This fic was written for Trektober 2023 Day 4. The prompt was 'Other Trek Crossover'.
Rubbing at a crick in his neck, McCoy lowers the padd in his right hand and opens the sickbay doors. He raises the padd again. Spock had sent a new medical study, sponsored by Starfleet, over examinations into how the cold has become the most prevalent disease throughout the ages. It was a rather dry research paper. Leonard stifles a yawn and stretches his neck.
"What the fuck!"
Suppressing a roll of his eyes, McCoy lets go of his deck and drops the padd. "Now listen here, I understand-" His lecture is cut off mid-sentence as he sees a fur-covered, cat person standing in the midst of his sickbay. While the bright orange tones in her fur were eye-catching the Starfleet medical uniform she sports is what McCoy focuses on.
Whoever she was, the stranger was currently in the middle of jumping up and down. Her fists swing wildly at the ceiling, as her ears press down against her head. A string of obscenities left her mouth as naturally as air.
McCoy walks backward out of sickbay. As closes the door in front of him, he checks his vitals. All clear. Which means this couldn't possibly be a hallucination. Then again, this is the Enterprise. Who knows what space craziness has found them down? Bones opens the door again. As the door slides open he finds himself face to face with the other doctor.
Her large, round, yellow cat eyes contract. "Holy shit! I'm stuck in the past!" Quickly, she turns on her heels. She grabs her head with both hands and lets out a very loud, frustrated scream.
If she's from the future then they really shouldn't talk. Damn curiosity. He has to ask. "And how does my face tell you that?"
"You're-" T'ana wags her finger. "Nuh-uh. You're not gonna catch me altering the future." She turns and looks back at the ceiling, "Now Tendi, get me out of here!"
While she was distracted Bones picked up a tricorder. McCoy takes a scan of her. She hisses and swipes at the machine. Bones deftly sweeps it away from her reach. "Well, you're not insane, though you definitely need to catch up on your vaccinations."
"Of course, I don't have the ones required for this time. They're archaic in mine!"
McCoy raises an eyebrow. That earns a grin from the stranger. He almost asks, what's so amusing, but bites back the sarcasm.
If she's stuck here they might as well get settled in. "Well then, would you mind an archaic drink?" McCoy strides into his office.
T'ana looks suspicious but ultimately agrees. "Fine. Not like your alcohol can kill me." She follows him in.
He smiles at that. "It might." The door shuts as he pulls out one of the extra bottles he keeps in his bottom desk drawer.
"Oh, you got jokes!" The other doctor shouts, a little too loudly.
McCoy tilts his head away from her to save his poor ears. A lot of good that may do him. He fills the two glasses each halfway. "Considering how bizarre this whole situation is," He passes her a half-filled glass. "I've got them in spades."
The two sit at McCoy's desk. Strangely, T'ana seemed rather chatty for someone from the future. She seemed well aware of certain topics to dance around. Though her propensity for going on rants between refills leads her to dangerous waters occasionally. Leonard can always tell when she almost says something she shouldn't because out of nowhere she clamps her mouth shut and gives him a glare. It's usually accompanied by, "Oh hoho you almost got me there," or "Not today McCoy!"
They were well through the first bottle when what looked like a transporter's lights started to form around her.
Recognizing the beam, she leaps up, grinning at the ceiling. Her excitement is quickly replaced with shock. Her head snaps back towards McCoy and he cringes. You'd never catch him moving so much in the middle of a beam. "Oh shit, my name is Dr. T'ana."
She throws her hand out, pointing at him with a sharp claw. "Make sure you remember that! Send me something cool in the future would ya? Save it with someone until I'm on the Cerritos! Star date 58759.1!"
Bones takes a long, final sip of his glass. As the last of the cold liquor washes down his throat, warming him considerably, he lets out a sigh. As his visitor's words hit true, confusion fills his foggy mind. "When will stardates start having 6 numbers before the point?" He asks the decorated walls of his office. Empty cup still in hand.
If Jim and Spock were here they'd know. Though Spock could probably math it out faster.