A/N: fill for the 'time travel gone wrong' square on my h/c bingo card!
xxxx
Jim is drunk. It's not the first time for a long shot that McCoy's seen him wasted, but it is the first time since Jim became captain (not that Jim's been captain for long), and Leonard would be stupid to think that this came on without a reason. Bones uses his medical code to override Jim's lock on his quarters (and he's Jim's friend, dammit, so it is not even remotely unethical) and walks in.
"Bones!" Jim slurs, raising a glass in greeting. "Wan' some bourbon?"
Leonard's going to say no, he doesn't, but Jim shoves a chair towards him and thrusts a glass into his hand, then sloppily fills it far past the appropriate line, so McCoy takes a seat and accepts the offer.
"What's this about, Jim?" McCoy asks, glancing at the half-empty bottle and the glass that is sloshing ever so slightly in Kirk's tremulous grasp.
"Can' a man drink fer fun anymore?" Jim crows, sloshing his drink even more. "Com' on Bones! Live a little!"
Leonard shakes his head and sets his glass down. Kirk seems to realize that he really doesn't want to drink and his eyes widen a little.
"Bones?"
"Jim, what the hell is this about?" Leonard repeats, his voice low and hard. Jim looks down at his glass and shrugs.
"Nothing," he says. It's almost pouty in tone, spoken like a petulant schoolboy.
"Bullshit," Bones says.
Jim sighs dramatically and looks at Leonard with what he must imagine is a desperately pleading look.
"You wouldn' believe me anyway."
"Try me."
Jim sighs again, then frowns.
"It's just- do you ever think this is wrong?" He asks. Leonard frowns.
"Do I ever think what's wrong?"
"This. All of this," Jim answers, waving his glass around to indicate the room.
"Jim, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but-"
"Spock. Not the bastard one, the old one. He knew me, Bones, in some other time," Kirk says, standing abruptly. He sways for a second before beginning to pace.
"We were like, best friends or somethin', an' he knew Scotty, an'-an'- an' in his time, I knew my father, Bones."
The word 'father' is spoken reverently, in a half-whisper that still somehow echoes in the room.
"Jus' seems like Nero screwed up a lot of shit, y' know? Like, maybe I shouldn' even be here. I should be somewhere else, with a Vulcan best friend and a dad."
Jim heavily plops back into the chair, long legs sprawled in front of him. McCoy isn't altogether surprised to see tear tracks on his cheeks; Jim's always been more prone to emotion when hammered out of his mind. As for the whole 'alternate universe' thing…well, that he has no idea about.
"Jim, do you even know for sure that this man was…Spock?"
"Yeah," Jim says, waving a lazy hand. He looks almost too tired to argue any more, and Leonard can't really blame him. The fight with Nero was a brutal one and the flight home was long, including Jim's sudden (inevitable, as far as McCoy's concerned) collapse and subsequent four-day long stay in sickbay, and now they're just waiting for Starfleet to get their shit together enough to figure out what to do with a crew made up almost entirely of cadets and academic delinquents.
So yeah, Bones can see the need for the drinking. And for the exhaustion.
"Well, I guess this could be wrong," Leonard says. "But I don't think so."
Jim's head lifts, and he peers at McCoy blearily.
"You don'?"
"Hell no, kid. Look, I don't know much about that timeline or whatever the hell it is, but I know that right here, right now, you're a damn fine man and a damn good captain, and maybe Spock was supposed to be your best friend- hell, maybe he's still supposed to be your best friend- but right now, I am. And I say that you're drunk, and you're tired, and you're putting way too much thought into this."
"Not drunk," Kirk groans, then winces. "Maybe a little."
"Yeah, maybe a lot," Leonard grumbles. "Now are you still in the wrong place, or can we wrap this little lovefest up?"
Jim shrugs, then looks at him with those damn vulnerable eyes again.
"You really think this is right?" He asks, and Leonard is suddenly irritated that this kid can bring out his paternal instincts more than his own damn daughter. Stupid Kirk and his stupid, huge, puppy-dog, pathetic eyes.
"Yeah, I really think this is right, kid," Bones says, leading Kirk to his bed. Jim is pliant, allowing Leonard to lead him without protest. McCoy kneels down and starts working on his bootlace, and is startled when a heavy hand pets at his hair.
"You really think- you really think I'm right?" Jim asks quietly. McCoy throws one of the boots off and starts on the second.
"Yeah, kid, I really do," he says. "Even though you're a pain in the ass."
Jim snorts, though it sounds a tad choked, or maybe even a tiny bit like a sob.
"Guess that means I'm definitely me, huh?"
"Yep," Leonard says. "And since you won't remember this come morning, I'll even admit something to you."
Kirk's on his back, finally, blanket tucked up mid-chest, and he looks up at McCoy with heavy-lidded eyes.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
Jim smiles and drifts off to sleep, his mouth tilting open as he already starts to snore. Leonard watches him fondly for a second, then looks at his full glass on the table.
"No use in wasting good bourbon," he murmurs, then sits down at the table and takes a drink, settling in for a long wait. For completely medical purposes, of course. Wouldn't do to let the hero of the century choke on his own vomit.
No, that wouldn't do at all.