multiversallogs | the sky's so clear and the sun's so bright. how can anything go wrong on a day like this?

One night, there's a bit of a commotion at the front door. A young lady arrives, carrying a large bag of dog kibble. Clearly, from the way half the temple dogs mob her, they know her... or at least, they know what it means when someone arrives with one of these bags.

"Oh, my goodness," she says as she comes in, laughing, "come on now, ladies and gentlemen, calm down. I'm happy to see y'all too but I need to get in the door, all right? The sooner I can get to a bowl, the sooner I can share."

Of course, to the excited dogs, this is all so much nonsense. After a minute she more or less gives up, setting the bag down. She looks up, spies McCoy as the nearest person, and calls out, politely, "Excuse me. Would you mind making sure they don't tear this open while I find the bowls? I don't think I can get through without more ruckus if I try to carry this bag around."

McCoy glances up from a young man whose badly burned hand is benefiting from a generous round with his dermal regenerator, and takes in the attractive young lady who has brought in a big bag of kibble. Sometimes, he thinks, there are other perks to charity work.

"Yeah, I'll keep an eye on it," he replies, straightening up and brushing the dust off his jeans. "Hope you won't be gone long; I'm only one man and these dogs are hungry."

"I just need to get across the room," she declares brightly, stepping gracefully, high heels and all, over a couple of small dogs. "I didn't plan this out very well, I should've grabbed the bowls first, then brought the food."

There are some bowls stacked near other supplies by the far wall, and she fetches those. She studies McCoy's face as she comes back--it's a pleasant enough once-over, warm smile still in place, but inwardly she's trying to place his face. And she comes up empty, and that's nice. No dire warnings or nonsensical information to dish out tonight, it seems.

"Thank you." She lines the bowls up on the floor and sets to work opening the bag. And then, to make polite conversation: "I haven't been coming here long but I don't recall seeing you here before. Are you a doctor?"

McCoy admires a woman who can navigate so well in heels that high. Not that he's ever been in them himself, but he's seen more than one girl who can barely balance herself in them, or walking that uniquely stiff and awkward walk one only sees in a pair of shoes that one isn't comfortable in. He misses the once-over, too busy doling out scratches and pets and gentle no, be goods and keeping the dogs away from the big bag of food.

At her question, he glances over. "Yeah. Dr. Leonard McCoy. You are?"

Wait until you see her run in them, McCoy.

Ava's glad for his fussing over the dogs; it keeps them occupied while she starts doling out the food, but more than that--seriously. Any person who can drop everything to love on some dogs is a worthwhile human being. She fills up the bowls and rolls down the top of the bag. And then she closes the distance between them carefully dodging all the tails wagging at the ends of dogs excited to be eating, offering McCoy her hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Dr. McCoy. I'm Ava Lockhart. I started coming here--well, here and a couple of the other temples, in different parts of the city--a few weeks ago. I'm not a medical professional or anything. I just wanted to do what I could to help."

"These places can use all the help they can get." He wipes his hand on his jeans, awkwardly (dogs are adorable, but goddamn do they get slobbery when they're excited) before taking her hand and shaking it. "Nice to see people helping out. They appreciate it." He nods to the dogs, who very clearly appreciate the kibble.

"Yes, I've noticed that." She may have started coming here with an ulterior motive--and she still has it--but she's found herself caught up in the actual problems the temples face. "I can help the dogs without medical knowledge. And if you do need some help, I've gotten good at getting blankets and water, and holding things."

...That last is said entirely straight-faced. She's not making a joke or being self-deprecating, she... honestly can hold things and do it well.

An eyebrow goes up, and McCoy resists the urge to stick a finger in his ear to see if an inconvenient blockage of earwax is making up words out of whole cloth and inserting them into conversations to see if he notices. (Earwax can probably do that, too. It's a sneaky sonuvabitch.)

"Did you just say that you were good at holding things?"

"Yes."

...No, McCoy, it's not ear wax.

"Instruments and things. My mother is a dermatologist. I used to help her out in her practice, sometimes. When she needed it."

That perhaps makes a little more sense. Slightly. Forgive her; she sometimes forgets things aren't always evident outside her own head.

"Oh." That actually makes more sense. "I was trying to figure out what life situations one has to be in to discover a unique talent for holding things." He shakes his head. "It's good to know that then, Miss Lockhart. I know I could use an extra pair of hands sometimes around here."

"I do what I can."

Also, holding things gets her closer to ill patients. On the off chance that she might catch something and take ill herself. She's determined to trigger another set of visions.

"Do you need anything right now?"

He considers. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to have you holding my medkit while I'm working. Swings around a lot, and I have to be careful not to hit people with it. You won't run off, now, will you?"

"You have my word, I won't run off with your kit." She smiles. "I'm happy to help, if that's what you need. Just show me what to do."

He takes off the medkit and holds it out to her. "Just hang onto it, and don't touch anything unless I ask you to. Hold it as good as you can, okay?"

"Yes, Dr. McCoy."

She smiles, earnest, and takes the medkit. She doesn't put it on like he had it on; she gives it a quick glance, and then she holds it in both her hands, so that he can get into it easily if he needs to.

As he looks around the room, settling on an older woman, he glances at Ava, holding that medkit with all her might, and a brief smile touches his lips. "Almost like being back in medbay," he comments, crossing the room and kneeling next to her, clicking his tricorder back on. "Nurse Chapel's a damn fine holder too, but she'd probably slap me if I called her that."

She follows, dutiful, taking a moment to tuck her skirt in modestly before kneeling beside McCoy. "Medbay?" she asks, glancing down and offering a reassuring (she hopes) smile to the woman being examined. "You and Nurse Chapel don't work in a private practice or at a hospital, then?"

He shakes his head, clicking the tricorder out of sleep mode and beginning an overall sweep of her body. "We work on the starship Enterprise. I'm the CMO, she's my head nurse."

"A starship! My goodness." She looks McCoy over, still smiling. "But you're from Earth, aren't you? You sound like it. Actually, you sound like my momma's relatives, from Augusta and Alpharetta."

There's a faint twitching at the corners of his lips. "I'm from Atlanta. Nice to meet someone else from the area."

"I'm not personally," she says, shaking her head. "I've visited a fair amount because my aunts and uncles are there. I grew up in Virginia. Just barely. Arlington, which might as well be Washington, DC. But I'm pretty familiar with some parts of Georgia."

"I've been to DC before," McCoy says, pausing at a spot on the woman's body and frowning at his tricorder. "Nice city. Really well-designed."

"It is, yes. The grid system works really well for knowing where things are, even if you aren't familiar with the city."

He pauses and frowns, and she wonders if something's wrong. She doesn't want to ask and risk upsetting the patient.

"I take it that scanner of yours came with you? When you got here. Most everyone seems to have arrived with something from home."

He nods, examining the readout before running it over the patient's body again, making a note of something before moving on. "It's a tricorder. We use them to make diagnoses."

She nods. And then she turns her attention to McCoy's patient for a moment. It must be terrible, she thinks, to have nowhere else to go for help, to have to come here and hope someone can. How fortunate that someone can, tonight.

She offers the woman a little smile and she reaches for one of her hands, touching the back of it briefly. Anything she can do try to ease things for her.

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