Work Text:
CN: alcoholism
There is a profoundly strange thing about being in one’s twenties. More than any other decade in one’s life, there is a massive variety in the life experiences of one and one’s peers. Not just between years – hell, there was a bigger difference between being thirteen and seventeen than there was between being twenty-three and twenty-seven. But what a person had gone through, what they had survived, what they had accomplished, and who they were to the people around them.
McCoy hadn’t considered that much until he had enlisted at Starfleet and was suddenly surrounded by twenty-year-olds. It wasn’t like he was the oldest guy on campus, not by a long shot – twenty-year olds were even the biggest demographic. Hell, McCoy had taken Introduction to Emergency Exo-Cardiac Surgical Techniques with a sixteen-year-old on his left and a sixty-eight-year-old on his right. The only reason he encountered so many people younger than him was solely because of his social life – or really, the only person he bothered having in his social life.
It was hard not to compare Kirk’s life to his own. It was the one he had most contact with. They should have had a decent amount in common. They were both American men from rural areas (Iowa and Georgia weren’t much alike, but small towns were small towns). Both were close to their mothers; both had lost their fathers and weren’t keen on their step-parents (though McCoy would admit that his step-mother was a perfectly fine woman and the drift between them was all on his end). They were both single, neither of them straight (Kirk being very openly pansexual and McCoy quieter about the matter, preferring just the classic term queer when pressed. Though he rarely was – he had only been ever serious with one person and married her right out of high school). They were only four years apart in age but it was the ages themselves that stuck in McCoy’s craw like a chicken bone.
At twenty-three, Kirk had gone through hardships but he faced them like he faced anything – with a cocky grin and a willingness to jump into any fight that mildly involved him. He was charming, stubborn, sweet when he wanted to be, and always ready for whatever adventure was ahead. He was irritating in his optimism and even more frustrating with his remarkable ability to fall in love with at least one new person every week and immediately lose interest in them after taking them to bed.
When McCoy was twenty-three, he was in the last year of medical school and spent most of his free time at the same hospital he was interning at, sitting by his beloved father’s deathbed. He celebrated his fifth wedding anniversary at that hospital, squeezing in a slice of cake and a cuddle with Jocelyn in the break room. He was twenty-three when his father died, only weeks before a cure to his incurable disease was found. He was still twenty-three when his daughter was born six months later. By his twenty-fourth birthday, his daughter had learned to smile and McCoy was still crying every day for the father he couldn’t save. His marriage had started to splinter, the divorce three years later obvious now in retrospect. And the manageable functional alcoholism that had helped him to survive the pressures of all of this was beginning to become not so manageable.
It was so hard to see Kirk, on the verge of turning twenty-four, and not see himself at that age. It was hard not to see that massive gap between them. McCoy wasn’t sure if he resented him, though he was pretty sure he didn’t resent him. But it was hard to open up to him the same way Kirk opened up to him. McCoy knew everything about him, for better or for worse. But when Kirk wanted to hear more about his life, McCoy just shut him out. How could this kid even begin to understand how badly McCoy had screwed up his life? How could he get how he was still paying for all the mistakes he had made?
McCoy was at the end of a very long day – fourteen hours was long past the recommended time for anyone to be on duty and he had spent almost all of it in the operating room. It was a necessary evil, due to the procedure, but it had pushed him to his limit. McCoy had been able to tag out once, another surgeon taking over for him while he ate, drank, and rested his hands for a few minutes. For the rest of the time, his mind was narrowly focused on the task at hand. Complete spinal reconstruction. McCoy had never done it before, but his mentor had encouraged him to step out of his comfort zone. There was also no one else who wanted to do it. It was Solar New Years’ Eve and every other medical intern had found one convenient excuse or another to not show up to work.
At 2200, McCoy finally left the change room and started down the path to the residential quarter of the campus. He was too exhausted to do much but go to bed and stay there for the rest of the year. It had been an unpleasant few days for him preparing for surgery. Five full days without a drink just to make sure his hands wouldn’t shake due to withdrawal during such a long shift. Combined with work and studying, he had nothing left in the tank. He was grateful. He wanted to make it to day six.
Despite the damp chill in the winter air, the entire residential quarter was teeming with celebrators – including from multiple species who had their own rotating suns to celebrate. McCoy tried not to be too rude pushing through the crowd, even forcing a smile when recognizing a familiar face. He had nearly made it to his door when a hand landed on his shoulder. McCoy sighed before he turned around, knowing instinctively who it was.
Kirk greeted him cheerfully, “Bones! There you are!”
It was unfair how put together even a very drunk Jim Kirk could be. His tossled hair only added to his charming smile and big blue eyes. His fair skin only looked healthier a little pink and his lips were even rosier.
“You doing alright there, Jim?” McCoy asked.
“Better now that you’re here. I’ve just met the most delightful pair of identical twins. One guy, one girl. How you might ask? Well – "
McCoy rolled his eyes. “I’m not gallivanting around tonight until you pick which twin you’d rather wake up with and force me to deal with the other. Though God knows nothing would stop you from trying to take them both home.”
Kirk grinned. “Thought crossed my mind. Come on, Bones. It’s New Year’s. Time to commit a few more sins before we all start anew tomorrow.”
McCoy considered it briefly but shook his head. “Another time, kid.”
Kirk’s smile faltered. “Bones –“
McCoy couldn’t hear what he said next, the bang of illegal fireworks rocking through the square. Celebrators cheered and McCoy took the opportunity to sneak away.
He tried not to think of Kirk’s disappointment face as he left.
Kirk would send him ten Comms throughout the night. McCoy ignored all of them, instead tossing and twisting in his sheets and trying to will himself to sleep without taking a swig from the bottle of gin resting under the mattress.
He would make it to 0409 before he finally succumbed and drank himself into the dark.
__________
McCoy woke the next day around 1100 to another Comm from Jim – this one was an image of him lying in bed with two absolutely beautiful people. All three of them smiled for the camera, both of Kirk’s partners looking flushed and very satisfied.
Kirk had captioned it “Wish You Were Here”.
Though McCoy was approaching an awful hangover and his soul was heavy, he still managed a chuckle. The kid was something else.
__________
The first two days after a slip had always been felt easy to him. That was the dangerous thing. McCoy always thought he could handle giving up the drink. Thought that he didn’t have to be vigilant and constantly aware of triggers. That he didn’t need the same support structures as anyone else in recovery. He didn’t need to talk to anyone. He just needed not to drink.
Day Three was always the beginning of the end. The concessions. The bargaining. He had spent years at Day Three – almost all of his medical schooling was at Day Three. Just enough alcohol to keep steady, not enough to be truly drunk. Day Three always felt like a compromise, a happy balance between sobriety and functionality.
But Day Four, Day Four was the testing ground. If he had made it to Day Four without a drink, he had an even chance at either making it to Day Five or falling off the wagon hard and starting all over again.
And this particularly Day Four was Jim Kirk’s twenty-fourth birthday.
That night, McCoy didn’t go to his friend’s party and instead went to the small meeting room on the third floor of the medical building. There weren’t many people there that weren’t medical staff trying to squeeze in a bit of support before going back to their demanding jobs. The whole point was for it to be anonymous, at least back in previous centuries, but the taboo was lessened now. No one outside of that room would know why they were there and no one in that room would share why they knew each other. But it was hard to mentally separate someone from what he knew about them from AA and what he knew about them working side by side with them in the OR.
McCoy didn’t speak much that meeting. He sat in the back, holding a battered print of Joanna on her third birthday in his left hand. His two-week chip was pressed against it, leaving the faintest indent against the heavy stock. In years past, the intervals had been longer: a month, eighteen months, even years. But recycling tech had made it easy enough for a customized object. Even though his two weeks of sobriety had been years ago, he still held onto it as a reminder that it was possible. McCoy had s
At the end of the meeting, a man that McCoy had never seen before asked him if he’d take a walk with him around campus. It was freezing cold, but McCoy didn’t want to go home so he agreed.
Dr. Jabilo M’Benga was a little older than him but not much. He was a recent graduate of the Academy and preparing to leave for a four-year internship on Vulcan. The soft lilt of his Swahili accent was sweet as honey and McCoy was happy to listen to him speak, staying nearly silent as M’Benga told stories of his childhood in Kampala and his college days in Nairobi.
At some point, M’Benga took McCoy’s hand in his. His touch pressed his wedding ring into his skin, a harsh reminder that McCoy was not yet ready to let go of the past. But soon M’Benga made it clear that he wasn’t either – he had been a widower for less than a year and had no intention of pursuing anyone for a great deal of time. Just sometimes one needs to be held.
They stopped at a small bridge that crossed the small river separating one section of the campus to another. They had been walking for over an hour and McCoy wasn’t sure if he had said more than two dozen words the entire time.
M’Benga rested against the railing, looking up at the stars.
“Have you been there yet?” He asked. “The world beyond our world?”
McCoy admitted, “No. Scares the hell out of me, though.”
M’Benga confided, “It puts things into perspective in a way that is hard to explain to anyone who has never experienced it. For some, they feel a sense of isolation, of being a tiny speck in a great and uncaring universe. But for some…looking down on our world brings clarity, a sense of purpose, of devotion. That is our home and it needs all of us as its stewards. For me, it was love at first sight. If there is anything that has helped me in my sobriety, it is seeing Earth as it really is and knowing how precious and fragile life is in this galaxy. If I have the skills to help protect it, then I have a duty to be the best version of myself. I need steady hands and a clear mind.”
“You don’t drink because you’re always on duty.”
M’Benga agreed, “Exactly. It is my higher purpose. May I ask what yours is?”
McCoy confessed, “I don’t know, Jabilo. When I first tried all of this abstinence shit, I thought I was doing it for my daughter. I wanted to be clean because I didn’t want to lose her. Now…I don’t know if I’m ever going to see her again. My ex has full custody and she cut me out every way she could. I don’t blame her. I can’t be the father I want to be. But it makes me wonder why I should even bother. I ame here because I thought it’d be enough, you know? That maybe Jocelyn would see that I had changed and that I was…I dunno. Better than I was. But I’ve been here four months and I’m starting to wonder if I even belong here. I’m claustrophobic, I’m damn terrified of flying, and even looking up like this is starting to give me some real existential dread. What am I even trying to prove?”
M’Benga said gently, “That you can be a better man.”
McCoy hung his head. “I don’t know if I can be.”
M’Benga placed his hand on his shoulder. “We are all worth more than the worst parts of ourselves, Leonard. The fact you are here, the fact that you are trying, shows to me that you are capable of becoming the person you want to be. But you do not need to do that work alone. I know our shared time in San Francisco is brief but I would like us to be friends.”
McCoy confessed, “I’m not good at treating the people I love well. I’m even worse at treating the ones who love me back. If you try to put out the trashfire of my life, you’re just going to end up burnt.”
M’Benga replied, “When I was at my lowest point, I turned to those going through the same struggles as myself. Not to be saved, but to be seen. To be known. We all need those who know us as we truly are and accept us as we are. I hope that you have someone like that already but I am offering to be another if you would do the same for me.”
McCoy was too exhausted to argue it further. If it had been an hour earlier in the day, perhaps McCoy would have told him off and they would never have become friends. But as it was, he gave him his information, let M’Benga hug him, and walked home to the tiny single dorm room on the top floor of the most run down building on campus. It was awful and uncomfortable but he was just grateful not to have a roommate.
But when McCoy unlocked the door and entered, he found that his private room was already occupied. Sitting on his freshly made bed was no one other than the birthday boy himself, wearing a party hat and holding out two slices of Kentucky Butter Cake.
At seeing McCoy, Kirk’s face lit up, like a puppy whose human has finally come home.
“Bones!” He called out delightfully. “There you are!”
McCoy questioned, “Don’t you have a party to be at right now? You should be drunk off your gourd and sucking someone off in an unlocked bathroom stall.”
Kirk ignored the jab. “When you didn’t show up, I sent everyone home and camped out here until you got back. If I can’t celebrate with my best friend, then what’s the point? I got the replicator to do a half decent job of your grandmamma’s recipe. I’m more of a chocolate man myself but I can attempt to have more mature tastes as I grow closer and closer to a quarter century.”
The image of Kirk attempting to program McCoy’s faulty replicator with a recipe beyond its recommended calorie allowance was charming. For him to have hacked into McCoy’s private files to do so was less so. Still, the cake looked wonderful and for someone drying out, that amount of sugar was close to godly.
Kirk continued, “So what was it that was so important you had to bail on me? Emergency surgery? Dinner date with that smokeshow in 412C? Come on, you’ve got to tell me. It’s the only way I’ll forgive you. Come on, Bones, its my birthday.”
McCoy knew Kirk would never drop it and would smell a lie coming from a mile away. He could just tell him to shove it and Kirk would eventually leave it alone. But he realized that M’Benga was right. He wanted to be seen. He wanted to be known.
McCoy reached into his breast pocket, taking out Joanna’s picture and his chip. He offered them both to Kirk who took them as gently as if they were made of glass.
McCoy said quietly, “I’m an alcoholic. That’s why Jocelyn left me. We have a four-year-old daughter and she didn’t want her to grow up around me. She has full custody and I don’t have visitation rights. I’m not a good guy when I’m drunk. I never hit either of them or nothing like that but I was a terrible father and a worse husband and she was right to leave me. I’ve been trying to stop drinking since then. Longest I’ve gone is two weeks. I’m not drinking on the job anymore. That’s something. But it’s not enough for Jocelyn. She wants me to go an entire year sober before I can see or talk to Joanna again. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do it. I went to a meeting tonight because I knew if I went to your party, I’d end up plastered and I’d have to start all over again.”
Kirk got up and went to the replicator. To McCoy’s protest, he recycled the cake.
McCoy demanded, “What’d you go and do that for?”
Kirk replied as if it was obvious. “It’s got bourbon in it. I’m not ruining your streak for some shitty replication of an only mildly tasty dessert. What do you want? Peach pie? I could go for some peach pie – oh and vanilla ice cream!”
McCoy sat down on the bed, trying to process what had just happened. Kirk returned with pie and ice cream, offering McCoy a spoon. McCoy took a small bite and the sweetness overtook him. He devoured the pie while Kirk took his time with his, scraping up every crumb with a delicateness that no one would ever have expected from him. When he was done, McCoy took both plates and recycled them. He stood by the replicator, unsure whether or not he should sit back beside Kirk on the bed.
Kirk instead got up and hugged him. McCoy stiffened but then relaxed, even putting his own hand on Kirk’s back.
McCoy said softly, “I’m not a great guy to have as a friend. If you want to bail, I get it. I’m not going to do much but hurt you and make your life miserable.”
Kirk murmured, “Shut up, Bones. Just shut up.”
And to both of their surprise, McCoy did and just let Kirk hold him.