Dr. Leonard McCoy

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.

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?"

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.