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Bones McCoy is having a decidedly un-entertaining night. What was going to be a nice break from a ship that is becoming increasingly tense with their long-delayed shore leave being delayed once again has turned into a night of outbreak control and trauma injuries. He has just finished with a girl who managed to give herself one hell of a concussion on top of hearing loss, signing his name to orders to keep her down and quiet for at least a day of observation.

Now, where's that boy that came in with her?

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"No, but it was the worst night of my life, bar none," he says quietly, and goosebumps pop up on his arms as he shudders. "And, really... everyone else handled it so much better than I did."

Autor takes a moment more to pluck at the blanket, frowning at it. "As for your new concerns, would you please quit baiting me with leading questions?"

Edited 2013-10-28 04:07 (UTC)

"I'm sorry you feel I am baiting you, Autor. I assure you that isn't my intention." McCoy replies solemnly. "Usually this part comes first - last night wasn't a very traditional visit."

Autor resists the temptation to sass the man. It's not difficult; he feels wonderful, physically, but the rest of him crumples as easy as a dead man's skull under the librarian's thick book.

"So what is 'this part'?" he asks. "I've seen Guppy for bronchitis, but other than that I haven't been to any modern physicians."

"We try to get to know our patients in my time - it helps me make sure I know what is needed, and provide a more holistic approach to care." McCoy replies calmly. "For example, it will help me find out why you're were so horribly anemic - another few days, and you wouldn't have needed the zombies, son."

Autor's thoughts waft around in his brain like cigarette smoke--What, you don't have any theories? Even with all of your technology, sufficiently advanced?--but he snuffs them out.

"Zombies?" he asks, blinking. "Is that what they're called? Oswin mentioned something like that, once. Ellen, too, but I didn't think..."

Autor trails off, and then flicks his tongue, trying to remove the taste of one in particular. "I haven't run into a vampire," he says reluctantly, turning to the blanket again. "But I am a vegetarian? So that probably has a lot to do with it."

"What made you decide to become a vegetarian? I take it this wasn't a cultural choice, or you wouldn't have a problem creating balanced meals - the knowledge would be ubiquitous." Bones observes, curious.

Autor frowns again, clearly disapproving of Bones' interrogation into his personal choices. "I met people here who offered a new definition of cruelty," he says. "For the most part, animals can't fight back, and yet we still kill them, and eat them. They may as well be toddlers"--no don't think don't think it was already dead--"for all they understand."

Then he winces, pulling a knee up to his chest. "Ah, please don't tell Sunshine about my diet. I'll never hear the end of it."

Edited 2013-10-28 05:10 (UTC)

"Autor... I hope you know, nothing you say here will ever be repeated. I do not report to anyone, and my records are kept in my own personal lockbox, here in Milliways." McCoy replies seriously, stepping out of his role of healer for a moment. "No matter what you do or say, no one will hear it from me."

Autor raises a brow. "There are telepaths, you know," the boy says, tapping his foot on the bed. "And a singularly determined person could follow you rather easily." Not to mention cameras, soon. "But I don't doubt your sincerity, which is refreshing. Thank you."

He allows his foot to dangle off of the edge of the bed again. "In any case, you've your theory, and I've been treated. Quite well, in fact. May I leave?"

Bones frowns - and makes a gut decision. Olga might mock him for those, but he's found that fairly often he's right on those. He'd rather cut the kid some slack now, and maintain that sliver of trust in case the kid gets in trouble again later, than hold his ground for a complete diagnosis and treatment now.

"Let me get you some guidelines on acceptable meals, Autor - you can't go on as you have been, or eventually you'll give yourself a deficiency I can't fix." He stands, tucking the file under his arm as he steps over to the computer and pulls up the handouts section.

"Wait, really?" Autor blurts out before he can stop himself. "I appreciate that, Dr. McCoy."

Fluid pumps removed and handouts accepted, Autor shoulders his bag. With a nod to the doctor, the boy flies out to the bar to pick up an 'acceptable meal', comfy infirmary pajamas be damned. Really, this is the best he's felt in months, and he's starving.

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