#ghostofvulcan

No doubt Bones was going to flip when he realized Jim had made it out of his bedroom and begun wandering the halls in the dead of the 'night'. But it's not like Jim could help it this time. He was out of his mind with delirium, whatever viral infection he'd picked up from that fruit digging it's claws in deep and raring it's ugly head. Jim was dying. Oh yes. If it wasn't the skin cancer that got him, it'd be the pneumonia. Of course Jim didn't have skin cancer or pneumonia, but good luck telling him that when he was in this state of mind. Sweat is making his pajamas stick to his tanned skin, and he's holding his arms tight around himself. Cold, he's so fucking cold. That was probably the tuberculosis. Yes, Jim had tuberculosis too. In his mind he was riddled with diseases and knocking on Heaven's door.

"Privet!" Chekov greeted cheerily, the Russian directed more to his comrades than those he didn't recognize. He turned in his chair to give a wave in accompanyment.