Hypochondria

Part One

Nyota Uhura felt like a fool as she stepped into the Starfleet Academy Health Clinic for the third time that month. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her, but this was the only thing she could think of to do for a chance to see McCoy one on one. She only had one class with him, but it was Basic Combat and he’d been assigned to his best friend, Jim Kirk, damn it all. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried, but McCoy had pointed to Kirk almost immediately when the instructor was pairing people up. He hadn’t wanted to have to fight a very belligerent and muscular Andorian three times a week during practicals.

“I have an appointment with Dr. McCoy,” Uhura said, stepping up to the window.

The receptionist didn’t look up from her monitor when she said, “Dr. Anne McCoy or Dr. Leonard McCoy?”

Uhura rolled her eyes. The woman knew damn well that Leonard was the only doctor she’d see at the clinic. She just hoped McCoy was in today and she wouldn't get stuck with some other doctor in his place.

“Leonard.”

“Have a seat. You’ll be called back shortly.”

Shortly was fifteen minutes later. Uhura shared the mostly empty waiting room with only two other people. A fourth year human cadet who, for some reason, had turned as orange as his hair, and a pregnant Vulcan woman Uhura had never seen before, who looked ready to deliver literally at any second. She felt a pang of guilt looking at the cadet, who was obviously in serious pain. He had large lumps on either side of his throat and was drooling into a napkin. He really did need to see a doctor. She didn't.

The door opened and Uhura’s heart began to pound, and her stomach fluttered. She liked to think she was more mature than a twelve-year-old girl infatuated with one of her teachers, but the truth was she felt giddy at the very thought of seeing McCoy. It had been that way since meeting him on the transport, when he’d signed up for Starfleet, but he hadn’t paid her attention then, and he still didn’t.

McCoy was in the hall behind the nurse who’d opened the door, studying a monitor. He was tall, and his handsome profile was turned to her. His arms were crossed over his muscled chest, one hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He’d been a grizzled mess when she’d first seen him, but now he was clean shaven. She wished Starfleet regulations allowed male human cadets to grow facial hair at any length.

“Cadet Alderson, Professor T’Pran, and Cadet Uhura.”

All three stood, allowing Alderson to go first and keeping back from him in case he was contagious. The air filtering systems in the building were state-of-the-art, but there was no need to take chances. Uhura passed by McCoy, who didn’t look around. He was engrossed in an image of what looked like kidneys but were extremely lumpy.

“No abnormalities, I see, doctor,” said a pretty auburn-haired nurse. McCoy smiled at her.

“Healthiest Bajoran kidneys I’ve ever seen save for this nodule.”

The nurse made a show of looking at the area he pointed to. It was noticeably different in color and shape than the other lumps, even Uhura could see that, but the nurse pretended to be so surprised and impressed at McCoy’s keen eye.

“I never would have seen that, Dr. McCoy.”

“Well, you’ll get better at spotting these things with time,” he said absently. It was obvious he was clueless to her attentions. When it came to medicine, Uhura noticed, McCoy had a sharp eye. When it came to women, he was as dense as July San Francisco fog.

Uhura entered exam room three and took a seat on the table. As soon as she sat down the monitor above the head of the bed flared to life, reading off her vitals, which a male nurse recorded by tapping the keys on his log.

“He’ll be right with you,” he said, and stepped from the room.

He hadn’t been lying. McCoy came in less than a minute later, smiling at her. God, she loved his bedside manner.

“Morning, Cadet Uhura. What brings you in to see me today?”

Your silky voice, soulful eyes and beautiful smile, she thought, but she touched her throat.

“My throat hurts. It started a few days ago and won’t go away.”

“Hmm…let me take a look. Lie down.”

Uhura did as told, wishing for the old days of medicine when doctors actually touched their patients, rather than scanning them from afar with instruments. Once again he gazed thoughtfully at the readout monitor above her, hand on chin, eyes furrowed.

“Everything looks normal,” he said.

She knew it would, but still touched her throat. “It’s itchy and scratchy.”

“You can sit up,” he said. He reached out then, which he’d never done before, putting one hand on the back of her neck, and using the other to feel her throat. His eyes looked somewhere behind her head, unseeing, as he concentrated on her neck. He had strangely calloused hands, not too bad, but noticeable. She liked it.

He let go of her, pulled up a rolling chair, and sat down in front of her. He looked thoughtfully at her, and Uhura knew the jig was up.

“Cadet Uhura—”

“Call me Nyota,” she said.

He lifted his brows. “Jim’s been trying to learn your name for two years. It’s a lovely name, why don’t you tell him?”

“Because he wants to know,” she said, smiling. He smiled back. “I usually don’t tell anyone. I just go by Uhura.”

“I’ll keep it our secret,” he said. “Nyota, I’m concerned about you.”

“Why?”

“You’ve been to see me three times this month, yet there’s never been anything even slightly wrong with you.”

Uhura felt her face heat up with embarrassment.

“I know what’s going on,” McCoy said heavily. “I may not look it, but I have an eye for this sort of thing.”

“Oh,” she said weakly. She wanted to run from the room, but at the same time she was glad he was calling her on it. Now it could be out in the open, maybe they could…work something out or…something.

“You’re a hypochondriac, Nyota,” McCoy said knowingly.

She damn near burst out laughing. “What? No. I’m not.”

He only nodded. “You’re convinced you have illnesses that aren’t there. You need my reassurances that you’re healthy. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to log this on your record and—”

“No!” she shouted, genuinely scared now. The last thing she needed was her perfect Academy record marred by a diagnosis of hypochondria. “Dr. McCoy, I swear, I’m not a hypochondriac.”

“Of course you think that, Nyota. People with your condition genuinely believe they’re sick. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Your health records aren’t public information—”

“No, you don’t get it. I know there’s nothing wrong with me when I come in here.”

Now he was frowning. “What? I don’t understand.”

“I pretend to be sick to…well…see you.”

He obviously didn’t get it at first. His mind was working it over.

“You come here to see me.” He said slowly.

Uhura nodded. “It’s the only chance I have to see you outside of our one class together. I’ll stop making appointments. Just please, don’t mess up my record by diagnosing me as a hypochondriac. I promise, I’ll leave and never come back.”

Feeling embarrassed enough to almost cry, which was extremely rare for Uhura, she jumped down from the bed and started for the door.

“Nyota, wait. I won’t put this on your record. Just tell me why—”

But she was too embarrassed to stick around. Uhura rushed through the door as soon as it swished open, and hurried down the hall, feeling his eyes boring into her back until she was outside. She walked over to the transporter station, flashed her ID card at the operator, which logged all of her most used transporter destinations. Normally she’d take the trolly, or a shuttle, but right now she just wanted to get out of there, pronto.

“My dorm,” she told him. He nodded and in seconds the campus clinic faded away, replaced by her dormitory.



Next Chapter