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2020-11-04
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Hello...Goodbye

Summary:

Series: TOS
Characters: McCoy and Tonia Barrows
Summary: Final closure to a relationship; some hints to xenopolycythemia

Work Text:

Hello...Goodbye
By Kelthammer

 

Space isn't as big as people think--just easy to get lost in. For this reason, people who develop relationships off-planet never quite let go of them--part courtesy, part loyalty to a bond formed--but in truth, a large part of it was the common sense of survival. A computer might forget where you were, but a friend never would.

Therefore, Leonard McCoy wasn't surprised to see Tonia Barrows' name show up in a news blurb. What did surprise him was its circumstance. This surprise was shared by everyone on the ENTERPRISE.

Once ENTERPRISE, always ENTERPRISE. All it took was taking the news to Jim Kirk, and Jim flurried his way through the right paperwork to get Leonard off the ship and to Station K-8 a whole 24 hours before Tonia's shuttle (NEWTON'S DIAMOND) docked.

Twenty-four hours is a long time to wait.

***

Leonard felt grains of fatigue settle painfully under his eyelids as he wandered into the caffeine bar. He instantly failed to recognize half the food and drink, and made a note that the law against selling alien comestibles had been repealed. He wasn't sure that was a good idea. Andorians knew how to serve their own ta'llaf, but they sure didn't know what to do with a cup of Pekoe.

He leaned his elbows on the bar and asked for coffee. To be safe, he produced a molecular diagram and was rewarded by a large steaming cup that tasted mostly right. He sipped it gently, trying to put his mind in the proper place.

After a brief note telling him she was well and doing fine on the KEPLER, Tonia had melted out of range. That was common enough for couples needing to seal an amicable break-off. There was also the fact that space, no matter how many feet of duotronium separating you from it, was dangerous, and a lot of people simply broke off their relationships to concentrate on the sheer logistics of living. Tonia's assignment had been full-science, where the scientific discoveries were often of a classified nature. The problem was filling the hole she'd left in his life.

Leonard sighed. She wasn't that much younger than he was. But trying to describe their differences...he cast about in his vocabulary, looking for something. Nothing fit. Tonia was not too young. Nor was she inexperienced. But she was still fairly new to personal exploration, and her desire to push her envelopes was...well, it reminded him of the exuberance of a young foal.

Looking back, her inexhaustible desire to explore herself had contributed to the odd fatigue he'd begun to carry before their meetings. Although he'd tried to analyze it in another direction, he had to face the truth: she was self-absorptive when it came to sex. Some part of him had realized it before his conscious mind had, a spark in him had died.

And how ironic. His ex-wife had accused him of not being caring and considerate enough

I did care. I was considerate. But Tonia didn't want me as much as she wanted a fantasy player. She wanted me to be whoever her mind conjured up, a different person every night. She only wanted me to be myself when we were out of the bedroom.

McCoy watched tiny ribbons of steam forming over the large cup. He knew the breakup wasn't anyone's fault, it was just that he couldn't honestly express his issues with Tonia's fantasies without getting too close to his own, very private demons. What had been play to Tonia had not been for him. He'd wanted to tell her...but the obligation not to ruin her natural growth was another. So was the urge not to come out sounding like a stick in the mud. In the end, he'd opted for silence and he knew he'd made the right choice.

Too bad it was so damn painful...

He told himself he needed to eat. Lately, he knew his appetite had been off. Well, more than off. He was just plain forgetting to go to Mess. Jim swore the food wasn't that bad, Spock was making snide comments about people who chose to go to space without factoring in the small sacrifices, and Scotty was starting to think of it as a challenge to the food programmers. Truth to tell, the food tasted as good--or bad--as it ever did, but one meal seemed to do him forever.

Not good though--caloric consumption isn't something you outgrow. He scolded himself and ordered an innocuous bowl of soup with a bread that looked somewhat wholesome. He did, however, secretly plot the downfall of the lying heathen who put "stoneground" on their meal labels when it was anything but.

No wonder you're getting tired. You're not eating.

Spock's little comments were the most galling. It meant the Vulcan was actually worried about him. He'd better give himself another checkup when he got back to the ship. Not the basics this time, do a full-course workup. There was always the chance he was harboring some kind of bug. Check himself out for tiny invaders first, then put himself on a dietary cleanse, and check out his blood, bone and muscle. Lord, it would take forever...he'd better clear his desk first...

He finished eating and still had time to kill. A short nap in the rented room only made him more edgy when he woke up; he checked the satellite records and saw Tonia's shuttle was still on schedule, so he wandered again and spied a flower shop that boasted of its ability to suit four species for every occasion.

"What would the occasion be?" Asked the short bewhiskered man with coca-colored eyes. His accent was somewhat barely south of Lake Baikal.

"Oh, I'm not sure there is one." Leonard told him, hands on hips and exhaling, looking about.

"Try me." The little man dared.

Leonard flicked an eye. "A present for someone you used to be in love with, but aren't any more."

"Razblutto." The whiskers beamed.

"I beg your pardon?"

The flower-vendor was already lifting up a thick mass of...well, green. And purple. And red, and yellow, and white. Leonard stared.

"Razblutto," the man said again. "That is what you call the feeling of being in love with someone but no longer."

"You do?" Leonard couldn't stop staring. "I've been in space a long time, but those flowers look like blooming kale."

"Da." The florist nodded with a slight smirk. "My own little joke. Are they not perfect, though?"

"Ah..." Leonard cleared his throat. "What does raz-blutto mean?"

"Cooked cabbage."

At Leonard's expression, the little man grew conspiratorial. "You know, the Russians are a very clever people. They have a word for everything."

**

He bought a bouquet--ordinary tea roses that smelled of litchee, and reminded himself to tell Christine this particular story. He would also tell the rest of the crew in the Mess Hall when Chekov was present: lately the "Russian invention" jokes had been getting a little mean from other people, and it wouldn't hurt to help the man's ego. Chekov looked young, but he wasn't. He needed more respect from certain of the junior-officers' crowd.

His thoughts distracted him; a passing Andorian rounded the bend in his path and he stepped aside just in time to smack his hand against the metal wall. He flinched as a thorn went deep into his palm. "Damn," he muttered. He found a pool of bright light and bent over his hand, flexing the fingers. The mark was angry and red, but no blood leaked out of a half-inch puncture.

Leonard experienced just the faintest twinge of unease. Puncture wounds didn't always bleed--one reason why they were so easy to infect. But this had gone deep and he should be looking at damaged capillaries.

The problem with being a doctor is, too many disquieting possibilities can come to your head at the least little thing. He shook his hand, went to a public 'fresher and blasted his hands up to the elbows with antibacterial beams. The flowers looked none the worse for his wear, and he scowled at them as he picked them up again.

"I can walk through four acres of poison oak without breaking into a rash, and one of you tries to draw blood on me," he told them.

The flowers were silent. That was one great thing about native Earth flora.

***

Inside his rental room he put the flowers in a suspension and re-washed his hands. His own face in the mirror had looked apprehensive and alive that morning. Now it just looked tired out. He tried frowning at it, and wondered when his skin had gotten so ruddy. Had he been walking under UVs in the artificial light of the station?

"You're getting as paranoid as your reputation," he said aloud, and ordered dinner just to be defiant. Meals were part of his rental fee; might as well use it. Anything but the beef stew he'd tried last night, though. It had tasted good but he'd felt edgy and weighted for the rest of the evening. Come to think of it, foods containing rich meat conjured anything but hunger as a reaction. He scanned the plastic menu a last time, shrugged to himself, and chose milk with batter bread. That went a lot better than the stew, and he fell asleep with a sense of vague relief. Tonia would arrive early in the morning.

***

He wasn't the only one waiting for NEWTON'S DIAMOND. Leonard picked them out of the crowd easily. They had the same uneasy apprehension he was wearing on his own face. Several were children, and his heart hurt to see the longing in those young faces. He wondered what they'd been told. You couldn't sugar-coat something like, "your mother/father's ship was damaged by meteors and drifted into non-treaty space where these barely-civilized Plutarchians on Caniz IV saw them as useful hostages against unwanted Federation Encroachment."

He held his breath as the mechanical voice announced the safe debark of the DIAMOND. A small boy wondered where the name of the ship had come from, and his father or uncle explained Newton's pet dog, Diamond, who had a prediliction for eating his math notes. Although the story was old as Newton himself, Leonard felt himself smiling as he heard it yet another time. Then a hush went over the waiting crowd, heads lifted, necks craned, and Leonard followed suit.

Despite the aggressive campaign of nutrition and rehabilitation the ex-prisoners had been put through once freed, there were still signs of their ordeal obvious to McCoy's trained medical eye. The open relief in all upon seeing the doors open was one. He was surprised to see nearly everyone was wearing headwear of some kind. Packs were light and easy to carry. Everyone wore nondescript, pastel blue or orange jumpsuits. One person in the back had a familiar movement; he automatically craned his head, reaching with his gaze...

Oh, my God, her hair!

Leonard arrested his shock and sternly buried it. Tonia's glorious mane, that caught all the shades of light in each strand, had been subjected to the brutal chop mandatory of all prisons that sought to de-sensitize and de-individualize the prisoner.

Her shortened hair made her eyes look larger. Her larger eyes made her look frailer. And younger. And too thin. And pale and--

He squelched his thoughts. Hard. He shoved them out of his mind. She hadn't seen him yet. His fingers dug into the flower wrappings.

Tonia saw him. Her eyes widened and he saw her mouth drop open.

***

"Space used to be a large place," He commented offhandedly--only there was a wry twinkle in his eyes as he settled the flowers carefully inside her arms. "Anymore, I've come to believe it's not very big...just easy to hide in."

"Sometimes hiding's good." Tonia agreed. Her eyes soaked in the flowers, flicked to him, then found deep comfort back in the flowers. Then she suddenly met his gaze with hers. Her arms went around him with their old familiar strength, but he felt a quiver in her muscles as the flowers were flattened between them. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Any time," he reminded her--and, suddenly, felt ridiculously good. "May I convince you of a not-very-quiet dinner in not-very-fancy surroundings?"

Tonia was surprised into a laugh. "What's all this not-verys?"

"Simple. There's an excellent croodlin' fiddler playing tonight on the station band. If we take the balconies that tie into the apartments, we can pick and choose the level of noise."

Tonia laughed again, quieter and warmer. It was as if they were back in the old days, he thought as they left the transport: she leaning her head close to his chest, warm inside the half-circle of his right arm.

***

Not surprisingly, the first thing she did was sleep. He caught her nodding over her dessert and told her the ice cream could wait. She, of course, insisted she was fine but ruined everything with a cracking yawn. Leonard made a show of muttering to himself and scooped her up, put her in the bed and tucked the covers around her. She was out before he finished clearing the table.

He sat in the low sofa, arms across his chest and thinking of a lot of things in the growing aritfical dusk.

She stirred herself a few hours later, looking rumpled and still-sleepy. If they were still intimate, he would have instantly done something, but all the sight did was stir a friendly affection. Cooked cabbage, indeed. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Not long. Do you want to take a shower? All that recycled air..."

"I had just finished in the fresher when we docked; everyone took turns all through the trip. It felt so good to be clean..." Tonia broke off, looking vaguely appalled at what she had just revealed. "I don't know." She looked down in her lap. "I hate these uniforms," she suddenly muttered, glaring at her jumpsuit.

"Don't let Nyota hear you say that." Leonard chuckled softly. His arm was still a warm, comforting presence around her shoulder. "She's getting a little tired of the miniskirts. Of course, most of us are just fine with the way she looks in them."

"She hasn't cared about them since she split her backside open while we were under fire from the Cloaked Romulan ship," Tonia reminded him. "Hikaru got the full view. It kept him in a happy cloud for months."

"Really? I didn't know."

"I'm so sorry, Leonard."

Her blurt shocked him. "What? What d'you mean?" He sat back, eyes widening. Of all the things he could have expected, an apology wasn't one of them.

"I had a lot of time to think, you know." She added sadly. "Do you know, I never left the ship unless it was shore leave?"

"No," he said slowly, thinking back. "You did a couple of research projects with Spock and Sulu--"

"And they were all in controlled environments. It wasn't until we were all locked up in that black prison that I started to really see what went wrong with us."

McCoy wasn't sure she was making sense, but wasn't about to say so. Prisoners after even a short incarceration often had trouble re-adjusting, and their thinking could be out of sync with their peers'. Tonia's sudden habit of skipping from one irrelevant topic to another was typical, but surprising. Unfortunately, his bewilderment leaked out of his face because she looked up and smiled crookedly.

"I'm not being very understandable, I'm sorry for that too. Give me a chance." She took a deep breath. "You've been in prison before, right?"

"Well, yes...several times." He stopped, suddenly embarassed. "Actually, I lost count of the times I was locked up somewhere or held hostage or stranded on some odd little planet, asteroid or space station."

"Well, this was a first for me." Tonia took another deep breath. "I thought life on ship was regimented, but suddenly everything I said or did was mapped out for me. Other people controlled everything I said, everything I did, what I ate, when I slept, where I slept..." she stumbled slightly. "I was lucky; no one wanted to...to use me. I'm not sure I could have taken that. But other people did...and they had to. I saw it happen, and it hurt to know that I couldn't do anything...and they were my friends, Leonard."

Wordless, McCoy's face creased in sympathy.

"You've been through all that." Tonia whispered.

"It's a risk." He said reluctantly. "It's something they try to train the officers for, but I can't say it replaces the real thing. We're trained to accept what we can't change, and to follow orders in order to survive. I can't say I ever liked it. But I did what I had to." He'd often lamented that junior-grade officers had less than half the training of commanders, and why couldn't Starfleet afford a few credits for prepatory training?

"It was just a game to me, Leonard." Tonia shook her head. Her short hair couldn't flow like that once-long mane. The difference put a sharp pang in his heart. "My fantasies were fine because they weren't real. I liked what we did. I loved it. But I knew that when it came down to it, I was the one in control. And down there...I saw reality." She swallowed hard. "We had fun for a while, but it wasn't as much fun for you because you've..." She couldn't keep on.

McCoy took pity on her. "Tonia, it's my own fault if I can't separate what we had from what's ever happened to me."

"Not really, you know." She pointed out. "Playing at rape can't be fun if you've been raped. Playing at seduction can't be fun if you were seduced. Getting handcuffed for fun if--" She stopped, staring straight ahead. "I should have thought of all that a long time ago."

"It's not like I could tell you." McCoy injected a stern element in his voice. "For god's sake, you were trying to explore what you wanted out of life. It wasn't my place to ruin it for you...that'd be like...like dead-heading a rose before it finished blooming!"

"Thank you," she said wryly, but she was smiling. "That's vivid, and probably very true." She looked down again. "The worst part about it was the nothingness."

"Were you in isolation?"

"That's a terrible word for it, Leonard. It doesn't even begin to describe it..." She tried, and finally shook her head. "No one to talk to or see for days at a time, and we were all being taken care of by people who acted like we were...well, ghosts. We weren't real to them."

McCoy thought such a thing would be truly hell for Tonia, who depended on input from others to base her experience. He couldn't think of a worse torture for her. Even being physically abused couldn't mean as much.

He wanted to ask her if she still felt "exploratory" but was valiantly struggling against it. There was no need. They were no longer a couple, and he wasn't her doctor--hadn't been since they became lovers, to keep his Oath secure.

"Tonia, everybody has this inside them. I don't care who they are. But as a physician, I'm trusted not to give into that. I just can't. It's the same reason why I don't give into the urge to go on a bender for the weekend. If somebody needed me, a soberal couldn't patch me up in time--and turning off the sadism, that isn't like a switch. It has to be worked out, dealt with, and eventually with time it's submerged." He sighed. "In public I don't agree with Spock, but in this I do. Some emotions are dangerous and need to be kept in the tightest control. Not for you, because you're not in a place where that's dangerous. But for me, it is. Very. If I started to blur the line in the wrong place--what if somebody I hated was on the table and I could do something to them? What if I knew I could get away with it? What if that person was somebody who was responsible for a friend's death?"

Tonia was staring at him like she had never, ever seen him before. Maybe she hadn't. They had rarely gone deep in their conversations--after the initial flirting around stage had passed they had already gotten in to the habit of not talking about their work when they were together. Neither had wanted to ruin their rare private moments.

And, McCoy thought, how often did we get the chance to be together anyway? Put all the nights we spent in a row, and it was less than a month in all the months we were actually "dating."

I'm old-school, Tonia. I was taught medicine in the house, and the oath 'Do No Harm' was something my folks taught me along with how to read my name. That oath makes no allowances for playing, or for when someone wants you to hurt them. You just can't let a physician have that responsibility. I thought I could deal with it," he laughed self-consciously. "Well my third-great-granny* always said, M.D. didn't stand for Medical Deity." He ran his fingers through his hair, thinking that it felt good to know that little knot of tension was unraveling in his gut. He was doing more than explain to Tonia; he felt like he was confessing. And it was pulling incalculable tons off his shoulders.

"It's straight and simple. Do no Harm." He gnawed his bottom lip. "I'm not used to talking about this," he confessed.

She nodded again. "I should have thought of that," she repeated.

He tried not to sigh. "Tonia, you're a wonderful person, but like most people, you're not a psychologist. Your profession teaches you to get in the heads of circuits, not living people." He crooked up a smile. "You aren't obligated to think about me."

"You're being sweet." She gave in gracefully, both knowing he was giving her an easy out. Her hand rested on his chest below the insignia.

 

Right now, all she wanted was a shoulder to lean on. And he was fine with being that. She soon fell asleep right there, a warm soft weight. Rather than move, he let himself fall into sleep too.

***

He opened his eyes to see Tonia was already up and, it appeared, she was well on her way to maxing out his meal budget. The smell of pungent foods had pulled him out of sleep more than anything else. He swallowed against the sudden lack of appetite and went for the coffee instead. As he sleepily stumbled over punching the right code, Tonia leaned over the table and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"You don't look very good. What have you been up to?" She took in his heightened coloring with a questioning look.

"I'm fine, Mom." He made a friendly face. "I'm getting a checkup as soon as I get back on ship."

"You are?" She pretended to be as skeptical as he was of people who said such things.

"It's an easy run. We have to pick up some scientists stationed in front of the upcoming Minara Nova, and then along the axis. Assuming we don't get hit by a planetestimal, what can happen?"

Tonia laughed. "I'm sure we felt that way just before we beamed down to the Shore Leave Planet."

He laughed too, quietly. "That's one thing I've always loved about you."

"My bizarre sense of humor?"

"The fact that you've got one." He admitted. "Spock's humor-impaired, Jim's sense of humor is pretty basic. He likes to tease like a little brother would--and it can get just as annoying. You made me laugh a lot. That was something I needed."

Tonia's great, gleaming eyes twinkled as she tilted her head to one side. "I tried. I knew you wanted to have fun. I shouldn't have insisted on it being all on my terms." Her small fingers curled over his. "You need somebody to look out for you, you know. Oh, I don't mean you're passive or anything, but you've been doing a lot of things by yourself, Leonard. Probably too much."

"I know." He was able to be honest with her. "It's a habit, Tonia, and a hard one to break out of. I can't show any emotional dependance on somebody..."

"Because of the captain and Spock." Tonia said quietly.

"Yes." He answered, just as quietly.

"I understand." She squeezed her hand over his. "I'm glad we had some good times together...but honestly, Leonard, I am not going to be happy if I hear I was the only one in your life while you were on that dratted ship. If you can get away and be yourself, please try."

"Yes, Mom." He said it with a small smile. "And, thanks for caring."

"How could I not?" She gave him back his own crooked smile. "I had a lot of time to think, remember?"

"Just don't set me up with any of your friends, ok?"

"I wouldn't dream of it." Tonia's lip quivered, trying hard not to burst out laughing at the thought.

There was a slight pause as each wondered what to say.

"I have to leave in a few days," he said at last. "Are you settled?"

Tonia thought about it--and what he was offering--and shook her head. "I'd love it if you stayed with me." She leaned against his chest again. "Thanks, Leonard. For being my friend."

He bent and kissed the top of her head, secretly hoping she would grow it again.

"This is what friends are for." He reminded her.

 

The End