Jul. 1st, 2016

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.

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Dr. Leonard McCoy

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