(no subject)

[leftwithmybones]

Eight o'clock comes.

Eight o'clock arrives and McCoy's body's protesting the whole damn idea of it. He doesn't want to get up and his limbs are in full agreement, worn and weary. Instead of getting up to go over the samples for the day, he grabs whole bunches of the covers away from Jim and the cat, writhing his way to the corner of the bed so he can curl up and try to ward off the chill. He stays that way for a couple more hours.

And then it's ten. Ten in the morning and he's too damn hot. His skin's starting to burn up and he grumbles, kicking off the majority of the blankets in an effort to school his temperature back to normal, even though it feels like it's so damn hot that he might have to take a look at the AC unit to see if it's on the fritz.

Later. Later, though. Because it's ten-thirty and he's sore and he's tired and he wants to do nothing more than sleep and he's too damn hot, but then it's cold and he needs those blankets back.

Comments

[chasedthestars]

"No," says Jim at once. "No way am I staying away from you, you're sick, you've got - " He waves the tricorder at him. "A high fever. I'm making you some food, something nice and smooth that your throat won't protest, and then I'm going to sit and stare at you for a long time. There will probably be spongebaths and lots of fretting, so whatever peace you need to make with whatever gods about that, you just do that right now, because this is happening."

Jim leans in. "Nurse Jim is happening."

[leftwithmybones]

McCoy swats at Jim's cheek to get his face out of the way, grimacing when he seems to want to get up close and personal. "Great, so you can get sick and I can lie up at night worried that you're going to keel over and die because I don't have specific antibiotics for everything for you yet!" he mutters irritably. "Swear to god, I swear to god, Jim, just let me get through this."

[chasedthestars]

"If you're contagious, I already have it," Jim replies, undeterred, "or was that not your tongue down my throat last night?"

He gets up, staring through the bedroom door at the kitchen while he decides what they have he can make soup out of. Thank fuck they have juice. "Okay, first bit of business, stuffing you with vitamin C."

[leftwithmybones]

"If my evil twin is starting to tongue you, you need to start warning me about that shit," he grumbles, turning back against the pillow to try and let the bedsheets devour him whole as he crawls under them, a whine of protest lodged in the back of his throat. He hates everything right now, more than usual. "M'going back to sleep," he says, officiously. "You can do whatever you do, like you do."