Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive ^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

Chapter Text

2247

“What broke in a man when he could bring himself to kill another?”
-Alan Paton

He'd done his job too well.

"I have enough regrets that if I started now and rattled 'em off straight through, it would take years. Guess that's the way it goes, though. You can't live in this world without having to do things you know you'll never be able to answer for to God."

David picked up his glass of peach brandy and took a sip, then set it down again. Looked across the table at the young man who stood across from him, who would not get a second look from most people until they slipped up, and then they would never have the chance to.

"They managed to recruit Leonard while I was off. Promised him an education, you know. And since all he ever heard from me was how great it was to be a 'Fleet doctor, he jumped at the chance. Medschool paid for, automatic commission to lieutenant, nothing but sunshine and clear sailing."

If Scott cared, it never showed. He just looked across at McCoy, dispassionately. Cool, calculating. Somewhere in his mid-twenties, he had an average build, and walked like an average man, his only claim to anything that he had good lines and strong contrasts. But mostly he could blend in with a crowd, just average, until someone got within his arm's reach, and then he became grace, quick and merciless, soundless, but it wasn't the grace of salvation.

David had done his job, George had done his, and what was left was a weapon that didn't feel joy, let alone the hate and grief that should have been his right. Just cold calculation; no spark, no warmth, no hope.

David had seen that grace once, and was impressed and horrified by it. Though, to be honest, he was the one who taught Scott how to make a clean kill, without causing any unneeded suffering; a background as a doctor enabled a lesson in anatomy that had nothing to do with healing. He supposed that the kid had gone from there and learned how to use that knowledge effectively. He wielded a dagger with the kind of artistry that could only have come with long hours and years of practice.

So, David talked. Partly because he knew what the end of this conversation would be. Partly because he knew that he wouldn't be judged, good or bad, for anything he said -- regardless of their past experiences, Scott merely weighed and measured McCoy just the same as he did everyone else. Strengths, weaknesses, how much of a threat David was, how much he was worth. It was easy to confide in someone who didn't give a damn about you, especially not enough to condemn you.

David had long since condemned himself.

"I left a good trail. Not enough to be suspicious, just enough to let those fuckers know what I've been up to all these years. Len's clean. He's still in school, and they sure don't hand out brochures there about what it's really like. They might question him, but they'll figure out that he didn't know anything."

He took another sip of brandy, then looked into his glass, thoughtfully.

"I'm dying anyway. Don't want my son to have to be the one who ends it all, before this disease ends me. Maybe if he keeps his heart clean, someday he'll be able to get out and live with himself."

No spark, no warmth. Not even a sympathetic blink. That was another reason David was here.

He stood up, picked his glass up, and drained it. Looked at Scott, who just looked back at him; fierce intelligence, but no emotion there. And the kid stood with that grace that wasn't salvation, still and waiting.

"I left enough of a trail that when they find out who did it, it'll put you a few good steps further from any suspicion. Not much of a gift, considering. But I think by the time they hear anything of you, it'll be too damn late for 'em."

David nodded once; knew that when he took three steps forward, it would be over. But he did have one more thing to say, and it was from the still beating heart of an old man, a father, that had somehow survived all of these years and sorrows.

"I have a lot of regrets. A lifetime. That I wasn't home for my son, that I'll never know any grandbabies... that even for all I gave up, I couldn't do more. I know that I've done things I can't possibly answer to God for, too."

He paused there, in compassion for someone who didn't give it to himself.

"A lifetime of regrets. You're one of 'em."

Three steps, and David McCoy was dead before he hit the ground.