leftwithmybones: (Default)
He feels like a goddamn new man.

True, he's been on the mend for probably weeks now, but the tests that came back today report that his white blood cell count is finally back up to where it's supposed to be and that whatever the hell was wrecking its way through his system might be there, but with a few treatments a month, he's got it under control. McCoy goes for a haircut, buys himself some new clothes and a bottle of champagne, and then he's on his way home to tell Jim the good news.

(And he just thought of the place as home, now he knows he's thinking about sticking it out and staying with Jim)

And Jim. Well, he owes Jim a hell of a lot, which is why he's also got himself a small gift-wrapped box in his hand. All those shifts at the hospital and all that overtime along with his salary means he's got a lot of money in the bank. After all that Jim's been through because of him, the man deserves a nice present. Breathing out the last of his nerves, he knocks as he heads inside the house, butterflies slamming against his ribcage as he announces himself.

"Jim! Jim, I'm home," he calls. "Where are ya?"
leftwithmybones: (time to gut you: by circa77)
Jim's been a kid for days now and hell if it isn't getting on every one of his damn nerves. Without his memories, McCoy is just another stranger to him and it's taking all his energy just to make sure Jim doesn't do something stupid like run off and get himself into trouble. Even feeding him, which is priority, is taking energy that McCoy barely has.

He's half grateful, though, that Jim doesn't know him to understand what's happening. Whatever disease is ravaging his body is getting worse. His white blood cell count this morning had been beyond goddamn terrible and he'd barely been able to get up out of bed. That's why when he'd woken up and kid-Jim hadn't been in sight, he decides not to chase him.

Sitting up slowly and trying not to pass out from dizziness, he notices something under the covers.

Something round, squeaking, and moving.

"What in the hell..." He flips the covers back to reveal a tribble. That, or the dogs in Darrow have gotten really strange-looking. Reaching out with weak fingers, he corrals the critter back into his arms to look for eyes, but when he doesn't find anything that makes this a dog, he knows that it's from back home. The thing is, he doesn't understand why. He's had this thing in his lab for ages in an inert, non-reproductive state, but it's here now.

Is this some kind of stupid message that he needs a service tribble for the last days of his life? It's not a good joke, if he's heard of one. It occurs to him, then, that he better run some blood tests and a scan and make sure this is actually the one from his lab and not just a random tribble, because otherwise, Darrow's about to have a population problem.
leftwithmybones: (Default)
He's been wandering the city ever since Susan told him, trying to get everything out of his mind. He'd taken about a good few bags' worth of blood and stored it in the cooler to bring home with him, not sure what test he should even start with. He's exhausted from the blood drawing, but he's starting to understand that he's been exhausted for a long time, not really noticing. Now he is noticing and he's tired.

God damn, he's tired.

He just doesn't know what the hell is doing it, because he did a few physicals when he got the job and he'd been cleared, so it's nothing currently-modern medicine can fix. That leaves the future and not only the future, but the whole damn universe, too. He slumps on the couch when he gets in, flexing his arm and pressing at the bandage over his vein, eyes falling shut as he tells himself he just needs a minute.

Probably more than that, because at some point, he has to broach the fact that he's sick with Jim and he's not looking forward to that conversation.
leftwithmybones: (lips: by pon-farr tumblr)
It's been raining for what feels like days, but that's probably a combination of the fact that he's got the next three days off, he and Jim were supposed to go out and do something, and now he's trapped inside staring out the windows at the rain pounding the windows. He'd put on his comfiest wares, including a sweater that's just a touch too long (branded Ole Miss, because some of the shops in town sell college stuff) and yoga pants that he'd grabbed from Jim.

He figures they can't go out and do anything, but there's nothing wrong with setting a movie on the TV and making up some food. So he's busy cooking up whatever he can in the kitchen when he hears movement, knowing it'll be Jim.

"Instead of calling raincheck on this date," he says, leaning back as he opens a beer, "how about we just switch venues?"
leftwithmybones: (the blues: by ?)
Today's been a hell of a rough day.

Normally, he can get through his shift at the hospital with ease. Starfleet is hesitant to shove its cadets into situations they can't handle and thanks to paperwork and seniority issues, no one will let McCoy do the work he knows he can. So he's a glorified intern, instead, consulting and doing only half the work he ought to be. Today, though, he'd been working in the clinic when a married couple had come in, bright and beaming and barely off their honeymoon. It had been a kick in the ass; one that reminded him of Jocelyn in more ways than he liked.

That's why he ends up at the most popular dive-bar, knowing that it'll be crowded, but that it also has the best alcohol and the fairest prices, making it a popular campus choice. What he doesn't expect (though he should), is to walk into the bar and discover there's already an event going on, by the looks of it. More than that, looks like he knows the instigator.

Ignoring that mess, he heads up and holds up his fingers to order a drink. "Just bring the bottle," he amends his order, after a second.
leftwithmybones: (stripes and flares: by ?)
Leave a message here for Leonard McCoy if you've got one.
leftwithmybones: (plaid: by dumplingdoodles)

Character Basics


Name: Leonard McCoy
Canon: Star Trek (Alternate Movie Universe)
Exit: Star Trek Into Darkness
Stuck?: No

Gameplay


Time Zone: EST
Availability: Usually tagging from 6-9PM EST
Slowtagging: All good, though if it's going to be a longer period of time, please let me know to expect it
Open to: Everything.
Canon-puncturing: He can be told, but he may not believe it
Offensive subjects: They're even more than fine, especially given that he will be given the chance to rant his heart out.
Powers: Use away!

Romantic interaction: Romantic advances are welcome, though whether he's ready for it is up for debate.

Violence: He's a doctor, not a fighter.

Godmodding


For anyone: Generally, he's hanging around reading books or just hanging out at the bar.

Special permissions: Right now, Jim Kirk only.
leftwithmybones: (that's OKAY?: by ?)
This is the dropbox for Leonard McCoy. Please drop notes here if you have 'em.

Comments are screened.
leftwithmybones: (captain's chair: by ?)
When he'd agreed to this, it had seemed like a good idea. Some drinks, maybe some relaxing, and he'd end the night a little sore, a little sore-eared, but probably for the better. Now, though, he's rethinking how much of a good idea this all is. The music is loud and McCoy has the suspicion that they've stumbled into a gay bar for their second stop of the night. Not that he's upset with that, but he's a lot worse at navigating one-night-stands with men (especially when he doesn't have love spells to help him).

He's coping with alcohol -- probably not the best idea, but hell, it's working. He's managed to nab a slightly quieter section away from the crowd, adjusting his green henley as he peers out over the dancing crowd for a girl that's lurking here for Jim. He's honestly not sure he could stand watching Jim go home with another guy, especially not if he'll be a room away.

"What are you thinking?" he asks above the music. "You wanna move on?"
leftwithmybones: (stunner)
Even though the commute from the country has come to be one of McCoy's least favorite things, he's not sure how ready he'd be to get back to the city. The countryside has a lot going for it between the quiet of the house, the large expanse of yard, and the porch he's genuinely come to love (given that he spends most of his free time on it, tinkering with his machines and research). There's all sorts of little things he's missed, too. Tending to the gardens and the land is one thing, but doing the chores involved in a house like this bring him enjoyment instead of irritation.

Which is why he's enjoying chopping the wood for the furnace. It's not that it's cold now, but it will be, and after getting off a double-shift and taking a nap, he needs a little something to burn through the adrenaline of the surgery he'd been in. This? This is perfect. This is exactly the kind of thing he needs.

He hauls off his shirt, prying at the tank top as he works on the newest pile, eager to create a good reserve in case something happens, and he's so far in to the cutting, he doesn't even notice that he has company.
leftwithmybones: (unhappy face: by iconnoo)
God damn, he's exhausted by the time he gets home. He'd let Jim know he was going out for dinner and coffee, probably wouldn't be back until later. He doesn't tell Jim it's a blind date, but the email confirming that is on his phone and though McCoy had been careful to bring it with him, he knows Jim is far too clever not to be able to hack into it. Hell, he's not even sure why he did this, except maybe those damn stones scared him

The date? Hadn't gone very well. She'd been sweet and all, but they had nothing in common and he'd been checking his emails from the hospital all night. Despite the fact that she'd been beautiful, McCoy can't really justify seeing her again. He steps into the front hall of the house, prying off his shoes as he drops his keys into a bowl he's put on the front table. "Jim? I'm back," he calls, just to let him know he's home.

"You record anything decent that aired tonight?" he asks absently, scrubbing his hand through his hair as he walks inside, already trying to forget the date.
leftwithmybones: (stunner)
He doesn't know what the hell is going on with this city, but the bees are one thing and the heavy snowfall is another. Turning up for his shift at the hospital and finding the nurses hovering around a weird glass like a giant snowglobe is something he's not equipped to deal with. He sends the ones on duty back to work, letting the others linger. Still, he does manage to take a curious peek and figures out pretty quickly why everyone's so interested in it.

If snowglobes all over were going to show him Jim Kirk looking so lazy, content, and happy, he'd want to look into them for ages. Calm Jim is a steady Jim. Where it gets weird is when McCoy comes into the picture, looking just as dazed and content and is wearing just as few clothes. He's paged, then, so he can't look again, but the rest of the week continues like that.

Every day brings him a step closer into this strange new world where he and Jim have some kind of romantic life together, with a healthy helping of sex on the side and as much as he ought to be wary about that, he's got a tape in his things and memories of his hand on himself to remind him that he isn't so damn eager to give it away.

He knows he can't bring it up, though. Strange visions and repressed desires don't mean shit when your best friend is grieving his husband, so McCoy works it out with jogging through the morning, determined not to get too bogged down with lusty fantasies. One week after the first vision and inundated with too many to count, McCoy pushes inside to grab a towel and mop his sweaty brow, awkwardly avoiding Jim's gaze when he finds him in the kitchen.

"Morning," he mutters gruffly, keeping his eyes to the side.
leftwithmybones: (grumbly: by ?)
It's like he's traveled back in goddamn time.

Slinging Jim away from a hulk of a guy intent on whaling on his face a little more, too many drinks consumed between the both of them, it's like they're back in their first year at the Academy when Jim had been so damn eager to seek out trouble and McCoy didn't have anything better to do, seeing as Starfleet had forced him into bullshit easy courses and he had too much time on his hands while he worked on getting himself able to practice in San Francisco. So now they're back to it, except McCoy had snapped at the men Jim had picked a fight with to back off (seeing as they've done enough damage).

It's partially because McCoy knows if he has one more drink, he won't be able to patch Jim up and the way the night's going, he needs to be able to do that. Hauling Jim outside, he shoves him down to the curb and throws his jacket over his shoulders, not bothering to help him into it before he collapses down beside him, digging through his pockets to find the slim version of the hypospray he'd been working on -- something compact and simple.

"This'll sting a touch," he warns, before injecting it right next to the worst of the gashes on Jim's face, but hopefully the painkiller will kick in soon enough.
leftwithmybones: (troubled: by ?)
He hasn't seen Jim in days.

Normally, the kid has a tendency to pop out of hidden places and terrify the crap out of McCoy. He's learned that there really isn't a hiding spot that Jim wouldn't think of as a convenient place to shock and surprise him (hell, he's gotten to the point where he checks mailboxes, now). So when Jim isn't excitedly pushing his nose into McCoy's business and it's been days, he's starting to get genuinely concerned. He makes a few stops and checks to see that no one else in town has seen him, which is when he picks up a few meals that only need to be heated and then a few cold and flu supplies, thinking maybe Jim's laid out with some kind of illness -- and for Jim to actually be kicked back, it's probably pretty strong.

When he gets to the country house, though, there's a weird sort of quiet. It's not like someone's sick, it's more like someone's grieving. He uses the key he has to let himself in, taking notice of the slight mess in the house that Spock would've probably twitched at the sight of. Laying the food in the kitchen and the meds on a chair, he tentatively starts to wander around the house.

"Jim?" he calls out cautiously. "You here?" Are you alive? is the one he doesn't ask, trying to shake worst case scenario from his mind, but he can't help that it's his instant, pessimistic thought.
leftwithmybones: (burn bright: by ?)
When McCoy finishes with interviews and paperwork, the first thing he does is hail a cab. Jim had given him enough information that he can manage his way out of the city and give the address, sitting back and relaxing and enjoying the civilization he's missed so much. Sure, he'd liked being on the ground and letting his life get on with itself, but this is like a step forward. The technology's still a bit more behind than he'd like, but there's purpose here and a reason to earn money and society.

And hell, but McCoy's missed that.

Paperwork from accepting the job at the hospital in hand, McCoy tips the cab driver and walks up the steps to the house. He's only been here about two days, but he still hasn't seen Spock and he's still coming to grips, a little, with the relationship that he's about to witness. He's a grown man and he's happy if Jim's happy, but he can't deny it's gonna be an adjustment.

Clearing his throat, he knocks on the door and shifts the bottle of wine in hand, hoping that they don't mind a surprise visitor.
leftwithmybones: (stunner)
The whole damn city around him is starting to make McCoy feel a little like he took a damn leap into a rabbit hole that he can't exactly explain. He'd been on his way out to get food (and to avoid Jim) and now he's standing with a packet of information in his hands, a key, some money, and a hell of a lot of questions he wants to ask. He'd found his way to the Bramford Building, which is apparently his new house, and all he can think is that he'd put so much wasted damn time building the Farmhouse.

It's not like he got that coming through the rabbit hole with him. It'd have been nice if it had, because Scotty's still would've been a real sweet thing to have right now.

He's been staring up at the apartment building for a while, now. It feels a little like when he first got to San Francisco and had to settle in at the Academy with kids too many years his younger. He feels out of place and stretched thin, but grateful for the roof above his head and the fact he's not kicked out on the streets. So yeah, it could be worse, but it could also be a damn lot better because he's down a house, a job, several friends, and oh yeah, a whole hell of a lot of sense. He ends up settling himself on a bench, not sure he's ready to walk into this new life of his, when he's barely had time to shake off the last.

One hell of a rabbit hole, indeed.

He just sort of wishes he had someone to talk to about it.
leftwithmybones: (Default)
For ages, McCoy kept thinking of this in steps. First, they had to decide to do it. That had been one hell of a hurdle. Then, it'd been finding someone who could help them out on a genetic basis and was willing to be a part of their crazy plan to have a kid. After that came the dealings and the medical part where he tried to isolate as much as he could of the dominant traits he wanted to use. And then, well, then at a certain point there's only wishing and hoping.

It'd been that stage for a while, but after today's visit with Jane and a confirmation that things had gone from maybe to definitely, McCoy didn't exactly know what to do with himself. Nah, scratch that. He's happy, he is, but he's also shocked.

He'd stolen a bottle of wine for himself and headed home, wanting to celebrate as soon as feeling comes back to him. In a strange kind of way, he thinks of it like the first time he and Jim got together, when everything had been so new and numb, but promising. McCoy licks his lips as he wanders into the house, locking the door behind him and taking in a deep breath or two to steady himself.

"Jim?" he calls out, when he's feeling okay to walk and talk and exist. "You in here?"
leftwithmybones: (lipwork: by ?)
Honest to god, McCoy isn't exactly sure what he's feeling right now.

It's surreal. It's beyond expectation and maybe he'd convinced himself that he wasn't going to get and now that it sounds like they're going to try, he actually doesn't know how to process that information. He genuinely is in a state of shock and he thanks God that there had been a chair behind him for when he'd sank back into it, still trying to get over the idea that they might be having a kid.

Shit.

There's a lot to do. He needs to start working on getting genetic material and working on the genetics aspects to make sure there's as little of Jane as possible in the sample, just to make sure he keeps a promise to Lipton. And then there's the whole 'getting the material', which will probably be Jim's favorite day of the damn year.

Jim. McCoy comes back to reality and glances across the room, staring at Jim with shock. "Did that happen?" he gets out.
leftwithmybones: (wtf: by ?)
He's drunk.

He's in a terrible mood and thinks he ought to be allowed to be out of the house and drunk where Jim won't feel any of his wrath. He's removed himself from a situation that'll get him into a fight and has burrowed into the Hub's bar, knowing if he does this at the Winchester, someone's bound to get Jim. He's been nursing this through, letting a few hours pass before he tips the scales and drinks a little more.

It's all to get rid of that pit in his stomach that reeks of failure and reminds him that whatever plans they'd made for the future or to get them closer to his dream, they've fallen apart in front of him.

God damn it, he really hates his life, sometimes. He'd give anything to be back in a civilized place where he could build a future for him and Jim without having to resort to begging. That's not his luck, though. "Hey," he says hoarsely, getting the bartender's attention. "Another double, would you?"
leftwithmybones: (lips: by pon-farr tumblr)
This has got to be the most awkward thing that he's ever done in his life.

Between the four of them, there's three Council members and McCoy's not stupid enough to think that Jane couldn't get herself elected if she ever took the time to run. She'd probably just remind everyone of a few of the killer pies she's made and they'd carry her off. There's tea between them on the table and McCoy feels as awkward as he had the night he'd proposed to Jocelyn and that night had ended with him smacking his knees on the backseat doors.

Clearing his throat, he picks up the tea and tries not to swear when it partially scalds his fingers. "So," he manages, flashing an awkward smile. "I assume you both want to know the reason for the house visit."

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Dr. Leonard McCoy

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