"You've said that so many times it's lost all threat," Jim says, and no, he's not messing around-- but the internal gravity dampers are working, even if sci fi movie physics cause them to sway slightly this way and that within the cabin. Bones is very good at scanning things, also, good job, Bones.
Jim takes the shuttle in a full circle, putting them behind the phenomenon and coming to a full stop on a higher heading than they were previously. "Alright," he murmurs, watching the readouts. "Looks like it's stopped. We'll come around the long way and meet up with the other shuttle. Hopefully this thing won't move much before we can get back." But he's going to send a message about it back to Yorktown, anyway. Maybe they'll send somebody out to look at the thing right away, who knows.
One never knows when their luck might hold true; the dampers could decide to go just as Jim's trying to lose this thing. At least the scanners are still working and they still have an escort ship and they have the ability to communicate. Nothing has broken. (Yet.)
McCoy hums under his breath at that. Makes sense, all of that, and he's more than willing to follow Kirk's lead here. (If he hadn't been, he wouldn't be serving on his ship.) He's checking his own readouts, running new scans, and just generally confused... and curious. He's finally fallen on the side of curiosity. "So why'd it follow us in the first place?"
"Maybe it wants your bourbon," Jim says faux-thoughtfully, a moment that would be creepy if it wasn't born out of simply knowing each other for too long and having the same stupid sense of humor.
He speedily navigates them away from the anomaly, catching up and checking in with the other shuttle. They don't have any tag-alongs this time, too far away for the thing to lock onto them, apparently.
"It could just be lonely."
ah, the joys of tagging while Benadryl is kicking in...
He inclines his head and shrugs one shoulder. Who doesn't want some good bourbon? Maybe even creepy energy disturbances that like to follow shuttles around need a good drink now and again. They'd managed that sort of ridiculous same-thought-thing often enough that McCoy would have almost been alarmed had Jim not mentioned it sooner rather than later.
(And he knew that Jim knew it was there.)
"Lonely, my ass," he mutters as he turns to the readouts again. He's not actively scanning this time, but he is combing through whatever they picked up with a fine-tooth comb. Curiosity has finally won out over not poking things with sticks(and he would like to be as prepared as possible, should Jim decide to take a closer look on the way back. He's checking flight paths of both their own and the other shuttle, every sort of scan they conducted, and even idly pinging surrounding space, looking for anything out of place. "So why us?" He taps the console with one finger for a moment; he's almost talking to himself at this point. "The other shuttle was closer to it at one point than we were."
Jim's right about one thing: McCoy's also a researcher, a scientist, and when his curiosity is pinged for whatever reason, he doesn't let it go easily.
"Dunno," Jim says, glancing at the readings as he sets a new course back on their original heading. "It could have a certain area that serves as a.. head, or central perception hub, that 'saw' us first. It could be sensing energy-- we've definitely got different radiation footprints given the different things we've been exposed to out there."
(This many years in, Jim can say the word radiation without feeling like he has to brace himself against feeling weird. Three cheers for progress?)
"I like it. It's cute."
Jim, no.
i appreciate that, considering some of the weird punctuation that tag ended up with
McCoy is so used to bracing himself for any conversation that includes both Jim Kirk and the word 'radiation' that it's honestly good to see his captain (and friend) level out there. McCoy has his own odd trauma on that count; he remembers countless days trying to surreptitiously follow Jim around with a tricorder or con him into the odd check-up here and again just to make sure he wouldn't drop dead (again) mid-step somewhere. He's pretty sure Jim doesn't hold the smothering mother-henning against him -- he's never really mentioned it -- but it's not something he likes to remember.
So the two of them having a conversation that includes speculation about odd radioactive footprints without either of them flinching? Definitely progress.
He cants his head to acknowledge the point, then turns to stare, unimpressed, at Jim. "It's not cute."
It's potentially anything from world-ending to slightly troublesome, but nothing about that is cute. No, Jim. Bad Captain. No bourbon for him or the energy disturbance.
That smothering mother-henning, as much as he swatted it away here and there at the time, was a big part of how Jim stayed sane in early days post-resurrection. Was the serum going to hold? Would Jim just keel over one day, an irradiated husk? Would he develop terrifying side-effects? It's in his nature to just bulldoze forward without worry, and for the most part he did, but that was... something else. Having Bones hovering, knowing his friend would catch something wrong with him immediately, was a comfort.
"It is!" Jim protests. "It's like a... a duckling." A beat. "And now I feel bad for leaving it."
It's a potentially very dangerous duckling. Mildly frustrating at the absolute very least, of that McCoy is damned certain, and Jim decides to treat it like a lost puppy. Good God, it's not wonder they've fallen into some of the things they've done.
"We are not turning this shuttle around." He attempts to pin Jim with a look and it's almost his "I'm in charge of this shit and don't you forget it" voice. (Jim's heard it, in the midst of a crisis when things go sideways and casualties are pouring into the medbay.) "I will lock you out of these controls."
"I'm not turning the shuttle around," Jim says in a dramatic sigh. "But if it's mad at us for leaving it behind when we see it again, I'm reminding you of this moment."
Which is only fair.
The rest of the flight is uneventful, and they arrive more or less on time at the research outpost - the team is observing a race of beings that are just getting in gear to what amounts to their first industrial age. Small, soft-looking pink fuzzy creatures, putting together factories to build gem-hued mechanical parts. Jim's fascinated.
And McCoy will remind him of this if it's mad at them for disturbing it in the first place -- but they arrive at their destination without anything else distracting them. McCoy takes one look at the walking teddy bears the team is observing, looks at the utterly engrossed look on Jim's face, and decides that they may never leave. And if they do, he'll never hear the end of it. Dear Lord, if it's not lost puppy energy disturbances, it's walking pink stuffed animals. His captain is a child.
He's almost afraid he's going to have to dance a jig to get Jim's attention, but clapping his hand on Jim's shoulder seems to do the trick. The operations crew from the other shuttle has been offloading supplies and McCoy's done the prerequisite mental and physical health checks on the scientists. "I'm just about done with things here, if you are."
You know, if you've been doing anything else but staring at the planet's indigenous species. McCoy's been working and trying not to think about it.
Walking pink stuffed animals who are constructing buildings, come one Bones!! Jim's captivated by the long-range observation feeds, and looks over at his friend with a bright smile. "You don't think it's interesting? This is what happens eventually to all those early civ worlds we find after we leave. The reports exploratory captains send back are the guidelines for if Starfleet decides to send a crew out to observe, and how they handle it if they do."
When he first started out, Jim probably wouldn't have found this quite so enthralling. He might be proud in a smug, ha-ha-I'm-in-charge way, but something about the entire process has grown on him like mold. Weird, mature, humanitarian mold.
But he concedes to step back so they're out of the scientists' way, jostling the other man with his shoulder lightly.
"I dunno. I needed to see this, I think. I've been feeling so disconnected."
"Well, yeah, it's interesting." It's just not quite as fascinating to McCoy as it seems to be for Jim. Not to say McCoy isn't all about observing these civilizations as they grow; there's valuable information there, sometimes just for the sake of learning something, and he doesn't begrudge a scientist's curiosity. Lord knows he's got a good dose of that same curiosity himself, when something in his field crosses his path.
He rocks back on his heels, crosses his arms. Yeah, disconnected. He gets that. It's hard not to feel that sometimes, when he's out on a ship in the middle of nowhere. There are times when the sheer enormity of space -- and the infinite nature of it -- is near to overwhelming. It makes him wonder how joining Starfleet is supposed to help him make some sort of difference out here. There might only be one McCoy in this universe, but who's to say he's made enough of an imprint out here to justify, well... to justify even being out here. It's like the nature of space is such that it just gives humanity an existential crisis and if he's feeling it, then Jim Kirk is definitely feeling it.
"I wonder how many of 'em," and he motions to the screen, showing industrious pink teddy bears building things, "finish a hard day's work, look up at the stars at night and wonder what's up there." He glances sidelong at Jim and the expression on his face is usually accompanied by a drink in hand; he doesn't often decide to drop the irascible sarcastic mien while on duty, you know. "For every one you find out there, there's a thousand more waiting to be discovered and we're all staring at the same stars."
And then, because he can't help it, he adds, "we're not bringing back any souvenirs."
Jim snorts, shaking his head at his friend, but he's smiling. "No souvenirs," he agrees. "I've hit my quota for the year for incidental crew members from non-Federation worlds, I think."
But then, "I hope a lot of them are dreaming about the stars, though. That's what got us all up here in the first place." He begins to meander back towards the docking area where a few people are still working on getting their shuttle outfitted with a probe for their journey back, lost in reflection for a little while.
"You know, sometimes I think this whole practice of observing species stems from the Vulcan experience of first contact with us, because the first thing Cochrane did was offer them a handshake." ... Which is basically making out, in Vulcan. Thanks for ruining this nice moment, Jim.
my dog 'helped' on this one; she sat on my shoulder and watched. this tag Molly-approved.
McCoy near chokes on a snorted laugh. Incidental crew members indeed. He can't remember who gave the creature they picked up the name Kevin, but it cracks him up every time and he can't say why. He suspects that he's just an awful person. No one would argue that, at any rate.
He wanders along with Jim, falling into easy step. After years together in the Academy and on the Enterprise, it would be difficult not to. He feels like he's just put his unhealthy and probably inappropriate amusement over Kevin aside when Jim comes up with Vulcans and handshakes.
Well, whatever. It's probably the last time he's gonna actually be amused for some time, he thinks as he catches sight of the probe being fitted to their craft. "Well, I'll say this for humanity: we do tend to go full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes. I'm sure the Vulcans might someday come to appreciate that."
Kevin is a very helpful contract crewman, and not just because Keenser feels better about not being the tiniest sentient being on board anymore. Probably. Well, he's entertaining, and makes a good impression at the weirder diplomatic encounters.
He laughs. Making fun of the Vulcans was a little sketchy there for a while, Jim felt - despite his frequent desire to boot Spock out an airlock, bless his little liver-y heart - but years on, with New Vulcan flourishing and the population rebuilding, it'd be needlessly patronizing not to give them their due percentage of shit. As is the custom of all Terrans.
"Maybe these guys," the pink teddy bears, he means, "will evolve into a people we can have some real fun with in the adventure department."
McCoy's expression probably gives him away, because his ridiculous mind immediately tries to conjure up pink teddy bears kicking ass and taking names through some of the situations the Enterprise has warped right into. It's... jarring. A little mind-boggling.
Does not compute. Leave a message, come back later, Doctor McCoy is out for the count.
"What?" It's the only word he can manage. He knows what you said, Jim. He even tried to answer it with something more coherent than that, but...
... pink teddy bears with phasers. Everyone was kung fu fighting and McCoy's mind has stuttered to a halt.
Jim tries - really, he does, for a good two seconds, not to lose it laughing at his friend's expression, but he fails miserably and cracks up. The officers working on their shuttle all pause and give Captain Kirk a curious-confused-maybe-alarmed look, in varying degrees, and Jim puts a hand on McCoy's shoulder while he tries to stop laughing. It's an ordeal.
"C'mon, Bones! IDIC!" The teddy bears had to get through the hunter-gatherer stage, maybe they've had some civil wars... they could easily end up serving on a starship. "You never know who'll end up being the next humans."
You know, Jim, laughing at the best friend you've ever had really is in poor taste. IDIC nothing, kid; that was all Jim's fault, planting that ridiculous image in his head. Absolutely ignoring the looks they're garnering from pretty much everyone around them, McCoy elbows Jim in the side.
"Let's get out of here." He'd rather go poke things with sticks than stick around here than continue to be flummoxed by pink teddy bears building technicolor buildings.
Yeah yeah and he totally hurt Leonard's delicate sensibilities, too, he's the worst. Jim throws an arm around McCoy's shoulders, still chuckling a little. "I need to bring you on more away missions," he says, despite knowing that the response to that is going to be explosive.
He does, however, concede to getting this show on the road-- he angles his friend towards the control station so he can take a look at their course projections, and releases the other man so that he can talk with their escorts about The Game Plan for checking out the anomaly on the way back. He is and isn't stalling; part of him does want to stay and see more of this civilization, even though he knows he can just investigate the reports later.
Really? More away missions? What part of 'happy to simply take up shifts in the 'fleet hospital' did Jim miss, huh? McCoy ducks out from under Jim's arm and actually growls a bit in his direction at that one. "You a need a check-up. I don't think your head's on straight."
But, yeah, going for the control station and then the shuttle afterward. Let Jim hammer out those details while McCoy goes over their course and takes another look at their initial readings. It's not like he's expecting a flash of brilliant insight, but he'd really like to know -- preferably without falling headfirst into some sort of trouble -- why that thing was following their shuttle. If he knew that, he might have a chance of figuring out when or if it could happen again.
That's what the probe's for, though. Unfortunate, in his mind, that sometimes figuring these things out means poking them with pointy sticks. That rarely goes well. Jim can do his thing, though, and even stall if he wants. McCoy will take the time to peruse the readouts.
And find nothing new, but hey. That's the nature of science: go through data until it doesn't make sense anymore and wait for something new to crack you upside the head.
That growl gains startled looks from the people nearby, but the beaming smile on Captain Kirk's face settles any alarm. There are all kinds of things said about the current senior staff of the Enterprise; Kirk is intense, Spock is intimidating, Doctor McCoy is fucking terrifying. Only some people figure out that beneath the porcupine bristles is endless marshmallow fluff-- or, well, maybe only Jim has figured that out, and maybe it's not so much detective work as it is delusion and warped perceptions of acceptable standards of friendship. WHO KNOWS.
Sooner rather than later, Jim's swanning onto the shuttle and plopping down in the pilot's seat. "Preflight systems check," he announces. "You know, I swear you've told me plenty of times 'if you don't stop making that face it'll stay that way permanently', and I have concerns about the line between your eyebrows at the moment. If you frown any harder your head's gonna cave in, Bones."
Who knows indeed. McCoy hasn't gained a reputation of being fucking
terrifying by cultivating a gentle bedside manner nor has he ever been one
to offer smiles to passers-by. (If he did, at any point, Jim would probably
lock him up in the brig and go about trying to figure out how an imposter
got on his ship.) There may be some marshmallow fluff in there somewhere;
anyone who's seen him around kids and dogs can likely attest to that.
Fortunately for his reputation, there's a decided lack of both on a
starship.
Jim's stalling didn't take long and McCoy is wrapped up in earlier readouts
when he practically tosses himself into his chair. "That's already
permanent," he mutters, switching attention between his science(!) and
preflight checks. "Voice of experience and reason, kid. Listen to it
sometimes." If he says, in that dad-tone he swears he doesn't have, that
you're face is gonna freeze like that, believe him. His already has.
"I always listen to you," Jim says sweetly as he powers the shuttle up. The dad voice is pretty great, in his opinion, it's just hilarious. Jim occasionally worries he's developing one of his own for talking to some of the younger crew members-- but he's never having kids, not after being temporarily dead from radiation exposure, so they'll never know, really. (Somewhere, Carol Marcus is going YEAH THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT TOO, ASSHOLE.)
There's some chatter with the control station, coordinating take-off and making sure the new modifications with the probe are functioning properly, and then Jim's clear to take them out.
He snorts in absolute disbelief at that. Always listens, his ass. One of these days, he's going to stop offering advice (or just plain objecting to whatever half-assed plan Jim has come up with) and then they'll see where they all end up. He turns his attention to the console, though he really doesn't have much to do here besides watch Jim pilot.
"Well," and it's drawn out a bit, like he's giving an answer he's not too certain of, "I can tell you what it looks like, strictly from a pathologist's point of view." He taps the console, leans forward to give the readings he's looked over a million times one more perusal, and shrugs. "This is an energy disturbance in space, not living organism. But... if it were, I'd say it reacted almost like..." He waves his hand, a vague gesture that's likely supposed to mean something. "Like we're a... a virus in an otherwise healthy organism." Which is, admittedly, a pretty unlikely scenario and also pretty pessimistic, since the end goal of natural antibodies is to wipe out the intruding virus.
Another shrug. "But that doesn't explain why it followed us instead of the other shuttle. I still haven't found anything that would differentiate us from them." Again, though, doctor, not... whatever he needs to be to figure this out.
The thing with crazy space escapades is, sometimes it does actually take a pathologist's eye to notice a key detail. Whatever expectations Jim had of starship exploration being pure astrophysics were ground to dust within the first few months out here-- asteroids and gravity wells and wormholes, yes, but also gigantic silicone floating hearts with eyeballs, space whales, sentient viruses, and so on and so forth. Space is batshit crazy and he no longer finds it weird to be asking a medical doctor for his professional opinion about an energy anomaly.
Still,
"I think I like my puppy idea better than being targeted by a stray galactic white blood cell."
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Jim takes the shuttle in a full circle, putting them behind the phenomenon and coming to a full stop on a higher heading than they were previously. "Alright," he murmurs, watching the readouts. "Looks like it's stopped. We'll come around the long way and meet up with the other shuttle. Hopefully this thing won't move much before we can get back." But he's going to send a message about it back to Yorktown, anyway. Maybe they'll send somebody out to look at the thing right away, who knows.
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McCoy hums under his breath at that. Makes sense, all of that, and he's more than willing to follow Kirk's lead here. (If he hadn't been, he wouldn't be serving on his ship.) He's checking his own readouts, running new scans, and just generally confused... and curious. He's finally fallen on the side of curiosity. "So why'd it follow us in the first place?"
Maybe it just likes good bourbon?
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He speedily navigates them away from the anomaly, catching up and checking in with the other shuttle. They don't have any tag-alongs this time, too far away for the thing to lock onto them, apparently.
"It could just be lonely."
ah, the joys of tagging while Benadryl is kicking in...
(And he knew that Jim knew it was there.)
"Lonely, my ass," he mutters as he turns to the readouts again. He's not actively scanning this time, but he is combing through whatever they picked up with a fine-tooth comb. Curiosity has finally won out over not poking things with sticks(and he would like to be as prepared as possible, should Jim decide to take a closer look on the way back. He's checking flight paths of both their own and the other shuttle, every sort of scan they conducted, and even idly pinging surrounding space, looking for anything out of place. "So why us?" He taps the console with one finger for a moment; he's almost talking to himself at this point. "The other shuttle was closer to it at one point than we were."
Jim's right about one thing: McCoy's also a researcher, a scientist, and when his curiosity is pinged for whatever reason, he doesn't let it go easily.
tbh that's impressive for benadryl
(This many years in, Jim can say the word radiation without feeling like he has to brace himself against feeling weird. Three cheers for progress?)
"I like it. It's cute."
Jim, no.
i appreciate that, considering some of the weird punctuation that tag ended up with
So the two of them having a conversation that includes speculation about odd radioactive footprints without either of them flinching? Definitely progress.
He cants his head to acknowledge the point, then turns to stare, unimpressed, at Jim. "It's not cute."
It's potentially anything from world-ending to slightly troublesome, but nothing about that is cute. No, Jim. Bad Captain. No bourbon for him or the energy disturbance.
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"It is!" Jim protests. "It's like a... a duckling." A beat. "And now I feel bad for leaving it."
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"We are not turning this shuttle around." He attempts to pin Jim with a look and it's almost his "I'm in charge of this shit and don't you forget it" voice. (Jim's heard it, in the midst of a crisis when things go sideways and casualties are pouring into the medbay.) "I will lock you out of these controls."
Don't think he won't try it.
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Which is only fair.
The rest of the flight is uneventful, and they arrive more or less on time at the research outpost - the team is observing a race of beings that are just getting in gear to what amounts to their first industrial age. Small, soft-looking pink fuzzy creatures, putting together factories to build gem-hued mechanical parts. Jim's fascinated.
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He's almost afraid he's going to have to dance a jig to get Jim's attention, but clapping his hand on Jim's shoulder seems to do the trick. The operations crew from the other shuttle has been offloading supplies and McCoy's done the prerequisite mental and physical health checks on the scientists. "I'm just about done with things here, if you are."
You know, if you've been doing anything else but staring at the planet's indigenous species. McCoy's been working and trying not to think about it.
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When he first started out, Jim probably wouldn't have found this quite so enthralling. He might be proud in a smug, ha-ha-I'm-in-charge way, but something about the entire process has grown on him like mold. Weird, mature, humanitarian mold.
But he concedes to step back so they're out of the scientists' way, jostling the other man with his shoulder lightly.
"I dunno. I needed to see this, I think. I've been feeling so disconnected."
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He rocks back on his heels, crosses his arms. Yeah, disconnected. He gets that. It's hard not to feel that sometimes, when he's out on a ship in the middle of nowhere. There are times when the sheer enormity of space -- and the infinite nature of it -- is near to overwhelming. It makes him wonder how joining Starfleet is supposed to help him make some sort of difference out here. There might only be one McCoy in this universe, but who's to say he's made enough of an imprint out here to justify, well... to justify even being out here. It's like the nature of space is such that it just gives humanity an existential crisis and if he's feeling it, then Jim Kirk is definitely feeling it.
"I wonder how many of 'em," and he motions to the screen, showing industrious pink teddy bears building things, "finish a hard day's work, look up at the stars at night and wonder what's up there." He glances sidelong at Jim and the expression on his face is usually accompanied by a drink in hand; he doesn't often decide to drop the irascible sarcastic mien while on duty, you know. "For every one you find out there, there's a thousand more waiting to be discovered and we're all staring at the same stars."
And then, because he can't help it, he adds, "we're not bringing back any souvenirs."
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But then, "I hope a lot of them are dreaming about the stars, though. That's what got us all up here in the first place." He begins to meander back towards the docking area where a few people are still working on getting their shuttle outfitted with a probe for their journey back, lost in reflection for a little while.
"You know, sometimes I think this whole practice of observing species stems from the Vulcan experience of first contact with us, because the first thing Cochrane did was offer them a handshake." ... Which is basically making out, in Vulcan. Thanks for ruining this nice moment, Jim.
my dog 'helped' on this one; she sat on my shoulder and watched. this tag Molly-approved.
He wanders along with Jim, falling into easy step. After years together in the Academy and on the Enterprise, it would be difficult not to. He feels like he's just put his unhealthy and probably inappropriate amusement over Kevin aside when Jim comes up with Vulcans and handshakes.
Well, whatever. It's probably the last time he's gonna actually be amused for some time, he thinks as he catches sight of the probe being fitted to their craft. "Well, I'll say this for humanity: we do tend to go full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes. I'm sure the Vulcans might someday come to appreciate that."
Maybe. Someday. Probably never.
what a good doge
He laughs. Making fun of the Vulcans was a little sketchy there for a while, Jim felt - despite his frequent desire to boot Spock out an airlock, bless his little liver-y heart - but years on, with New Vulcan flourishing and the population rebuilding, it'd be needlessly patronizing not to give them their due percentage of shit. As is the custom of all Terrans.
"Maybe these guys," the pink teddy bears, he means, "will evolve into a people we can have some real fun with in the adventure department."
one of two best dogs. Gizmo and Molly: Best Dogs.
Does not compute. Leave a message, come back later, Doctor McCoy is out for the count.
"What?" It's the only word he can manage. He knows what you said, Jim. He even tried to answer it with something more coherent than that, but...
... pink teddy bears with phasers. Everyone was kung fu fighting and McCoy's mind has stuttered to a halt.
👍
"C'mon, Bones! IDIC!" The teddy bears had to get through the hunter-gatherer stage, maybe they've had some civil wars... they could easily end up serving on a starship. "You never know who'll end up being the next humans."
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"Let's get out of here." He'd rather go poke things with sticks than stick around here than continue to be flummoxed by pink teddy bears building technicolor buildings.
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He does, however, concede to getting this show on the road-- he angles his friend towards the control station so he can take a look at their course projections, and releases the other man so that he can talk with their escorts about The Game Plan for checking out the anomaly on the way back. He is and isn't stalling; part of him does want to stay and see more of this civilization, even though he knows he can just investigate the reports later.
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But, yeah, going for the control station and then the shuttle afterward. Let Jim hammer out those details while McCoy goes over their course and takes another look at their initial readings. It's not like he's expecting a flash of brilliant insight, but he'd really like to know -- preferably without falling headfirst into some sort of trouble -- why that thing was following their shuttle. If he knew that, he might have a chance of figuring out when or if it could happen again.
That's what the probe's for, though. Unfortunate, in his mind, that sometimes figuring these things out means poking them with pointy sticks. That rarely goes well. Jim can do his thing, though, and even stall if he wants. McCoy will take the time to peruse the readouts.
And find nothing new, but hey. That's the nature of science: go through data until it doesn't make sense anymore and wait for something new to crack you upside the head.
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Sooner rather than later, Jim's swanning onto the shuttle and plopping down in the pilot's seat. "Preflight systems check," he announces. "You know, I swear you've told me plenty of times 'if you don't stop making that face it'll stay that way permanently', and I have concerns about the line between your eyebrows at the moment. If you frown any harder your head's gonna cave in, Bones."
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Who knows indeed. McCoy hasn't gained a reputation of being fucking terrifying by cultivating a gentle bedside manner nor has he ever been one to offer smiles to passers-by. (If he did, at any point, Jim would probably lock him up in the brig and go about trying to figure out how an imposter got on his ship.) There may be some marshmallow fluff in there somewhere; anyone who's seen him around kids and dogs can likely attest to that. Fortunately for his reputation, there's a decided lack of both on a starship.
Jim's stalling didn't take long and McCoy is wrapped up in earlier readouts when he practically tosses himself into his chair. "That's already permanent," he mutters, switching attention between his science(!) and preflight checks. "Voice of experience and reason, kid. Listen to it sometimes." If he says, in that dad-tone he swears he doesn't have, that you're face is gonna freeze like that, believe him. His already has.
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There's some chatter with the control station, coordinating take-off and making sure the new modifications with the probe are functioning properly, and then Jim's clear to take them out.
"So what do you think this thing is?"
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"Well," and it's drawn out a bit, like he's giving an answer he's not too certain of, "I can tell you what it looks like, strictly from a pathologist's point of view." He taps the console, leans forward to give the readings he's looked over a million times one more perusal, and shrugs. "This is an energy disturbance in space, not living organism. But... if it were, I'd say it reacted almost like..." He waves his hand, a vague gesture that's likely supposed to mean something. "Like we're a... a virus in an otherwise healthy organism." Which is, admittedly, a pretty unlikely scenario and also pretty pessimistic, since the end goal of natural antibodies is to wipe out the intruding virus.
Another shrug. "But that doesn't explain why it followed us instead of the other shuttle. I still haven't found anything that would differentiate us from them." Again, though, doctor, not... whatever he needs to be to figure this out.
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Still,
"I think I like my puppy idea better than being targeted by a stray galactic white blood cell."
(no subject)
i'm alive
alive is good. i'm glad.