Chapter Text
STARDATE 2258.225
6 months after the destruction of Vulcan, The Enterprise’s repairs are finally completed and its crew ready to serve under their captain on new missions. By now, things have slowed down enough at the hospital that he’s actually looking forward to getting back out there, if only for something more interesting to do.
Moving into his quarters feels weird , though.
The first time everyone had boarded the Enterprise had been in panic; there wasn’t any time to prepare or pack, and Leonard bets that anyone who had the luxury of collapsing into a bunk during that mess hadn’t really paid much attention to it. Fresh out of the academy, you’re not likely to bring a whole lot, moving into a starship-- there’s only so much room for you when you’re living among a crew of four-hundred-odd other people.
But Leonard’s also the CMO, which gives him private accommodations and plenty of space for the personal belongings he doesn’t really have much of: all that’s in his bag are some pajamas, some photos and framed holovids, and a few bottles of booze, for special occasions, when the replicator won’t suffice.
He’s exploring the room, which honestly looks pretty pathetic with how little stuff he’s got to fill it with, when he hears the sound of a door opening coming from behind the door that leads to his bathroom.
Leonard recalls faintly that it’s impractical to give even senior officers private bathrooms with such limited space, and when he realizes he’s gonna have to share with some poor sap who might run into first-thing-in-the-morning, extra grumpy Leonard H. McCoy, he grimaces. Better to bite the bullet and find out who he’ll be sharing a sink with now rather than later, he figures, before knocking politely.
The door opens from the other side before he can do it himself, and who should stand there but the ship’s Chief Engineer and his newest drinking buddy, Montgomery Scott?
“Would’ya look at that!” The man grins. “Fancy seeing you hereabouts, Lenny-- looks like we’re gonna be neighbors!”
“Well, howdy-doo, yourself, Mr. Scott.” Leonard drawls, but he’s grinning too, bouncing slightly on his toes. “Hope you don’t mind seein’ this pretty face every day ‘round here.”
“Dear me, I dunno that I’ll survive,” Scotty laughs merrily, eyes twinkling, and leans against the doorframe, “But I’ll certainly do my best to endure.”
STARDATE 2258.228
For the first time in months, Leonard is back to spending a lot of his time with Jim. There’s only so much room on a starship, and as captain and CMO, the two of them fall back into their old place at each other’s side. Protocol doesn’t really call for the CMO’s presence on the bridge, but there’s only so much to do in sickbay when there are no injured crewmen, and Jim seems to enjoy it when Leonard pays him a visit and rants about the dangers of space harshly enough to scare some of the younger ensigns.
On some days, once their shift finishes, if Jim’s not already got plans to play three-dimensional chess with Spock, he invites Leonard over to his quarters for a drink, and it almost feels like they’re cadets again, decompressing in their dorm after a long week of classes.
They don’t talk about the time they spent apart back on earth, not at first, not until a few days into their first journey-- Jim’s off duty, and Leonard’s finishing up a shift in the medbay, when he waltzes in, a bottle of aged Georgia bourbon in his hands and a sly grin plastered across his face.
Lord help him, Leonard can’t help smiling right back.
Jim says, “C’mon, Bones, have a drink with me,” and it’s not a command, but he follows without pause to the captain’s quarters, and sits across from his friend by the window that shows the vast expanse of space, as cold and infinite as ever.
“God, Bones, it’s been so long.” Jim whines while pouring out two glasses. “When was the last time we just sat down and talked ? Did I miss anything while Pike dragged me through protocols and stuffy meetings?”
“Nothin’ for you to miss,” he says, but after a moment, he turns serious. “Jim… Those protocols are what’ll keep us alive on this deathtrap. You ain’t a cadet anymore, you’re our captain, and I know we’ve already been through it some with Nero, but this is your life now, and I trust you to take it seriously.”
“Yeah. I know.” Jim sighs, threading his fingers together and resting his chin where they’re intertwined. “I always said I’d be captain of my own starship, that I’d get it quick, but still it feels… it feels really soon.”
“You’ve already proven to us all that you’re a damn good captain.” Leonard tells him, after a beat of silence. He drags his thumb across the side of his glass, averting his eyes to avoid locking with Jim’s. “You were caught off guard when it fell into your hands, but command looks good on you, Jim… I know I call you ‘kid,’ sometimes, but you pull it together when it counts, and from now on, it’s always gonna count. A captain’s gotta be responsible for everything his ship does, and for all my whingin’ about you and responsibility, there’s nobody I’d rather follow into the black.”
Jim looks unsure, wringing his hands together when Leonard finally meets his eyes, and Leonard reaches across the table to grab one of Jim’s hands resolutely in his own.
It feels like he’s laying his soul bare between them, like he’s finally revealing that part of himself he’s always hidden from his best friend, but he carries on.
“Now, I’m not captain, so I can’t fully understand, but I know it’s heavy, having our lives on your back. I won’t ever really know what you’re going through, but let me help you. I’m your damn CMO, for pity’s sake, and this crew’s lives are on my hands near as much as yours. Let me share your burden, Jim. You’re not in this alone.”
“Bones…” Jim’s grip tightens on Leonard’s, and his eyes are a little shiny when he finally smiles. “Thank you. I don’t… I’d be lost without you.”
Leonard returns the expression, eyes crinkling, and squeezes Jim’s hand gently back. “Damn right, you would be.”
STARDATE 2258.234
Leonard continues as he always has, between work and Jim and his body’s basic needs, but something feels missing, and so on a slow day, with nothing much happening as the ship travels through space, he knocks on the door that connects Scotty’s room to their shared bathroom, a case of fabricated beers under his arm.
Scotty opens the door, looking smug, but it doesn’t have the same effect with a smudge of grease sitting above his brow.
“S’about time ye showed yer face ‘round here Len.” He moves out of the doorway and back into his own room, grabbing an unmarked bottle off of a nearby shelf along the way. “C’mon in, then! What’s our Lady Enterprise’s primary doctor up to these days?”
---
It becomes a routine: Grabbing lunch or dinner with Jim when their shifts align, feeling that pleasant rush of warmth that comes with Jim’s bright grin aimed in his direction. Bitching about in the medbay when an ensign comes in with some boneheaded injury. Drinking with Scotty on Thursdays again and indulging in holovid network atrocities to their professions that they love to hate. Visiting the bridge and inevitably ending up in an explosive argument with Spock. Frantically patching up the away team when whatever they were doing inevitably blows up in their faces. Being stupid-in-love with Jim and trying desperately to squash that down. Calling his ma every now and again to say hello and reassure her he’s still alive.
It’s not perfect, but it’s not all bad either. Leonard thinks he can get used to this.
STARDATE 2258.241
They drink in Leonard’s room for once, after an incident with an intruder, a poorly timed phaser blast, and one of the more sentient plants that Sulu’s smuggled aboard the ship somehow worms its way into Scotty’s quarters.
Scotty takes one look at the bare walls, empty shelves, and complete and utter lack of personalization and crows, “Oh, Lenny, this is just sad .”
Leonard swats his arm irritably. Scotty improvises a requiem for his friend’s poor, depressing soul. He begins to carry it on a tune, dashes back into his mess of a room to grab his bagpipes before Leonard even understands what’s happening, and Leonard can’t even be mad anymore-- he’s too busy trying to stop laughing long enough to catch his breath.
---
After that, things start showing up in his room.
Obviously, it’s Scotty’s doing. Any time the engineer ends up beamed down on an away mission, Leonard can expect to find some souvenir added to the growing collection on his shelf.
Scotty pretends to be oblivious, asking where the things came from and acting like he’s got nothing to do with it, and in turn Leonard pretends to believe him.
He grumbles about every new doo-dad and thingamajig and weird rock that joins the pile while they stand next to each other brushing their teeth in the morning, but he’s grateful, and he knows Scotty can tell.
STARDATE 2258.283
He doesn’t find out until October that Scotty’s birthday happened way back in March, the day after Scotty had found him in that bar, and he chews the guy out for it, cracks open one of his special bottles of whiskey from the good ol’ south.
Honestly? Leonard doesn’t remember much of what happened afterwards, because he’d made it his mission to get the both of them absolutely plastered to the tune of some old, twenty-second-century car chase film that Scotty insists is actually good.
Everything that he can recall, after the whiskey ran out and Scotty unpacked a flagon of some possibly-illegal, eerily vibrant alien drink that made Leonard feel like his brain was melting out through his ears, is hazy at best.
He wakes up with a confirmation that, yeah, his brain’s still intact, but it feels like the cars from the movie rolled right over it with their fancy tires. Leonard groans blearily, then cringes at the way the vibrations of it ring through his aching skull, rolls over to lay an arm across his eyes, and promptly falls out of Scotty’s bed.
“Ow-- son of a bitch !” he grumbles from where he’s laid out on the floor. Everything hurts and he must be dying. Distantly, he registers the sound of someone else grousing awake from somewhere vaguely above-and-behind-to-the-left.
“Ach,” Scotty says. Whatever follows that is completely unintelligible, his friend’s accent thicker than ever, and his own brain too scrambled to decipher what the hell he just heard.
“Good god, man. What the fuck did we drink last night?”
“I dunno, but it was expensive, and it was green .” Scotty has the gall to laugh, but it quickly turns into a noise of pain. “Oh, my poor head! Are we dead? I think I died.”
“Yeah, sure.” Leonard mumbles, face still pressed against the pleasant cold of the floor. “I diagnose you with dead. That’s m’professional doctor’s opinion. Prescribin’ bed rest for the both of us until further notice.”
“Can I get that in writing? ‘Cause I wouldnae like to face Commander Spock when he asks where I was during my duty shift.”
“Yeah, whatever. I ain’t gonna make it to my shift either. Sure as hell ain’t gonna be movin’ anytime soon.” Leonard gripes. “Fuck, we’re never doing this again. No more unknown alien booze on your birthday, you hear me, Scotty?”
“Aye, loud an’ clear. Next time I’ll make sure ta label it first.” Scotty answers, shuffling atop the bed. A pillow thwumps down to the floor next to Leonard, followed by a soft fleece over-blanket, and he takes them gratefully, gets comfy and decides to deal with Spock and their truancy later, falling back asleep to the sound of Scotty’s snoring.
---
Spock tracks them down swiftly and chews the both of them out a few hours later, Jim hot on his tail. Apparently, “dead” was an illogical diagnosis, seeing as both of them are still alive, and therefore did not excuse them from duty. Jim does a piss-poor job at hiding his snickering behind his hand at the sight of Leonard all groggy and hungover on the floor and a bleary-eyed Scotty sprawled across the bed with his torso hanging off the edge.
It’s not until later, when they’ve both taken a hangover hypo and gone back to their duties with the promise of working well into the gamma shift to compensate, that Leonard realizes that at some point in the night, he must’ve had to have tumbled into Scotty’s bed first in order to have fallen out of it afterwards.
STARDATE 2258.297
Leonard ends up telling Scotty about his dad one night, when he’s feeling a little extra sorry for himself.
They’re on the subject of childhood and he finds himself sharing the story of when he’d fractured his wrist when he was six from falling out of a tree and his father had worn a cast in commiseration after some of his classmates at school picked on him for it.
A few weeks from now is the anniversary of the day Leonard had prematurely pulled the plug, when he should have decided to just hold out a little bit longer. He draws his knees up to his chest and tells Scotty about how his dad was sick and in agony every single day, lying there on that hospital bed, how he couldn’t do anything about it until his father had begun to beg Leonard to end it, put him out of his misery, and how he’d given in, believing it to be a mercy to a dying man.
And then he tells Scotty about how just a few weeks later, a hospital across the country had developed a cure, and how his mother had scorned him for jumping the gun and how it sent him spiraling into destroying his marriage and losing his daughter.
Scotty doesn’t bother with platitudes. There’s no “I’m sorry for your loss,” or “it wasn’t your fault,” and Leonard’s glad-- he’s always hated hearing that. Instead, Scotty begins to tell him a story.
“When I was just a lad, back in Aberdeen--” he starts softly, purses his lips a little, like he’s got to think about what he says next. “It was around Christmastime, we were out for a festival an’ I wasn’t feeling so well after goin’ on one o’ the rides.”
Leonard doesn’t know where this is going, but he nods carefully for Scotty to proceed.
“So there I was, nine years old and clutchin me tum’ and looking green as all the bloody Christmas trees, and this man overhears me mum asking me if I feel sick. He comes on over, and introduces himself, says he’s a doctor, and offers to give me a looksie just in case.” Scotty pauses again, looking like he’s reconsidering starting this story at all, but he shakes his head and presses on. “Now, this nice doctor fellow-- David, he’d said his name was, he’d come to Aberdeen with his young laddie, a wee little thing named Leo, terribly shy, he was. And Doctor David told me n’ mum that he thought his little Leo would make a great doctor, but the laddie only shook his wee little head, said ‘e wanted ta be somethin’ else, a bricklayer or a mechanic-- and now, wouldn’t that be somethin’-- or even a--”
“A moon shuttle conductor.” Leonard finishes for him, incredulous. “ I remember that... you were that kid-- oh my god , what are the chances?”
He inhales shakily, presses at his eyes with the heels of his hands and his shoulders shake and Scotty lays a warm hand on his back, furrowed brows audible in his voice as he says, “Hey, now, I’m sorry, Len, I shouldn’tae brought it up--” and then Leonard bursts into laughter.
He manages to stop, for a moment, but looks at Scotty and his comically startled expression, feels that hand still steady on the small of his back and can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him again. Before long, Scotty’s joined him in that joyful guffaw of his, and while he knows that the man’s only laughing at the absurdity of Leonard’s own unexpected laughter, he can’t find it in himself to be upset.
“Yer right, Lenny, this is funny. I cannae believe you ever wanted to be a bloody bricklayer !” Scotty cackles when they’ve both finally managed to settle down, and that just sets him off again, wheezing slightly and leaning into Scotty.
It’s kind of incredible, how quickly his mood has improved. Right now, he doesn’t feel that familiar ache of guilt or grief in the pit of his stomach or the hollow of his chest.
Right now, there’s only him and Scotty, a sure presence, solid and still laughing merrily, by his side.
STARDATE 2258.304
Scotty’s built a fucking distillery in their bathtub, overnight. Leonard catches him red-handed when he stumbles in one morning to brush his teeth.
Turns out that Scotty had run out of their good, un-replicated booze the day before, aside from the really good scotch, which he's reserved for special occasions only. He’d also discovered that the shit alcohol you could get from the replicator could indeed be improved via classic, twentieth century prohibition bootlegging methods. And so, as a masterful engineer who’s managed several miraculous contraptions that’ve saved their asses with little more than a paperclip and some electrical tape, Scotty’s managed to build a fully-functional moonshine brewery inside the confines of their small bathroom.
“Ah.” Scotty winces, when Leonard lumbers half-asleep into the room, eager to clear out the taste of morning breath and wondering where the smell of booze is coming from. “I meant to tell ya last night, honest! But ye had gone to bed early and I didnae want to wake ya.”
He thinks that he should probably report this to the captain, or something, but honestly? Jim would only demand a share of the brew for himself. Neither of them had really used the tub anyway, to be honest, preferring the efficiency of the shower instead, so really, it’s no loss. Scotty switches on the fan, which quickly circulates out the smell, and at the risk of enabling the deterioration of both of their livers, Leonard wisely pretends he didn’t see it, pointedly turns away and makes a big show of it, grinning back when he sees Scotty’s impish smile through the mirror as Leonard brushes his teeth, because no man in his right mind would sabotage a good thing falling into his lap like this.
STARDATE 2258.317
For the last few years, without fail, Leonard has managed to wake up feeling like absolute shit on the anniversary of the day he killed his father. It would probably help if he didn’t spend the entire day before thinking about it and dredging around in guilt and ending up unable to sleep without hypo-inducing it or the burn of booze.
He rolls out of bed, limbs dragging heavily as he wrangles a blue uniform shirt over his head and puts on a fresh pair of pants. When he opens the door to the bathroom, he receives a muffled greeting from Scotty, who’s brushing his teeth. The scotsman spits and gargles before wiping at his mouth with a washcloth and turning to Leonard with a slight frown.
“Yer lookin’ all peely-wally this morning,” He says, gesturing vaguely at Leonard’s bedhead and rumpled form. “Rough night?”
Leonard just grunts in response while brushing his own teeth. In the mirror, he can see Scotty’s eyebrows raise and the way it wrinkles up his forehead. Scotty’s gotten used to this kind of thing by now, knows the signs of when Leonard just doesn’t want to talk, and he’s grateful for the way Scotty’s willing to actually back off and wait for him to open up in his own time.
“Well, I’m off to the lower decks, but y’know where to find me if there’s anything I can do to help.” And with that, Scotty exits, swinging the door gently shut.
Leonard finishes washing up and makes his way to leave for his shift, but when he pushes the button to slide his door open, the computer chirps back with “Access denied. Captain’s override.”
“Dammit, Jim!” he grumbles, tapping at the console for the comm panel. “McCoy to Bridge.”
There’s a pause of static, before the familiar chirp that means his call is being routed to Jim’s comm.
“Morning Bones. I gave you the day off, so I don’t want to hear about you sneaking your way into work today. Go back to sleep, old man, I’ll see you later.” The bastard doesn’t even give Leonard a chance to respond before ending the call with his signature, “Kirk out.”
Well. Leonard hadn’t gotten much sleep last night anyways. He doesn’t bother changing back into pajamas before collapsing back into bed, and he’s out the moment his head hits the pillow.
---
Leonard wakes up warm, to a rustling of the blankets that have made their way around him and another weight in the bed. He rolls over blearily, rubbing his eyes, and finds Jim sitting next to him, PADD in hand, and legs tucked underneath the duvet and leeching warmth from Leonard’s own.
“Hey, Bones.” Jim smiles gently. “I brought you dinner. Or breakfast? It’s 1700 hours and I’m guessing you haven’t eaten since yesterday. You must be hungry.”
Leonard takes the tray of food gratefully with a quiet word of thanks and Jim hums absentmindedly. “Anything interesting on the bridge today?” He asks.
“Nah,” Jim sighs, sliding down a bit on the bed to lie down next to him. Leonard can feel the warmth radiating from his best friend’s body and moves slightly to get closer-- it’s wishful thinking, for sure, but he’s felt like shit for the last thirty hours, he thinks he deserves to dream a little. “Just the usual. You in the mood for a movie?”
Leonard nods, the side of his head pressed against Jim’s shoulder, and Jim calls up the video library on the screen on Leonard’s wall, picking some old thing that they can watch without much talk. By the time Leonard’s set the empty tray of dishes on the bedside table, Jim’s already got a glass of whiskey ready for him.
They lie there watching the movie in silence, and for all the sleep he’s accumulated today, Leonard’s beginning to feel drowsy again. He curls further into Jim’s side, relishing in the feeling of an arm wrapping around his shoulders and a hand brushing at his hair and wonders if Jim can feel how much Leonard aches right now, wrapped up in memories of his dad and clinging to this pointless crush like a lifeline. Jim hums a tune, and Leonard slips into sleep again, and dreams of sunny summers in Georgia and of the cold empty of outer space.
STARDATE 2258.360
“D’you eat bum radish again? I still don’t actually know what the hell that stuff is.” Leonard grins wide. Now that he remembers that Scotty’s that boy he met nearly thirty years ago with a tummy ache, he doesn’t think he’ll ever let his friend live it down, and it looks like this year, his Christmas present has come in the form of history repeating itself: Montgomery Scott has just checked into Leonard’s sickbay with an upset stomach during the pinnacle eve of the holiday season.
“Oy, can’t ya see I’m in pain here?” Scotty complains loudly. Leonard can’t suppress his snickering. “I thought doctors were meant ta make ya feel better , not insult yer native cuisine!”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Nurse Packett watching the two of them with a bewildered scrunch of her eyebrows and it reminds Leonard that he’s on duty, dammit, and resumes a professional stance, clearing his throat awkwardly.
But he can’t help himself. In the reprimanding yet gentle tone he usually reserves for younger and more fragile patients, he goes in for one last jab of, “Now, I know Comet’s your favorite reindeer, but I think you’re a little too old for that these days, so lay off the sleigh rides, alright Mr. Scott?”
“Oh, for the love of -- shut yer gob! I never should’a reminded you about that!” Scotty squawks, flushed red, but Leonard can see the beginnings of a smile twitching up at the corners of his mouth, and it sets his guffaws of laughter off again, louder than before.
Nurse Packett looks even more confused than before-- the Enterprise’s CMO smiling is always a rare sight, and raucous laughter comes even less often than that. Maybe this is out of his usual character, but it’s Christmas, after all, and he thinks he’s entitled to some holiday cheer.