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syredronning***
It was his first invitation to Doctor Wilson's apartment and, as was his habit from all too many landing parties, McCoy quickly scanned the room, taking in the old books and art, the old-fashioned furniture and the long curtains which closed the large, modern windows down to a small slit. On a sideboard in the characteristic dark-brown color of walnut tree wood, an open violin case rested, the dusty instrument carelessly placed half into it. It was oddly out of place, in McCoy's opinion.
"Seems you'd rather prefer to live in a different time," he said as Wilson entered the room in his wake.
"Sometimes," Wilson admitted. "Would you like to have a drink?" he asked, and McCoy nodded.
In thoughts he eyed Wilson whose sure hands poured two drinks. The doctor was a nice, somewhat over-weight man in his fifties, who - just as the violin here - always seemed a bit out of place at the meetings of the Medical Society of San Francisco, partly due to his weird style of clothing, partly due to his spotty knowledge of modern medicine – perfect in some fields, inexistent in others. Some whispered that he wasn't even a doctor, but McCoy had quickly discarded that thought. Wilson definitely had a medical education, with the intuitive grasp on every aspect of the patient only long-time practitioners had. It just felt as if he had spent many of his years in a different spot of the galaxy, losing contact to the research on earth.
McCoy wasn't sure why he had been invited, but he felt something was on Wilson's mind, some unspoken worries. Since he didn't want to push the theme, he took his drink and sat down on one of the armchairs.
Raising his glass, he said, "To absent friends" – a sentence he'd grown to, with Jim and Scotty long gone and Spock indulging in cowboy diplomacy in Romulan space, which was as good as gone. But never before had this sentence caused the person opposite to him to crease his face in such pain.
"Dr. Wilson, I apologize," McCoy quickly added. "I didn't want to remind you of any recent losses."
"Please don't," Wilson replied. "It's not really a recent loss. In fact, it might not even be a loss at all. There's never telling if…he wouldn't return unexpectedly."
McCoy nodded slowly. "I've known such men, too."
"I thought so." Wilson sipped at his glass. "That is the reason why I invited you here."
"To talk about…him?"
Wilson shook his head. "That we talk about them."
McCoy rubbed his chin with his left hand, frowning. "To be frank, I'm not the man to share personal things with almost-strangers."
"I understand. For decades, I kept silent, again and again. But sometimes, it is a rather healthy thing to talk, wouldn't you agree, doctor? For people in our profession tend to care for their patients much more than they care for themselves."
"I wouldn't deny that," McCoy said. "But I wonder why you invited me for this. It's not as if we've talked a lot at the meetings."
"Some research in official databanks has resulted in stunning similarities between our lives. The Vulcan…"
"You had a Vulcan as friend?" McCoy raised a brow.
"Not exactly, though today some might think he was one. Inhuman intelligence and stunning logic, a brilliant mind in all things scientific and technical – but also an antisocial, withdrawn, eccentric personality it was often hard to get along with on a day-by-day basis."
"I see," McCoy said lamely, unsure what to make of the way this conversation turned.
"He also was thought to be gone once, and then returned from the dead."
"Good for you," was the only reply that came to McCoy's mind.
"I thought so too," Wilson said with a broad smile. Then the smile faded. "But it was never the same again. Oh, we were still friends, and even built a life together again over the years, but it wasn't the same closeness. The ease had gone, the ease of those wordless moments when all we shared was the violin's sound, or the clanging of horse shoes in the grey morning hours."
"Horse shoes…?"
"Yes."
McCoy eyed the room once again, and suddenly a sense of deja-vu set in. Flint. The collection of centuries, rarities, first editions, original copper engravings. Wilson might be a collector, but he also might be…just a child of that time.
He turned his gaze to meet Wilson's. This man might be a real danger to earth, an alien coming here through a time tunnel, or a human playing around with forbidden technology to keep himself alive, gene manipulation or anti-aging drugs. He should report him to the authorities.
He probably would have done so some years ago. But age had begun bearing down on him lately, and his interest in this world was waning. It had been only a half hour tour to this apartment, but it had felt twice as long. The clock was ticking, and a part of him was glad about it. To live forever was nothing he'd ever wanted, and to see them all leave, one way or the other, was something one grew accustomed to, but never liked.
And to live forever, but without the person who made this life worthwhile at all, was downright hell.
"Thanks for the invitation, doctor," he said and determinedly placed his glass on the nearby table. "But I'm not the right person to talk to." He got up and gathered his jacket.
"But Doctor McCoy…," Wilson stammered, and went up in haste. "I really thought to find a like-minded person in you. One to share my story with."
"Exactly. This was about you, not me. Or, rather –" McCoy pointed at the violin "- it was all about him. And that's got nothing to do with me."
He opened the door and was half-way through it when Wilson said, "But it has. He might come back, after all. Just like your friend."
McCoy froze and shook his head. "Some day, they won't come back. And you know that." Then he hastily walked down the stairs, ignoring his aching knees and the inviting elevator, to flee before his mind could surrender to the eerily enchanting but – in the end - only shallow dreams of Doctor Wilson.
***
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-27 04:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-27 04:24 pm (UTC)And this way, I don't have to fall flat on my face with old British English either.Will Data come back to Dr Wilson?
Date: 2005-12-27 05:04 pm (UTC)This is very... I don't know, it's more bitter than sweet, but at the same time there's a sort of acceptance of things that come with years, though they're not necessarily more palatable; and, er - duh.
I love the tone, I love the very original idea, and though - or because? - it's not a heart-warming fic, exactly, I'm really touched.
Re: Will Data come back to Dr Wilson?
Date: 2005-12-27 08:16 pm (UTC)Re: Will Data come back to Dr Wilson?
Date: 2005-12-30 03:13 pm (UTC)Sure, you never know--look what happened with D/V ;-)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-27 07:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-27 08:16 pm (UTC)Holmes/Watson makes really a lot of sense, but sometimes the fanfic is just too PG for my taste *G*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-27 09:30 pm (UTC)I know I've also found a couple of darker H/W fics elsewhere, but where?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-27 10:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-28 12:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-28 07:43 am (UTC)Glad you liked it!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-28 11:02 am (UTC)P.S...it would be great if you'd beta the last two flashfics...but only if you want to / feel like / have the time :)))
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-28 12:28 pm (UTC)honestly, I don't know how you can bear my rambles, but hey, you're asking, and I shall provide ;-)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-01 03:19 pm (UTC)Here is some more H/W pr0n from an author you might not know (I checked your FList first, AQ ;-): The End of the Story, with a little bit of mini-kink and light bondage.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-28 11:59 am (UTC)