November 2254

The thing is, Jim doesn't stop coming and seeing him like McCoy had expected. He's still in the clinic at least once a week though he's injured less and less of the time, but he just acts as though nothing ever happened and they'd parted ways at the top of Sycamore Street instead of outside his door. McCoy's not sure how to handle it.

Jim's taken to following McCoy home from work too sometimes, and McCoy can't bring himself to tell him to go away because he's not sure if that's what he wants anyway. But it only takes him a few weeks to drop into a familiar pattern of Jim being in his apartment three nights a week that's far too comfortable for his own liking.

"You got any pop?" Jim asks as he sticks his head in the fridge, and McCoy moves past him to get two glasses from the dish rack.

"I've got soda, if that's what you mean," he replies flatly, and hears Jim harrumph behind him.

"When in Iowa, speak as Iowans do. We call it pop."

"I don't care where I am, I'm gonna call it soda," McCoy retorts and that really sets Jim off.

And this is how their evenings go, when McCoy isn't working the late shift and not getting self-pitying by himself about his secret daughter.

He tells himself that he doesn't enjoy this and Jim is an unfortunate annoyance, but he doesn't believe it himself.

December 2254

Leonard McCoy would like to think that he's pretty tolerant. He's always been able to put up with a lot of shit, and spending the last few months with Jim Kirk has kind of proved that, because anyone who can put up with Jim for longer than ten minutes without getting a headache or an STD has to have an unending reserve of patience.

Despite this, McCoy hates the Christmas period, and there are a number of reasons why, all of which he has explained to Jim in great detail at some point as they made their way through a crate of beer.

Firstly, there's ice. Blind men can't see ice, and as a result, McCoy tends to fall over a hell of a lot during the winter. Getting to work and having to run a regenerator over his bruised body because he's fallen over three times during the half-hour walk to the clinic is not a good start to the day.

Secondly, there's carol singers. McCoy didn't explain that one at the time, but then he didn't feel as though he really needed to.

Then there's people in general good moods all around him, which makes him feel even grumpier in comparison and people tell him to cheer up and that's something that McCoy really hates, because it's usually accompanied by a bright it might never happen! and McCoy snaps at them that it already did, thanks very much, and it wasn't exactly brilliant.

And Christmas is a time for families.

McCoy always sends some small present to Joanna, but he has no idea if Jocelyn passes it on, or tells her who it's from, or just shoves it in with gifts from other family members. McCoy only had two Christmases with Jo but he tries to remember every detail from both on Christmas Eve, and every time the details fade that little bit more.

When Christmas Day rolls around, he answers the door in his bathrobe and scowls at the postman as he signs for the bi-annual package from his mother with his thumbprint, and sits down in his dark, empty apartment to open it. It contains a thick, hand-knitted sweater, two pairs of socks, and a Christmas cake. There's six messages on his PADD – three from family members, one from a guy he was in med school that he's not heard from in five years and probably never will do again, one from Jocelyn, and one from Jim warning him that he'll be coming around at midday and to pack his bags.

He only responds to one of them, and it's to tell Jim to piss off.

McCoy hates Christmas because it reminds him of all the ways that his life has fallen apart.

It's not long before McCoy realizes that he finds it hard to deny Jim Kirk anything, especially when he's whining and pleading over lunch when all McCoy wants to do is go back to bed and not get up again until it's the next day.

He does not know why he lets himself get talked into things like this. Actually, he probably does, but he doesn't want to think too hard about the strange effect Jim Kirk seems to have on him, let alone face it like a man.

And it's precisely because he won't open his eyes and sort his head out that he's being led up the steps of Jim's old childhood farmhouse on Christmas afternoon, one hand on Jim's shoulder and cane gripped firmly in the other, the harsh wind whipping snow around his wrists. There are a few sets of clothes in the bag on his back along with a gift for Jim's mother, who apparently he'll get along with like a house on fire.

There's a sudden banging directly in front of them and McCoy's grip tightens on Jim's shoulder as he jerks back, until Jim's wrenched completely from his hold and he has a very brief and unreasonable moment of panic.

"What the hell are you doing here, Sam?" Jim asks gruffly as he's hugged fiercely from the sounds of his muffled voice, and McCoy can't help be but curious because Jim had told him it'd just be the four of them. And then he realizes that he must look kinda stupid stood with his head tilted to one side in the middle of a snowstorm.

"You must be Leonard McCoy," says a warm, deep voice and McCoy automatically sticks his hand out. The one that shakes it matches the voice, and he immediately likes Jim's brother.

"And you must be Sam. Jim said you wouldn't be here," he replies, reaching for Jim's shoulder, and Sam clears his throat awkwardly.

"Frank's ended up spending the vacation visiting his own parents, so here we are."

"Good. Mom misses you, you know."

"Yeah, well. Let's get you two inside; you look like you're freezing."

McCoy keeps a firm grasp on Jim's shoulder as they go through the front door. As soon as he steps inside he can hear the crackling of the old wood fire, along with female chattering and the clanging of pots and pans. There's a distinct scent of pinewood and chestnuts and Jim, which is of course ridiculous because it's Jim that smells of this house and not the other way around.

"They won't let me into the kitchen," Sam explains, and McCoy guesses that it must be his wife in the kitchen with Winona. Aurelan, he recalls, and she's eight months pregnant with their second child. Which means that their first son, Peter, must be close by. "Leonard, I'll show you to your room while Jim says hi to Mom."

"Yeah, you go on ahead," Jim says absently as he wanders off, and McCoy feels suddenly stranded in this strange house with a man he's never met before. And that's odd in itself because he spent four fucking years wandering the streets of cities he can't remember the name of talking to anyone who'd listen, so why the hell is he bothered now.

"We've had to put you in Jim's old room," Sam tells him as they climb the wooden stairs, McCoy's bag slung over Sam's shoulder and his folding cane stuck into the back of his jeans. "Sorry about that. This old farmhouse isn't really the most spacious of places."

"I grew up on a farm near Atlanta, I'm used to it," McCoy admits, one hand trailing along the wall as they walk down the landing, and Sam laughs.

"Georgia? I thought I recognized that twang. You still got the farm?"

"My parents live there, but I don't really talk to them much anymore."

"Shame. Parents can give you a lot of shit but one day, you'll wake up and miss 'em like hell. Here – your bed's to your right under the window, wardrobe opposite. Bathroom's straight across on the landing."

"Thanks," McCoy says, walking further into the room and inhaling as Sam dumps his bag on the bed. "I guess you'd know firsthand about missing your parents."

"You'd be right," Sam says with what sounds like a twisted half-smile. "Sometimes, I don't know if Jim's jealous of me. I've got a few memories of Dad – nothing really concrete, just vague sort of feelings – but it's more than he's got. But then if he doesn't know anything about Dad then he doesn't know what he's missing, so sometimes he's grateful. I never really know with him."

"I came to the same conclusion a few months ago."

Sam's saved from replying as Jim himself bounds into the room, his footsteps heavy on the paneled flooring and comes to clap McCoy on the shoulder.

"You do realize I'm on the couch because you get my bed," he says and manages to make himself sound hurt and amused at the same time, which is something of a feat. McCoy shrugs and unfolds his cane, striding across the room towards the door.

"I'm your guest. Now introduce me to your mother like the gentleman I am," he says blandly, navigating his way down the landing to the top of the stairs, and he hears Sam laugh as Jim grumbles but ultimately follows him down the stairs.

The Kirk ladies make one hell of a Christmas dinner, even by McCoy's standards. He can tell that none of it has seen a replicator.

He's quiet as Jim loads his plate for him, content just to listen to the familiar bickering around him and the occasional outburst from Peter, who's just started talking in half-coherent sentences. McCoy can vividly remember his first conversation with Joanna and it makes his heart ache, because now she doesn't really know who he is and every time he talks to her it's stilted and awkward.

"Fried corn?" Jim asks suddenly and McCoy blinks once or twice before shaking his head slowly.

"I'm good, thanks."

"So, Leonard," Winona says over the babble coming from Peter's mouth and the near-constant banter between Jim and Sam. "Jim tells us you work in a free clinic in Iowa City."

McCoy nods as he pokes around his plate to work out where Jim's put each bit of food.

"Yes ma'am, that's right. Been working there coming on a year now, but I'm hoping to move on soon enough. It's not the best paying job, we've got to rely on donations for our salaries."

"Well I think it's a noble pursuit," Aurelan adds as McCoy finds the ham and cuts into it. "I swear, it's about time we made all healthcare on the planet free. We need all the volunteers we can get."

"Uh no, ma'am, I ain't a doctor," McCoy says a little uncomfortably. "I'm just the receptionist."

"But you did all your medical training and you know more than half the doctors in that place, you said so yourself," Jim says sharply, and McCoy can hear the scowl on his face.

"Which counts for jack without a license to practice," he points out, and then sighs. "My sight went just weeks before I was gonna sit my exams. If I'd managed to hang on for another month I'd have a doctorate but I don't, and I'm over it."

"That's some tough shit, man," Sam grunts, and McCoy has to agree as he listens to the unmistakable sound of Aurelan smacking her husband and hissing about his language.

The wind's dropped down by the time they set out for a walk. Now the air just smells crisp and cold. It's still snowing but Jim had made McCoy wrap up in about twenty layers of clothing before allowing him to leave the house – including a hat that he suspects might be plaid – so he's not feeling it.

Jim and Sam are messing around in front and behind them, whooping and hollering as they throw snowballs at each other. From the sounds of it, Aurelan's helping Peter try and join in but he's not getting quite as much action as he wants. It's strange, McCoy thinks – whenever they'd previously talked about Jim's home life he'd always been almost bitter about it. Only now they're here it's like he's regressed back to childhood and McCoy's never heard him happier. But then maybe that's more to do with the absence of Frank than anything else.

"You look deep in thought," Winona says and McCoy blinks in surprise, a habit that he's yet to cure himself of. He clears his throat and she adjusts her grip on his elbow, directing him around a log while their feet crunch through the snow. He knows that she's holding onto him to help him walk without falling over but he knows that she knows that he's pretending that he's just being a gentleman and helping her.

"Just thinking about how Jim is a complete man-child," he says flatly, and she laughs.

"He never really did achieve full maturity. Fiercest mind I've known in a while, but still mentally five."

"You're saying he's actually got a brain under that permanently bruised face?"

"You sound so surprised," Winona says drily as they start up a hill, and McCoy is, if he's honest. "Jim was the brightest boy at school, always was. He couldn't be bothered in class and hell, I had my fair share of uncomfortable parent-teacher conferences but when the tests came he was always on top. We made him go see a psychologist once, try and work out why he acted like he did. She told us he was a genius."

"Well I never," McCoy murmurs, his whole opinion of Jim Kirk turned abruptly on its head. "Why in God's name would a certified genius spend his time going to bars and getting beat up?"

"I've been asking myself that for nearly five years, Leonard. Let me know if you ever work it out."

McCoy nods slowly, slowing his pace as he feels the ground become slippery beneath his feet, and Winona accommodates him in the easy way that she seems to go about everything. And what she's just told him is proof in fact that he did the right thing in leaving Jo in Jocelyn and Clay's care because what if she'd turned out an intelligent delinquent like Jim? Hell, what if he ended up being the reason she ended up like that?

"You keep doing that," Winona says; he catches himself before blinking this time. "You just drift off in your own little world."

"The one in my head is the only one I can see. And I was just thinking about how Jim's too hard to work out, so I might not bother trying."

"You said you've got some psychology training, I reckon you'll manage," she tells him, and pauses before continuing. "I see the way he looks at you, you know."

"I don't know what you mean."

"No, of course you don't," she says softly, tugging him gently to the right. "He cares an awful lot about you. He's always watching you, making sure you're not missing something, keeping an eye on you."

"I don't need protecting," McCoy snaps, and she taps him lightly on the wrist.

"That's not what I meant, Leonard. There's something in his eyes that I'm not used to seeing with him. He looks at you like you're the most amazing thing to ever happen to him and he still can't quite work out why you'd want to be around him."

"You're kidding, right? He's insecure about why I want to be friends with him?"

Winona chuckles and stops while turning him around. There's more of a breeze up here, and he tugs his scarf a little tighter around his neck, and he reckons they must have reached the top of the hill that they'd been aiming for.

"All I'm saying is, he cares about you more than you might think. And if I'm right, it's not one-sided," she murmurs, and McCoy feels his chest tighten and his face drop into a glower.

"My marriage might not have ended in tears but that hurt's not something I'm likely to forget any time soon, and nobody deserves the problems that come with being with a man who can't see," McCoy replies tightly, listening to the sounds of the others coming up to the top of the hill. "I have no intention of repeating that with your son or anyone else with all due respect, ma'am."

"I'll bear that in mind," she says and dammit she sounds amused. McCoy's about to reply but he's cut off by a loose ball of snow smacking into the side of his head, forcing snow into his eyes and mouth. He spits it out and splutters, releasing Winona to rub at his eyes, cursing all the way as Jim jogs up to him laughing his ass off.

"You can't hit a goddamn blind man with a snowball!" McCoy yells, but there's no real anger in his voice and Jim knows it.

"Your face was the best," he gasps, still cackling. "Here."

McCoy bats away his hands as Jim tries to help brush the snow from his face and neck, scowling all the time and just knowing that Winona is smirking at him.

"I'm blind, not an invalid," he grumbles, but Jim carries on cheerfully.

"It's a great view from the top of this hill, you know. You can see right over to the Terrell farm twenty miles away, and the valley beyond them down at Muscatine."

"I'm sure it's brilliant."

"Yeah, it kinda is," Jim says and he's standing so close that McCoy can feel him shrug. He reaches into one of his many pockets and pulls out a small hipflask, unscrewing the top and taking a swig. The burn warms his throat and continues down into his stomach, and he pushes it into Jim's chest as an offering.

"You're such a fucking alcoholic," Jim snorts, but takes it anyway.

"You boys ready to head back down again?" Winona calls from where she's apparently moved away from them, and nods in her direction.

"Come on, Bones," Jim laughs as he slings an arm around McCoy's shoulders, leading him back down the hill. "I've got a feeling there's some specially-made peach cobbler and sweet tea waiting for you in the pantry when we get home."

If there's one thing that McCoy won't say no to, it's peach cobbler and sweet tea.

They end up sat in the den, fire blazing on the hearth as the snow continues to fall outside. After devouring more peach cobbler than he'd though possible after the enormous Christmas dinner, McCoy's body decides that it's had enough and he ends up dozing off at one end of a ridiculously comfortable couch that seems to be designed not to let you get back up again.

He's jolted awake again what seems like minutes later but he knows is a fair while by Peter shrieking on the floor, and he comes back into consciousness with a snort and a jerk.

"Good nap, old man?" Jim asks with a laugh from down near his feet, and McCoy scowls in his direction as he settles himself and listens to the crackle of the fire.

"Would have been better if it had been longer."

"We were just talking about Sam and Aurelan's new posting on Deneva," Winona says from across the room, and McCoy feels a mug of hot cocoa being pushed into his hand. "They've got a job working with neural parasites."

"Rather you than me. You'd never get me up in space," McCoy yawns, and there's a huff and the couch beside him sinks as Jim flops down onto it.

"You should see him, Sam," he says and he sounds like he's grinning. "He goes gray just looking at a shuttle, and he's even worse when he's actually inside it."

"It's called aviaphobia, you idiot," McCoy retorts and kicks him in what he hopes is his shin, and Jim just kicks him back.

"You didn't bring the bike?" Sam asks from somewhere near the floor, and McCoy wonders briefly if it's just a habit of Kirk men to lounge around on the ground, until he realizes that they've probably been playing with Peter.

"Nah, she's getting some work done. I'm picking her up when we get back."

"Sweetie, do you want to take Peter up? It's nearly half past eight, he's had a long day."

"I'll do it!" Jim offers before Sam can respond, and jumps from the couch to descend upon the toddler making Starship noises, and from Peter's giggling, McCoy can guess that Jim has swept him high up above his head.

"Don't you drop him, James Tiberius!" Winona warns from across the room, but he ignores her and the sound of phasers and giggling leave the room pretty quickly along with Jim, who's still moving the same frantic energy that's kept him going all day.

"Tell me about these neural parasites, then," McCoy says to any of the Kirks that want to answer as he listens to Jim running up the wooden stairs.

"There's been a string of infestations over the last two hundred years, spanning the entire galaxy – it's taken so long to link them together, and some researchers were lucky enough to isolate one of the parasites on a ship that had been heading to Deneva from Ingraham B. They've discovered that it's vulnerable to ultra-violet light so they can contain it, we're just going to do further studies on it," Aurelan explains, and McCoy turns the information over in his head before answering.

"Is this the Levinius parasite?" he asks, mentally running through his neurology lectures from four years ago, and Sam grunts in agreement.

"They were lucky to discover the parasite on board. If it had gotten to Deneva and spread, the whole planet would have been killed."

"And from what I remember, it wasn't the nicest way to go either."

"Not by any stretch of the imagination."

McCoy takes a sip of his cocoa and thinks of the reports of those that had been infected by the Levinius parasite – the loss of control as the parasite took command, the overwhelming pain, and the slow slide into insanity before death.

Disease and danger. There is no way in hell that he is ever going into space.

McCoy sleeps fitfully that night.

He can't help but keep going over what Winona said in his mind. She seems so convinced that Jim does actually want to be with him, and that he feels the same way – but he doesn't know himself so how the hell can she? But then Jim invited him to his own family home for Christmas and he went with it, and surely he wouldn't be here if he didn't care at all about Jim.

So maybe he's deluding himself. He's managed to convince himself that he doesn't want a relationship, least of all with someone who's as likely to up and leave as stay, but maybe that is what he wants in the end. It's been coming up five years since the divorce so he can't keep blaming it on that, anyway.

He wakes at one point to the sound of sparrows and finches out the window and someone moving around the room, and he rolls over before yawning widely.

"Jim?" he asks as the yawn tapers off, and Jim starts slightly at the sound of McCoy's voice before walking over to the bed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I couldn't sleep, thought I'd come see if there was any of my old PADDs to read. You know, kids' stories and stuff," Jim says quietly, leaning his hip against the bed, and McCoy pushes himself up into a sitting position to make room for him.

"I was just dozing anyway, can't sleep properly either. What time is it?"

"About half past two. Every else is fast asleep," Jim says as he scoots under the covers at the opposite end of the bed, his cold feet pressing against McCoy's knee. "I'm glad Frank's not here."

"Because it meant Sam came?"

"Yeah. He was always a lot harder on Sam than me," Jim explains, squirming into a more comfortable position. "Maybe it was because I kept my head down and worked hard I don't know, but Sam got the worst of it."

"About that. Your mama tells me you're a genius. Certified," he points out and Jim squirms again, but this time McCoy knows it's more about feeling awkward than uncomfortable.

"She likes to tell that story."

"And why wouldn't she? Jesus Jim, if you're so fucking intelligent then why the hell are you still knocking around bars, just staying on this side of the law?"

"I've done time, actually," Jim tells him and sounds almost proud, and that's frustrating as anything.

"You're wasting your life, kid."

"As if there's anything else for me to do," Jim retorts, poking at McCoy's thigh with his slowly-warming toes. "I'm not cut out for school."

"You don't even have a job."

"Oh don't start Bones, I've got enough with Mom on my case and I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay, I'll stop," McCoy says agreeably, holding his hands up placatingly. Jim leans closer against his legs, and McCoy retaliates by kicking him in the knee. "So what do you want to talk about?"

Turns out that now McCoy knows about Jim's extraordinary mind it's perfectly acceptable for him to leap straight into deep conversations that McCoy can barely follow, involving black holes and warp theory and inter-planetary transportation and more technical words than he cares to be hearing at this time of the morning. But he listens anyway.

He's been sitting listening to Jim rave enthusiastically about travelling across the galaxies one day when Sam bursts into the room to frantically tell them Aurelan's water just broke.

Four hours and a few damp towels later, McCoy sits back on his haunches as a baby's cry pierces through the morning air and Jim's hand tightens on his shoulder He wonders if it would be bad form to get himself a mint julep.

"Good job, Bones. He's beautiful."

"Well thank god for that," McCoy says drily, and sighs heavily as he clambers off the bed, moving up to where Aurelan is cradling her new son against her chest and cooing at him. "You mind if I give him a quick once-over, ma'am?"

Aurelan holds onto him for a second longer before handing him over, and McCoy checks him over as quickly as he can. The kid's stopped crying at least and is just snuffling at him, and McCoy is reminded again so strongly of Joanna that he has to hand the boy back.

"Seems perfectly healthy, but you ought to take him to the nearest qualified doctor anyway. You got any idea what you want to call him?" he asks, and feels Jim come to stand by him.

"Alexander," Sam says immediately from where he's sprawled on the bed beside his wife. "After Aurelan's father."

"Alexander Leonard," Aurelan adds, and McCoy starts.

"Well, I don't really think…" he begins awkwardly, but Jim just claps a hand down on his shoulder.

"It's a good name. Congratulations."

McCoy swallows, and repeats the sentiment.

They leave late on the twenty-seventh, despite Jim's whining that he wants to stay longer. McCoy is needed back at the clinic – he's been warned that it'll be packed on New Year's Eve – and Jim simply won't allow him to make the journey back alone. They're making their way through the pork tenderloin sandwiches that Winona had insisted on packing them up with as the shuttle approached the City, and Jim finally decides to speak.

"What did you think of her then? Mom?" he asks around a mouthful, and McCoy swallows before answering.

"She's one nosy lady," he says without hesitation, and Jim laughs.

McCoy shouldn't be surprised, really, that he spends New Year's Eve with Jim. It seems that all he does nowadays is work and hang around with him, and he's actually kind of okay with that. It certainly beats the sad existence that he was living before.

Thing is, he'd kind of expected to spend the night in either his own local bar or Jim's favorite in town, and not hurtling down the interstate at nearly one hundred and ten fucking miles an hour.

"Holy fucking shit!" McCoy shouts over the sound of the engine and the wind in his ears, and he can hear Jim laughing in front of him. They turn a corner sharply, the bike angling right down into the road to round the bend and McCoy clutches tighter at Jim, one hand wrapped around onto his opposite hip and the other curled against his ribcage.

When they finally stop, Jim helps him off the bike and leads him by the hand up a long hill that reminds him strongly of their Christmas Day walk in Riverside. He's even brought his hipflask along with him.

"I love coming up here on New Year's Eve," Jim says a little breathlessly as they reach the top and he releases McCoy's hand. "The city just lights up. It's even better than the view down to Muscatine."

"I'm sure it is," McCoy says agreeably, because it's not as if he knows any better.

They lay back on the cool grass and McCoy drinks bourbon while Jim takes swigs of beer, coming up with resolutions that are discarded as soon as they're thought of and a few that almost stick.

"How about you promise not to get into any more stupid bar fights?" McCoy suggests, nudging Jim's shoulder with his own, and feels the shrug that acts as an answer. "If you do that, then I'll stop drinking so much."

"Nothing like a good bribe."

"That an agreement?"

"Yeah, why not," Jim sighs, and shifts. "Hey. It's started."

McCoy's about to ask him what he's talking about but then he feels it, the boom and rumble that shakes through his chest and ends in a crackle and hiss, and he can't help but grin as he hears another firework being launched in the distance.

"I'd forgotten how goddamn loud those things are."

"Not as good as being able to see them, but I thought you might appreciate it," Jim says in between explosions that rattle through their bodies.

"I'm usually inside where it's buffered so much I can't hear it."

Jim doesn't reply and McCoy decides that he must not have heard him over the resounding booms. But then suddenly Jim's lips are on his, familiar and warm and so painfully gently, and he blinks out of habit. And as quickly as the kiss started it's ended, and McCoy is left completely non-plussed.

"I know, I know," Jim says, moving away. "It was just a New Year's kiss, a one-off. Won't happen again, I promise."

McCoy swallows hard and nods, and hopes Jim doesn't realize that he isn't complaining.

January 2255

Jim disappears for several weeks at the beginning of the year without any prior word, and after a few days McCoy finds himself comming Winona to see if she knows where the hell he's disappeared to.

She laughs and tells him that he's gone off-planet to Deneva go see Sam, Aurelan and the kids and he'll be back in February, and he should stop worrying and drinking or he'll damage either himself or the carpet. McCoy tries not to be offended that Jim didn't bother to tell him that he was leaving, and returns to the same repetitive routine that he had slipped into for eight months previously.

After one particularly tough day with barely a break, he comes home to grab his PADD and dictate a message to Winona, just one sentence. He doesn't have to explain it, because he knows that she knows exactly what he means.

He pours the remainder of his sweet tea down the sink before retiring to his bed. Then he brings himself off imagining someone else's bruised hand around his cock, and goes to sleep.

The thing is, he hadn't realized just how dull and monotonous his life had become before Jim Kirk strolled in and threw up on him. He'd get up on a morning, go to work, come home from work and read medical journals, and then go to bed. On a Saturday he'd walk into town and buy the week's groceries, and then head to the bar on the evening and make small talk with the other regular patrons. On Sunday morning he'd go to the gym for a few hours, then come home and delete the message from his mother and listen carefully to his update from Jocelyn, storing it on a PADD set aside that was full of information on Joanna. Sometimes, Jocelyn would record Jo saying something and send that along too, and McCoy would listen to it repeatedly and fall asleep with his daughter's voice surrounding him.

And then he'd wake up. And it would be Monday again.

He's not even felt attracted to anyone since he lost his sight completely and stopped being able to tell male from female just by sight. Which means that he's not just wanting to get into Jim's pants for his looks, which to be fair are pretty fantastic from what he'd felt that fateful night on his birthday. It means he actually enjoys spending time with him and likes him for his personality, which can't be right but there you go. And while Jim's made it quite clear that he'd like at some point to get into McCoy's pants, he seems perfectly happy at the moment to just be a really good, really annoying friend. And it's confusing.

McCoy's fucked.