Chapter Text
Once they were properly underway, and Len was really getting into the routine of shipboard life as a member of the crew, rather than as a passenger, dealing with his surprise crush on a crewmate became a lot easier. They didn’t share shifts; Len mostly worked days and afternoons. And they didn’t run into one another in any of the rec areas. Occasionally they crossed paths at the end of the third shift and the start of first, but those little brushes didn’t lead into conversation or anything.
And so, mostly Len was able to put it all into perspective. Human attraction was a funny thing, but unless he decided to propose a one-night stand -- which would be a bad idea, since they were gonna be living on the same ship for years -- there was nothing to be done for it. And without anything more to build it on, it’d hopefully fade with time.
It was also harder to worry about when he had his head full of other concerns.
Namely, being served divorce papers.
They came with such a note of godawful finality; the realization that this really was it. It was listed as ‘no fault’, Jocelyn asked him for nothing, but she did want full custody of JoJo, which probably made sense because it’s not like you could take a kid on a starship.
Well, what did you think was gonna happen when you ran off? he had asked himself, scornfully, after the heartstopping adrenaline at opening the files had faded, and after he pressed his palms to his eyes and breathed through his unparted teeth until the pressure backed off enough.
When he had walked in on Joce and Clay, at the time it had been shock and pain that drove him out. And then after, the deep grief that his wife had-- had cheated on him in their shared bed had kept him away, circling their common ground, barely able to be in the house they had bought together. That time was spent eating up every hour of hospital work he could to avoid it, while she stayed with Joanna at her parents’ house.
And then, driven on by his own nigh-on suicidal depression and skirting awful close to alcoholism, he’d joined Starfleet because maybe putting his life in the hands of the service would keep it out of his own long enough to recover some.
It had worked. He had to go through both an abbreviated Basic Training and Officer Candidate School -- ‘cause he was gonna be commissioned right to lieutenant -- and those had been hard enough to keep his mind firmly in the present and also make him appreciate all the folks who went in straight, without an advanced degree to give them a boost. Starfleet had a hell of a lot of educated people working for them, but a pretty significant number of them tended to go in right when they hit adulthood and earn their degrees through the Academy.
Depending on what was happening in the wider galaxy, service in Starfleet was more or less like military service in days long past. The past several years, that answer was more; while there were sometimes different kinds of jostling that didn't quite elevate things that far, the war with the Klingons was significant and a blow to the teeth of the more outlying areas of the Federation.
Len was a little surprised at how much he hadn't known what was happening beyond the light of Sol, now that he was learning it by both experience and osmosis.
At least, though, the intellectual stretch was keeping him from falling back down that hole he was on the edge of, knocked right back to it when those papers landed in his inbox.
His colleagues helped, certainly. Phil Boyce was every bit as fine a CMO and teacher as he'd come across at first and that Len could have ever asked for; he was genial and patient and had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the Enterprise’s crew, not only medically, but often interpersonally. He'd ended up being Len’s ear a few times already, despite his reputation as a gossip, and it wasn't long until titles were dropped. Though, Len still sometimes called the man 'sir', just because of his own upbringing and because Phil inspired that kind of respect.
Oddly, he also found something of an unexpectedly enjoyable relationship with Lieutenant Spock, too. While the half-Vulcan had stayed aloof at first, their second colony visit had them working together on the surface to deploy a new modular combination science lab and infirmary, and by the end of that few days, they had found a pretty good rhythm even as they snarked at one another. Or, rather, as Len snarked and Spock pretended to be above the willingness to snark, yet somehow managed to deploy it like a deadpan master.
Len wasn’t sure he’d ever chance calling them friends, but he liked seeing Spock and feeling himself gearing up for another battle of wits.
Beyond those two, he had started learning names and quirks quickly. Captain Pike, for example, was the kind of man who could demand a hell of a lot of discipline from his staff, but make every bit of their efforts feel appreciated even as he did. He never failed to give credit where it was due. And his crew, almost universally, adored him; if there was anyone of the over two hundred people on the Enterprise who didn't, Len had yet to find them.
The ship's exec, Number One -- Una Chin-Riley -- seemed aloof at first, much like Spock, but had a rapier wit and confidence in spades, and a devastating smile when she gave it. She and Phil were both gossips, and along with Chief Engineer Cait Barry, they formed the ship's unofficial newsroom, a trio that it only took a week in space for Len to dub 'the Menaces', much to their humor.
Even though he’d liked everyone he had encountered, though, Len was also aware that the only one he was able to allow past his guard so far was Phil.
He might've never been a social butterfly, but he did minor in psychology, and he knew that his struggling in that arena was probably a side effect of the blow to both his ability to trust and his self-esteem that he received when Joce did what she did.
He-- just wasn't sure what to do about it.
Or even if he should do something about it.
He was thinking on that conundrum when he came through the doors to Sickbay, half-distracted, heading towards his office for a few steps before his mind caught up to his vision and he promptly stepped backwards again, raising an eyebrow at Lieutenant Scott.
The engineer was leaning on the wall, arms crossed, and he was giving Phil the evil eye with his bottom jaw pushed forward; it was such a smoky look that Len wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
So, instead he asked, "You okay?"
"Perfectly fine," Scott answered, clipped, not taking that glare off of Phil. "Which makes the reason I'm here absolutely bloody pointless."
Phil had been talking to Siregar; he finished whatever he was talking about with her before turning his attention back in their direction, expression easy-going, to tackle that particular complaint. "It's a ten minute scan, Lieutenant, and your shift ended a half-hour ago. I know it's a month early, but with you going on leave--"
"Ye've been scannin' that same joint since I came aboard, Doc, and it's not wearin' at all, let alone badly," Scott said, though now that he had Phil's focus on him, his tone got considerably less snappish.
Phil nodded in agreement. "Very true. Though, you also have ligaments and tendons to take into consideration, and that inflammation three scans ago is worth keeping an eye out for."
Scott rolled his eyes in a theatrical expression that had Len ducking his head for a moment to hide his grin. "And I'd been crawlin' through the guts o' this ship for hours before that, sir. A couple ibuprofen and I was fine."
"Well, I worry," Phil just answered, offering a smile and gesturing. "Come on, ten minutes and I can send you off Earthwards with a clean conscience and a peaceful heart."
Scott shook his head, shoulders slumping; after looking over at Len with a ‘can you believe what I’m putting up with?’ expression, though, he sighed out and followed Phil back to the full-body scanner.
It really did only take ten minutes and Len found several reasons not to retreat to his office, so he got to hear Phil ask on the way back, “And what are you picking up for me?”
“A stasis box o’ quahogs. Ye know, sir, I’ve got one carry-on that’s actually mine; I’m gonna be wearin’ the same three sets o’ clothes for two and a half months ‘cause o’ requests like that.”
“Ah, but I asked first, if I remember correctly.” Len looked over in time to see Phil smile and pat Scott on the back. “And I can claim regional privilege from my dear northern neighbor.”
“Wait, are you taking anything?” Len asked, inadvertently cutting Scott off before he could offer a retort, heart giving a little wrench in his chest even as they both looked at him.
Scott gave Phil an arch, sidelong look, then shook his head. “Aside my clothes and a few gifts, no. Since my luggage allotment comin’ back is gonna be taken up with everyone else’s requests.”
Len swallowed, then asked, “If I gave you a letter to take, would you drop it in the mail for me when you get there?”
Something must’ve been evident on his face, because Scott’s eyebrows drew together, a kinda worried expression, and then he nodded. “Aye, o’ course. That wouldna be any trouble.”
Len nodded back, offering the best smile he was able to manage. Which wasn’t all that great, but he wanted points for the effort. “When are you going?”
“Three days, at the rendezvous with the Garrett Morgan,” Scott answered, head tipped over a little; the look put Len in mind of his crew portrait, that bit of sharpness there. Not quite piercing, but--
Phil had somehow managed to disappear, and Len ended up turning his gaze down to the floor between ‘em, crossing his arms. “It’s just somethin’ for my daughter,” he said. “I appreciate you being willing to take it.”
He wished he’d thought to pick up souvenirs on Casperia Prime. Some small presents for her. He’d sent her back things before, but he’d figured after joining the Enterprise that the opportunities would be fewer and farther between, so he’d wanted to wait to get the perfect kinda thing--
“Doctor McCoy? Are ye all right?”
Len shook himself out of it and looked up again, taking in the clear concern on Scott’s face. “Sorry, Lieutenant. I, uh-- yeah. Well,” he said, offering a self-deprecating smile, “I’m workin’ on it, anyway. Thanks for asking.”
“Ye’re welcome.” Scott seemed ready to go, but then he paused again. “Do ye want me to grab ye anything, while I’m there? I don’t know how much time I’ll have, but--”
Given Len’s first instinct was to ask for booze, he knew better than to take that offer. Instead, he shook his head. “No, mailing a letter for me is more’n good enough. I know it’s kinda old fashioned, but there’s nothin’ like paper for writing what matters.”
“Aye,” Scott agreed readily and emphatically, which was kind of a surprise; most engineers Len knew tended to prefer less archaic means. “I’ll stop back in a couple days, then, pick it up.”
Len nodded, managing to curb his urge to thank the man again. Though he couldn’t resist asking, “What has you heading back, if you don’t mind my asking?” 'Cause frankly, that was a lot of personal leave time to burn through mid-mission.
There was a long moment where Len had the feeling he was being measured up again, but then Scott smiled (causing Len’s heart to do an inconvenient little lurch) and his expression softened to something so-- so damn sweet it almost ached to see. “I’m hopin’ to get there at the right time to meet my first niece,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking on his feet once in a little bounce. “It’s gonna be close timing, given all the connections I have to make, but--” he trailed off, shrugging good-naturedly.
“But worth it.” Despite his own sorrows, Len couldn’t help but smile back.
“Oh, aye,” Scott said, voice warm, nothing but love and pride written on his face. “My brother’s firstborn? There’s nothin’ worth more’n that.”
If not for staring down the barrel of divorce, Len thought there that his crush mighta burgeoned into something a hell of a lot more serious, but everything was still a little too raw.
Instead, he said, “Well, Uncle, congratulations,” and got back a bright laugh and a beaming grin that lingered on the edges of his heart as they parted ways.
He paused before retreating into his office, though, stopping where Phil was back working at the nurse’s station desk, because he had to ask, “I thought you said not to butt heads with him?”
Phil looked up, eyebrows raised, then the corners of his mouth curled up in a self-satisfied smile. “That wasn’t headbutting, Len. That’s what I call truly excellent progress. In fact, I’m almost positive he was only two seconds from calling me a Masshole.”
Len couldn’t even begin to parse that one out, partly because he wasn’t sure what Phil thought that was actually progress from, but also because--
“Wait, Masshole? What the hell’s a Masshole? ”
Amusing as the brief lesson on New England rivalries ended up being -- Phil being from a small town south of Boston and having spent most of his life on shore living on Cape Cod, and Scott having a shore address in Maine -- Len still wasn’t able to escape the fact that he had a letter to write.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t see his own mistakes looking back. What made all of this so damn bad was that he could.
Even though a lot of the exploitation of medical students had been removed from the system, even though a number of erroneous beliefs about the necessity of hellishly long hours and brutal competition had been cut out of medschool, it was still a hard course to chart, especially in such a widely populated and diverse galaxy. He couldn’t just be a doctor to humans; he had to have at least some knowledge of how to treat other species of the Federation. All of that meant an incredible amount of study.
Len’s problem was how much he had ended up loving what he was learning.
It was too damn easy for him to lose his head in his studies; to look up from textbooks or computer terminals and find hours had passed, more than he’d expected, and that he’d missed the alarms he’d set to get him home in time to eat dinner with his young wife and baby daughter because he’d been so absorbed.
So many times, he came in late to find Joce asleep in a chair with food stains on her shirt, JoJo’s toys spread on the floor of their living room, and his dinner covered and kept warm in the oven.
The deep love he felt for her in those moments masked the truth for a long time: He wasn’t there with her.
It was only more recently that Len had to honestly look at it all and ask himself if he’d deliberately ignored the signs that were there, that she was unhappy. If he’d willfully turned a blind eye to his own shortcomings. On the other side of it, it was a lot easier to look back and see where there might’ve been some denial on his part, fueled by both his love of study and plain old human failing.
That meant he knew he was gonna sign those papers. It was just a matter of making himself do it.
That also meant that he needed to come up with words for his little daughter that acknowledged that her daddy wasn’t there anymore, and that he had responsibility for that choice, while not trying to pin blame on Joce or leave JoJo thinking that she could have had any fault.
It hurt that it would have been a hell of a lot harder, had he actually been the father he’d set out to be, rather than the kind of father he was raised by.
It was six years since Len had followed his Dad's wishes and ended the life-sustaining measures that kept the man alive, albeit in pain, only for a cure to be found a short time after. And he was still haunted by the could haves and should haves. By all the things that went unspoken, unsaid, unlearned. His whole life, every memory of his Dad was colored by work, by the faint scent of disinfectant, by pastel scrubs and polished floors and hopeful or heartbroken families belonging to other people. Plenty of travel, he never wanted for intellectual stimulation or new experiences, and he didn’t exactly resent it, but--
But he’d never known the man, not really. Both of them, instead, were haunted by Mama; on the earliest edges of Len’s memory, the scent of magnolias and her long hair -- same color as his -- under his cheek.
And then the forever space where she no longer was.
He never got to know his Dad as a whole man. And now his daughter--
He covered his eyes with his hand as he sat behind his desk, mouth quivering; there was no one to witness his tears, but he hid ‘em anyway.
And then, finally, he grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper and started writing.
My sweetest JoJo--
He sent the letter back with Scott, and he signed the forms dissolving his marriage and transmitted them back to Earth, and then he spent the next several weeks in a fog of grief, self-reflection and work.
Like father, like son, after all.
Despite his mourning, though, there were a lot of small kindnesses paid to him, further cementing Len’s place on the Enterprise and further proving what kind of people he had the good fortune to call crew.
No one knew the score but Phil, either, so it had to be a case of them just paying attention and seeing he was down despite his best efforts to show otherwise. He found himself invited to lunch with Captain Pike and Phil a few times, and even took 'em up on it the second time they asked; neither pressed him with questions, and despite how he felt, Len got drawn into a conversation between the two old friends, smiling some as they bantered together and tried to enlist him on one side or the other of the debate.
(He remained neutral, of course.)
Even Spock seemed to take some notice; when he brought Len a set of lab results for a tertiary survey the Enterprise was contributing to, he also brought along a small container of a spiced tea from Vulcan with a slightly stilted explanation about its ability to offer increased mental focus thanks to certain chemicals released during steeping. Len, caught off guard, thanked him without any wit or edge and was touched by the way Spock's expression softened almost imperceptibly.
(Spock wasn't wrong, either, but the pleasant thing wasn't even the nice boost on focus, but the way it warmed Len’s belly and lingered on his tongue. Real damn comforting, actually, which he suspected might have been the real point.)
Sometimes, it was just someone’s press of a hand to his shoulder or a question about how he was feeling.
Len supposed it kinda had to come with the territory; when you had only a couple hundred people in a relatively contained space, far from home, and when your lives were necessarily entwined for your very survival, the healthiest course to chart was one of kindness. And he knew he was lucky to be aboard a ship where that seemed to come naturally.
The time didn't pass quickly, but it did pass, and it coulda been a hell of a lot worse.
He was still a little frustratingly relieved to come into Sickbay one morning in time to catch Scott -- just back aboard, still in his civvies and looking absolutely exhausted -- thumping a stasis box on a biobed in front of Phil, though. "Yer blood mollusks," Scott said, with just enough melodrama to flavor the words.
"Did you just semi-cleverly accuse me of taking bribes or kickbacks, Lieutenant?" Phil asked back, even as he was tapping the camera display on the top of the box to get a look at his haul. "Because that would imply that I'm somehow doing you an organized-crime style favor in exchange for these, and we both know that you don't see it that way."
Apparently the question caught Scott off-guard, because he tried to hand back some no-doubt acerbic reply and foundered for a moment, then just shook his head with a sheepish little grin. "I suppose not."
That had Phil smiling, affection plain on his face. "However, you did do me a favor, so I would happily share the dinner I plan on turning these into with you?"
Scott waved that off, blushing. “No, but thanks.” He tilted his head at Len, then. “I brought ye back somethin’, too. If ye don’t like it, though, blame him, since he suggested it,” he said, thumbing over at Phil.
Phil clearly took some pity on Len (busy gaping in surprise and not having an immediate reply) because he said, loftily, “Mister Scott, you truly are a prince of Maine. Now, if you’ll excuse me--”
Len caught the beginning of Phil’s smirk as he turned away to take his box to his office, and also happened to catch Scott narrowing his eyes after Phil and muttering, “Masshole,” under his breath, so blatantly insincere that it was downright adorable.
Before Len could even ask what he was unexpectedly brought from Earth, he was laughing for the first time in weeks.
The humor felt good, but it didn’t last long.
The gratitude at the gift, on the other hand--
“It’s somethin’ called an-- azalea?” Scott said, eying the relatively small portable greenhouse and even smaller plant in it, inadvertently doing Len a hell of a favor by not looking at his face. “I think that’s how it’s pronounced. I don’t know, I like lookin’ at flowers and that, but couldn’t name most o’ them.”
It took Len a couple swallows to reply in any steady manner. “Yeah, you got it. It’s a wildflower. Believe it or not, there used to be some that grew at the back edge of my family’s backyard, right up against the oaks and pines.”
“In-- Georgia, aye?”
“On the outskirts of Atlanta.” Phil must have given Scott some background. Len managed to wrestle himself back to something like composure, offering the engineer a smile. “Thanks. I’ve never tried growing anything, but I think there are enough botanists around to keep me from killin’ it.”
“Ye’re welcome.”
Simple as that. Like he didn’t just bring Len a gift of Georgia's state wildflower -- living! -- all the way from Earth. Len shook his head, kinda amazed, and then said, “I’m wondering, though, did you even get a full night’s sleep since you left?”
Scott quirked his eyebrows dismissively; Len was starting to think that the man could write whole paragraphs with them. “No, not really. I’m fine, though.”
Len picked up the azalea carefully, deciding to not challenge that -- despite it being obvious that Scott had a very selective definition of ‘fine’ -- and instead raised his own eyebrows. “I do hope you brought pictures to show me.”
“Seconding that,” Phil added in from across the room, the unrepentant eavesdropper. “You can’t take six weeks of leave and cross half a quadrant twice over without showing us why.”
Scott had been about to say something to Len, but then he straightened up his shoulders and tipped his chin up and asked Phil, “Oh, is that so?”
Phil looked up from the table he was working at, straight-faced. “Yes. Ship’s rules. I didn’t make them, I just enforce them. Pony up, Uncle.”
Scott absolutely failed to hide a smile, though he put up a valiant effort, crossing his arms and putting his nose in the air. “Aye, well, I left ‘em in my quarters.”
“Sorry, no excuses can be accepted,” Len broke in, shaking his head in mock-censure. “Better go get ‘em before the Captain hears about this.”
“And ye’re sayin’ there’s no organized crime goin’ on here.” Scott shook his head, rubbed at his brow and then headed for the door, scoffing at them on the way out. “For shame, gentlemen.”
Phil waited until he was gone to chortle (there was no other word for it), “I knew he’d get around to calling me a Masshole eventually.”
Len found himself laughing all over again as he went to drop the flower off in his office and then go work up a fresh batch of headache remedy at the drug synthesizer.
“Oh, look at her,” Len said, voice hushed, as Scott flipped through his photos -- printed out on actual paper, Len noted -- and took in the newborn wrapped up in a stripey yellow and gray blanket and her uncle’s arms. All red-faced and squished and bundled and beautiful. It made Len’s heart ache to the bottom; the baby in the picture, the man holding her like she was the most precious thing in the universe, the ghost of Joanna in his own arms, all at once. “Ain’t she perfect.”
Phil was occupying the other side of the engineer, head tilted as he did the same. “Beautiful,” he agreed, low warmth.
“Allison,” Scott said, some complicated note in his tone that Len couldn’t name, only feel resonate in his own chest. Bunch of things all tangled up, around a core of love. “Got there about sixteen hours before she took her first breath.”
“How long did you get to stay after?” Phil asked, not quite managing to mask the gentleness of the question. Or that he sounded like he already knew what the answer would be, if not in literal time, then in how it felt.
Scott glanced over at him, inscrutable, then blew right past that question without even bothering to wave to it on the way by, asking back pointedly, “Anyway, are ye satisfied, the two o’ ye?”
“Nope,” Len said, not sure which man he was coming to the rescue of. When Scott raised eyebrows at him, he clarified with a smirk, “Now you’ve gotta bring in every updated picture you get.”
“Len’s right. The Medical Mafia insists,” Phil added; he headed back to the work he’d been doing, but not before pressing a hand to Scott’s shoulder for a long moment.
Len knew that gesture well after these past weeks. Sympathy. And maybe a little forgiveness.
And I see you.
Apparently, Scott did, too; he pocketed his photos and didn’t look up again until Phil was back across the room.
“Anyway, before you go runnin’ off, I’ve got a gift for you in turn,” Len said, definitely knowing which one he was rescuing this time, as he reached back and picked up the orange vial to wag it at the engineer. “For that headache and neckache you’re doing an admirable job pretending you don’t have. Fresh brewed, comes with Leonard McCoy’s 100% no-vertigo, no-drowsiness guarantee.”
Scott just raised one eyebrow this time, eying that vial before looking back at Len again. Though there was enough amusement in his expression that Len felt reassured by it. “Didn’t figure I was that transparent, Doctor.”
“Nah, you’re not. I just have a finely honed nose for sniffin’ out pains in the neck,” Len said, tapping the side of his nose with a forefinger and giving a quick little wink. “Comes from being one. So, what do you say, let me return the kindness?”
That got a huff of a laugh, then Scott blew out a tired sounding breath, shrugged out of half of his civilian jacket and gave Len his arm. “Thanks.”
“Not a problem, Lieutenant.” Len shot him in the bicep with it, then set the hypo aside while Scott rolled his shoulder. “It works best paired with a nap, but that’s not a requirement. Any which way, you’ll feel better in about a half-hour.”
Scott looked around for a moment like it was only just catching up to him that he was beat, then ran a hand back through his hair, sending it even further into disarray. “Actually-- a nap doesna sound like too bad an idea.”
“I can guarantee you won't regret one. And in that case, sleep well.” There was a momentary itch in Len’s fingers to reach out and touch, maybe pet that hair back down, but he was able to shove it away pretty easily.
Scott -- mercifully unaware of Len’s little turn of fascination -- gave him a nod and another, “Thanks,” and headed out the door, pulling his jacket back on as he did.
Len looked after him for a moment, then shook his head with a smile; he was just about to head back for his office to read the instruction booklet that came with his new azalea when Phil said, in admiration, “You know, you just pulled off the single most deft capture-and-release I’ve ever seen someone pull on him. Including me.”
That got an incredulous little bark of a laugh out of Len as he looked over at the CMO. “Capture and release? Next thing I know, you’re gonna tell me I should location-tag him while I’ve got him and make sure to check his fangs.”
Phil seemingly thought about it, then pointed at Len and said, “You know, that’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard--” But he stopped himself when Len’s eyebrow made it up under his bangs and shook his head, smiling more softly. “No, seriously, that was really good. Nice work.”
It put Len in mind of their first conversation about Scott -- handle that one with care -- and he half-smiled back at Phil there, a little glow of pride and pleasure at the praise in his chest, before continuing on into his office.
(The days started coming just a little easier after that.)