The sounds of vomiting weren't that uncommon in sickbay. Hypos against nausea notwithstanding, it was generally better for the body to void whatever noxious substance it needed to. However the fact it was still early morning and they as yet had no patients made the situation somewhat unusual.

"Doctor McCoy?" Nurse Chapel hovered outside the door awkwardly. "Do you need any help?"

There was a long period of silence before she heard flushing and the door opened.

McCoy looked slightly unsteady, unusually pale and quite tired.

"Do you need a hangover hypo?" she offered as sympathetically as she could.

His eyes flashed angrily at her.

"I'm not damned well hungover!" he snapped. "I haven't touched a drop in days!"

Christine didn't apologise. It was, she felt, a perfectly reasonable question to have asked in the circumstances.

"I'm just…" he deflated slightly. "I guess I must've picked up a bug from someone. I didn't sleep well either," he admitted softly.

Christine forgave his irritability as she always did.

"Maybe you should have stayed in your quarters and rested."

He smiled at her.

"Thought you usually couldn't wait to get your boss in sickbay when I'm even slightly under the weather."

"I know well enough that unless you're physically incapable, you can't help but work when you're here. Even if you should be resting."

"I'll be fine," he waved her concern away. "I'm feeling much better already."

She hesitated but couldn't deny that he did appear to have recovered. His colour looked to have improved since throwing up and he seemed to be regaining his focus during their conversation.

"Well, alright. But I think you should run a quick check just in case it's something contagious. It wouldn't do for the CMO to start spreading sickness throughout the crew."

He grinned.

"Can't argue with that. Why don't you run the scan just to be sure?"

She nodded and fetched the handheld medical scanner. McCoy waited patiently while she passed it up and down, checking the readings carefully.

"Well? Will I live?"

It was a tired joke but Christine still smiled.

"You're perfectly fine," she confirmed. "You must have vomited out whatever was causing the nausea."

He nodded.

"Good. Glad that's out of the way. Now let's see who's due their physicals shall we?"

Christine passed the doctor a damp cloth.

"Sick again?" she queried unnecessarily. He'd come into sickbay looking green around the gills and headed straight to the head. She'd waited with a frown until he'd emerged a few minutes later, pink tinting his cheeks but unnaturally sweaty.

He nodded and she fetched him a glass of water.

"Dammit," he muttered after taking a few swallows. He seemed puzzled.

"Have you been eating anything unusual recently?" she probed. "No foreign drinks gifted your way?"

"Nothing unusual," he shook his head. "The normal replicated fare. No-one else has been in with nausea have they?"

It was a question to which he already knew the answer but she confirmed it anyway.

"No-one."

There was a long silence as he apparently mulled over possibilities.

"Perhaps you should get Doctor M'Benga or Sanchez to examine you?" she suggested.

"No. That isn't necessary. It'll only flag it up as a problem and it's not really anything to worry about."

Christine frowned and was about to point out his health was always something to worry about when he continued.

"I'll run another batch of tests today. See if it isn't something alien we missed yesterday. I'll get a yeoman to run a clean-up in my quarters too."

"Won't that flag it up?" she pointed out.

"No. It's not that unusual for the CMO to request a complete detox of either sickbay or quarters as a precautionary measure."

Christine thought this over.

"Perhaps it is a contaminant you've accrued in your quarters. Did you sleep poorly again?"

He nodded.

"I was fine all through yesterday. Tired as a horse but then I just tossed and turned all night before…" he gestured to where he'd previously been sick.

"It does seem logical that it's something affecting you in your quarters then," she smirked.

"Don't you start using that blasted word," he pointed accusatorily at her. "And don't go mentioning this to the hobgoblin or the captain. You're still covered by doctor-patient confidentiality you know."

"I know," she replied tartly before softening her tone. "They'd want to know though."

"Know what?" He shrugged. "There's nothing really to tell is there? Jim would only worry unnecessarily and Spock, well, Spock would probably use it as an excuse to get me left out of everything."

"I'm sure he would be concerned as well."

McCoy actually snorted at that.

"He's Vulcan. Vulcans don't do concern."

"He's half-human. And you know that's not true."

She forced him to meet her gaze and he relented.

"Yeah, I remember. But that was Jim. Wouldn't be the same with me."

"I wouldn't be so certain."

"Yes, well I am," he snapped decisively. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have a number of tests to run."

So saying he stalked off into his office.

"Goddammit!"

Christine was knelt next to McCoy today, running a soothing hand across his shoulders. He retched again although there was nothing left to come up.

"Try to take a few sips," she suggested, gently holding the water out to him.

He cautiously leant back and breathed deeply. After a few seconds he took the glass and carefully sipped. He let his eyes fall shut as she took the drink away and watched him carefully.

It was clear he'd not slept well again. Much more of this and she'd be ethically compelled to inform M'Benga. She hoped she could convince Leonard before she had to intervene though.

"They changed everything possible in your quarters?" she confirmed.

He nodded.

"Ran it all over with detox too. Shouldn't be anything harmful in there."

She considered carefully how to phrase her next question.

"You ran every test you could think of but what if it's something outside your sphere of knowledge?"

Watery blue eyes opened and he gave her a wry smile.

"Then we'll be shooting in the dark as usual."

"I think you should ask M'Benga's opinion," she stated firmly. "He may have come across something that could give you a lead. At the very least he'd be in the loop if this gets any worse."

McCoy mulled that over and it was a measure of how run down he had to be feeling that he gave in without an argument.

"I guess you're right. I'll call him in to see if he can come up with any other alternatives."

He staggered up to his feet.

"Are you sure you shouldn't go and rest Doctor?" Chapel asked worriedly as he weaved slightly.

"Make up your mind Nurse," McCoy teased lightly. "Do you want me to wait for the doctor or head home?"

She frowned.

"I want you well," she told him plainly.

He smiled in gratitude.

"It'll be fine Christine. We always figure it out in the end don't we?"

She managed a smile for him.

"I suppose so," she agreed, even as she continued to worry.

"Have you been experiencing any other symptoms? Anything at all unusual?" M'Benga asked.

The African doctor had McCoy up on a biobed, recording all the readouts.

"Not really," McCoy answered. "Well, apart from restless nights."

"Restless how?"

"Tossing and turning. Unable to get to sleep and then waking suddenly thinking I need to pee only to get up to find I don't at all."

"Not nauseous during the night?"

"No. That only hits in the morning and passes quickly."

"So… restless nights and morning sickness," M'Benga said with a smirk tugging at his lips. McCoy rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I know but I ain't pregnant."

M'Benga smiled broadly at him before turning serious once again.

"Could it be Couvade syndrome?"

McCoy openly stared at him.

"You have no signs of viruses or bacterial infections," M'Benga related factually. "You've not been subjected to any alien parasites, either physically or telepathically… no alien contact at all since Melkot where any affects would be expected to show in Mister Scott and the Captain if not Mister Spock as well-"

"So your conclusion is that I'm suffering a sympathetic pregnancy?" McCoy interrupted, suddenly finding his voice. M'Benga was unfazed by his boss' hostility.

"It's the only solution that so far matches the facts."

"Who am I supposed to be sharing these damn symptoms with?!"

M'Benga shrugged non-committedly.

"There's a few women on board with reported pregnancies. It's entirely possible you're reacting to one or all of them."

"That's crazy! I never had any of this when Joceyln was pregnant! Why should I suddenly develop sympathy pains with women I barely know?"

"I have no idea but it is my best theory so far. And if I'm right it will probably only last a few weeks," he added quickly.

"Or until the next batch of women come in for pregnancy tests," McCoy grouched.

"It's probably a one-time thing," M'Benga commented. "After all, it's never occurred before."

McCoy eyed him but decided against pursuing the argument. He had to agree the solution fit the facts as presented so far. So unless he developed any different symptoms he'd work with what they knew.

"Right, so I can expect a few weeks of nausea."

M'Benga nodded.

"You may also develop unusual aches or pains, cravings, altered hormone levels-"

"Alright, alright." McCoy waved him off as he got down from the bed. "I know the symptoms."

M'Benga caught his arm before he could leave.

"Leonard," he said seriously. "Tell me if anything else changes. Couvade is my best theory now but I'll be willing to re-evaluate if you develop any other symptoms."

McCoy recognised the genuine concern in his friend's eyes and nodded.

"Don't worry, I will."

McCoy was expecting the visit but that didn't mean he was looking forward to it.

"Why didn't you come to me yourself?" Jim demanded. "I shouldn't be hearing you're ill through M'Benga's medical report."

"I'm hardly 'ill', Jim," McCoy replied with a shrug. "Sympathy pains is all. Probably wear off in a few days."

"Uh-huh." Jim remained unconvinced, knowing from past experience that Bones was in the habit of downplaying his own health problems. "M'Benga says you're vomiting every morning and not sleeping at night."

"I sleep!" McCoy shifted awkwardly. "Just not well."

"He also says there's a possibility you'll develop further symptoms."

"A possibility, Jim. It's hardly a foregone conclusion."

Jim drummed his fingers on the table.

He'd opted to visit Bones in the doctor's quarters after their shifts had ended rather than confront him on what he couldn't help but think of as the doctor's territory. Strangely, the man's own quarters felt more like neutral ground, possibly because it conveyed less of his personality than sickbay.

He also wanted to keep the conversation on a personal level rather than professional. He was here as Bones' friend rather than his captain.

"All the same," Jim continued. "I'd have rather heard it from you Bones."

"If I'd thought it was important enough to worry you with, I'd have told you. It's not affecting my ability to do my job."

"This isn't about your job performance. I know you'd have told me if that was affected… but dammit Bones! I'm your friend. I want to know when you're suffering."

McCoy smiled at him.

"I know Jim. But it's really not a big deal."

Jim let out a defeated sigh. Bones wasn't going to make this easy. He never did.

"I'm going to be keeping an eye on you from here on," he told the doctor firmly. "And I'll make sure Spock does too."

That got a reaction.

"Now look here, you are not to tell the Vulcan."

"He'd want to know too-" Jim began only to be over-ridden.

"As captain you're compelled to maintain doctor-patient confidentiality," McCoy informed him. "You have to be informed but you're not at liberty to gossip amongst the crew!"

"It's Spock, Bones. I'd hardly call telling him gossiping."

"I'm asking you, Jim, as the patient in this situation, not to tell anyone. Especially Spock."

"I know you two argue," Jim tried reasoning with McCoy, "But you are friends. He'd want to know."

McCoy was shaking his head.

"I'm not really disputing that Jim but… he already thinks I'm the most illogical person in the universe, can you imagine how much worse it'd be if he knows I've developed some psychosomatic pregnancy? He'd bring it up in every argument we ever have!"

"Bones-"

"Jim," McCoy interrupted firmly. "I promise if things get worse I'll tell him myself but there's really no need to tell him anything. You said yourself my work's not compromised. Please, Jim."

It was the 'please' that broke him. Jim couldn't really say no after that.

"Alright," he agreed. "But if you get any worse we tell him."

"Scout's honour," McCoy promised.