to hell in a handbasket.
Grace hadn’t been there, but she sure heard about it the next day. Heck, the entire town knew about the whole affair before lunch. That was just the way small towns worked, and she loved it. It made her feel safe to know none of her neighbors had horrible secrets or past lives. But that kind of gossip also left people vulnerable. People like Doctor McCoy-
Who was currently staring at her. No, not staring; piercing a hole through her cranium with those intense brown eyes. Grace didn’t know how his wife kept her cool around him, with a look that smoldering. Trying not to fidget under his scrutiny, she attempted a smile.
“Well?” he barked. “What’s so damn interesting about this? Looks like a regular case of pneumonia.” He rolled his eyes. “Maybe if Mr. Henderson didn’t insist on tending his garden in the middle of the pouring rain, he wouldn’t fall ill.”
“But…” Not even a week ago, the Doctor would have been in Mr. Henderson’s room, cracking inappropriate jokes and swapping barbeque recipes with the older man. A week ago, Doctor McCoy would have asked to see these charts, poured over them to make sure there was nothing amiss. Grace’s heart broke seeing him like this; she only wished there was something she could do. Tentatively, she put a small hand on his shoulder. “Len…”
Suddenly, she was spun around. Strong surgeon’s fingers were wrapped tightly around her wrist; the hand that had touched his shoulder was now pushed against the wall.
“No. Never call me that again. Never, d’hear me?” He blew booze-soaked puffs of breath in her face as her knot of emotions threatened to crawl from the pit of her stomach into her throat. Grace stood very still, terrified, worried, ready to cry. Just as suddenly, the Doctor was across the room, his back to her, head bowed in defeat. “Get out,” his voice, dull and distant, sounded like a dead man’s.
“I…”
“Get out!”
Grace fled.
~~~
“I promise I’m going to do everything within my power to make you better. You tell your momma I’ll have you up and about in no time.”
“Thank you so much, Doctor McCoy.”
“Please, Maggie, call me Len. Now, let’s take a look at your chart…”
“Doctor… Doctor McCoy?”
“Yes, nurse?” The girl, Grace, was offered a small smile as Leonard turned around. “Is this anything that can wait until after lunch? Jocey packed leftovers from last night’s meatloaf.” Grace smiled back, her open face eager to embrace the camaraderie.
“That sounds wonderful, sir. This will just take a moment, I’m sorry for the inconv-”
“Poppycock, Grace,” he said, then grimaced. ‘Poppycock?’ he thought. ‘A 26-year-old doctor shouldn’t sound like a codgy old man. The hell is wrong with me?’ He rolled his eyes at himself, then focused back on his nurse. “How many times have I asked you to call me Len, not sir?”
“At least once more, sir,” she replied.
“Watch it, missy, your cheek’s going to get you in more trouble than a fox in the henhouse.” But he couldn’t help the affection that crept into his voice even as he scolded her. “And another thing: you don’t have to apologize. In fact, I forbid it.” She giggled at his exaggerated stern tone. “Now, what did you want to show me?”
~~~
The clock read 6:16am. Sixty seconds later, the counter clicked and whirled; 6:17. Leonard McCoy sat and watched for any sign- but the seconds moved no slower, nor faster. Time acted as it ever had.
Sighing, he pushed a hand through matted hair. Some small part of him recoiled, knowing he must look like shit. He felt the stench of blood and bourbon and antiseptic clinging like a tainted aura. If he sniffed deeply, he could smell the sweat and, underneath it all, the pungent tang of freshly tossed Tenessee soil.
The shower was two rooms away, but Leonard couldn’t bring himself to move. Each smell served its purpose, and he needed to remember. There was no honor in death, and even less in forgetting.
He wouldn’t forget. That much, at least, he wouldn’t fuck up.
~~~
The file for Maggie Fleming held only bad news, but Grace hadn’t worried.
Anyone who knew Leonard McCoy like she did knew he never accepted defeat, not even if it was written out in big block letters. It only made him more vehement in finding the solution. Patients came to him and put their lives in his hands, and McCoy would do absolutely anything to preserve it. And he was young- too young, some of the old folk down at the church muttered to each other, no proper respect for the dead and dying-but Grace and the other two nurses saw the fire in his eyes.
The problem was, Maggie’s wasn’t like any case they’d ever had. This was a small clinic, meant for runny noses and yearly checkups. But the minute Grace laid eyes on Maggie Fleming’s case file, she knew they had to at least try. What’s more, she knew Dr. McCoy would agree-and he did, telling her to get Maggie in right away.
Maggie, a twelve-year-old with a sharp tongue and bright blue eyes, hadn’t been diagnosed with anything, not specifically. At first, they thought it was because she’d only been examined the local pediatrician, who also doubled as veterinarian. “Not exactly a reputable medic,” Dr. McCoy had grumbled. But it wasn’t as if Maggie’s mother, Mary Jo, had been given much choice. The woman didn’t have any money to spare; she took care of her daughter and ailing father, worked two jobs, and tended her small farm. Grace figured she must have been some sort of saint to last this long without so much as a government check.
Despite Federation rhetoric, all hunger and poverty had not been eradicated from human existence. There was still death, disease, strife, agony. The only difference was now it was harder to find, hidden as it was behind the grand proclamations the Federation so favored. “Swept under the rug,” as Doctor McCoy liked to say. Here, in their small Tennessee town, that poverty so denied by officials was all-too evident. And here, too, in the case of Maggie, thought Grace with a sympathetic sigh.
The days had been long ones, filled with disappointment. The poor doctor hadn’t stopped moving, at least not that she’d seen. First they ran all the tests over again, making sure the other doctor hadn’t missed something. Then, they tried to run diagnostics-but they lacked the resources, the high-tech equipment only found in city hospitals and starships.
McCoy was brilliant as a sun, but Grace knew he couldn’t come up with every answer on his own. The three nurses tried to contribute as much as they could, but it wasn’t much.
Now, at the end of the fourth day of constant worry, Maggie was only getting worse. Mary Joe came when she could, but had to work her two jobs just to keep the heat on. Dr. McCoy had flat out refused her money (as he did with most of the patients he knew had to choose between care and food). But the girl’s grandfather had yet to leave her side, and that plum broke Grace’s heart.
As for the doctor, he was taking it worst of all. The first day, he’d muttered, “If only we had that new tricorder I saw in the journal…” or “I’m sure I’ve seen this symptom somewhere” and dive into his medical texts. Dr. McCoy hadn’t slept, she was sure of it, and it showed in the way he slumped against the wall when he thought he was alone. Soon enough, his comments began edging towards the desperate. “This little girl is counting on us, damnit!” and “If we don’t figure this out soon…” but even the doctor couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence.
And they knew, every last one of them, that Dr. McCoy would go to hell and back to save this girl who’d come in, so weak she had to be carried, with dirt on her knees and a smile in her eyes. Though her vitals steadily grew weaker, Dr. McCoy never once expressed anything but faith in her complete recovery.
But Grace was starting to lose hope.
~~~
“…n’t understand it. I’m a simple country doctor. I love life more than anything. Humans, they’re astounding creatures. Studying the body and the mind only opened my eyes to how fragile and precious each one of us is. To willingly and deliberately take it…”
“It was never that straightforward, son,” Maggie’s grandfather gently reprimanded the doctor as they sat quietly chatting at her bedside. “A lot of the time, there was no choice. It was either us or them. Would you put the life of an alien before the life of a human comrade?”
“I think it is that simple. I’d take neither, even if it meant my life.” It was said with all the conviction of youth, but he meant every word. “I don’t mean to pick a fight with a veteran, but I don’t think I could ever do what you did. I’m a doctor, not a soldier.”
“Starfleet officers aren’t soldiers. They aren’t any one thing. In fact, you’d make a damn fine CMO, if you could let yourself believe in the goals of Starfleet.”
“I believe in human beings-” Both of them instantly forgot their discussion as all the instruments in the room started to beep…
~~~
“Len.”
He swirled the dark liquid in his glass counterclockwise.
“Len. Please. Talk to me.”
The ice cubs bobbed up and down, gasping and sinking in the miniature ocean.
“I know you’re upset, but you have to try to… to move on from this.”
Idly, he wondered if this was what drowning felt like: torturously slow, with a sense of inevitability. No use treading water, not when there was no one coming.
“It’s what she would have wanted you to do.”
Face death now or later, but either way you still ended up a floating, water-bloated corpse.
“I’m your wife, Leonard. You’re supposed to talk to me. You’re tearing yours-tearing us apart.”
Leonard liked to think he’d get it over with, but he knew he’d spend his last seconds fighting the inevitable.
“There was nothing you could do. But you knew that, you knew it was hopeless when you took the case. You told me it was going to… You set yourself up for this, Len, and you knew it.”
Drowning out of water, he finally looked up to her, his last lifeboat-but she’d turned around and was walking away slamming the door behind her.
He looked down at his glass again. The ice had melted. All he had left were the waves.
~~~
“Umm… I… if you’re not busy?” Grace poked her head around the door, fully expecting a projectile to be thrown in her direction. “I’d like you to take a look at this.”
“What is it?” he said and before she knew had crossed the room and was now looming dark as a raincloud above her.
“Just… just some charts from Mr. Henderson,” she managed to squeak out. The PADDs were snatched from Grace’s hands, and she fought the urge to cringe away. Third time this week she’d drawn the short straw between the other nurses and had to approach Doctor McCoy.
In the last five days, Grace hadn’t stopped regretting leaving the clinic when she had. She’d finally went home to change out of her rancid three-day-old clothes and take a shower, intending to go right back to Maggie and Dr. McCoy-but had ended up falling asleep at the kitchen table. Though she woke up a few hours later, it was already too late. That night, everything had gone to hell in a handbasket.
Grace hadn’t been there, but she sure heard about it the next day. Heck, the entire town knew about the whole affair before lunch. That was just the way small towns worked, and she loved it. It made her feel safe to know none of her neighbors had horrible secrets or past lives. But that kind of gossip also left people vulnerable. People like Doctor McCoy-
Who was currently staring at her. No, not staring; piercing a hole through her cranium with those intense brown eyes. Grace didn’t know how his wife kept her cool around him, with a look that smoldering. Trying not to fidget under his scrutiny, she attempted a smile.
“Well?” he barked. “What’s so damn interesting about this? Looks like a regular case of pneumonia.” He rolled his eyes. “Maybe if Mr. Henderson didn’t insist on tending his garden in the middle of the pouring rain, he wouldn’t fall ill.”
“But…” Not even a week ago, the Doctor would have been in Mr. Henderson’s room, cracking inappropriate jokes and swapping barbeque recipes with the older man. A week ago, Doctor McCoy would have asked to see these charts, poured over them to make sure there was nothing amiss. Grace’s heart broke seeing him like this; she only wished there was something she could do. Tentatively, she put a small hand on his shoulder. “Len…”
Suddenly, she was spun around. Strong surgeon’s fingers were wrapped tightly around her wrist; the hand that had touched his shoulder was now pushed against the wall.
“No. Never call me that again. Never, d’hear me?” He blew booze-soaked puffs of breath in her face as her knot of emotions threatened to crawl from the pit of her stomach into her throat. Grace stood very still, terrified, worried, ready to cry. Just as suddenly, the Doctor was across the room, his back to her, head bowed in defeat. “Get out,” his voice, dull and distant, sounded like a dead man’s.
“I…”
“Get out!”
Grace fled.
~~~
“I promise I’m going to do everything within my power to make you better. You tell your momma I’ll have you up and about in no time.”
“Thank you so much, Doctor McCoy.”
“Please, Maggie, call me Len. Now, let’s take a look at your chart…”