McCoy uses their voices like a tether to keep himself afloat in some kind of sanity. He looks to the clock, hearing every second pass like a nail being hammered into a coffin and knows what's going to happen, even if they don't. "Jim, might need you to play interference come noon when the ex...when the wife gets here," he corrects, because at this point in time, there is no divorce. Just the shambles of what's about to be.

And then he needs to get them all out before they hear David McCoy begging to be shuttled off the mortal coil by his own son's hands. "Well, I don't give a damn why I'm here, but things aren't going to be the same this time." He meets Spock's gaze for just a minute, just long enough to silently agree that this has purpose. This is the most important thing in the world right now.

He is not letting his father die. Not today. Not with the cure so close.