Joanna McCoy: SM831-3914

Suddenly Spock knew with a sure and entirely illogical instinct that she was nearby. “Miss McCoy!” he called, startling Weinstein and the four from the Columbus. “Joanna McCoy! Are you here?”

Not too far away a head turned, searching.

“Oh, yes, that’s Joanna,” Weinstein said. “Tireless young woman; she’s been working like a dog. How do you know her?”

Spock had never met Joanna McCoy, but he’d taken the precaution of seeing a picture of her before he’d left the Enterprise. She clearly looked like McCoy’s daughter-- her smile marked her as such without hope of appeal-- but she was a softer McCoy, pretty without glamour. “Thank God she doesn’t look like me,” Spock had heard Bones McCoy say once, but she did.

Now she looked tired. Her smock was streaked with dirt and blood; she badly needed some rest, a shower, and two or three meals. Her nails were broken. She was wearing one earring; the other was missing. Her skirt was ripped. She looked as if she wished she could brush her teeth.

She looks magnificent, thought Spock in a detached way.

Joanna McCoy had been wrapping an elderly woman’s leg wound with sterilized rags. An open medikit lay on the ground. As Spock approached, Joanna finished the job, spoke quietly to the woman, and directed two young men nearby-- the woman’s sons, perhaps-- to pick her up gently and take her to the boathouse for observation. Then she rose, stood straight, and looked for whoever it was that had been calling her.

She spotted the Vulcan right away; her eyes quickly found the ship’s insigne on Spock’s blue shirt, and the similar insignia on the shirts of the four with the Vulcan. “The Enterprise!” she exclaimed. She read the commander’s stripes on Spock’s sleeves and said, “You must be Mr. Spock. My father’s written me about you. I’m Joanna McCoy.”

Joanna was polite; she offered the Salute, which Spock returned. “Live long and prosper, Miss McCoy.” Spock performed the introductions to Chekov and the others.

“Is my father with you?” She looked past Spock for him.

“No. He chose to remain aboard the ship, for now. He had pressing duties there. I also believe he is undergoing emotional distress concerning your fate.”

“Oh, poor daddy,” Joanna fretted. She frowned just like her father, and Spock was again struck by the resemblance. “He always was a worrier. Look, I’ll give you a note to take back with you, if that’s alright.”

“I am prepared to take you up to the Enterprise, if you desire to go,” Spock said. “I believe your father would be glad to see you.”

“I know he would, Mr. Spock. I’d love to go. But I can’t leave here now; there’s just too much for me to do. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly, Miss McCoy, and I think your father will understand as well.” Spock paused. “You do him great honor.”

Further canon sources here

Kirk generally disliked meeting children, but he liked McCoy’s daughter on sight. Kirk first saw Joanna McCoy at the military arrivals gate; she was waiting there with her aunt and uncle.

“Daddy!” she cried happily upon seeing the doctor. She glanced at Kirk, gave him a polite smile of the kind appropriate for strangers, and then turned her full attention back to her father. McCoy dropped his personal kit, snatched up his daughter and hugged her powerfully. “Hiya, Squirt,” McCoy said, his eyes watering.

“You big mushball,” Joanna said mock-scornfully, too low for anyone but McCoy to hear. “Don’t get sloppy on me.” Joanna cheerfully ignored her own tears. She was a small girl-- brown-haired, blue-eyed and slightly built, just on the edge of the beauty that would be hers beginning in her teens.

Joanna broke her hug and McCoy put her down. She looked at Kirk and waited politely, with an interested expression. “Oh, I’m sorry,” McCoy said. “Jim Kirk, this is my daughter, Joanna; my sister, Donna, and her husband, Fred Withers.” Kirk nodded politely to Donna Withers and shook hands with Fred; he had a firm, salt-of-the-earth grip.

Kirk then turned to Joanna and extended a hand. Joanna shook it with a ladylike grip, squeezing once and pumping twice. “I’m very happy to meet you, Joanna,” Kirk said. “I’ve heard a lot about you from your father.” Kirk addressed her, standing; he felt this child would not tolerate the easy condescension of his stooping to talk to her.

Joanna beamed and McCoy said to himself, Jim passes inspection. Thank God. Joanna may yet let him enjoy this vacation. “Well!” McCoy said happily. “Let’s get going!” Kirk, the McCoys and the Witherses began threading their way through the concourse crowds, heading for the nearest slidewalk to the transient parking lot.

Ensign Kirk, once and future tac weapons officer of the U.S.S. Farragut, was used to the presence of perhaps twenty or so people at any one time; starships are spacious, for the number of people they carry, and hospitals through the centuries have always been known for their empty, lonely, impersonal hallways and corridors.

But the concourse was throbbing with thousands of people of all kinds, shapes, and sizes.

Agoraphobia? Kirk wondered nervously. At my age? Or maybe I mean… xenophobia? Kirk felt his hackles rise with a subtle, irrational fear of the crowd of travelers. There are just too damn many people! Kirk complained to himself. I’m just not used to this…

Kirk felt a small hand slip into his own. He looked down. Joanna McCoy was looking back at him, very seriously.
“I hate crowds, don’t you?” she whispered.

Kirk grinned. After that, he felt much better. Kirk and Joanna walked hand in hand all the way out of the concourse.