McCoy kept meeting with T'Laua, and while their regular procedure of her probing his mind for remnants of the katra seemed pretty personal, they still knew nothing about each other. McCoy knew only that she was an engineer, and that she opted to join Starfleet after the destruction of Vulcan. Even with that detail, he still felt as distant to her as when he first met her. It was one of the reasons why Vulcans irritated him; they were unimpressionable know-it-alls that treated all other species like they were inferior. He just hated that.

After two months, McCoy was beginning to feel strange. He noticed that he had started eating a little differently, and he couldn't help but feel like he was putting on weight. It hadn't ever happened to him before (he was always the perfect picture of health), so he decided that it might have had something to do with the katra.

He would have examined himself, but he admittedly wasn't the most knowledgable when it came Vulcany things. So he went to M'Benga. The man had studied on Vulcan long enough to have quite a bit of knowledge on the fact, and the two of them had gotten a little closer since the whole katra thing started. Before that, McCoy could hardly stand him.

"Doctor McCoy, good evening. What can I do for you?" M'Benga asked, grabbing a tricorder, but not using it until McCoy gave an explanation. He was always patient that way. They had gotten a private room, to the CMO's delight. McCoy was sitting on the biobed, not really wanting to lay down unless the circumstances required it.

"It sounds stupid to actually come to you about, but I couldn't help but think that this might have something to do with that whole katra thing, since this has never happened to me before." McCoy admitted, and M'Benga nodded his head and gestured for him to continue. "Well, I've been putting on a little bit of weight- and not in the good way. Also, lately, I've had quite the affinity for some foods that I never would have eaten before. Celery, for example. I hate it, but I can't stop wanting to eat it."

"... I see." M'Benga said, and started probing him with the tricorder, concentrating on his abdominal area. McCoy couldn't read his serious face, which he must have perfected during his time on Vulcan. "Go ahead and lay down for me. I'm going to check and see if there are any masses inside you. It's the best way to tell." He requested, and McCoy nodded. He hoped he didn't have cancer or anything- that would ruin his day.

He laid down, pushing his pants down a bit and lifting his shirt up. M'Benga got everything ready, and was soon running a probe all over his abdomen. The viewing screen was out of McCoy's view, which made him even more nervous. He felt the probe stop on one part of his abdomen, and M'Benga's lips parted as he frowned at the screen.

"Fuck, it's a tumor isn't it?" McCoy said, already assuming the worst even though he usually tried to keep a sturdily good mindset.

"Well... Not exactly..." M'Benga visibly hesitated, then turned the monitor to face him. He saw it there, as clear as daylight. He gaped at the screen, blinking hard as he couldn't believe his eyes.

"It's a... That's... That's a... a... uhh.. oh dear god..." McCoy stammered, his heartbeat speeding up and his breathing rate increasing. He felt like his heart was in his throat, and he couldn't shake off the wave of heat that took over his whole body. He sat up and kept breathing to try and get himself under control, but his breaths only came in and out in short, broken spurts.

"Leonard, you're having a panic attack, I need you to calm down." M'Benga said, putting a hand on his shoulder, but McCoy shrugged it off. He shook his head rapidly.

"No... No... I can't be... There isn't... I'm not. fucking. pregnant. Geoffrey." McCoy choked out, rubbing his flushing face with his sweating hands. "What if I don't want it? What if I want it aborted?"

"I won't allow you to make that decision now- you have a while to think about it. But you must tell Spock, and the two of you should come up with a mutual decision." M'Benga suggested, and McCoy groaned. "Assuming, of course, that Spock's katra is the reason why this happened. I don't know what you... Who you're..."

"There's no other explanation." McCoy said bluntly, glaring up at him. "Why do I have to tell him? It's not like he or I meant for this to happen. He doesn't need to know." He was partially trying to convince himself also, but the look on M'Benga's face told him that neither of them believed that he should keep this from Spock. He took a deep breath, having calmed down a bit. Besides, it's not like this was permanent. It would end one way or another. "Alright... I'll tell him. Just not tonight, and probably not tomorrow. I need a while to think. Thank you, M'Benga."

"It's not a problem, McCoy. Just know that no matter what you choose, I'll be happy to help you discreetly and efficiently." M'Benga assured him, and he nodded at the other doctor gratefully before standing up and leaving.

McCoy walked out of sickbay stiff-legged and sweaty. He got a few concerned looks from some ensigns, but his glare prevented any of them from saying anything. When he got to his quarters, he stripped down and climbed into bed.

He couldn't believe that he was pregnant. He couldn't believe that he was pregnant with Spock's child. SPOCK. They were hardly even friends, let alone lovers. Even if they were closer friends, McCoy wasn't really into the whole male on male thing. Not like he even wanted a romantic relationship with the hobgoblin anyway. God, their child would even be a hobgoblin. Wouldn't it? He had no idea what sort of DNA their kid possessed.

It was difficult to think that there even was any of Spock's DNA there. It's not like McCoy had been injected with the man's sperm or anything. It was just his essence... although it was almost the same thing, really. He imagined a pointy eared, green faced wriggler coming out of him. It was just so unnatural. Would the child even have copper-based blood? Would it have pointy ears? Would it look more like him or Spock? Would it look like either of their parents?

How could they even raise a child on this ship anyway? They encountered danger more often than a Romulan terrorist shuttle in Federation space would. Even without the danger, they were both busy all of the time. Spock was always on the Bridge and going on away missions. McCoy spent his life in Sickbay. They wouldn't even have time for a child.

He rolled onto his side, closing his eyes and letting his fingers trail across his bare abdomen. Under his hard muscles he could feel the forming bump there that he had been trained to feel ever since his first days in med school. He never expected to be feeling it on himself. It was enough to make him cringe, and shut his eyes tight enough to shut out the real world. He needed to sleep, and he didn't want to think about the life growing inside him.

The next morning, McCoy dragged himself through the day with half the willfulness that he usually had. He treated all his patients with the greatest effectiveness, though; he just glared the whole time he did it. Some would argue that it wasn't good for business, but hell, he ran the only sickbay on the ship.

Eventually it must have gotten pretty bad, though, since Jim came down and told him to behave.

"Damn it, Bones, what's wrong? I keep getting complaints about a certain Chief Medical Officer being particularly unpleasant today." Jim accused him, crossing his arms and standing in front of his desk. "I have better things to do than hear about people whining that their doctor's angry."

"Don't worry about it, Jim. It's not like they're getting bad treatment. I'll feel better tomorrow." Which was a complete lie, since he doubted that he'd feel any better by the next day, but he just wanted Jim off his ass. He looked up at him from where he was sitting, and saw his friend's face soften a little.

"Seriously, Bones, what's the matter? Are you doing okay?" Jim asked, looking a little worried. McCoy tried giving him a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, kid, I'm alright. Sorry people keep complainin'." He replied, folding his hands in his lap, and Jim sighed.

"Honestly, that was just an excuse to let me come see you. We've been pretty distant lately, Bones. I want that to change ASAP." He clapped his hands together, his big blue eyes widening. "Alright, how about tonight we hang out in my quarters? Just you, me, some liquor, and maybe some of those old spy movies that you like to watch."

"You're the one who likes those damn movies so much." McCoy snorted, but nodded his head. "You're on for tonight. But I ain't bringin' no alcohol. That's only for chronic sadness and celebration, which we got neither." He said, and Jim huffed. In reality, McCoy just didn't want to drink with the fetus still inside him.

"Fine. But make sure you're there. I miss having you around." Jim said with a white, gleaming smile, and left the room. McCoy blew out a breath that he didn't knew he'd been holding in. Damn it if he hadn't been worried that Jim was going to keep prying in on his troubles. He would've been in some deep, boiling water then.

McCoy made sure to hang out with Jim that night like they had decided, and he also made sure not to be a complete asshole while it happened. They just say around, watched movies, and McCoy eventually fell peacefully asleep on the man's couch. It was just like old times, honestly, and it felt good.