leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

Eventually, McCoy realizes, he's going to have to tell his subject that he's decided to use him as a test subject. True, it's something he's hoping to put off until the last minute, but it's becoming more evident than ever that he needs to get his hands on the tech in order to put together the lenses. He can only do so many practice runs before it's time for the real thing. That means conversations and expectations and a lot of things that come with things like this, but most of all, it means talking to the patient.

He waits until Auggie's out of the more public areas, calling his name and standing behind him in the hall. "Auggie Anderson, yeah?" he says. "I'm McCoy, Leonard McCoy. Do you have a minute to talk to me?" he asks, not bothering to get in front of him. Auggie can figure out where the voice is coming from and it's up to him whether he actually wants to talk.

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The proposition halts any comment Auggie might've made after, and for a moment, he just stands there, trying to figure out how to even respond to that. In the end, his first thought ends up being very simple: why? Why would he be offering this to a complete stranger?

There's a catch somewhere, some ulterior motive, and it puts him on guard immediately. He's not sure what his angle is, but considering he already knows how this will end, he's not really in the mood to find out. It's been made clear what he's offering is impossible, and he's long since accepted that.

"Doctor, let me save you a lot of time and effort," he replies, clearly not all that impressed and more than a little skeptical. "I don't know what you know about me, but I can tell you I've been through more tests than this island is probably capable of. Since I'm still blind, you can guess how those turned out. But hey, if you're looking for someone else, I'm pretty sure there's another blind guy wandering around here still. We're not too hard to miss."

"The last I checked, I have two centuries worth of technology and medicine on whatever tests you had run on you," McCoy says, his tone sliding progressively towards curtness. He might want to help the man, but he doesn't appreciate the sass. "As for the other guy, he doesn't have all the right parts that you do," McCoy admits, his gaze dropping to that cane -- sure, the other guy might have one, but it's not quite as flashy.

"I'm from the 23rd century. I've cured several diseases I've come across in my travels across the galaxy. I grow drugs on tomato plants. Still want to save me that time and effort?"

He's all set to leave the conversation, honestly. In fact, he's half expecting the doctor to leave himself, getting the hint that he's not some charity case or someone he can get something out of with empty promises. When he doesn't, when he counters in a way Auggie doesn't expect, he goes silent again.

Maybe this is the McCoy name he recognizes. And honestly, even if it isn't him, he's said enough to make him reconsider completely shrugging it off. Sure, he has no idea what parts he's talking about, but his apparent future knowledge makes it worth at least hearing him out about it. He isn't getting his hopes up, but -

Well, there's no harm in listening, right? It's not like he has anything in particular planned.

With the decision set, he speaks again, not quite as hostile as he was before. Wary still, but not hostile. "Alright, you made your point. I'll hear you out. Where do you want to talk?"

He assumes he doesn't want to keep standing in the middle of the busy Compound hallway.

"How about the lab?" he suggests, since it's got a lot of the things he's been working on within easy reach and he might get lucky enough for some blood samples if he plays his cards right. "And if you don't like my pitch, you don't have to buy into it. You're right, there is another blind guy around these parts and I got one hell of a guinea pig at home."

He assumes it's either going to be clinic or lab, so his response isn't all that surprising. He says what he's about to say for him - that this isn't an agreement until he says it is, and that's enough for him.

The way he's talking makes Auggie think maybe he's been scoping people he might be able to do whatever it is he wants to do. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, mostly because if that's the case, he honestly had no idea. It's something he's going to keep in mind to maybe even ask, going forward. After all, he's still wondering why he'd be interested in doing this in the first place.

"Lead the way, then," he says, motioning with his cane. "Do you mind if I grab your arm? The lab isn't really my choice hang out spot here, so I only vaguely know where it is."

"Nah, I'm used to it. Typically, it's drunk-ass Captains holding onto me, but I make exceptions," he promises with a charming smirk and a wry tone as he offers out his arm and reaches for Auggie's hand to guide him to the elbow of it. "Just don't take me down with you. I've already got a lot of dignity to make up for."

"Captains?" Auggie repeats, already trying to get some information about who he was even talking to right now. He could've found his elbow easily, but he lets him guide his hand, not really willing to put up an argument over it. He just wants to get this over with so he can say he at least gave him a couple minutes.

"And for the record, I don't make a habit of tripping unless I'm intentionally trying to put someone off-balance," he says, dryly. Especially if it's places he mostly knows, like the Compound. Asking for help in this case is less worrying about falling and just not knowing the direction of the place they're going.

"Just Jim," he says dismissively, not wanting to make a big deal about the fact that he's a Captain or the ego on that one is bound to take him over at some point. "Who does make a habit of tripping, mostly because when I'm carting him around like this, he's either drunk or having an allergic reaction."

He leads him into the lab and settles down on one of the stools. "I'd like a medical history, first thing. If I am going to attempt this, I need to make sure you're a compatible subject."

Jim Kirk, probably. There's a moment where all Auggie can think is how surreal this is, and all he can really do is shake his head a little. Here he'd thought this was going to be a quick trip in and out of this building when he first came in.

"I'd offer to have my last doctor's files, but he's a little beyond my ability to contact him," he replies, once he's put his cane down next to him and got situated on his own stool. "What makes me compatible? What do you need to know?"

He'd had compatibility tests before. Many of them. After the first round, he'd mostly given up on it. It hadn't been hard to assume he'd just keep getting disappointed over and over. That he is going out on a limb here is probably going to bite him in the ass too, but at least he's prepared for it this time.

"Blood tests," McCoy says. "I'd like to do a physical and make sure you're in decent shape, but I don't want to get your hopes up. I won't even explain the procedure until I know you're a healthy candidate for it, otherwise I'd be just as bad as all the ones you dealt with in the past," he says calmly. "I'll say this, though. I'm not looking for blood type or some magic hint in your genetics. I'm looking to make sure your body is healthy enough to go through this."

Auggie can appreciate skipping the cautiously optimistic speech. He didn't buy it then and he won't buy it now - hell, after the first test he had done, he really only agreed to any other at the urging of his family.

"Yeah, sure, go for it," he shrugs, pliant for now. It sounds simple enough, and not really all that invasive. He's also comfortably certain he's in good shape (even with everything that's been going on recently), but he'll let the tests prove that. "How long does it take to get results here?"

"I'm doing them, but it's mainly the question of equipment. I'd have your results for you before the night's out," McCoy says, judging how much time it'll take him to work on them (and he doesn't intend to take a break, not unless Jim forces it on him). "There's one other big thing you should know," McCoy warns. "If we do go through with this, I need your cane."

He'd mentioned before about him having something he needed. Auggie hadn't asked when it first was brought up, but now the comment makes sense.

"Why? What are you going to do with it?" he asks, though he suspects he already knows the answer to that. Even though he doesn't know much about the medical stuff this place has, what he does know is there isn't a whole lot of technology available on the island.

"Make you contact lenses," he replies, given that it's the simplest explanation. "And a receiver," he adds, leaning his elbow against the table and looking at Auggie to try and judge whether or not he'll be willing to give that up.

Auggie doesn't need it spelled out more than than that. The cane isn't going to survive whatever he means to do, and he'll be getting his hands on what makes it work. It's a lot to ask for more reasons than he can ever really understand, and it's not an answer he can give for sure, if that's what he's looking for.

He's got people to talk to. Even a year and a few months removed from his job, he still respects some protocol. Handing over government technology to someone without bringing it up to his superiors isn't something he's willing to do. Thing is, no one knows his status yet, so he can't spell out his reasoning straight out. For all anyone knows, they were all co-workers - nothing more.

"Let's just see if I'm even a candidate before we get into the details," he suggests, evenly. It's not an answer tow what he's asking for, but he likes to think it's clear he'll at least think about it since he still wants to go through with the bloodwork.

"That sounds like a cautious plan to me. I love it," he promises, digging through his drawer to find a few empty vials and one of his clean hyposprays, loading it up. "I'm using something from a little further than you're used to, so don't mind the hissing noise. You might not even feel so much, so, I'll take your palm, please, and I'm gonna get you to make a fist for me."

"Should I ask exactly what you're using to suck my blood out of me?" he asks, lifting a brow even as he holds his hand out as requested, just letting him move it as he likes. Considering he has no idea what to expect, it seems the simplest way of going about this.

He's honestly just surprised this place comes with advanced technology, period.

"It's called a hypospray. It's essentially your 23rd century version of a needle," he explains, loading up the vial and settling closer to Auggie's arm, tying a tourniquet around the bicep. "Okay, I'm about to draw the blood. I'm taking two vials total, so we ought to be done within twenty seconds. Sound good to you?"

At least the tourniquet is something Auggie's used to. Even with the name, he's not really sure what to expect, so he simply sits back in his seat. He nods his head at the question after, not having any more questions.

"I hope you don't mind if I don't watch," he replies with a slight smirk.

"Funny," McCoy deadpans, but he's used to that kind of humor and there's a part of him that genuinely does get a kick out of it. "Loosen your fist," he instructs quietly as he starts the intake process, staring at the blood and hoping that it'll hold some answers in it.

"I try my best," Auggie replies, and he doesn't even wince when he starts the process. He's right, it barely hurts at all. Feels a little weird, but doesn't hurt. He relaxes his hand on cue, figuring it's probably best to follow along with instructions, not knowing what might happen if he doesn't. "Good?"

McCoy's quick with the blood. He's been doing this long enough and for that brief period of time when he tried to cure his father, he'd taken blood samples on a daily basis to try and heal something that refused to be healed. "All done," he promises, releasing the tourniquet and capping the vials. "I should have enough to tell you whether you're a candidate."

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