7 Months (ish)

McCoy tossed and turned in bed. He kicked the blankets off again, sweating through his shirt. Every time he took his blankets off, he started to feel like he was freezing. Every time he had a blanket on, he felt like a stuffed pig on a rotisserie. When he slept, his dreams were either bad or he woke up only minutes later.

It was a personal hell, and he tried his best to hide it all from Spock so that the bastard wouldn't fret about anything. It was extremely hard, though. He was constantly exhausted, and he fell into microsleeps whenever he was left alone. He was going to tell M'Benga or another person in Sickbay about it, but he knew that even though Doctor-Patient Confidentiality was a policy, gossip flew around like crazy. And like always, all gossip went to Jim. What went to Jim got blabbed to Spock. It was all a vicious cycle and McCoy was just so tired of all of it. Tired of everything.

Right when he fell asleep again, his alarm went off. He felt like screaming at it, but instead he just punched it until it was quiet and forced himself out of bed. It was time to face the day.

He took a shower with extra strong pulses in order to wake himself up more, and drank down the tea with the highest amount of caffeine in it that he could find. By Spock's influence, he had been drinking tea just about every day. The Vulcan had already left for his shift on the Bridge, leaving McCoy to his usual daily routine.

After he finished drinking his tea, he went down to the mess to eat with some medical officers who were off duty. They were decent company, and they often asked him for advice on some patients, which made him feel useful since Jim took him off duty. Plus, they never questioned him about his pregnancy other than to ask more scientific questions. Everybody else on the ship seemed to enjoy asking stupid questions.

The most frequently asked question was, annoyingly, who the other parent was. McCoy was usually able to blow it off with a simple "Can't you mind your own damn business?!" However some people were insistent, especially when they had been listening to all the gossip between him and Spock. Rumor had it that he and the hobgoblin had been bumpin' nasties for the past couple years now, and that that was the reason why Spock and Nyota broke up in the first place. It was the ship's beloved "forbidden romance" that everybody wanted a piece of. Pissed him off to no extent most days.

Thinking about Spock being the father of his unborn child was unnerving at best, though. It wasn't like they slept together or were in any way intimate with each other. Would he or Spock ever be intimate with other people again?

As he walked (or rather, almost waddled) to the nearest rec. center, he tried to ignore the pain in his ankles and lower back. It was easier to ignore a couple months earlier, but sometimes he had resorted to taking small breaks while walking somewhere on the ship. The size of the thing wasn't really accommodated well for pregnant people. Maybe he could take it up with Jim to get a turbolift that went in ALL directions. That would be nice. Save him a lot of sweat and pain.

The rec. center that he went to was usually empty since he went there while people were working their main shifts, which was beneficial to his privacy. After he was adequately dressed, he walked into one of the private rooms and hit it out on the punching bag for a while. It was nice to punch out his stress and frustrations. He watched the hard, blue bag jiggle after each punch, and he could almost imagine the faces of his enemies painted on it. That is... if he had many enemies other than the obvious ones- Nero, Khan, Krall, his ex-wife... Not that he imagined hitting a woman or anything- just her personality.

After getting out his frustrations and becoming too tired to stand, he sat down and stretched for a while. Spock had educated him on the importance and benefits of meditation, but he could never really accomplish it. He couldn't keep his mind still, since it always wanted to run around everywhere wreaking havoc. He could never stop thinking about random things like food, his friends, Federation politics, medical discoveries, the kid... and Spock. He never stopped thinking about Spock. It was troublesome, to say the least.

It was understandable, considering that he and the pointy man had been cooped up together for the past couple of months. Also the fact that they were having a child together might've played a huge factor in it. The thoughts weren't even specific, though, which bothered him somewhat as well. Sometimes he thought that maybe he should talk about some dumb topic that he comes across during his day, or ask him about work, or talk about the baby, or he would just think about... him. McCoy could always picture him in his mind, and guess what he was feeling at any given moment...

... Which was also a bit scary. McCoy had built up quite the striking intuition about how Spock was feeling sometimes. Even when he never made any faces or talked any different or held a different posture, McCoy could just... guess. It was almost a second nature. And he hated it. It almost felt like he was tied to Spock now, physically due to the kid and mentally due to the whole feelings thing. He didn't want to have that sort of responsibility. He usually pushed it out of mind anyway.

After stretching and making an (failed) attempt to meditate, McCoy dressed back into more suitable uniform clothing and left. Since the effort had made him even more tired than he usually was, he walked back to his and Spock's quarters for a nap. It was like this every single day. Pregnant life was the most boring thing in the world.

The upside was that he'd been reading a lot lately, which was nice to refresh his memory on some old classics. Spock had also given him some old translated Vulcan books that told him a lot about how things used to be back in the day on that godforsaken planet. And man was it violent. No wonder they had to shut out everything they felt- or else they'd be ripping each other apart.

As he read an old Earth classic on the couch, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier and he could know longer pay attention to what he was reading. Too lazy to tell the computer to dim the lights, he dropped the open book over his face and closed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. He fell asleep in a matter of seconds, dropping him into a fitful nightmare.

He immediately started freaking out as he was immersed into blurry surroundings where he was stranded in space. Debris floated around him, and he wasn't dead even though he had nothing protecting him from the freezing, non-gravitational world. He looked down at his naked body, and yelled in horror as he saw a green hand reaching into his belly, ripping away the skin there to snatch at the unborn child inside. He writhed away from the snatching hand, hitting it away from him.

"Fucking Vulcan!" He screamed, trying to get away from the evil hand. The appendage started to grow to reveal a full arm, as if it was being unveiled by the darkness, and the body of T'Laua was revealed.

"Sever the bond!" She screeched through white teeth, spitting out blood from her mouth. Her raggedy black hair swirled like spikes of poison without the gravity to tame it. "I have already killed the child, now the bond will be ripped away from you!" McCoy kicked her away as she once again started grabbing at his belly, holding his arms in front of himself protectively. "It's too late, human! It's dead! It's dead! It's dead!" She shrieked repeatedly, the two words echoing through space like a dark mantra.

He felt hands on him, and T'Laua screamed menacingly in his ears, causing him to curl up from the pain. "Get away from me! Leave us alone, you fucking green goblin bitch!" He yelled back, reaching out and grabbing the form to shove her away from him.

"LEONARD!" McCoy's eyes snapped open and suddenly he was brought into a much brighter, nicer feeling world. Spock was in front of him, crouched next to the couch to be eye level with him, and was gripping his shoulders. McCoy's hands had Spock's uniform shirt in a death grip, but he couldn't let go.

"Spock, I..." McCoy tried talking, but when he spoke his mouth felt strange. His eyes widened in surprise when he had a strange, metallic taste in his mouth. "Blood." He choked out, and Spock nodded.

"It appears as though you have acquired another nosebleed. I will get a cloth for you." Spock said, removing his hands and trying to pull away.

"Yeah, that would be nice, thank you." McCoy breathed out, blinking hard to adjust to the familiar place around him. He could still hear T'Laua screeching in his ears...

"You must let me go." Spock said quietly, grabbing his tense hands. A surge of something went through McCoy, and he relaxed his grip enough to let go of the man's shirt. They stared at each other for a moment before Spock finally let go of his hands and left to the bathroom. McCoy breathed out harshly, and sat up.

He looked at his shaking hands before him, white and clammy. He wiped the sweat from his forehead before moving his hands to his belly. Things were okay. He didn't know how exactly he knew this, but he just had this sense of things being alright between him and the child. He took another deep breath, which turned into a yawn. Even though he just slept, he still felt unbelievably tired. He could only imagine what the bags under his eyes looked like.

Spock returned to the room, and McCoy jumped at the sudden appearance. "How often have these nightmares been taking place?" Spock asked, and he could tell that the Vulcan was concerned. He sat next to him on the couch, raising the cloth to his face to wipe away and maintain the blood. McCoy sat there and let him do it, feeling helpless.

"Almost every night... This was one of the worse ones, though. They don't all leave me feeling so freaked out." McCoy admitted, refusing to meet Spock's eyes. Instead he just looked down at the man's torso, taking solace in knowing that he was there if he needed him.

He swayed suddenly as the feeling of intense vertigo came over him, and he had to clench his eyes shut. Once he saw the darkness behind his eyelids, he thought only of being stranded in space with T'Laua ripping through his skin. His face pinched with anger, he opened his eyes again to see Spock staring at him carefully.

"For how long has your sleep been this distressful?" Spock asked, dabbing the doctor's nose gently, and McCoy only shrugged.

"Couple months or so." He replied tiredly, pushing down the urge to yawn again. He just felt so tired. He felt really out of it, honestly, which was probably because of his tired state. He blinked slowly, swaying again as he almost fell into a microsleep. Instinctively he reached out and grabbed the thing nearest to him, which happened to be Spock's free forearm. McCoy blinked tiredly, trying to wake himself up all the way, and focused on the feeling of the cloth against his nose and upper lip.

"You and I will visit M'Benga this afternoon." Spock decided, and McCoy shook his head.

"Nah, being tired really isn't that bad of a symptom. I can deal with it for a couple more months." He said as he was also trying to convince himself of those very facts.

"You are also in need of a routine check-up. We will go this afternoon. For now, I will get you a cup of tea and you will rest." Spock said, making some final wipes on McCoy's face before leaving. McCoy grunted, crossed his arms, and sat back against the couch. He ignored the fact that Spock was mothering him, pushing it out of his mind. He also pushed out the thought of him actually liking he and Spock being this close to each other. It was probably just the hormones talking.

"I'll prescribe you something for your sleeping issues, and I'm not going to tell anybody about it like you keep thinking that I am." M'Benga said bluntly, and McCoy ignored his tone. The other doctor was sitting down next to the biobed along with Spock, and McCoy always felt ganged up with that arrangement. It was like the two men were constantly analyzing and criticizing his every move and answer. "Now, how are you coping with the pain?" M'Benga asked, and McCoy thought about that for a moment.

"Well my ankles, knees, and lower back aren't what they used to be." He admitted, leaning back and crossing his arms. M'Benga nodded.

"Yeah, and how about the kicking? Must be pretty brutal at this phase." He said with a small, joking smile, but McCoy just blinked at him. M'Benga's face went dead serious before he asked, "The fetus IS kicking... right?"

"Uh..." McCoy coughed, looking between the two other scrutinizing gazes set at him. He could feel Spock's mixed emotions about the subject, and he knew that the Vulcan was mad. At him. "Not that I could tell." He said quickly, and it was M'Benga's turn to just sit and blink at him for a while before responding.

"You ARE a medical doctor, right McCoy? You know the stages of pregnancy. You should have felt kicking about ten weeks ago, give or take. Five weeks ago at the latest. You haven't been feeling anything? At all?" M'Benga badgered him, and McCoy glared at the man while he shook his head. "Why didn't you come see me?! You know when a fetus is supposed to-"

"Yeah but I ain't exactly flyin' with the cleanest windshield here!" McCoy said defensively, throwing his hands up. "I don't know how a Vulcan fetus goes about its stages of development and at what particular time things ought to happen. 'Specially not when said fetus is also part human, which leaves room for all sorts of abnormal things to be happening! I don't know how to do this, damn it." He ranted, and M'Benga bit his lip before he answered.

"Since the fetus is perfectly healthy- save for the lack of movement- I'm just going to leave that alone. But for now, I'm assigning the two of you homework." M'Benga announced, sitting up straighter and putting his chin up. McCoy almost wanted to flip him the bird for being so indignant. "First of all, discuss how everything is going to work from here, and talk about what's going to happen after the baby is born. You can't just cross these bridges when you get there anymore. Now is the time for planning. Also, for the love of god start thinking about what to name your kid! It's getting a little troublesome to hear you guys always say 'the fetus' when referring to your own child."

"Please, we haven't even requested that you tell us the sex yet. Names are way far off down the timeline." McCoy waved a hand dismissively, but M'Benga shot him a serious look.

"Might I remind you that your 'fetus' will be born in a little over a month's time? That's not that far off when you think about it, McCoy. Start on the baby names. And now that you've brought it up, I'm going to tell you the sex right here and now." M'Benga decided, and McCoy immediately felt nervous about the situation again. It was so real, and it made him feel some sense of impending doom...