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The bar was dim and there was only the sound of quiet music playing mindlessly in the background. Jim almost turned and left, thinking he might have just missed his friend leaving, but stopped when he heard the clink of glass and a rough voice say, "You really shouldn't be up and about just yet."
James Kirk smiled and turned to see Leonard McCoy in a dark corner of the empty bar; an almost drained glass and a half empty bottle of bourbon sat the table in front of him.
"And you shouldn't be drinking alone,” Jim said sitting down in front of the doctor with a sigh. His recently repaired ribs were still tender and his face felt numb from solidifying his eye socket and cheekbone. “But here we are.”
McCoy let out a grunt that might have been a laugh as his swigged back the rest of the amber liquid in his glass.
"Well, I'd offer to share the rest of this with you, but as your personal physician I know what pain meds you're currently on. I couldn't, in good conscience, let you mix the two…" McCoy uncorked the bottle and sloppily filled his glass with obviously cheap bourbon. Jim could smell the alcohol from across the table and it was strong enough to crinkle his nose.
"Bones, that smells like rack whiskey. You never drink that shit."
And that was the truth. He had come a long way from the man he was on that first shuttle ride to the academy. He didn't drink to feel numb or to forget the ex-wife or to drown his sorrows. Jim remembered how he was during their first year at the academy and momentarily flashed back to a hungover Bones, promising him that it was the last time he would drink like that. A Bones wandering around with a comforter around his head and shoulders; shuffling around in one slipper and a pair of Starfleet sweatpants, showing Jim where all of the bottles were hidden around their apartment. And Jim collecting them all in a garbage bag, trying hard not to clink them too much, because he could tell the noise was killing McCoy's throbbing head. The doctor had always thought that Kirk had tossed them, but that would’ve been a waste. He dropped them off at a house party he'd been invited to that night, before returning home to tuck his still hungover friend in for the evening.
"I didn't want to waste the good stuff tonight; that's meant to be savored you know. Not this...this stuff is crap..." Bones took a big gulp and, as if to make a point, hissed at the burn it sent down his throat. "But it's a drink." He set it down with a quiet thud. “What are you doing down here?”
“Couldn’t sleep, and thought I’d find my CMO suffering from the same problem…but I assumed you’d be in your quarters, not alone in a bar.”
McCoy looked at Jim warily from behind his glass, taking another drink to avoid responding.
"Bones...talk to me. "
The doctor sighed, tipping his glass so the amber alcohol swirled around and around.
"How's the crew?" he asked in a gravely voice. "Do they have a final count of the casualties?"
Jim sighed and closed his eyes for a moment thinking about the crew he was responsible for. The loss of life he personally felt…
"The admiral has sent out a few ships into the nebula to look for any stray escape pods that didn't make it planetside. They're telling me the loss of life is low for this set of circumstances. Maybe a quarter of the crew lost...?" The captain’s eyes had made their way down to the tabletop without him realizing it, and when he glanced up McCoy's eyes latched onto his. They said what he knew the doctor wanted to say, but what he couldn't bear to hear right now. That it wasn't his fault and he did the absolute best he could.
Kirk cleared his throat loudly and sat up straighter, hiding a wince as his ribs reminded him of the battle the day before. "There have been no civilian casualties reported at Yorktown though, and I remember my CMO telling me something about there being only minor injuries left in the medical facilities here." He smiled at his friend who ruefully returned the gesture with a growl.
"Yea...it's because your CMO is damn good at his job. A fucking miracle worker who can fly alien shuttles and drag a delirious Vulcan around without actually losing his mind..."
"Then what are you doing here, Bones?" Jim stopped him before he got too heated. "Why aren't you writing up your reports or better yet sleeping? It's nearing three in the morning and I know you're an early to bed kind of guy."
McCoy just crinkled his eyes at Kirk and frowned, lifting his glass again but not taking a drink. Jim sighed, running his hand through his hair.
"Spock came to me earlier and said you wouldn't clear him for anything other than light duty. He wasn't very happy about it, but I told him that I had complete faith in my CMO and that he should take it easy for a few days. Not like we have any real duties to fulfill with the ship all in pieces but..."
"Of course the overgrown elf would complain to you about it. It’s not like I just cauterized a wound using metal from an alien spacecraft and patched him up with century old technology. Can’t show just a small bit of appreciation for keeping his green blood where it belongs…” McCoy grumbled then let out a bitter laugh. “Well is he?” McCoy asked looking straight at Jim.
"What? Taking it easy?" Kirk let out a chuckle. "Probably not, but you know Spock."
"Yea...I know Spock…" The doctor’s voice became quiet for a second, almost thoughtful. McCoy took another swig of the bourbon leaving a small amount at the bottom of his glass. Then the passion was back in his eyes.
"Did he tell you how he was all ready to run around and play hero with a piece of metal as big as my hand in his side?" He waved his hand around exasperatedly as he spoke. "Your first officer is leaking blood like a damn busted pipe and he's acting like he's going to be able to just swoop in and save the fucking day. And because I know how the hobgoblin works, I have to speak to him logically. I have to spout the damn facts at him and yell them into his pointed ears that he will die if I don't do something and that he might die even if I do."
His eyes are getting wild now and his face is getting red, and Jim would laugh if he weren’t so concerned.
"And get this, he believed me when I acted like I wasn't familiar with the Vulcan anatomy. Of course I know the damn Vulcan anatomy, just like I know about the anatomy of Gorns and Andorians and every other humanoid life form we've had aboard the Enterprise. I'm the fucking CMO of a starship; it’s part of my job to know about the physical needs of the crew. Especially its god damn first officer! I mean, I’ve studied every humanoid life form on the ship for fucks sake… except for androids, but that would be more of an engineering problem, so Scotty would take care of any of those issues..."
"Bones!" Kirk interrupted the stream of thought spewing from his friend, trying to follow. "Is this about Spock?" He gestured to the bottle on the table.
"I thought he was dead, Jim!" McCoy ran a hand through his already unruly hair and sighed. "He was dying and there was nothing I could do about it. He was dying and all I had was an alien phaser, my two hands, and a damn communicator with no one on the other end. And he knew it too! He knew he was dying and he was all Vulcan about the whole thing. He tried to hide it from me, but I knew he was scared and I knew he was in pain and there wasn't a thing I could do, except argue with him and keep his mind focused. That and call out into the void, hoping that someone would answer!"
He finished what was left in his glass and then slammed it on the table. Jim stared at him never having seen his CMO like this before.
"Bones..."
"Did you know he wanted me to leave him there? He was still playing the fucking hero and told me to go on without him. He's bleeding and can barely walk and he wants me to just abandon him like the last seven years didn't just happen..." He stared into the bottom of his empty glass for a few seconds before he continues quietly. "It was almost a relief when we were surrounded…because I was done. And I could feel that Spock was done. And I was ready to give up. And it felt like I wasn’t failing him if we died together like that…failure would be me watching him get paler and paler as he bled internally and I couldn't stop it. But I was done… and I was okay with giving in then...because I was with him..."
Jim stared at his friend who blinked hard before taking a deep breath and sitting up straighter. Then he growled out, "You’re right, Jim. I uh...shouldn’t drink alone." He let out a nervous chuckle. "And it is late, I told Korgan over there I’d tip him well if he waited for me to leave before closing up...now that I think about it he’s probably asleep…"
"Bones, stop." Jim grabbed his CMO's arm as he made a move to stand. "Just stop for a second and listen.” McCoy looked startled and stared at his captain. “Spock is going to be fine, because you are an amazing doctor. You are smart and quick on your feet and level headed when you need to be..."
"Don't forget my bedside manner...I've got a great bedside manner..." he grumbled, letting Kirk keep his hand on him.
"Actually," Jim smiled, "that's the only thing I've ever heard people complain about, but that's besides the point."
He took a deep breath.
"You saved Spock's life. Hell, you've saved mine on numerous occasions. Bones, you brought me back from the dead with a tribble and super blood or something, I never really understood how that process came about...but you did it. You’re a damn miracle worker; I’ve never seen anyone do what you do…”
“But I’m not, Jim!” McCoy interrupted. “I’m just a country doctor in space, where alien diseases lurk and the crew is always coming up with new ways to injure themselves…you especially! Before somehow managing to survive crash landing on that godforsaken planet, I’d just had DiMarco die right in front of me. You know that kid around Chekov’s age from Engineering, yea…Krall had sucked the life outta him and there was nothing I could do but watch…”
“Bones…you can’t save them all…”
“But what happens when it’s you!? What happens when I can’t save you or Spock because we’ve run out of luck and there’s no damn hope left? What’ll happen to me, Jim?!”
Kirk was struck speechless again as his friends face crumpled and he propped his head up using his free arm, like his thoughts were physically weighing down his mind.
“I keep thinking back to our first mission against Nero, how Dr. Puri blew up on Deck 6 and how we were all promoted before our time. I hated Spock that day, because of what he did to you. Not beating you to a damn pulp, you really deserved that, but marooning you on a planet where I wasn’t. I’d just watched a number of crew die under my watch in what was supposed to be a rescue mission, and then I lost my best friend. And just a few years later you ran off and took a radioactive bath and…” He sighed again, swallowing hard. “I thought I knew the bastard. I thought I could read him, but it turned out he was just as self-sacrificing as you when he went after Khan. That day I realized that Spock and I would do anything for you, Jim. Any god damn little thing…”
McCoy paused for a moment feeling so vulnerable in front of his friend. It took everything he had not to grab the bottle of bourbon and chug it down. Jim stared wondering how they hadn’t talked about this sooner.
“I don’t know, maybe it’s that weird Vulcan touch telepathy voodoo that’s got me like this right now. It’s just been so long since I’ve been without a stocked sick bay or even a tricorder and a handful of hyposprays…but I hadn’t felt that fucking helpless since I had your body lying in front of me those few years ago. And I knew, down on that planet, I would do anything for him too. I couldn’t…”
His voice cracked and he found he was unable to speak. He sat up and cleared his throat quickly trying to distract himself by this momentary weakness, but still didn’t pull his arm away from Jim.
“Yea, it must be that voodoo shit that’s affecting me like this. Being in such close quarters with a Vulcan for so long is probably messing with me. What do they call it? Emotional transference? Don’t know why I worry about you two idiots anyway…you both swoop in a save the other before anything permanent happens anyway…”
“Wasn’t it you who swooped in yesterday? I seem to remember Leonard Horatio ‘fear of flying’ McCoy piloting an alien shuttle, saving me from being sucked into space…”
“Not in my damn job description…I’m not a hero, Jim,” he drawled the last bit as an afterthought.
“Well, I’m telling you that you are, and I know Spock and Uhura and anyone else from the Enterprise would say the same. You may be a grumpy, rough around the edges, old school, insubordinate…”
“There a compliment in there somewhere?”
“I’m getting there, Mr. Sensitive.” Jim smiled and squeezed his friend’s arm. “You’re more than just a country doctor to the crew of the Enterprise. Yes, we've lost people; we’re going to lose people. But…” Jim paused and made sure to meet his CMO’s eyes, he needed to make sure that his friend really heard him. “You can't do this to yourself. You can't just come down here and wallow and hide, because those people you care about feel the same way about you."
Kirk squeezed McCoy's forearm again before letting go and standing. "So maybe you should let him know what you just told me, because we have at least two more years of our mission left, and it's just going to be me listening to you both bicker if you don't get it out in the open."
McCoy's mouth opened as if to take back something or argue, but instead he shut it thoughtfully and grumbled, "I hate when you do that."
"When I do what?" Kirk asked confused as McCoy staggered to his feet and leaned across the table.
"Remind me that you're not a kid anymore."
Jim chuckled and took his friend by the arm, leaving the bottle, glass, and a large tip behind for the bartender who had definitely fallen asleep behind the bar.