Chapter Text
Have the courage to trust love one more time and always one more time. – Maya Angelou
ooooo
“Are you out of your mind?”
Admiral Pike raised an eyebrow at the questioner who continued, “I’m a doctor, not a poster boy for the press.”
The flag officer nailed McCoy with a stare mixing amusement, leniency, and patience, then inhaled preparing to speak. Spock interjected, “A moment sir, the good doctor’s tirades are generally delivered in triplicate.”
“I can see the headlines now … Enterprise the Expose … Taxes for Tribbles … This season the well-dressed Starfleet crewman is uniformed in gold, red, or blue.”
“Finished Bones?” Kirk asked.
The response was a clipped, “For. The. Moment.”
Pike turned his unwavering gaze to Kirk who answered the unspoken invitation, “You’ve already heard my doubts, multiple times. A civilian residing on board a deep space vessel sets up a web of complications.”
Spock said, “Admiral while I am confident you have chosen a journalist with more literary skill than our resident physician, I too, and with reluctance, must agree with him sans the exaggerated, dramatic examples. Your idea is laudable; its implementation is not practical.”
Reaching for his cane, Christopher Pike stood and paced, limping around the ready room. He stopped in front of a viewpoint and stared out of it. Silence reigned for several minutes. With a sigh he turned back to the ship’s officers. “Yes, this is a favored project of mine. Perhaps even an indulgence. Vulcan’s destruction morphed a personal inclination into a goal. Spock, your home world will be remembered due to its outsized presence in our alliance and this quadrant. But what of the species without warp capability whose planet’s environment turns hostile? We cannot intervene but they should not pass from our galaxy unknown. What of the stellar nursery, the Nye-Rogers pulsar in the Ps3i nebula, the vibrantly colored cloud ringing Omni-Centi X? What of the fledging applicants striving for membership in the Federation? What of our crews, exploring as well as aiding beings never before encountered, beings so different in mores and culture from their own? They should be witnessed as well.”
“But …”
Pike waved Spock off. “All of this should be preserved not only through statistics and scientific analysis; the stories also should be framed by poets and in prose. As well as Starfleet’s. By one as skilled in narratives as each of you are in your own disciplines of leadership, physical sciences, and the healing arts. That is the role of an embedded reporter. Not tattling your every move or mistake.”
He said after a pause, “You have fifteen minutes for arguing your case against my plan.”
McCoy spoke first. “A ship is no place for the untrained. Space is filled with danger.”
“The journalist I have in mind understands these risks.”
“How will classified information be safeguarded?” Spock asked.
“Each of you, as well as I, can embargo an article or redact passages.” Pike then warned, “I will expect thorough justification for any such actions.”
Kirk spoke as the Admiral resumed his seat at the table. “Reporters embedded with the military fell out of fashion during the various skirmishes leading to Earth’s third world war.”
“That’s right,” McCoy interrupted. “Casualty counts for those civilians were high despite all the precautions.”
“And their work was viewed as government propaganda,” Spock finished.
“Is he a hotshot looking to make his career on our backs?” McCoy asked with a snort.
“No. A freelancer with no corporate management nor editorial board mandating content.” Pike pointed at Kirk. “Who has resisted demands from those more stubborn than you.”
The doctor chuckled; the Vulcan raised an eyebrow.
“Captain, Commanders, I am not dissuaded. Enterprise remains my preference for this pilot program. Please finish preparations. You are dismissed.”
ooooo
The following morning Enterprise’s chief medical officer opened his eyes, swung his legs over the bed’s side, and stretched his back. He grumbled aloud, “I hate waking up alone.”
Leonard McCoy yearned for family.
One that didn’t, like ephemera, slip through his fingers.
Like his birth family.
Like his marriage.
Like the beloved daughter now out of reach.
This need informed his every choice, including joining Starfleet where he had cobbled together a surrogate clan and protected it with the fierceness of a lioness safeguarding her cubs. Along the way he had accepted the unexpected barreled into life when least anticipated, altering it forever; shoving one onto a different path, a path filled with pain and loss. Along the way he had purposefully stopped believing the unforeseen may be a gift.
A sarcastic and at times acerbic persona masked his innate warmth and protected a gentle and kind heart, one refusing to harden despite the rigors of his profession, in spite of its losses. With this armor securely in place, he left his quarters and started the day.
ooooo
“I appreciate you taking on this assignment,” Pike said to his companion as they exited the turbolift.
“I did owe you a favor. Thanks by the way for sending your friend to help me with that minor disagreement on the rim,” she said in a casual tone as if commenting on pleasant weather.
Pike raised his voice, catching the attention of several passing crew members as he echoed, “Minor? Disagreement?”
Cara glanced sideways at him. The amusement in her eyes betrayed the carefully composed innocence in her expression.
His sigh was long and deep. “Should have put a subcutaneous subspace tracker on you years ago.”
“My uncle often says the same.” Her words paused, for a second her brow knitted voicing with silence lingering concern. “And Chris, it’s good to see you well.”
He answered with a fond smile and then gestured to the left. They walked side by side through the corridor, halting in front of the doors to Medbay.
“I appreciate the escort and know you are needed at headquarters. I’ve got it from here.” She held out her hand, her eyes were soft with affection. “I assume this is more appropriate in the halls of your previous command than my usual kiss on the cheek farewell?”
He clasped her hand in his. “Perhaps, and it’s a loss for me. Take care of yourself. Be safe. Promise.”
She drew an X over her heart then watched Pike retrace their earlier path in slow, measured steps until he was out of sight.
Medbay was like a very busy yet well-choreographed hive of technicians, nurses, physicians, and other scientists from various disciplines, the center of the ship’s Life Science’s department. A medic approached as she entered. “May I help … oh Ms. Aguirre …”
“Cara. Just Cara.”
“I don’t know …” The nurse’s response was drawn out as she weighed if familiar address was truly appropriate. Then with a firm nod she said, “Hello Cara. I’m Bonnie. Bonnie O’Malley. And I’m a devoted fan, never miss your articles. Welcome to Enterprise.”
The journalist smiled. “Thank you. I’m here for my physical.”
“Oh right, of course. Our chief medical officer performs all on boarding exams, which is rare, but he’s very particular about a lot of things. Rumor is he’s memorized the health records of our entire crew.” Bonnie’s hand flew to her mouth, covering it. “Oh, I talk too much when I’m nervous. I didn’t mean to spill secrets … no one’s told me … I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to say to you …”
“It’s okay,” Cara said in a reassuring tone. “I’m not working at the moment and we’re off the record.” In answer to the nurse’s confused expression she added, “I won’t repeat nor write anything you tell me.”
“That’s a relief. This is a plum assignment, and I don’t want to mess it up. Our CMO is a bit cranky at times, but he’s one of the best.” She glanced at the crowded waiting area thinking, no that won’t do at all, then beckoned with an outstretched arm. “Ma’am … I mean Cara. Follow me.”
ooooo
McCoy entered his domain with long determined strides, arms crossed over his chest, saying in a grumble to no one and anyone, “Used to be breakfast was a pleasant start to my day: coffee with chicory, Chef’s homemade omelet, on Sundays a biscuit or two with fresh butter and a little jam.” He emphasized the next word, “Now it’s all Vulcans, or rather a certain Vulcan, his foul plomeek broth which even racoons avoid, and his blasted argumentative logic …”
As he neared his office and its open door, Bonnie approached and offered a tablet. “Doctor, your first appointment, a routine physical.” After nodding thanks and while scanning the offered medical file he asked, “Who’s left on the onboarding list?”
“Other than the patient waiting, three.” The nurse listed the names and their ranks.
“Excellent. Wait …” He paused. “What about the journalist?” His eyes narrowed. “Damn foolish idea, allowing a muckraker on the ship.”
“Ah, Doctor …”
“… Not that anyone asked me. Or rather listened to me ...”
“But Doctor …”
McCoy was now fully warmed up on his topic. “As if we don’t have enough hostile aliens, poisonous rocks, and supernovas to contend with without also babysitting a civilian who considers himself above regs as evidenced by blowing off a mandated routine visit to his friendly doc, one that may well save his life down the line. We’ll just see about that. Not to mention, I, for one, will not have the bits and bobs of my life splattered across all the gossip rags in the quadrant … Bonnie why in tarnation are you thumpin’ my arm?”
The nurse inclined her head towards the woman waiting a few feet away, sitting on the office sofa with legs crossed. “Sir, meet Cara Aguirre.”
With a nod in the newcomer’s direction he said, “Be right with you Ensign.” Then without pause resumed his rant. “Mark my words, this so-called journalist, he’s going to be a galaxy of trouble.”
McCoy raised an eyebrow and turned in her direction when Cara said, eyes bright with amusement lending her an impish air, “You can count on it.”