This, ladies and gentlemen, is something I have dubbed my angsty story of doom. My goal: make you sob your eyes out, you very likely will eventually. This story is new for me in two ways, one, this is mainly focused on Bones, two, this is my first MAIN CHARACTER DEATH. You will figure out who it is in this chapter. The format is the same, but this will be done through flashbacks seen through a documentary type thing. It should be pretty easy to tell when it cuts back to the person watching it. This is a basic introduction, it's short. There is no slash in it whatsoever, but there are mentions of certain...things that could be offensive, a big theme is suicide for example, once it amps up a bit. The characters have the potential to be mildly OOC, if it is horribly so, I apologize. One other thing, this is set in the AU Abrams Vs, but set in the future, once again, you can probably figure that out through this one. That was long...now, I hope you enjoy it.
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A man sat in front of a recorder, his eyes closed and his lips pressed tightly together. He was a little over middle aged, his brown hair only just beginning to be flecked with gray, lines around his mouth and eyes reflecting years of happiness, and then longer years of sorrow.

Another, younger man sat behind the recorder, his blue eyes hidden behind spectacles, his vision that rare type that couldn't be fixed even with the advances in medicine, completely focused on the older man. A PADD was held in his hand and a stylus held over that. His red hair was flattened to his head, his suit was starched and his expression was professional, yet sympathetic, and all the while the recorder did its job.

"We can get started any time you wish to, Doctor."

"What yer askin' for is pretty steep, Mr. Damon. I agreed, but that don't make it easy," Hazel eyes opened then, staring into the blue quietly. Damon disguised his flinch carefully, in all his years of documenting events ranging from the traumatic to the joyful; he had never seen eyes that were so hollow.

"I understand. Would you care for a drink?"

Dr. Leonard H. McCoy gave him a small bitter smile, "Unless you got a shot of proper bourbon, I ain't interested."

Damon gave him a small smirk, and stood up placing the PADD and stylus on his chair. Walking over to a small cabinet up against the far wall, he opened it to reveal bottles upon bottles of liquor. McCoy gave a small smirk and a low whistle.

"Alright, bourbon it is, on the rocks?" Damon asked smiling at him widely, and Leonard shook his head in sarcastic amusement.

"Naturally."

"Coming right up," Damon smiled, pouring him a glass and adding ice. He handed it over to him, keeping out of the frame so the viewers could just see his hand. McCoy nodded his thanks, taking a sip and resting his glass and hand on the red velvet chair he was sitting on.

"Alright," he said softly, taking a deep breath, "I'm as ready as I'm gonna get." McCoy straightened up, hollow eyes examining the man quietly.

"Good, for clarities sake, state your name, and what position you were in during the time of the incident," Damon said quietly.

"'The Incident', is that what we're calling it now?" He gave a small scoff, before sighing, "Alright. My name is Dr. Leonard H. Bo-…" he swallowed visibly, "Leonard H. McCoy. I was Chief Medical Officer on the Starship Enterprise, under the command of Captain…James T. Kirk, known to most of us as Jim." He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "God, I miss him."

"He was a remarkable man."

"Remarkable nothing, more like extraordinary, extraordinarily lucky if nothing else..."

"We all have to run out of luck sometimes…"

Leonard snorted, "He never ran out of luck. He just… He was the youngest Starfleet Captain in history, never knew his dad, you heard that shit about his mother, right?"

"Yes, I think we all heard that."

"Mmm…"

"So, what you're saying is that he was thrust into a situation he wasn't prepared for."

"He cared too much. He couldn't take the sudden shift in responsibility, even with…that pointy-eared hobgoblin…" He cleared his throat, and took a quick swallow of bourbon.

"Commander Spock."

"Yeah. Chief Pointy Ears himself… If there was ever a pair that was destined for greatness, that was them, and they made it too. They got so far, and then… Well… You know what happened. It's the reason you're here trying to see what happened from the eyes of one of his closest friends from before the shit hit the fan. Jim started cracking." Those hazel eyes slowly filled with more sorrow than Damon could take while still watching him. He looked to the ground and sighed,

"I'm sure that was difficult to have happen…" Damon started, but Leonard McCoy began laughing,

"That's the worst bit. We never knew. All the time it was happening under our very noses, and neither Spock nor I knew that he was struggling like that. He kept a lid on it, hidden so tight and deep within him, that even a Vulcan couldn't pick up on it."

"Do you know how it started to affect his daily life?"

"Hmph… Do I know how it started? No, I only realized there was a problem when Jim cut off life support to the medical bay, with my nurses and patients and me, inside it. Spock was the one who started listening to his journals and piecing the full story together. I never have."

"Would you like to?"

Leonard's head jerked up, staring at those blue eyes behind those ridiculous spectacles, watching as he pulled a small data chip out of his pocket, placing it on the table in front of him. McCoy's eyes traced over it closely, seeing 'Starfleet Property, Borrowed with Permission' engrained into the cover.

That small piece of data had no idea how important it was. It didn't know of the nights a man had spent sleepless, of the inevitable leave from Starfleet to go back to Georgia. It did not know how it felt to be ripped asunder and have the core of your being shredded. It didn't know what loss felt like, and it had no meaning of 'closure', but it was going to be a part of it for this man.

McCoy took a breath and nodded, "I wanna listen. I…I need to know."