Buffy belongs to Joss. Star Trek is Gene Roddenberry's creation, though this particular flavor owes much to Abrams, Orci, and Kurtzman.I just like to play in their sandboxes now and then.
McCoy watched his most troubling patient like a hawk- and guarded her privacy equally zealously. Since the breakthrough, he’d detailed Chapel to act as a bouncer if he wasn’t around to do it himself, not letting anyone have access to her without his or Captain Pike’s express approval. In retrospect, he was a little surprised she’d been so patient with them before.
Armed with the information that Pike had gotten from her now that she was finally responding, he’d realized how badly he’d botched her care. Granted he was more of a surgeon than a psych, but even so, he should have recognized the symptoms.
So far, he knew her full name, her planet of origin- Earth, though exactly where and when, she hadn’t said- and her best guess at her age, which he quite frankly wouldn’t have believed if not for those inexplicable anomalies showing on his scans. He also knew she’d been living aboard the Romulan vessel for nearly 30 years, and had briefly been subjected to a period of Klingon captivity. Prior to encountering Pike, she hadn’t spoken anything but Romulan for years. He wondered if that was inhibiting her as much as much as her emotional state.
McCoy was thankful she was finally communicating. He could only imagine the tongue-lashing he’d have been in for if he’d turned her over to Starfleet Medical in her previous state. He could have made the general chaos in the wake of Vulcan and the final encounter with the Narada his excuse, but it would have been a weak one.
It might be slightly generous to say she was talking, though. So far, she would respond if spoke to by Pike, himself, and Jim- and the last only once and grudgingly. It had been an extremely brief interview.
Jim had bounced in, thrilled to hear that she had broken her silence. He’d geared up for a repeat of their first interview, but she’d cut him off short.
“There’s nothing to forgive. Now get out.”
McCoy had privately delighted in the rare sight of a completely poleaxed Jim Kirk. Before Jim had managed to pick a sentence from the many that were doubtless competing in his brain, Faith cut him off again.
“You did what you had to. We’re cool. But we won’t be if you keep hanging around here. And just fyi, I’ve got repressed anger like you wouldn’t believe right now and no way to take it out on a deserving object. You stick around, I might well decide you’re close enough.”
At that point, McCoy had intervened before Jim could do or say anything stupid.
“And on that note, Acting Captain Kirk will be leaving now.”
“I will?” Jim asked, bemused.
“You will, on the orders of the chief medical officer,” McCoy replied, spinning a fortunately unresisting Jim around toward the door. “It is my professional judgment that you really do not need another concussion this week.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a small smile on Faith’s face at that.
After Jim was safely gone, McCoy sighed.
“He means well,” he told Faith, unsure why exactly he was apologizing for Jim.
“I know,” she replied.
He raised an eyebrow.
“He reminds me a lot of someone I used to know,” she admitted.
“That someone have a name?” McCoy asked.
“Yeah,” Faith said, her face falling. “I’ll tell you about her some other time.”
Where and whenever she came from, she’d left family behind. There was nothing he could do about that, any more than he could do anything about the crushing guilt she carried for the destruction of Vulcan.
Leonard McCoy hated nothing more than being powerless to help a patient.