Random Chapel/McCoy Oneshot (Maybe?)
Title: Nothing Without a Nurse
Pairing: McCoy/Chapel
Rating: PG
Warnings: I'm sure there is one somewhere
This is a short little tid-bit I typed one night after drowning my brain with awesome Chapel/McCoy lovelies. This little oneshot pretends that the "Chapel" reference in the Star Trek 2009 movie was never made. Because if the girl they speculate is Chapel, I have no urge to live anymore. So yeah. I was thinking about making this longer, because I have ideas but I just don't know. Maybe I'll just make a bunch of short stories that go together? Hm. Opinions are welcome. Until then, enjoy.
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The first time he saw her, he was visiting Starfleet’s Medical School in southern San Francisco. He had been asked by the dean to come and give a speech about his “experiences” on the Enterprise during the Nero Crisis. He was placed in large room with a tall wall of seats, filled with hundreds of students in tight white and blue suits, each muttering among themselves excitedly, occasionally giving him admiring looks. It had been one of the most uncomfortable experiences in his life.
Honestly, he had no idea why he was doing this. The clock was ticking closer and closer to the time when he was going to have to mount the podium and speak about the Nero Crisis in the rawest, most logical terms he could. He wasn’t here to talk about the pain he felt when he realized Puri had died shielding him from an exploding panel, or the way his stomach lurched with every rock of the ship, or how he had to literally bite down the bile every time he found a new body and swallowing his anger when he heard Spock’s calm logic whispering to him over the intercom.
He was here to speak about how to handle the situation when your commanding officer dies and suddenly you are thrown into a position of authority and how to make decisions that will be best for the hundred or so people that you are suddenly in charge of.
He looked anxiously over to the dean, who was lingering outside of the door, staring at his wrist as his watch counted down the minutes, ushering in a few straggling students who apologized profusely, some even offering him a small apologetic smile before fleeing to their seats. Finally after wringing his hands for the umpteenth time, he heard the tell-tale beeping from his communicator that told him it was time to get a tight grip on his nerves (and his balls) and do the hardest thing that he had done in the three months since Earth had been saved.
He sent another glance at the dean who somehow looked just as nervous as the good doctor felt, glancing up and down the halls irritably, as if waiting for one final student to dash in. The auditorium seemed packed, it didn’t seem like any late students would have a seat. After another minute, the dean cursed quietly glancing futilely down the hall once more before hitting the panel next to the door so it slid shut. The dean smiled encouragingly at the nervous doctor before climbing to the podium and calling for silence.
“Quiet!” The dean’s voice rang loud and strong throughout the tall ceiling of the room, and it took a moment for the young doctor to realize the dean wasn’t wearing any sound modifying device. “All of you young cadets have been called here today for a very special occasion.”
The dean glanced around the hall noting the way the students shifted nervously, all eyes hovering to the only man dressed in a smarting red uniform.
“I’d like to introduce to you, Doctor Leonard H. McCoy. He is one of the few survivors of the medical crew of the USS Enterprise during the Nero Crisis. He acted bravely and courageously in the face of sure death and destruction. It’s a quality that I’m hoping to also instill in all of you young cadets. Doctor McCoy,” the dean turned, offering the podium to McCoy. Resisting the urge to tug at the tight uniform collar pressing against his throat, McCoy stood and strode toward the front of the stage as the speckled uniforms of white and blue clapped and slid forward in their seats, hoping to see as much of this hero doctor as they could.
Leonard McCoy stood silently, his fingers twitching irritably as he stared out at the sea of faces that blended together, the uniforms creating one massive white ocean. It was momentarily overwhelming.
This is what the Admirals must feel like when they have to stare into a sea of red.
“Ahem,” McCoy cleared his throat, shifting from one leg to the other. “I’ve been asked to come here and give you all a lecture on performing your duties admirably, even when in high pressure situations, ones that may throw you into a situation that you have never been trained to handle.”
McCoy paused and noted how everyone held on to every word he said, as if he held the answers to life itself. “Honestly, even if I had been trained to handle the transition in responsibilities, that wasn’t the hardest part -“
McCoy was almost grateful for the strangely loud hiss that interrupted him. He turned his head (along with the rest of the staff and student body) towards the door to see a disheveled young woman with tussled blond hair, glowing green eyes, and a crumpled white and blue uniform. Her chest heaved up and down, making it obvious she had probably run for quite a bit, although her mouth was clenched tightly as she tried to rein in her breathing.
“Why, Miss Chapel, I’m glad you made it a point to fit us into your schedule,” the dean drawled dryly, his eyes narrowed on the girl’s loose blond hair. The girl, Chapel, nodded her head sharply at the dean, her hands firmly clasped behind her back as she strode up the a few rows, shuffling her way to the middle (and to the last seat), the entire room locking eyes on her. McCoy gave her credit, when she finally sat, she didn’t focus solely on McCoy and lean forward in her seat like the rest. Instead, she lifted her head so that she could look at him, giving him her attention, but she proceeded to comb through her hair with her fingers, as though this wasn’t something important.
It honestly doesn’t feel that important, but clearly these kids thought he was some hero. He was relieved to know there was one person in the room who wasn’t blindly worshipping the ground he walked on. He cleared his throat again and with an encouraging nod from the dean, carried on with the story of how he had quickly taken command of the surviving medical crew members and maneuvered them the safest way he could to one of the higher decks and set up another med bay with what had been salvageable from the wreckage. He didn’t talk about Puri’s death or Spock’s voice or Jim’s captaincy.
“Thank you Doctor,” the dean greeted him after his throat closed up when he described having to patch together the few Vulcan survivors and how he had organized rooms for them among the battered and wounded ship. The dean clasped his shoulder hard, pulling him out of his misery. “Does anyone have any questions for Doctor McCoy?”
Several hands shot up in the air and all McCoy wanted to do was crawl out of the room and hide his red uniform in a trash can. Instead the dean called on several cadets who asked various questions about how he handle pressure, how his career had advanced since his heroic actions, all pointless questions that made McCoy realize that this so-called speech was just another lesson to them. Complete emotion detachment, just another grade. Maybe he would just crawl into the trash can with the uniform on and hide there until lunch. He could always hope that the smell alone would drive any lingering cadets away.
“Ah, yes, Miss Chapel?” the dean called on the blonde girl who by this time had pulled her hair up into a slick ponytail that reminded him so much of Uhura’s.
“So, Doctor, how does it feel to watch thirty people die in front of you?”
“Miss Chapel!” the dean cried indignantly, glaring heavily at her while McCoy spluttered at the question. It wasn’t that it shocked him, but more that she had asked him as easily as if she had asked him how the weather was by the bay.
“What? Honestly, I could have read that out of book it was so precise and logical. You watched half of the Med bay blow up before your eyes. People strewn around dead. How can you stand there and talk about it like it’s a computerized simulation?”
“Miss Chapel that is enough!” the dean was red in the face by now, the panic on his face growing more alarmed by the second.
“She’s right you know.” McCoy muttered. He was surprised the dean heard. “I was told to give a speech on the technical way to handle a difficult situation that emotionally compromises you. It was all about making it sound like a simulation. And honestly,” McCoy made it a point to look straight into the glowing green eyes looking out at him coolly. “It’s just a bunch of bullshit.”
“Doctor McCoy,” the dean spoke uncertainly. It looked like he wanted to object to the language, or the fact that he was agreeing with a cadet, but he kept his mouth shut.
“The truth is, it hurts. It fucking hurts when your commanding officer sacrifices his life for you. It hurts when you watch the people that sit next to you in class, while you’re listening to stupid speeches, just like now, die. They die, slowly in front of you. It’s not like you turn around and they’re dead. When you try to drag them to a place that isn’t on fire so you can heal their wounds, but before you can, they bleed out in front of you and it’s not until ten minutes later that you realize they are dead in your arms.”
McCoy tried not to take satisfaction in the looks of shock on the faces of many of the Cadets. He noticed that the young Miss Chapel had an eyebrow gently arched at him, but he didn’t stay long after that. He had said what he had wanted to and now he left, striding out of the room, not giving a glance back to them.
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