Disclaimer—Recognizable characters belong to Gene Roddenberry, re-imagined by JJ Abrams. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Author's Notes—So, I wanted to know at least two things about our dear doctor that weren't really explored in the movie: 1.) his divorce and losing the whole planet (see: For the Best) and 2.) how he goes from aviophobic to "Jim, you gotta see this." I pose to you a possible theory. Hope y'all like it.
Minor details pulled from Memory-Alpha.
Also, and I almost can't believe I'm typing this... Very Special Thanks to my beta, Dis. (Hi!!) We've come such a long way (light-years, I'd say) from stuffed donkeys named Sam. :D My goodness. All these years later, and I still have such grammar issues. Thanks for being such a doll on your birthday weekend! (Many, many warm wishes for a wonderful year)
Time and Space—McCoy's not himself and Kirk is determined to figure out why. Follow-up (of sorts) to For the Best.
He was continuously surrounded by juveniles. He felt practically ancient with all of the teenagers running around. In the past three years, he'd been mistaken for instructors and officials. He'd been alternately welcomed and ridiculed by other cadets for his age. He was growing steadily tired of the classwork. He was ready to get his commission, to get on a ship, and get the hell out of San Francisco.
And those were words he never thought he'd say.
Leonard McCoy didn't feel particularly at home at the Starfleet Academy. His roommate had become his best friend, one of the few he didn't see as a kid, at least not any more. He'd met James T. Kirk on the shuttle out of Iowa. Kirk wasn't the clean-cut, fresh-faced typical cadet and, certainly, neither was he. They were both outcasts, both misplaced. By virtue of being different, they were so much the same.
Kirk was still a kid, in his twenties. He had time to find himself still, to figure out who he was and where he was going. McCoy had long since eased into his thirties. Hell, he'd already been through medical school before enlisting, not to mention a marriage and subsequent divorce.
Kirk had an easy air of confidence that surrounded him always. McCoy's general mood was one of vexation.
Kirk was an adrenaline junkie. McCoy had a litany reasons he could spout at a moment's notice to prevent him from doing whatever "fun" idea Kirk had.
Kirk breezed into their shared room, flopping down on his cot. "Let's go get some beers across town, what d'ya say? Get away from the rest of the cadets, see if there are some nice local ladies..."
McCoy didn't bother looking up from the homework he was working on. "I got a case of potophobia comin' on, big as the universe. I can feel it."
Kirk narrowed his eyes at his friend. "That doesn't sound real."
Annoyed, McCoy pulled out his Personal Access Display Device, which included access to Starfleet's medical database. He punched in a few keystrokes and presented Kirk with the definition.
"Bullshit," Kirk said, reading the entry: fear of alcohol. "I know very well you enjoy your mint juleps, which, if you ask me, still sound like the most girlie drink on the planet."
"Nobody asked you," he said grumpily, pulling the PADD back.
"Bones, seriously. Let's get out of here for the night, grab a couple drinks, you might even find a girl..."
McCoy winced.
"Hot chick?" Kirk corrected.
The doctor waved him off. "Go on without me."
Kirk finagled the hand-held computer back from him, and entered a few keystrokes of his own. "Yes, well, as my attending physician, Dr. Bones, I'm afraid you can't leave me alone, because I happen to have..." He looked at the entry. "Isolophobia. Oh, it looks deadly."
"You might actually have that one," McCoy concluded, having the list of phobias practically memorized. The one Kirk had found was the fear of being alone. "The way you're out with a different girl every other day."
"See? So, you can't possibly leave me alone. Let's go," he said, getting to his feet.
McCoy sighed heavily but didn't move.
Kirk frowned. "I'll even buy you a mint julep."
"Some of us are tryin' to get work done, Jim."
"Some of us are trying to ensure that others remember you can have a life outside of this Academy."
"I had one. Look how great that turned out," McCoy spat, more bitterly than he'd intended.
"Okay, that's it. Dr. Kirk has decided that you need an away mission in the worst sort of way, with at least three rounds of your juleps." He stopped and corrected himself. "Maybe five..." Kirk pulled McCoy to stand, ignoring the doctor's weak protests. "March, soldier," he said, pointing towards the door.
"Right. 'Cause we won't stick out like sore thumbs in these clothes," he said, looking down at the red cadet uniform.
Kirk rolled his eyes. "Suit up, then, but don't think for a second I'm letting you get out of having a couple of beers with me."
"Yeah, yeah," sighed McCoy, searching through his closet for real clothes. He found a worn pair of jeans and a deep green sweater. Anything to be out of that rust color. Feeling more like an adult and less out-of-place, he glanced over at Kirk, who'd changed as well, into jeans, a tee shirt and his black leather jacket.
"Still with me, Bones?"
"I'm coming," he said, running his fingers through his thick hair.
Kirk smiled. This would be good. He found a watering hole about as far away from the Academy grounds as he could find, without leaving San Francisco. It wasn't like the cadet bars closer to campus, where everyone wore uniforms. These were real people, townies, in street clothes. They were the rough-and-tumble type. They reminded him of places back home, in Iowa.
McCoy's dark hazel eyes warily swept the place as soon as they walked in. He didn't see a single person he recognized. If anyone else there was with Starfleet, they certainly didn't look it.
Leading the way to the bar, Kirk took a stool and flagged down the bartender. "I'd like a Budweiser classic. My friend, here, would like a..." He paused, clapping a hand on the older man's shoulder. "What is it, a cosmo?"
McCoy narrowed his eyes and shrugged off Kirk's hand. "Kentucky bourbon. Neat," he said, taking a seat himself.
As the bartender turned to make the drinks, Kirk frowned. "Not a julep? I promised you a julep..."
"You're gonna wish you hadn't asked me to come out with you if you're not careful."
The threat was fairly empty, but Kirk realized he needed to dial back the teasing. "So, what's going on, Bones?"
"Besides you dragging me all across hell and half'a California to find an acceptable bar?"
"Yeah, besides," Kirk said, looking at him in all seriousness. "You're not quite yourself."
"Not quite myself?" he repeated, frowning as the bartender placed an old fashioned glass in front of him and a tall amber beer in front of Kirk.
"C'mon, man. Spill."
McCoy sighed heavily, looking at the russet colored liquor in his glass. "There's nothing I want to discuss," he said, before downing half his drink in one gulp. He winced slightly at the burn.
"Well, it can't be finals," Kirk decided. "Or the Kobayashi Maru."
The older man snorted. "Been there, done that. What the hell is wrong with that test? We're human, Jim, not miracle workers."
"At least you took one of the Birds of Prey down with you when you crashed and burned... quite literally."
He rolled his eyes. "Some sadistic drill sergeant came up with that test. Had to have," he said, downing the second half of his drink.
Noting how quickly the alcohol disappeared from McCoy's glass, Kirk flagged down the bartender for another round. If Bones wouldn't spill while sober, Kirk decided he might have a better chance of figuring out what was going on while inebriated. "There's a way to win."
"The Kobayashi Maru?"
Kirk nodded, taking a sip of his beer.
McCoy laughed mirthlessly. "You figure it out, you let me know where we went wrong."
Kirk smiled as he put his glass back down on the bar. "You'll be with me, front and center, when I figure it out."
McCoy's empty glass was replaced by a full drink. He looked at it oddly, then realized what Kirk had said. "Wait, Jim, you're not... You're not taking it again, are you?"
He offered a cocky shrug. "Failure is not an option."
"Failure is the *only * option. You're not supposed to win. No one is."
"The law of large numbers clearly states that, out of all of the cadets, through all the years, that someone, sometime, somehow has to win. And that someone is gonna be me."
"And you want me to tag along for another epic failure?"
Kirk shook his head. "For my epic *win*," he assured him, raising his beer glass before taking a long drink.
McCoy shook his head disbelievingly. "Masochistic glutton for punishment," he muttered under his breath before taking a slower sip of his next bourbon.
"That's all besides the point anyway," Kirk said, remembering why he'd originally brought his roommate out of the dorms.
McCoy looked straight ahead, then over at Kirk. "We have a point?"
"What's going on, Bones?"
He realized the younger man was not going to leave him alone. "Aren't there 'hot chicks' around to take care of your isolophobia?"
"I think I'm cured. Turns out you're a miracle worker after all."
McCoy rubbed at his forehead tiredly.
"The sooner you tell me what's going on, the sooner I stop harassing you about it."
"Look, Jim, it's not... it's not important."
"Don't make me call 'bullshit' again. If it weren't important, you wouldn't be all.." He paused, to figure out the best way to describe his friend's behavior. "...weird..." It was a weak description, but it was true. "...right now."
"'Weird,'" McCoy repeated irritably. "Dr. Kirk's 'diagnosis'? How succinct," he deadpanned.
"Weird-er. Than usual," he amended.
He placed his drink on the bar and turned to look at Kirk squarely. "You know what else is weird?"
Kirk's blue eyes held hope. "What's that?"
McCoy glanced past him, for what was more than a casual look, then returned his attention to the brash young cadet. "The fact that this blonde amazon has been checking you out since we sat down and you haven't even noticed her."
Kirk, torn between getting McCoy to open up and his curiosity, succumbed to finding out if he was losing his touch by becoming oblivious.
McCoy smirked as Kirk shifted on his stool slightly, casually glancing down to the end of the bar.
There was a rather annoyed Tellarite who wasn't blonde, an amazon, or checking him out. His eyes quickly scanned the rest of the bar, looking for where she might've run off to when he heard McCoy's chuckle.
"There was no girl, was there?"
"Just like there is no problem," McCoy said, kicking back another sip of his bourbon.
Kirk sighed, a sound bordering on frustration. "We're not on semantics again, are we? Not a problem, but an 'issue?' A 'thing?'"
McCoy looked at him. "You can't stand not knowing, can you? That's why you're going to do the Kobayashi Maru again, isn't it?"
"You think I'll be relentless with a no-win simulation? What do you think I'll do until I find out what's up with you?" Kirk countered.
"What makes you think it's got anything to do with you? What gives you the right? What makes you think that you're so damned entitled?"
"It's not..." Kirk sighed. He wasn't drunk enough for this conversation. "It's not entitlement, Bones. Something has gotten you out of sorts. It's not about me finding out your secrets. It's about pulling you out of this funk that you've fallen into. It's... I'm not in this at all. This is all about you, pal."
"About me?"
"All you," Kirk confirmed. "And if you don't want to come right out and say it, though... I think it'd be healthier, Doc," he said, putting emphasis on the title and raising his eyebrows at him. "Then, you don't have to. Just... let's have a good time, let's have some drinks... I'll even try one of your jalopies"
"Juleps," he answered without thinking. As soon as the word left his mouth, he cringed.
"Bartender!" Kirk called, hitting the bar with his open hand. "Two mint juleps! Extra minty!" He looked at McCoy. "Extra minty or extra julepy?"
McCoy appreciated the attempt to make him feel better, he did. But he wasn't buying that one night out, with the semester nearing its end, would be enough to make everything magically all right again.
Kirk watched, amused, as the two new drinks were placed in front of them. "They really have mint in them."
"What, you were expecting rosemary?"
"I was expecting... I don't know. Not this," he said, eying the drink cautiously.
"They don't bite," McCoy promised.
"There a certain way to drink it?"
McCoy lifted his glass, and held it out towards Kirk. When Kirk tapped his glass against it, McCoy said: "Bottom's up," before taking a long drink.
Kirk managed a sip. It wasn't his kind of drink. It wasn't quite as girlie as he'd pictured, but it still wasn't what he figured would be his best friend's favorite alcoholic beverage.
As he'd already finished two bourbons and was now onto a third drink, McCoy had to close his eyes for a moment. The alcohol-induced warmth coursed through his veins and the growing buzz tingled his brain. When he opened his eyes again, he let out a long, lingering sigh.
"So, what am I missing, here, Bones..." Kirk said, resting his elbow against the bar and propping his head up in his hand.
"Got me. What are you missing?"
"A reasonably intelligent, reasonably attractive guy, or, so I've heard whispers... With everything in the world going for him... starts being overtly crabby and grumpy."
"You would make a horrible doctor," he said, cutting his eyes over to Kirk.
"Which is why I'm asking you for your medical opinion, here. What's going on?"
"Nothing medical about it," McCoy said. The look in his eyes was distant, unfocused.
"What is it?"
He exhaled slowly. "She's getting remarried."
Kirk let that sentence sink in slowly. "Your ex?"
He nodded.
"That's... bad?"
He offered a slight smile. Well, more like a grimace. "Technically? No. Technically, it's good. No more alimony."
"Then...?"
"You don't get it. She's already moved on. She's put everything so far behind her, it's gone. All of it. That's awesome. Stellar," he said with an especially harsh tone. "What have I done, since then? What, the Academy? It's..." He drew a slow breath. "I feel stagnant. I feel... old."
"We're almost through with the Academy, though," Kirk told him. "We'll be out of here before you know it, assigned to ships, light-years from here." He hoped he could offer his friend some optimism, but he remembered, suddenly, about when they'd first met, and McCoy's intense fear of flying.
"At this point, it can't come soon enough," he said quietly.
That wasn't the response Kirk had been expecting. Back then, McCoy would've rather hid in the bathroom than take a shuttle from Iowa to California, and now here he was, ready to ship off into the silent, dark abyss of what lay beyond the atmosphere? He wasn't entirely sure if the fear was gone. Maybe it was just hidden beneath bravado, behind pain. "You still love her?" he ventured.
"Part of me always will."
"What happened anyway?"
McCoy shook his head. "Long story, kid. Trust me, it's not worth my breath or your time."
"Maybe talking about it would help you move on, though."
McCoy rolled his eyes. "Time and space. That's what'll help me. I've put in the time, now I just need the space." He chuckled slightly. "Y'know, I always thought it was punishment. Some kinda cosmic insanity. Me and Starfleet." He shook his head. "Even halfway across the county isn't far away enough."
Kirk spoke carefully. "What about the whole flying business? The avo... avia...?"
"Aviophobia."
"Yeah, that."
"It's still around. But, Jim, I gotta get off this planet," he said, looking over at, really, his only friend.
"It's that bad?"
"Someday, when you've got an ex-wife and a pain in the ass best friend, you'll understand," McCoy told him, looking at him square in the eye.
Kirk nodded, although he hoped it wouldn't take that long for him to figure it out. And, while he couldn't speed up time to get them off-planet, he could provide some good, old-fashioned distraction. "Speaking of your pain in the ass best friend... I met this Orion chick today, Gaila..." He let out a low whistle. "She's a firecracker."
A ghost of a smile took to McCoy's lips. "Orion women typically are."
He regaled the doctor with the details of meeting Gaila, leaving out nothing, although frequently embellishing when the honest truth wasn't good enough. It took a little while, but McCoy actually laughed.
Kirk smiled slightly at the sound, though quickly took a sip of his drink to cover it. McCoy's divorce wasn't fatal, he realized; it was just a wound that wasn't completely healed. Three years was a long time for a wound to still be susceptible to infection. While space might be the healing salve, Kirk figured it might just take a little more time. Space, certainly, wouldn't hurt either. As cliché as it might be, he figured laughter was still the best medicine. And Dr. Kirk was happy to provide refills whenever necessary, to be taken with alcohol when available.
End.