Cognac
It was 01:00 hours on a Thursday morning and Leonard McCoy was officially willing to concede that this may not have been his best idea. Probably didn't even rank up there with the good ones. He was sitting on the floor of the small bathroom in his dorm room, making sure Jim didn't choke on his own vomit.
His original intention had been to introduce the young cadet to the finer points of liquor, and possibly inspire an appreciation for something other than Bud Classic and horrible mixed drinks. His efforts had blown up in his face and consequently, all over the bathroom rug in a rather spectacular fashion.
The rug was now lying in a sad heap on the floor of the tub McCoy was currently sitting against and a folded towel had taken its place of honor in front of the toilet.
Jim was sprawled with one arm flung across the bowl of the toilet, his head propped up against it and the rest of his body cramped between the sink and tub.
It had been an impressive 4 minutes since the last time he'd managed to bring anything up. He'd been mumbling incoherently for the better part of the hour that they'd been occupying their current positions, but had finally given it up in favor of dozing in between fits of nausea and having sips of water forced into him.
The problem with these kids, McCoy had decided, was their inability to take the time to enjoy a good drink. Proper alcohol deserved to be relished, not chugged. Then again, most of them wouldn't know decent alcohol if someone hit them over the head with it. Unfortunately, that was probably the only way they'd ever come into contact with one and wasn't that a damn shame. Asking one of them to appreciate the effort and talent it took to blend a good brandy was pretty much out of the question.
It was getting harder and harder to find the good stuff all the time.
The advent of the first reliable replicator, along with the general laziness of the human species had made distilleries obsolete and with the exception of a hardy few, almost non-existent. Those that remained were so carefully regulated and controlled, that actually being able to afford the real stuff had become the largest stumbling block for the average liquor connoisseur.
Most had turned to the cheaper brands imported by the Saurians and Acamarians, but a number of people had started mini distilleries in their basements and local hideaways and produced small batches of liquor. Some of this stock had made its way onto the black market sporting labels taken from the ancient brands; occasionally a legitimate bottle or two would turn up as well, but only a true fool would pay the going prices. It was one of these black-market labels they had been drinking this evening.
The particular bottle that they'd…scratch that…he'd been enjoying was a rather old bottle of Cognac of questionable provenance that had been distilled in the traditional and ancient process using pot stills hidden deeply somewhere within the European Alliance; he'd gotten it off another irresponsible drunk in a rather unevenly matched card game.
Jim had been tossing it back like it was the beer and watered down drinks he normally got at the local bars; drinks made with bottom shelf liquors already cut with water, served to cadets who didn't know any better. Or didn't care; he wasn't sure which was worse.
And now a good portion of a bottle of Martell V.S. was making its way through the Academy's sewer system.
A damned waste, if you asked him.
Jim groaned and brought up another mouthful of bile. McCoy doubted anything coming up was liquor at this point. Shifting, he grabbed the disposable cup from the sink and ran some more water into the bottom.
A soft groan of his own escaped his lips as he stood up. Damn it, but he was at a point in his life where he thought he wouldn't be spending this much time on bathroom floors.
"Jim, you awake?" he gave the young man's shoulders a quick shake.
"No...I think I may be dying. That's probably not a good thing, right?" he mumbled the soft reply into his arm.
And coherence was back in the building. Finally. McCoy shoved the water into Jim's hand and held on until he was sure it wouldn't end up back on the floor. Then he hoisted the younger man onto his feet and steered him back to the bunks in the main room.
Rescuing the cup of water from Jim's grasp, he placed it on the side table and dumped the cadet onto the nearest bed. The room's regulation garbage bin was placed next to his head and finally McCoy dropped onto the bunk opposite Jim's.
"Jim," he said as he pounded his pillow back into shape "you don't get to drink the expensive stuff anymore." He finally settled down. "Computer, lights off."
The lights dimmed accordingly.
"That's fine, I'm sticking to water from now on anyway." Came the grunted response.
Somehow McCoy seriously doubted it.
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AN: Thanks for reading!