House
Call
DATE: March 5, 2004
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I adapted Seema’s ficlet challenge as a gift for Djinn: Give me a fandom to work in, and exactly two of the following:
- a pairing
- a character
- a setting
- an object
and I will write you a ficlet. So I got McCoy, Chapel, and her place, lost years era;-)
Thanks to Djinn for the beta!
© 2004 Rabble Rouser
v v v
“Christine!
I know you’re in there.”
Chapel’s
head whipped up when she heard that all too familiar voice. “You can’t come
in!”
What
the hell was McCoy doing at her door? She took in her dorm room with a feeling
of despair before launching Operation Cover-up. From the irate sound of McCoy’s
knocking and loud demands to be let in, she didn’t have much time before he
sent the Floor Nazi her way demanding an explanation—or worse entrance.
Thank
God it was just one room. Food wrappers and remains went down the recycler. The
space smelled a bit rank—the best she could do was throw open a window. The
rush of cool air hit her face like a slap. The sunshine that the window let in
didn’t improve the room’s looks. Underwear and sweatshirts fell to the floor as
she scooped them up into her arms from chairs, shelves, her desk, and off the
floor to stuff them down a duffel bag while kicking the clothes that escaped
her under the bed. She threw the comforter over her unmade bed and gave one
last panicked look around her.
She
flung open the door to almost have McCoy finish his knock on her head.
Chapel
was taken aback at the changes in him. A beard? She was mad enough at the
intrusion to remark that covering up his face was an improvement but in the end
didn’t have the heart to say it. That was always her problem. She wasn’t good
at inflicting pain, and too good at taking it. The thought made her voice hard.
“You have my comm. Next time use it.”
“I
did. Several times over the last two days. You didn’t answer. And you haven’t
gone to class for a week.”
“How
would you know?”
“One
of your classmates was concerned about you.”
“Spencer.”
It had to be. No one else but her fellow Enterprise alum would think of
contacting McCoy. Damn. There was never any escaping them. Even with
that part of her life being over. Supposedly. She sighed and waved him in with
a bow. “Welcome to Chez Chapel. So good of you to invite yourself.”
“Sarcasm
doesn’t become you.”
“You’re
just not used to it from me. You used to be my boss. Now you’re not even
Starfleet. You can’t put me down on report for insubordination.” She looked him
straight in the eye to make sure he got her message: you are no longer the boss
of me.
She
found that was a mistake. Those blue eyes bore down on her like a laser. They
saw too much. She dropped her eyes and walked to the desk and fell heavily into
the chair beside it.
She
heard him seating himself on the bed beside her desk. She looked up as he laid
his hand on top of hers. Just that simple human contact almost undid her and
she felt tears threaten.
“I
miss you,” he said. He moved his hand to tilt her head up to look at him. “I
just want to help you, Christine.” She jerked her head away and for a minute
his hand hung in the air as if he didn’t know what to do with it, then it
dropped, and she saw both his hands clench tightly at the comforter. He looked
as if he’d like to shake her. Part of her wished he would.
She
saw his eyes roam around her room. She knew it looked like a hotel room.
Occupied, not lived in. Even after nearly a year here, there was little that
marked it hers. No posters or pictures. T’Lel’s room across from her had far
more personality from what she could tell from her rare peeks inside from an
open door. She guessed that was bad. That her room was less expressive than a
Vulcan’s.
“It’s
amazing. You could have gotten something off campus—instead you chose to live
in a space as small as the quarters on the ship.”
“Feel
at home?”
“Damn
near claustrophobic is what I feel.”
“Me
too.” She hadn’t realized she had spoken aloud until she saw McCoy’s raise an
eyebrow. She shrugged. “Curse of the medical student. From dorm to classes to
lab to library to dorm…”
“Except
you haven’t been going to classes. Which could get you automatically flunked.
After how hard you’ve worked? What the blazes is going on with you?”
“If
you’d kept in touch you might know a little better.” She had to grin at his
scowl. It almost made him look like the McCoy she knew. “You know, with that
beard and outfit you look like one of Doctor Severin’s groupies.” She fingered
the medallion hanging from a chain about his neck. It was as if he was trying
to look as little
like
fleet as possible.
He
grunted. “Well, a smile. Promising. And you didn’t answer my question.”
She
felt her face grow hot. The truth is she didn’t have an answer. Not just one,
and not any that seemed adequate. She knew she should feel so grateful to be at
Stanford. In this institution in love with its own legend that few could ever
dream of attending.
She
slumped in her chair and gave a wobbly smile. “No excuse, sir.” She waited for
the lecture. To hear spoken aloud the beating she gave herself every day.
McCoy
folded his arms and glared at her, then seemed to make a supreme effort to
soften his expression and put his hands on his knees. He began quietly. “Okay,
let me guess. You’re damn tired of being a student. You’re wondering if you can
deal with the consequences of failing, of a patient dying under your hands—”
“I
have—”
“It’s
not the same,” he snapped. He took a deep breath and seemed to gather himself.
“As a doctor, you’ll have to live with knowing their treatment was under your
direction. Having been a nurse you know that too well. You’re even wondering if
you can deal with the consequences of success—of gaining even more
responsibility. And every day you get closer to graduation is a day you get
closer to having to live out there again, and make all the jagged pieces of
your life fit--family, loves, friends, and finding out the job demands you do
all the other things less than well.”
“Just
who are you referring to here?”
“You.
Me. Us. You’re forgetting who you’re talking to, my dear. It may be hard to
believe, but I was a medical student too. Now, I could be wrong, it could be
there’s a personal crisis in your life. But I know you. You’re damn fine in a crisis,
and a crisis wouldn’t have you sitting here red in the face and flustered
because you don’t know what to say.”
“I
just...Len, I just needed this to stop for a while. I feel…trapped. You know
Roger’s mother keeps in touch. She expects me to keep ‘the legacy’ alive,
continue Roger’s research.” She felt her face tighten. “Haven’t I given enough
of my life to being the woman of the great man? And my family.” She shook her
head. “You know, when I was a kid I thought all grown-ups were called ‘doctor.’
” She laughed bitterly. “Now that Roger is dead my own father is expecting me
to bring more glory to the Chapel name. Something small like…oh resurrect the
dead.”
“What
do you want?”
“To
be a doctor. An ordinary, honest-to-goodness physician.” The words surprised
her as they left her lips. “And I want to go back out there. I miss the Enterprise.”
She
saw his mouth twist down, as if he tasted something foul. “Even without Spock?”
“Damn
you, Len.” She moved to the bed and hit him on the arm, hard. “We were family.
He wasn’t the reason I stayed after Roger.”
“Yeah,
we’re like family—scattered, estranged...”
Chapel
remembered the last time she had seen Kirk and McCoy together. Lieutenant
Fisher’s funeral. They’d seemed to both be trying to connect with each other
without quite meeting. Like some link was missing. Strange. She had always
thought Kirk had been the bridge between Spock and McCoy, that without him
they’d have nothing in common, would soon drift away from each other. But that
Kirk and McCoy were different. Real friends. Had it been more complex than that?
Had Spock somehow in some way she had never grasped kept Kirk and McCoy
together? Or was he the reason they had broken apart?
Spock.
She tried to remember what it had been like to love him. Was it even love when
it wasn’t requited? Like that question about whether a falling tree makes a
sound with no one to hear it? No, lovers had dignity, those harboring a crush
were ridiculous. McCoy himself had been one of those most eager to point that
out. Again. And again.
McCoy
captured her hand again. He was rubbing her palm with his thumb, caressing the
back of her hand, staring at it as if it fascinated him. He brought it quickly
to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist, before dropping it. “I’m sorry
I mentioned him.”
“It’s
an almost Pavlovian response from anyone from my Enterprise days. See
Christine. Think of Spock. Speak of Spock. Or pointedly don’t. Just like
everyone from before that thinks every sad look has to be about Roger. Well, it
isn’t. I’m not stuck and don’t know why anyone thinks otherwise.”
“I’m
glad.” He started, as if he had been caught at something. “I mean...I didn’t
much like watching how unhappy you were.”
“I
know.” She passed her hand over his hair in affection, and hugged him hard.
Before she could release him, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She
felt his beard tickling her face and started laughing.
He
broke the kiss, an annoyed look on his face. “What’s so damn funny?”
“Sorry,
I think it’s the beard.”
“I’ll
shave it off.”
“Don’t.”
She said it more sharply then she meant to and bit her lip trying to keep
herself from saying the rest. But she thought he heard it anyway. Don’t change
on my account. She didn’t want to hurt Len. She pressed herself closer to him
rather than away, placed her arms around him, and tried out kissing him.
It
was…nice. Not passionate, she didn’t feel moved or shaken, and she found she
liked that. She pulled away from him a bit to look at him. Wondering. Seeing
all his constant teasing of her, of Spock, forming into a different picture.
“You’re
not in love with me, are you?”
He
looked at her a long time as if he were thinking which answer she wanted and
she didn’t like that.
“No.”
His arms tightened around her. “But I do want you, Christine.”
It
was the right answer. She didn’t want love from him. Loving someone who didn’t
love you back—or in the way you wanted—was a terrible thing.
“I’ve
been alone so long,” she said softly in his ear.
And
she had. First she had been Roger’s Penelope, then she’d mooned over Spock so
visibly that both he and every possibly interested male on the Enterprise had
stayed far away. Then medical school where she was so much older, so much more
serious than her classmates. She didn’t love Len. But want? A man pressed
closely to her, wanting her. Touching her, making her real to herself. As long
as they could keep it light.
His
hands began to roam around her body over, then under, her clothes, lightly,
tentatively, then more possessively with every minute. She gave her body over
to him, closing her eyes tightly. She was afraid to look at his face, see the
lie he had told. Because if he loved her, she couldn’t do this. And she needed
this. So she wouldn’t look.
But
the sensations he was creating jolted her, and she found her eyes flying open,
looking into his. The intensity, the wildness there scared her.
Is
that what Spock had seen in her? If she was to look, then she had to set
herself not to think. Not to think that maybe McCoy thought he already had found
all he wanted in his arms. Because she already knew all she had found was a
place to rest.
Please write to me and
let me know what you thought.