Author's note:
I am not a writer. I'm more of a drawerer. So please excuse my poor grammar, horrible sentence structure and bad typos that I might have missed upon proof reading. Thank you3
Edit: THANKS SO MUCH ISHTARA FOR BETA-ING THIS333333333
000
Alcohol, the number one cure for depression, no matter how ironic that is… Kirk thought.
He tilted his head back and let the fiery liquid burn his throat on the way down, flinching a little at the bitter after taste even after drinking half the damn bottle of what could've been rocket fuel. He'd been like this for quite some times; six months, seven days and fourteen hours to be exact, or at least that's what Spock would have recited if he had been there.
Spock
That green blooded hobgoblin.
Spock
That god damn son of a bitch.
Spock
The bloody reason why he was in this forsaken slump in the first place.
Groaning in frustration, Kirk poured another shot and proceeded to drink himself stupid until the next day, the perfect routine that he had established ever since his coming home.
000
"Dammit Jim, don't pretend that you're not home! I know you're in there!"
The irritated southern gentleman's voice roused Kirk from his alcohol inducing coma. He spitefully wished the voice gone and the annoying pounding at the door to go away, but he knew deep, deep down inside that it wouldn't.
"Jim, open the god damn door!" the voice shouted demandingly.
"I'm coming!" Kirk yelled back. He instantly regretted ever getting up when the joints in his numb body began to pop and aligning themselves back into place again. Moaning and bitching in pain, he slowly made his way over to the front door.
"JIM…!"
"Shut your yap, I'm here!" Kirk wrenched the door open to cease his friend's headache inducing yelling.
"Oh good, you're up." McCoy said, pushing his way into the gloomy looking house.
"Hey, I didn't invite you in." Kirk scowled, but he made no attempts to kick the other man out.
McCoy surveyed Kirk's living conditions in disgust. Kicking away the empty beer cans and whiskey bottles on the floor, he shuffled his way to the couch. Plopping on to the smelly brown suede, he crossed his arms and pointedly glared at his friend.
"So you decided that drinking yourself into a stupor is really gonna solve your problems Jim?" McCoy scolded.
Kirk groaned. "Bones, the reason why I didn't go back home was to avoid being bitched at by my mother. Plus you're giving me a headache."
"Serves you right," McCoy picked up a nearby bottle and sniffed it. "What the hell is stuff anyway? Rocket fuel? Jesus, Jim."
"I'm going to my room now," Kirk declared, not wanting to be reprimanded anymore.
"Oh no, you're not," McCoy shot off the couch like a bullet. "You're coming back to Starfleet with me."
"What? Fuck you, no! I'm not going back!"
"Jim, you're being a child."
"No, I'm never going back!" Kirk turned to bolt up the stairs, but a pair of strong hands forcefully yanked him back by the shoulders, spinning him around and holding him still in a vice like grip.
"James Tiberius Kirk!" McCoy's voice boomed, echoing off the walls of the nearly empty house. "God dammit, Jim, you're being a brat! It's been six fucking months already and you need to get over yourself and quit acting like you're the first man to ever get his heart broken!"
Kirk glared angrily at his supposed friend at first, but then averted his blue eyes to the corner of the room as memories of his painful rejection suddenly flooded back. All the alcohol and nights of building walls to block out the pain seemed to crumble in a few seconds. It took him everything he had just to not sob like a sissy in front of Bones. He let his body sag and rested his head against the other man's shoulder. He sighed deeply into it as he wrapped his arms around him.
McCoy reluctantly returned the gesture. He remembered back when his wife left him and took his precious daughter away. He too had turned to alcohol and back then, Jim had given him his shoulder to cry on. And he be damned if he didn't return the favour. He rubbed strong, comfortingly in circles on his back, like a brother would do for a younger sibling, or a father would to a son. The motion was just flat out comfort and sympathy for the broken hearted.
"Give me a day to shower and clear my head," Kirk murmured after a while.
"Alright, I'll tell Headquarters about your return." McCoy said.
"So how is he?" Kirk finally touched the taboo topic.
"He's doing okay. I haven't seen or spoken to him much, but he seems okay." McCoy answered as truthfully as he could without hurting his depressed friend any further.
Kirk nodded, sighing deeply into the doctor's shoulder once again before breaking away from the embrace. "Why couldn't I fall in love with you instead?"
"Because then I would have to be the wife." McCoy dead panned. He was glad when a small chuckle emitted from his friend.
000
Just as expected, Spock was as stoic and indifferent as ever. His voice was even and fluid while bringing kirk to speed. He was completely professional, as he should be, but the short nonchalant answer that he gave when Kirk asked what he was up to now a days kind of hurts.
He shouldn't be surprised though. He had never expected him to reciprocate in the first place and he had no idea why his silly little head still gave him false hope.
"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Kirk nodded before turning to leave.
Because he was so wrapped in pain and self pity, Kirk completely missed the slight movement of the Vulcan hand reaching out towards him.