Fic: "Convergence" (2/4)

[mijan]

Title: "Convergence", (2/4)
Author: mijan
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Christopher Pike, Jim Kirk, Leonard McCoy
Previous Sections: Part 1
Word Count: 4,512 in this section.
Summary: Christopher Pike wasn't supposed to be in Iowa, but there he was, weighing his future against scales that would never balance. Jim Kirk had given up on his future long ago. Leonard McCoy's past had been pulled out from underneath him, and he was ready to let his future go with it. Paths converge in the least likely places as three people realize that their futures are what they make of them.

Notes: This was a partial collaboration with fiona_fawkes , who brainstormed the details of this with me and beta'd. Also thanks to nikki4noo and mintcloud for beta assistance! This fic can be read on its own, but it also ties in directly to the fanfic universe I created in "And All the King's Men."

From the previous installment:
Slowly, Kirk reached up and leaned one hand against the doorframe, but his back remained so rigidly upright that it looked ready to snap. He turned around, regarding Pike narrowly out of his less-swollen eye. Finally, he said flatly, "Call me Jim."

Without another word, but with the implied invitation for Pike to follow, Kirk walked back out into the main room of the bar. He grabbed one of the chairs that had been pushed to the side of the room and dragged it to a table. He waved for a beer from the barkeep as he sat down heavily, and looked up at Pike. “What do you need to know?”

Pike looked at him for a long moment, grabbed a chair, and sat down.

And now the continuation...

*********

Janice Toland’s only regret about Cadet Hudson's head injury was that it hadn’t knocked him out. They were in the small, beige-toned waiting room of the Riverside Urgent Care clinic. The shipyard medical facility was only staffed during duty hours, and the nearest real hospital was the county facility, which was over forty miles away. Dull music droned in the background, overlaid by the occasional beeps and clicks of medical equipment beyond the clinic door and the incessant whining from Cadet Hudson.

“I still can’t believe that guy hit me with a liquor bottle,” he groaned into the towel he had pressed to his cheek and forehead. “My head hurts.”

“If your head hurts, Cadet, it would make sense for you to stop talking.”

“What’s taking this doctor so long?” he droned on, clearly not listening. “It’s going to scar if we wait too long."

"Maybe he has patients who are actually in need of real emergency medical attention for life-threatening reasons," Toland bit out tersely, not really caring to listen to Hudson, much less respond to him. "The nurse triaged you, and you're not critical."

"Any real emergency would go to a real hospital," Hudson mumbled. "Hell, a doctor working in a place like this, it’ll probably scar anyway.”

Toland clenched her jaw and took in a long, slow breath before turning and looking at the cadet. “And you would certainly deserve it.”

Hudson glanced up, looking supremely insulted. “What? I’d deserve permanent disfigurement?”

Toland finally had enough. She pulled herself out of her chair and whirled on Hudson, glaring down at him angrily. “Cadet, let me explain something to you in no uncertain terms. Today was your first day in the uniform of a Starfleet cadet, and you demonstrated quite clearly that you don't deserve to wear it. If this is the sort of behaviour we can expect out of you, I can't foresee a time when you'd deserve the uniform of an actual Starfleet officer."

Hudson had gone a few shades paler, looking up with the towel pressed only loosely to his head. "I… we just had a few drinks and –"

"You could have just had a few drinks and still come back in time for curfew and perhaps none of us would be the wiser. This is not shore-leave, Cadet. This was an unplanned stop due to unforeseen circumstances, and the Academy was generous enough to authorize you some free time instead of issuing ration packs in the barracks. But what do you do with that generosity?" She leaned down and stared at him eye to eye, satisfied to see him flinch at her glare. "You missed curfew, you made a mockery of the uniform, and you attacked a local, small-town civilian!"

She stood back at her full height, hands on her hips. "It seems only fair that you would be subject to the medical treatment of a local, small-town doctor. If that results in a permanent facial scar, then I would consider that to be one of the few times the universe actually balances the consequence to the action that caused it. After tonight, you'll be lucky if you still have a career left, much less a pretty face.”

Hudson's mouth was hanging open, but then he snapped it shut. He looked at the floor, thoroughly chastised. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Toland gave him a sharp nod, then turned and sat back down in her chair. It was late – almost 0100 hours – and she had to admit that she was pretty damned exhausted. They'd been sitting in the waiting room for almost an hour and a half, most of which had been spent listening to random groaning from Cadet Hudson.

However, he was finally silent, much to Toland’s relief, leaving nothing but the dull music and sounds of the clinic to fill the silence of the waiting room. She sat back in the chair and looked straight across the room at the far wall, wishing the doctor would finish with whatever was taking so long. She just wanted to get back to the barracks, check on the other cadets, and maybe get a few hours of sleep before the shuttle departure in the morning.

Only moments later, voices and footsteps approached the doors to the treatment area, and they slid open to reveal a middle-aged man in street clothes, and the gruffest looking physician Toland had ever seen. He was carrying his scrub jacket over one arm instead of wearing it, and had a messenger bag hanging from his shoulder, but it was clear that he was the physician from the way he was lecturing the patient as they walked.

“You take those antibiotics every four hours for the next two days, and every eight hours after that until they’re gone.”

“That many?” the man asked unhappily, looking at the pill bottle in his hand.

“Do you have any idea what a ruptured appendix releases into your abdominal cavity? Good god, man, if you’d come an hour later, you’d be on life support now, if you were that lucky. This clinic normally can't handle that sort of emergency. I cleared out what I could, but there's only so much I can do with the equipment in this place. A few pills should be the least of your complaints.” The doctor flicked his eyes up at the ceiling briefly as if begging for mercy. “Why the hell did you wait so long anyway?”

"Don’t much like doctors.” He stuck out his bottom lip, then shrugged. “But you’re not bad. Ain’t seen you here before. Got space for a new patient on your regulars list?”

The doctor shook his head, his expression darkening. “No regulars, Mr. Daniels. Rural Doctors program. Temporary assignments only.”

“Huh,” the guy tipped his head. “Too bad. Thanks for the help, Doc.”

The doctor nodded. “You’re welcome. Now don’t mess up my good work there.”

Mr. Daniels tossed a mock salute and strolled out the exit door, leaving the waiting room empty except for the receptionist, Toland, Cadet Hudson, and the doctor. The doctor watched him go, then began walking towards the exit himself when he noticed that the waiting room wasn't empty. He looked back and forth between the door and Hudson a couple of times, then rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. With a sharp pivot on his heel, he hefted his bag and walked directly up to them.

"How long have you folks been waiting?" he asked as he made a quick visual assessment of the cadet's injury, pulling back the towel just enough to get a look at the lacerations.

"About an hour and a half," Toland said simply.

He nodded an acknowledgment, still looking over Hudson. "Sorry about that. We had an emergency that couldn't wait, and Doctor Larson is in with another patient." He turned to Toland and addressed her directly. "I thought you folks out at the shipyard had your own clinic."

Toland stood, strangely relieved by the doctor's bluntness. "They do, but it's only opened during working hours, and he wasn't injured on duty."

The doctor raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “I guessed that much by the smell. Did he drink that whiskey or take a bath in it?”

“Probably some of both,” Toland said succinctly.

Cadet Hudson groaned without looking up. “I didn’t drink it. I only had one beer. This isn’t my fault.”

“Uh-huh,” the doctor said, then stuck out his hand towards Toland in the manner of a greeting. "Doctor McCoy."

She shook his hand briefly, wondering why his name sounded familiar. "Lieutenant Commander Toland. And the cadet who earned his own consequences is Michael Hudson."

The eyebrow raised again as McCoy shot a curious look at the Cadet.

Hudson pulled the towel away from his face just enough to look up at Doctor McCoy. "I didn't do anything to deserve this," he grumbled petulantly. "I was just backing up the other guys. What if this leaves a scar? Who the hell deserves a permanent –"

"We get the idea, kid," McCoy cut him off bluntly, then jerked his head to indicate for them to follow him. "Come with me."

Hudson groaned as he stood, but followed obediently without another word. McCoy dropped his bag behind the desk in the middle of the exam and treatment area, and shrugged on his scrub jacket as he led them to a bay and closed the curtain behind them.

"Have a seat, Hudson. No, on the biobed, not the chair. Cadet, huh?" McCoy said as he grabbed a tricorder and began scanning. "I've only been here for three weeks, but I know a shipyard isn't where they put cadets."

"It's not," Toland answered. "New recruit transport shuttle had a malfunction this morning, and we had to put down halfway through the trip to San Francisco. The replacement shuttle departs in tomorrow morning."

"Hmmm," he growled, studied the scan results, and put down the tricorder. From there, he turned and began rummaging in cabinets and collecting supplies as he spoke. "Knew those shuttles were dangerous. Never figured out what was so smart about launching folks into space with nothing but a glorified tin can for protection." He snapped a vial into a hypospray and glanced back at Toland. "So how did the injury occur?"

"This local guy was trying to get cozy with one of the female cadets," Hudson grumbled, "so we told him to back off, but he started a fight and broke a liquor bottle over my head. I mean, who does that? Of all the ridiculous –”

"I was asking the officer," McCoy said firmly. "I want to know what actually happened."

The doctor might be a little bit gruff, but he was entertaining, and it was better than listening to Hudson whine. "Instead of coming back on time for curfew," Toland began, "he and a bunch of his fellow recruits decided to go on a jaunt to the Shipyard Bar. The cadets started a brawl against one local man who turned out to be rather resourceful with a liquor bottle. Considering the fact that he had four Starfleet cadets attacking him at once, I'd say it was a good move on his part." To her satisfaction, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hudson wince.

Doctor McCoy turned back towards her, holding a tray of implements and wearing an odd expression of both approval and irritation. "Well, that would explain why he reeks of hard liquor but only has a point-zero-three blood alcohol content. Did anyone else get injured? What about the civilian guy?" he grumbled as he set the tray down on the table next to the biobed. "I haven't seen anyone else around here who looked like he'd been in a fight, and this is the only clinic in this one-horse town."

"None of the other cadets had more than bruises. Never saw the civilian," Toland said. "If he was injured, I'm certain that Captain Pike would ensure that he got treatment if necessary."

"I'd hope so," McCoy said neutrally. He picked up a hypospray and calibrated it. "Lie down, kid."

For the first time, Cadet Hudson's expression of irritation and disdain morphed into worry, bordering on fear. "Wait. First, can you tell me how bad it looks? Is it going to scar? I just started at the Academy. I don't want a scar. And what's in the hypospray?"

If anything, McCoy looked almost incredulous, and just a little bit offended. "It's a painkiller, tough guy, and you've barely got a scratch. And I don't leave scars when I work. Now lie down before I decide you're feeling peachy enough to do without a painkiller."

Looking even more frantic, as if he wasn't sure whether this doctor was really going to begin working without a painkiller, Hudson nodded and quickly laid back on the biobed. Unceremoniously, McCoy pressed the hypospray to the Cadet's neck and activated it, which drew a sharp grunt of discomfort. "Ouch! Damn, that stung! Small-town clinics and… hey, what was in… in that… whoa…"

Hudson's eyes flickered and closed, and McCoy actually smiled as he looked up at Toland. "Now I figure I can get some work done."

Toland looked back at him, allowed herself a small grin, and decided she could respect this Doctor McCoy. She touched her forehead in the manner of a salute, then stood back to give him space to work. Vaguely, she wondered if there were regulations against using sedatives like that on obnoxious cadets without a license to practice medicine.

McCoy immediately settled into his work, running a sterilization unit over the wound and cleaning away the dried blood. "He doesn't have a concussion," he said as he worked, "so you don't have to worry about that. It's a bit more than a scratch, but it's all superficial. The kid has a hard head."

"Perhaps a thick head," Toland said lightly.

McCoy actually snorted. "I take it you're not pleased with him and his buddies?"

"Good assumption. I should have been asleep hours ago, and instead I had to go chasing a gaggle of brand new recruits around Riverside, Iowa."

"Such a lovely town. You should take the full tour. Lasts about twenty-five minutes, including the coffee stop and bathroom break."

At that, Toland couldn't stop the amused smirk that pulled the corner of her mouth. "Sounds like you love it here."

McCoy didn't respond immediately as he extracted a small piece of glass from one of the lacerations. He looked at it critically before dropping it onto the tray, then picked up another piece of equipment. His face was the picture of absolute focus as he held the device over Hudson's forehead and activated a light blue beam. The device hummed softly, and McCoy spoke in a low tone.

"Don't have much time to love it or hate it. I'm here to work."

Toland would have replied, but she figured it was time to let the doctor put all of his attention into his work. And she watched him as he did. She'd seen some emergency medicine, and although she hardly had a clue about actual medical procedures, she knew skill when she saw it. McCoy's hands were steady and sure, and he worked with absolute focus and precision, changing out pieces of equipment confidently, never taking his eyes off Hudson's face.

The lacerations knit together, one by one. Delicate facial muscle pulled back together, connective tissue re-adhered to dermal layers, and skin fused into a cohesive surface, leaving nothing but a light pink line where a grotesque view of raw flesh had been visible only moments before.

Finally, McCoy leaned back and grabbed a standard tissue regenerator, placed it over the area where the damage had been the worst, and activated it. "There. We’ll give it about ten minutes to let the cellular structures stabilize, and he'll be good as new. Or good as he was before his adventure tonight."

Toland just looked at McCoy for a long moment, unable to formulate what she wanted to express.

McCoy frowned. "What?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" It came out rough and blunt, but there it was.

The frown became a defensive scowl. "What is that supposed to mean? I'm a doctor, and I'm working at a clinic."

She shook her head, almost sorry for how that had sounded, but too flabbergasted to apologize. "No, I mean what the hell is a surgeon with your level of skill doing in a backwater clinic in Riverside, Iowa?"

The defensive scowl didn't disappear, but it suddenly took on a darker tone. "Like I said, I'm working."

"Doctor McCoy," she said firmly, "I recognize skill when I see it. You said you're working with the Rural Doctors program. I've heard of that program. It's like working for a temp agency."

"It is a temp agency, but what of it?" He didn't seem happy with that. "Listen, I've been on-shift for almost fourteen hours now. As soon as your cadet is patched up, I'll wake him up, and you can leave."

She shook her head. "Let me ask you again: what is a doctor of your skill level doing here?"

He glared at her, almost demanding that she give up and back down, but she met his challenge and held his gaze until he finally gave up with a huff.

"I wore out my welcome at the research hospital back home," he growled low in his throat, looking to the side and folding his arms defensively around his stomach.

Toland studied his face for a moment, then suddenly realized why this guy's name had sounded familiar. She'd heard about his story in the news. She had seen this doctor's picture on the holovids, although he looked a bit scruffier and more careworn now. His father had been critically ill, and he'd helped his old man die. The media had turned it into a field day about the right to die, euthanasia, the Hippocratic Oath, and artificial life support. The man at the center of the three-ring show had been described as a rising star in the world of research medicine before that had happened. Toland couldn't stop her eyes from widening just a bit. "Leonard McCoy," she said, unable to quite hide the surprise in her voice. "I heard about you."

"Oh great," he bit out. "I do what I can to escape that mess, but clearly it doesn't do much good. I've been assigned to random clinics in the most remote or obscure backwater places around this country for the past six months, and that fiasco still follows me." He turned to his tray of equipment and began cleaning up, rolling up the absorbent mat and tossing the bloody glass and gauze into the biohazard slot. "Listen, all you've gotta know is that I didn't lose my license, but I lost everything else. They had a fine time dragging my name through the mud for the sake of a damned philosophical debate. Didn't matter that my work was good. Didn't matter that I was at the cutting edge of research and the best surgeon they had. Didn't matter that my father had written out his dying request, including the fact that if I didn't help him, he would have done it himself. No place would hire me. My wife – ex-wife made sure of that."

Toland glanced down at the doctor's left hand. There was no ring, but there was a lighter stripe of skin on his left ring finger; the ring had clearly been removed recently. She looked up to see that McCoy was observing her coolly. She tilted her head towards his hand. "Divorce finalized within the past week, was it?"

"Gee, you're observant," McCoy said flatly. He picked up the tray with the remaining equipment and brought it over to the sonic sterilizer. "Yeah. Two days ago. Don't know why I kept the ring on until it was official, but hey, at least I keep my oaths. I'd like to think that still means something. And what do I have left to show for it?" He finished loading the equipment into the sterilizer and turned back, leaning against the countertop. He folded his arms over his chest, hypospray held in his right hand, and gestured around the treatment room with the hypospray. "This. This is what I've got."

Toland just looked at him, silently sympathizing. No pity – she didn't believe in insulting people with pity, and McCoy didn't look like the sort of man who would want it – but understanding.

McCoy must have seen something of that understanding in her face, because he nodded, warily but honestly. "Yeah. She got the house, the kid, my career – the whole damned planet. Kept thinking I'd at least get something out of it, maybe have something to go home to eventually, but with the media coverage and her lawyer connections, she took it all. But hey, at least she was generous enough to write the communiqué herself to let me know that I might as well launch myself into orbit because there's nothing left for me on this goddamned rock." He unfolded his arms and walked over to the biobed. He leaned over and checked the tissue regenerator on Hudson's face, surveying the progress intently for a moment, then nodding to himself. He stood upright and looked sideways at Toland.

"So you wanted to know what a surgeon and research doctor like me is doing out in Riverside, Iowa?" McCoy's voice was a harsh growl. "I'm a doctor, and that's all I got left, so I'm doing what doctors do. I'm healing people. That man who left just before you got here would have died if some back-woods, small-town physician had been working here tonight. Your cadet would have that permanent facial scar that he probably deserves. Someone has to be better than that. That's what I'm doing."

"You're wasting your skills," Toland said flatly.

"Tell that to Mr. Daniels," he snapped. "The guy thought he'd eaten some bad leftovers, and by the time he stumbled in here, his appendix had already burst. None of the normal doctors in this clinic are surgeons, so they would have tried to send him to the county hospital, and I can guarantee you that he would have died in transit."

Toland furrowed her eyebrows. "You saved one man, but you're never going to be satisfied with that because you can do better, and I can see that. You're too good for this."

"No shit. But I don't exactly have a world of options anymore, ma'am." He gave a tip of his head. "So, with all due respect, I'll get back to saving folks around here for the rest of this week, and next week, I'll go wherever they send me and do the same there."

"You could have your own research lab in Starfleet." It was out of her mouth before she'd even realized she said it.

McCoy's mouth fell open, and for a moment, she wasn't sure if he was going to laugh at her or snarl at her. Finally he shook his head as if to clear something out of his ears and barked out an incredulous, "What?"

For a moment, Toland considered biting her tongue, but she'd already said it, and really, it made sense. Starfleet had been trying desperately to recruit top-notch doctors, but lately, the best of the best were only interested in civilian practice. Plenty of second-string medical professionals were still applying, but Starfleet needed better than that. You couldn't send people into space without the best medical support possible. This McCoy was a piece of work, but… skill like that? Yeah, Starfleet could use a pair of steady hands in a sickbay on a ship, on a space station, or anywhere.

She squared her body towards him and folded her arms across her chest to mirror his pose. "You want a chance to use those skills the way they were meant to be used? Starfleet has the best medical facilities available, on the planet or off of it. The best research, the best equipment. We need the best doctors to go with it. They've got folks who really will die without someone as skilled as you on hand. And I can tell you that they don't much care about your media image." She nodded at his dumbstruck expression. "With a doctorate degree, you'd graduate from Starfleet Academy as a full Lieutenant. Work in research or teach while you're there, and you could even make Lieutenant Commander."

He was still staring at her, open-mouthed, when the timer on the tissue regenerator beeped. McCoy shook his head to himself as he turned his attention back to Hudson. His hands worked deftly, removing the regenerator unit and setting it aside, then grabbing the tricorder for a scan. For a long moment, he studied the readout on the tricorder screen, appearing as if he hadn't heard a word that Toland had said. Then suddenly, he said, "You're out of your mind."

"You'd be out of your mind to keep doing this," she shot back.

McCoy snorted as he put the tricorder aside and reached for the cabinet. He pulled out a vial of light green liquid, snapped it into the hypospray as he stepped back to the biobed, and pressed it against Cadet Hudson's neck. A moment later, Hudson's delirious eyes were blinking open.

"Whoa… what… oh shit."

"Watch your language, Cadet," Toland snapped automatically.

Hudson flinched. "I… sorry, ma'am." He reached up towards his face, but hesitated.

McCoy blew out a breath in exasperation. "Your face is fine, Hudson. No sign that you ever tried to gang up on an unarmed civilian." He reached out and grabbed Hudson's hand, pulling him upright on the biobed. "There was no nerve damage, and if you have a headache, it's only because you dehydrated yourself with cheap liquor."

"Thank you, Sir." He slid off the biobed, looking thoroughly chastised.

McCoy nodded, finally showing a hint of sympathy. He patted the cadet on the shoulder. "You'll be fine, kid. Just next time… don't do something so stupid. If you're going into Starfleet, that might be a good lesson to learn. That way, maybe you won't give their doctors such a hard time. I'm sure those Starfleet doctors have more serious and interesting medical challenges occupying their time than patching up busted crowns."

Toland was moderately impressed to note that it actually looked like Hudson was listening. The cadet nodded. "Yes, Sir," he said, quietly. "Do I need to follow up with a doctor when I get to the Academy?"

Before McCoy could speak, Toland cut in. "Hudson, there's not a doctor at the Academy who could do a better job than Doctor McCoy did for you." She was speaking to Hudson, but looking at McCoy.

The doctor merely raised an eyebrow at her. She furrowed her eyebrows at him in return.

"Cadet," she said, "go to the waiting room. I'll be right there."

Hudson seemed confused, but quickly left the room.

Toland faced McCoy squarely. "I'm not going to insult you with a high and mighty pep talk. You've got an attitude, and you might not be Starfleet material, but I think you could be. And you know you're never going to be satisfied with this." She gestured around the room with a wave. "There's a transport shuttle heading for the Academy from the shipyard tomorrow morning at 0800 hours. It's not full. I’ll clear your name at the security gate if you come to your senses and realize the opportunity that this could be for you."

He studied her for a long moment, then narrowed his eyes. "I don't like flying."

She shrugged. "I don't like doctors."

They stared at each other for a long moment, then McCoy stuck his hand out. "I appreciate the conversation," he said simply.

"Thank you for patching up our cadet." She shook his hand briefly, then turned on her heel and walked out the door.


*********


Leonard watched her leave. His stomach felt tight and hollow at once, and he was grateful that his shift was over because there was no way he could handle seeing another patient that night. He was numb and detached, because if he wasn’t, he would seriously be considering the goddamned asinine suggestion that the snippy little Starfleet officer had thrown at him.

Comments

[mijan.livejournal.com]

I don't mind at all if you friend me. Feel free! I'm glad you're enjoying this fic enough to do that, and I'm delighted that you enjoyed AAtKM. (By the way, I'm writing a proper prequel for that, too.)

I'll post more later! Unless I decide to make a last-minute change to the fic (I'm considering adding a scene), the last scene will be posted this afternoon. :)