Authors Note: Hello, hello, hello! So, this is my first multi-chapter fic. I haven't written anything serious in quite some time (and here's a secret, I've never written anything serious for Star Trek in general), so please bear with me. I'm open to any and all feedback, as well as suggestions, thoughts, comments, or what have you! Enjoy!
Two thirty in the morning is rarely an ideal time to try and find an open liquor store, even if you are an expert liquor enthusiast. Hell, anything past midnight was a lost cause, but there were other means that could be taken to find what he was looking for.
Slurred words slipped from McCoy's dirty mouth which was sticky from alcohol and surrounded by neglected stubble. What could be heard was almost as sloppy as what could be seen, between his unkept appearance and his staggering pace down the street. Then again, for his walk being not much more than a stagger, he managed to make his way to a local bar within a reasonable amount of time.
His fingers immediately gripped onto the door, pulling and pushing and shaking and yanking and grunting in the process.
"Scotty-" he groaned, stilling tugging at the door. "Scotty!"
It only took a few moments before this Scotty fella found himself staring at McCoy through the door, arms crossed with a less than enthused scowl.
"It's well past two in the morning, you know," Scotty tried yelling through the door, but it was no use.
"I can't hear a thing you're saying with an inch thick of glass between us," McCoy's head cocked forward with bug eyes while he gestured towards the door, nearly mocking Scotty in the process.
Scotty was reluctant, but ultimately unlocked the door so his drunken buddy could slip in.
"You know what time it is and you know what time I close this place down. You shouldn't be here," Scotty kept his eyes close on McCoy as the two slunk towards the bar. "-but I'm glad you came, because I have some news for you."
McCoy huffed under his breath while he took a seat at the bar, letting his eyes gaze over the dirty glasses sitting behind the counter. The harder he tried to focus, the harder it became. Well, actually, it didn't get any easier once he stopped trying, either. His vision was fuzzy and out of focus and quiet frankly, he was finding it a bit difficult to pay attention. All he wanted was a drink, not conversation.
"I found someone."
McCoy cocked a brow, "You?"
"Not for me, ya dobber. For you. I told you you couldn't stay with me anymore, my apartment is just too small for two people," Scotty could only hope that McCoy would take him seriously, listen to him for once. "I found a fella through a friend who is lookin' for a roommate. He's a nice guy, Leonard. Might do you some good if you're serious about ever quittin'."
Quitting-that word, "quitting", made McCoy's stomach twist alone.
"It's not as easy as it sounds," McCoy echoed out while leaning into the palm of his hand.
"I can see that," Scotty said. McCoy pursed his lips and avoided any eye contact.
One could say he had a bit of a drinking problem. Nothing too major, but more than he could bargain for. AA was always an option, but-no, no, it wasn't an option. Not unless everything else failed, which he hadn't tried everything else, therefore he didn't need AA-yet.
He had been promising himself for the past three days, "Today will be the day I quit," with a few less drinks planned than normal. He'd work himself down to a bottle of beer a day, then cut it off completely. That's how he'd do it. Just like that, easily.
Except it wasn't easy. Alcohol was a monster, breathing the life into him, only to turn around and suck it back out. The withdrawals were painful and more so powerful than anything else, leaving him with jitters, confusion, and a grave amount fear-but he was determined to cut his portions in half… tomorrow.
Yet, from what he was hearing, that was the least of his worries now.
For the past month, he had been staying at Scotty's place, left without anywhere to go after a bitter breakup with his ex-girlfriend. He could have found an apartment to rent, but that would require money, money that he spends on liquor, money that doesn't see the inside of his wallet longer than a 24 hour time period.
Scotty, being the good friend that he is, let McCoy slump on his couch, longer than he had originally intended. "It'll only be for a night," he claimed, "A week at most, until you find a new place," he continued, until a month passed by. It was only a one bedroom apartment and as much as he enjoyed Leonard's sober company, his drunken company was a bit hard to handle at times. Scotty needed him out and this was the perfect opportunity.
"Give it a chance. You never know, he could be exactly what you're looking for," Scotty gave a smile of encouragement, hoping that it'd help convince McCoy to agree. The fact that there wasn't a complaint following his words had to mean it was a done deal-if McCoy could even remember making the deal in the first place.
"His name is Jim, sure to give you a run for your money. I already talked to him and he knows what he's getting himself into."
McCoy sighed and let his body relax against the counter. "We'll see how sure he is about that…"
"Oh, he's sure-you're moving in on Friday."