Chapter Text
Leonard McCoy exhaled the nonexistent air from his lungs and bit his bottom lip to stop the tears he knew all too well would never come. He was a ghost, after all. It was just a habit he had carried over from his old life in the land of the living—something he still did whenever sadness curled too tightly in his chest, as if breathing might somehow ease it. It never did.
He sighed and looked down from the high tree branch he occupied, one leg dangling uselessly through solid bark, observing the people below.
The afternoon was delicious. The air bore fragrances of blooming flowers, testament of the late spring season. The sky was a soft palette of blues, pinks, and oranges; golden sunlight made the grass glow a vibrant green, and a gentle breeze brushed against people’s cheeks.
Families were spread blankets across the lawn. Couples laughed quietly, shoulders brushing. Children ran in careless circles, their joy loud and unrestrained. Everything looked perfect—an open invitation to relax and share in the simple happiness of life.
Unless… you were a ghost. Unless you were already dead.
Leonard watched them in silence.
Not because he was a masochist—but because today was his birthday, and he had no one to celebrate it with. At least overhearing strangers’ conversations distracted him from missing his once-too-young, stolen life.
Who would have thought that the woman he had once loved would be the one to kill him?
It had been an accident—he knew that. He had replayed it enough times to be certain. They had been fighting over custody of their little girl, Joanna. The divorce had already been planned, but some stupid nonsense had escalated into a physical fight blown wildly out of proportion. Raised voices echoed through the concrete stairwell of their apartment building. Words spoken too sharply, too fast.
Then the shove. Not hard. Not meant to hurt. Just enough.
He lost his balance. The railing was low. The stairs unforgiving.
Leonard remembered the way the steps rushed toward him, the sickening crack as his head struck the hard floor, and the sudden, overwhelming silence that followed.
No pain. Just a blinding flash—like an electrical explosion—and then he was shoved out of his body, which lay motionless below in a spreading ruby pool.
Damn it.
He tried to return to it, again and again, only to be violently pushed back each time.
If that horrible fight had never happened, he wouldn’t be doomed to exist in this gray in-between realm for eternity, with no company but painful memories and the echo of a life he no longer possessed.
He had been roaming the world for eight years now.
At first, he had stayed close to his two-year-old Joanna. He was certain she could feel him. But as time passed and she grew, she began to acknowledge him less and less. One day, she simply stopped talking to the empty space beside her bed.
Still, he visited her often—just to make sure she was safe, that no one would ever hurt her. He kissed her goodnight every single day.
Then, at some point, he had even dared to think that being a ghost was… fun.
He could go wherever he wanted. Drift through locked doors. Fly over oceans. Visit every place he had once dreamed of seeing but had never had the money or time for. He crossed borders without passports, stood on cliffs and rooftops, watched storms roll in from impossible heights.
He even pulled a few harmless pranks—nudging objects just enough to make people doubt their senses, flicking lights on and off when he felt particularly mischievous.
For a while, it had almost felt like freedom.
But as the years passed, Leonard discovered a truth far more painful than death itself: life—any life—was only meaningful when it was shared, when it held purpose.
It didn’t matter if you shared it with a crowd or just one person. Even pets counted.
But damn it, he couldn’t even own a cat.
He was a ghost. He was dead. No one acknowledged him.
If he concentrated hard enough, he could push back against the world—make himself heavy, dense enough to touch and interact with matter and move objects and make pranks. But it took effort. It drained him quickly, left him weak and hollow afterward. Three hours a day at most, before the world slipped through him again and refused to hold.
And what good were three hours if there was no one to spend them with?
Leonard let out a shuddering breath—pure habit from his living years—and forced his attention elsewhere. He focused on a group of teenagers gathered on the other side of his tree, determined not to torture himself further with thoughts of what could have been.
“I can’t wait to join Starfleet,” a cheerful girl said, her excitement bright enough to cut through his gloom.
“When do you start?” her friends asked in near-perfect synchrony.
“Convocatories begin next month, but they’re already sending invitations,” she replied. “You know—induction, evaluations, all of it. I just can’t wait!”
“It’s your dream come true, Daisy!” another girl said, squeezing her hand. “Stars have always been your thing. I’m so happy for you.”
Stars? Leonard huffed softly to himself. It had never even occurred to him that he could go to space.
He stilled.
Wait—did that mean he wouldn’t have aviaphobia anymore? The thought made him smile despite himself.
No fear. No panic. No sweaty palms gripping armrests. Just weightlessness and endless sky. After all, as a ghost, he had flown through more skies than he ever had in his living life.
He had to admit it—the idea tempted him.
Exploring new worlds sounded incredible. He had seen most of Earth by now, and even the most breathtaking landscapes had begun to blur together. A change—real change—might do him good.
And yet, the same question crept back in, unwelcome and persistent.
What was the point of going to space if he had no one to share it with?
“You’ll be in our hearts always, Daisy,” one of the girls said, raising her glass and interrupting his thoughts.
“Let 's toast!”
“To Starfleet!”
“To Daisy!”
“To the great years ahead!”
Leonard watched them, something tight and fragile stirring in his chest. Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything. But standing still—doing nothing—hadn’t brought him peace either.
And so, on one beautiful spring afternoon, ghost Leonard Horatio McCoy made a decision.
He would enlist in Starfleet.
Something new had to come from this. Maybe he could play a few pranks on Academy cadets. Maybe he could finally put his medical knowledge to use again.
Maybe—just maybe—someone out there would be able to see him.
And maybe, for the first time in eight long years, he would stop feeling so unbearably alone as he roamed the world.
*-*
Life at Starfleet Academy was… better. Less dull. Less endless.
Leonard had arrived a month earlier and quickly settled into a strange routine. He attended lectures, drifting into classrooms and sitting through alien morphology, space navigation, and medical theory courses. His favorites were always the ones covering updates on new flu strains. No one noticed him, of course—but old habits died hard, and learning had always been his thing.
The infirmary soon became his favorite place. It felt right. After all, in life he’d been a doctor. In death, the instinct remained.
He liked helping—nudging misplaced instruments back where they belonged, mysteriously completing unfinished reports, even whispering diagnostic suggestions when he felt something was being missed. Sometimes he flicked lights on and off when the staff needed them… or when he simply felt like giving someone a harmless scare.
Before long, rumors spread.
The Academy infirmary was haunted.
Leonard couldn’t have been happier. For the first time since he’d died, people were talking about him—even if they couldn’t see him.
Everything had been going smoothly… until the day someone dared to invade the empty quarters he’d claimed as his personal resting place.
“Sir, these will be your quarters from now on,” a Starfleet officer said, practically shoving a confused blond cadet inside.
“I don’t understand, sir! I haven’t done anything!” the young man protested.
“Your former roommate requested a transfer.”
“What? That has to be a mistake—”
“At least you’ll be alone here, Mr. Kirk. Your roommate claimed he was tired of you bringing women back to the room.”
“Are you serious?” the cadet exploded. “I’ve only brought three women this month! And the last one wasn’t even here for more than five minutes—she was a harpy!”
“Have a good day, Mr. Kirk,” the officer said calmly, closing the door with a soft hiss and leaving the cadet staring at his new quarters in disbelief.
Leonard stood there, floating near the ceiling, dazed by what had just happened. He’d chosen those quarters precisely because no one ever used them—and now there was an intruder.
He studied the confused young man closely. No wonder women liked to lie down with him. The kid was beyond gorgeous—cerulean blue eyes, an easy smile, and a face to die for.
“I bet this is where that stupid ghost everybody’s talking about lives,” Jim complained, dropping his bag and flopping onto the bed in defeat.
“Hey, that hurts, kid,” Leonard exclaimed, even though he knew the blond cadet couldn’t hear him.
Cadet Kirk, huh? Leonard thought as he watched Jim begin unpacking.
He’ll be fun to watch, he decided. The man radiated charisma and confidence, and already a handful of mischievous prank ideas were swirling in Leonard’s mind.
He couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.