Leonard McCoy has seen a great many things in his years as a doctor in Starfleet. This isn’t the CMO’s first rodeo with aggressive alien fungi, presently attached to crew members or otherwise. But he has to give Stamets some credit…. Bones has never seen someone argue so damned fervently in defense of the very thing that’s killing him.

          “Lieutenant Commander—” McCoy snaps, his tone of voice suggesting he’s reached the end of a very short tether. “Need I remind you, you’re not in charge here. So shut yer trap and let my nurses do their jobs. Or would you rather I just dump you in the sonic sterilization pod.”

            Based on the sharp angle of Leonard’s eyebrows, it’s unlikely that he’s making idle threats. Still grumbling beneath his breath, the CMO squints at the bio-function monitor stationed below the sensor cluster. He’s still yet to determine whether the lichen steadily growing across Paul’s skin is mutualistic or parasitic in nature, and he’d rather not wait for the Lt. Commander’s autonomic functions to shut down to find out.

Paul was a scientist first and foremost. He was not a ‘Starfleet Man’, whatever that really entailed, he hadn’t been put through the Academy to learn it. To feel it. He’d been plucked up along with his life’s work to aid the war efforts. Needless to say, he was not good at taking orders. Not even a little. Yet with the doctor’s stern tone and the look on his face, Paul bit his tongue. Literally, chomped down on the tip of it to calm himself the fuck down.

Maybe it was the lightheaded feeling ebbing its way behind his eyes but Stamets just wasn’t up for as much arguing as he might usually be. “Alright. Alright. I’m sorry,” he said quickly, hands up in surrender. “This place makes me antsy.” And sad but Paul refused to get into that. Refused to point out that McCoy, while he was during a superb job he was sure, was not the doctor that usually would care for him.