ximilialog | (no subject)

( McCoy's fine with playing gofer if it means keeping the locals' distress levels down, and his teammates out of harm's reach. Not that he doubts either Natasha or Bucky would be in any danger per se, but discretion is the better part of valor. It's... tiring, but having got the extra time here he desired, McCoy isn't unhappy to put the work in.

Packing up clothing and gear goes easily, with minimal fuss. That's also about where the easy part ends, because as he zips this duffel closed, there's another left to fill, and so he gives his earpiece a tap, and Barnes a ring: )

Let me get this straight. You have how many weapons around here?

It ain't that many.

[Well, not compared to what's usually hidden in his room, back on Ximilia.]

Handgun behind the beside cabinet. [A somewhat distracted response before he adds-] You even asked Romanoff how many more she's got tucked away yet?

( His hum gives him away, polite disagreement as he finds the gun, checks it over with quick care, and unloads it before it goes in the bag. With a soft grunt, McCoy lowers himself to the floor, shining his light up under the mattress and around the frame. )

She there?

[Natasha doesn't hear McCoy's side of the conversation, but she does hear Bucky asking if he's asked how many weapons she's got "tucked away" and she can put together who's on the other side of the conversation.]

Enough that it wouldn't raise anyone's opinion of us if the local got the idea to search our place now that we're out of it.

[Probably a small arsenal for two people wouldn't do much to change the impression that the orbers are dangerous.]

Thanks for doing this, by the way. Let me know if you need any help finding anything.

[She's pretty sure she has at least one or two surprises even Bucky wouldn't know where to look for. Maybe she's flattering herself on that, but a girl likes to believe she's maintained one or two mysteries.]

( ah, another gun. he takes it with him- checking under the nightstand first -and clears that, then starts to strip the bed, coming up with a couple knives. )

Least I can do while you're laying low. Besides, you'd be surprised where a patient stashes somethin' they don't want their doctor to find.

( gotta keep sharp, while he combs through the rest of the room. )

How are you feeling? Anything lingering from that gas?

Nothing physical. I might not be a super soldier, but I bounce back pretty quick.

[She can't say that she cares for knowing they'd been helpless there for a time, but not much a doctor can do for that.

Well, that's not entirely true, but she won't ask for anything to help with that.]

If you're in the bedroom, there's some taser disks under the mattress. Careful with them. They're nonlethal, but they sting like a bitch and they'll slow you down.

[And more knives. She figures he'll notice those on his own.]

Glad to hear it.

( There's more sounds of his shuffling around, a quiet grunt as he lifts the mattress and takes care retrieving the disks. More knives, of course, but he's starting to expect those now, looking under chairs and beneath drawers in the desk, moving on to the bathroom. )

...under the sink? Really?

That one is Barnes'. Mine is behind the toilet.

[She says as though that makes it better. Are two guns in the bathroom really better?

After a slight pause.]

And the knife and garrote wire in the shower.

( he was easy to find when they were back at the station, the medical bay being her first port of call. after several months here moiraine now found her way around a little easier, almost like spending time in a new city, though when they spent more time off the station than on it there were still things to learn. or enjoy. and why not do that with the first person you met here?

she waits until he's looking less busy, until there are no patients for him to tend to before making herself known )

Doctor, would you walk with me?

( it's just that perfect time of day where the tasks of the morning have wound down to their natural conclusion, orbers are settled to beds or been seen to by others and are on their way out. McCoy is grateful for her presence, for the pleasant (and well-timed!) interruption and an excuse to take a breather. )

Of course, Moiraine.

[ There's some pains Sam knows. It's why despite the late hour, he's on his way to the Sim Room. Easy to find out where someone is in a confined space like the Ximilia.

Thing is, ever since Natasha, Sam's taken to monitoring their population a little more closely. He's got people he cares about deeply here - and it's both a simmering expectation of losing them one day, as well as concern for the wellbeing of people left behind by disappearances that drives him to keep an eye.

Kirk's no longer here.

Sam's never lost a husband. He's lost his almost, his maybe, his 'if he'd only lived'. It doesn't need to be the same for him to feel deeply for McCoy. And while he'd have sought the man out over any loss, maybe with any other he'd have given him more space first.

Well... who knows how long McCoy's been in here anyway.

Sam navigates the impressive ship with little attention spared for its impressive scope. Feels bad, for a moment, when he can't help but think that Bucky would probably love this.

Feels sad, for a moment, when he realizes that McCoy seeks refuge on a ship, like Sam himself does. Again - it's different. And yet.

He finds McCoy on the observation deck. Just stands still for a moment, lets himself just take in the sight of a dear friend in uniform, lit by reflection off Earth. Stands quietly at the entrance for a moment, knowing McCoy can spot him from the corner of his eyes. Lets the moment longer, gives him the opportunity to send Sam away if he'd rather be alone. When no objections come, Sam enters the room fully and moves towards the impressive window overlooking Earth.

His eyes, however, are on McCoy. ]

Hey, Doc.

( He's tired, but that isn't new. Aching, but that's familiar now, in his hands, his joints, his heart.

Across the room, the doors softly hiss open, and he glances aside when the orber comes closer, also caught in the blue-white light of Earth. )

Hey, Sam.

( McCoy fixes him with a look of concern, pushing past the heavy weight of his own grief. After all, first and foremost, he's a doctor. His own fears can wait. )

Everything all right?

You know me. If it weren't, I'd be in the infirmary tryna fix myself up, and you'd get a message from Marta complaining about it.

[ He's joking. Except they also both know it's a little bit true, at least. ]

Was actually 'bout to ask you the same question, man.

[ Seems a little more relevant from where Sam's standing. ]

Hmph.

( He smiles to himself, though it fades so fast before the pensive mood settles on him again. His hands slide into his lap, taking hold of one another, rubbing sore thumbs into sore palms the light glinting off his wedding band. )

You're here about Jim.

Yeah.

[ He's not gonna pretend different. But he is going to reach out, curl his hand over McCoy's. Sam's got a worker's hands made warm and soft with lotion. Good for comfort. ]

Talk to me.

He's fine.

( Leonard, however, does not sound fine, even as he very gently shifts so he can cover Sam's hand with his own. )

He's home. He's safe. What more could I ask for?

( Here, says the look on his face, He could still be here. )

Time.

[ Softly. It's what Sam wanted most of when his mother wasted away to sickness slowly but surely. It's what he wanted more of when a car accident took his father.

It's what he needed to rewind and stop when he saw Riley light up in the sky like a shooting star. Falling and dying just as quickly. Kirk's not dead, sure, but... He's not here. Like your best friend gone time travelling and taking the long way back.

If only to have another moment's worth with someone you love. If only.

Sam squeezes McCoy's hand a little. Watches the man grasp him back. Wishes he could turn the clock for him. Give him just another moment. It's not always as painless as people think, to know someone you love is out there alive - but no longer with you. No longer within your reach. ]

He's your husband. There's nothing you couldn't ask for.

[ And they know, don't they. That back home, they don't remember. They know they're living on borrowed time here. With people long dead. Building relationships that will wink out like shooting stars, too, the moment they go home. ]

( Patients and their families always asked him for more time, as if he had it in his power to weave more hours from the ether with a hypospray, a laser scalpel, some cutting edge procedure he devised on the spot.

It was Time that he agonized over after his father's passing. His father hadn't asked for more time when he was the one in perpetual torment; he wanted to be done with it, to pass peacefully on his own terms, and trusted his son to see it done. When the cure was announced and his comm lit up with friends, colleagues, the second wave of sympathy choked him: I'm sorry; if only he hadn't passed so soon; if only you had more time.

He wove out time for Jim because of his father; demanded it from the universe when Jim was dead and all the light in his life threatened to wink out with him, because somewhere in the cosmos the scales were unbalanced and Leonard finally, finally had it in his power to correct them.

The Ximilia, too, has been time spun from nothing, something they never could have dreamed of, and all the heartache and stress and near-misses were surmountable because they were together.

Could Leonard really beg for more time, when he knows that Jim would have to watch him die? )

No.

( His hands are soft in Sam's, belied by their strength, by the indomitable will behind them, as Leonard is calm and resolute. )

If what we've had is all that we were meant to have, then I'm grateful for it. I've asked for enough.

[ There's something here, in this moment between the two of them. With a quiet, simulated galaxy around them, and a vast one out there around the Ximilia too. Nearly 60 souls aboard, all a cosmos of stories and emotions of their own. And right here and now, it doesn't matter how vast all of it is. Sam feels like they're holding all that matters in the small spaces between their hands. The rest is distant.

And there's a beauty in that too, one that Sam knows well. In celebrating what you had even when you can't hold in. In watching shooting stars wink out, unable to hold them in the sky. Watching snow melt and watching the tide take sand castles.

Winking out of existence and missing five years.

What do they accept, and what do they fight for, whatever it takes? ]

Tell me what you're not telling me.

[ He can't shield McCoy from what he's lost and what he's carrying. But he can be here for him. He can share that time that's slipped away from his dear friend where it mattered oh so very much. ]

I'm dying, Sam.

( It's the first time he's said it out loud, having couched the truth before in the gentlest terms possible. Sam gets it bluntly delivered, straightforward, as if he's delivering the news to a colleague he wishes to consult. )

I found out back on E-23b, when I started getting sick. ( He shrugs, McCoy's back straight and his shoulders square in sheer defiance, his next remark unflinching: ) The upside of having your own clinic is you get to diagnose yourself with a terminal illness no one on that world's ever heard of before.

( Because he knows Sam will ask, McCoy continues, )

It's called Xenopolythycemia, it's an extremely rare genetic blood disease, with no known cure. Just palliative care, symptom management for the year or so it takes to runs its course.

[ For a moment it feels like McCoy's next words just turn to static in Sam's mind, and he has trouble following. It's so much worse than if he'd said 'You're dying, Sam.' Because while Sam's absolutely not gonna make this about him, it hits that wound inside his chest that just never ever heals, the wound that holds Riley, Steve, Nat, Tony, and is already preparing to hold Bucky, too. Friends and partners he's lost. Some of them several times over.

McCoy is dying. McCoy lost his husband and McCoy is dying.

Sam's fingers prickle, go a little numb. He quietly rises from his seat, drops down beside McCoy instead and draws him closer, into a half-hug with one arm that allows him to keep holding onto McCoy's hand. ]

I'm sorry.

[ It goes without saying, but it's worth saying. Sam swallows. ]

What do you need?

[ Because he'll have it, whatever it is. For whatever exact time they have together... McCoy's got Sam in his corner for whatever it is he needs going forwards. ]

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Bucky - audio;

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Sim Room | Back on the Station

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cw for terminal illness, death, assisted suicide

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