"We're holding up as best as we can." Nate said, refusing to put the focus on himself lest that mess on his inside actually manage to spill out, and at the same time, learning not to say 'I'm fine' to Sophie Deveraux. His eyes flickered to the coffee in her hand and the bag, more than likely filled with toys. And for the first time all day, he wanted to smile. Nate didn't think he had it in him at the moment, but there was a slight curve of his lips, that grew slighter still when she introduced herself to Sam.
The man that approached them wasn't Leonard "Bones" McCoy. Not the way that Nate knew him, and it was only the fact of alternate selves that kept him from demanding another doctor or walking away. Because really? He didn't have time to waste on some quack-job claiming to be someone he wasn't. Not considering the fact that someone claiming to be McCoy in and of itself was strange, not anymore at least. Though Nate could admit there was more than a passing resemblance.
He didn't correct McCoy on the assumption of Sophie being his wife. It was like sliding into an easy and ... strangely familiar?, role. And he saw no reason to. Correcting him wasn't going to make Sam any better.
"What he said." Nate said, after Sam. He had no doubt that he'd been the one to practice the words and information with his son. Sam had a right to know. When he said his three words, he waited, just like his son was. To be told that it couldn't, wouldn't, be done. Because of the damned insurance.