The corner of his mouth drags up in wry amusement, and he obliges her. Bones launches into a brief lecture on the topic of neural grafting, long enough for them to reach the clinic and the other small assortment of settlements that have sprung up, protection against the bitterly cold night.

McCoy indicates she should precede him inside– the front room, once an exam room, is stacked with various supplies they've been scavenging, a few he checks over with the sweep of his light.

"Back there," he points to another door, where past that is the dilapidated lab space, now hosting their makeshift sleeping pallets, near the squat black iron furnace along the back wall. "I got extra clothes in my go bag- they'll swamp you, but they're clean. Gimme a sec and I'll have a fire goin'."