Things were pretty much the same…except they really weren't. David McCoy deteriorated quickly, in less than two months after being in the hospital he was forced to resign from his position at the hospital due to his poor health. He could barely walk, speech was a hit or miss most days and his other faculties were slowly failing.

Leonard convinced Jocelyn they should move in with his parents. Donna was too busy finishing school and being a newlywed to help as much as she would have liked. His father staunchly had refused every potential caregiver they had hired and so without family help Eleanora McCoy would be left to bear the burden of his care alone.

The move was one cause of the tension between him and Jocelyn that was only seeming to get worse as the months went by. The other reason was Jocelyn was pregnant…and thoroughly pissed about it. She claimed it was his fault for coming home one night and guilting her into unprotected pity sex by …her words not his.

In addition, things at work were worse. The whole hospital seemed to be expecting him to fill his father's shoes…or maybe that was just his imagination. Now that his father was out of the picture, he felt administration and his fellow colleagues were waiting for him to jump up and be the big hotshot his father was…they didn't understand his heart wasn't in it. He was in medicine for the people not the prestige.

He finally resigned from his regular position and moved to a hospital a few towns away. The position as an ER doc was smaller than the job he had before but the hospital had a better research department. He had a research background and it was easy to persuade the department director for Neuro studies to let him start his own side project.

Never mind that countless of scientists had were working on solving the medical catastrophe that was pyrroneurits, he had to work on it himself. He had to solve this issue. He had to fix this problem.

There was really no solving any of the situations he was in, his marriage, his career, his life. It was eating away at him inside. Each person he couldn't save was a personal failure. Each time Jocelyn yelled at him about how he was a bad husband stung. Each time he didn't find a way to save his father he felt a little piece of himself dying too.

It was easy to fall into habits he had sworn he would never let himself embrace. Bourbon, Whiskey, Brandy, Beer, it didn't matter the kind of liquor; it all took the sting out of his failures. The burning scorch of liquor tracing its way down his throat seemed to burn away the agony searing his soul.

He yelled back to Jocelyn. He stormed out when his father started at him. He swore at staff where he worked. And it felt good to get some release, like a little smoke being let off from a release valve. But inside the storm was still brewing as harsh as ever.

By the time, his beautiful baby girl, Joanna McCoy, was born, his own father had taken a turn for the worse. He was in and out of the hospital too many times to count. New life had come and death seemed sure to follow. McCoy could feel time running out.

He spent longer hours at the research lab, longer shifts at the ER when even the research lab became too much, and longer time away from his family. Jocelyn rightfully accused him of neglect, and wrongfully accused him of an affair. She didn't seem to realize the only thing he was developing an intimate relationship was a bottle of liquor and a tumbler.

The doctors were talking about his father declaring a Decline Resuscitation…and David McCoy refused to even listen when the conversation would start. Rationally, McCoy knew his father was aware of why it would be a good idea…modern medicine could keep you alive long past the time it would be best to die. But McCoy also knew his father would never agree to sign a DR pride barred his way. To sign saying he didn't want to be brought back was to openly admit defeat, it was to let the whole world see that David McCoy wasn't a larger than life invincible image like he would have people believe.

He had to keep outward appearances up even when he was inwardly wanting release. The hints started at first. Talk about the patient's who had chosen to end it on their turns rather than wait to die...discussions of ethics…his declining prognosis.

McCoy got the implied request and he couldn't bring himself to do as his father wanted. It wasn't only because to do so would once again mean he had failed…there was another reason that he was too ashamed to even think let alone admit.

He wanted his father to die.

He wanted this all to be over.

No more lies.

No more expectations he couldn't live up to.

No more trying to live his life to please someone else.

And he felt sick for even thinking those thoughts.

It was another bad day at work, a fruitless day at the lab, and a horrible day at home. A whole family had died after an Air skimmer crash. He hadn't been able to save even one…three kids ,two adults…all dead. Once again a new gene therapy he had been trying out had failed in the prelim stages…and to cap it all off Joanna had an ear infection and Jocelyn was pissed at having to deal with it when as she said "He was the one who wanted a kid."

McCoy wasn't sure what drove him to visit his father. Maybe the same sort of self flagellation he had always endured. Punishing himself because he should have been able to fix this all and he couldn't.

At this point it was a precarious mixture of coffee and whiskey keeping him upright and semi coherent. McCoy carefully walked into the hospital, each step was like he was marching to his own funeral. Nurses walked past him still busy late into the night with patient's that couldn't sleep and the never-ending pile of tasks that every medical personnel knew never disappeared. They nodded at him, nobody moved to block his path or asked where he was going as he neared the unit where his father was

As he walked to the room, he passed the nurses' station. The nurses quietly watching vitals monitors , smiled at him and one or two spoke. He answered-he was almost positive he did but he couldn't remember what he had said. He froze in front of his father's door but even that didn't stop him, the door slid open with a quiet hiss and he carefully regarded the wasted, pained fatigued man lying in the bed.

He stepped over the threshold and the door closed behind him. He walked over to his father's bedside and stared down at him. He was sleeping, but fitfully. His breath was gasping and his face was still drawn even though he had a continuous drip of analgesics being hypoed into his arm. Now that he was here he couldn't do it, he couldn't give the hypos to his own father. He had done the same for other patients, he had let them die on their own terms and not victims of crippling disease but he couldn't do it now that it was his own father. And why had his father asked him? Why when he could have asked any of the other physicians? Why did he want his own son to be the one to end it?

McCoy couldn't help feeling it was one last test. He knew his father didn't want anybody else to know he had chosen this way out. He knew his father had always regarded patients who chose to leave on their own terms as weak, and now that he was finally choosing the same route. He still was holding fast to his ideology even if only by appearance, but McCoy couldn't help feel that the request coming was more about a personal challenge to his son than anything else. McCoy knew this was one last test he would fail.

He sank into a chair by his father's bed and put his hands over his face. He was exhausted emotionally and physically.

"Leonard?"

McCoy looked up at the weak voice as it gasped out his name. he stared directly into the older man's eyes and saw the silent plea in them. He saw the pain tugging at his features and he froze. His father stared at him and McCoy couldn't break away from his gaze. His father was too proud to beg, at least verbally but his eyes pleaded for release. McCoy wrenched his own eye away from the gaze. He had prepared the medications, he had checked the dosages, it would appear as though his father had drifted off, nobody would know the truth. Nobody would blame him, but he would blame himself. He would always know what he had done.

"Leonard." The voice gasped again weaker, this time but still as insistent. McCoy forced himself to turn back to his father, and this time he spoke. "Dad."

McCoy's father didn't speak in acknowledgement, all that could be heard was laboured breath. Finally when he did it wasn't the words McCoy had expected to hear. "How's your mother and sister?"

"They're-" McCoy paused he wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't tell his father how he had to hold them both as they had cried after visiting the wasted man who had once been a father and a husband. He couldn't tell his father how the burden of each decision had fallen to him because he was the doctor, and now he was the man in the family. He didn't tell him how Jocelyn had grown even more ill-tempered as he had even less time in his already over-fill schedule to spend with her and the new baby.

Or he could lie…and that was the route they always seemed to take. So he said "They're...Okay."

McCoy's father nodded and then his body was wracked by a coughing spasm and he turned bright red for a moment. McCoy was already reaching up to turn up the oxygen level on the respirator his father had fastened to his face, but a nurse quickly walked into the room, so noiselessly McCoy didn't hear her. He watched with an air of surrealness as she skilfully adjusted dials and various hypo drips and the vital monitor stabilised. Then with a reassuring words to McCoy's father and a nod at McCoy she left. "I'll give you two sometime alone, if you need anything just call."

Neither male spoke finally McCoy's father asked. "How's Joanna?"

"She's sitting up now. She stays up half the night, though I've noticed if you take her outside, she falls asleep faster. Mom said that's what you used to do when I was younger."

The older man smiled slightly and in a raspy voice said "That's the only way I could get you to go asleep. You always seemed like you thought you were missing out on something."

"Well , I was . When you're asleep everything passes you by." McCoy muttered quietly.

His father was quiet then he said, "I never thought about it like that..." He coughed again this time his body was wracked by spasms so hard it took him several minutes for his breath to return. When he finally was able to speak his words were so pained it was like every word was agony.

"Sleep would be a blessing right now, but—I feel like all my nerves are on fire." McCoy's father paused to catch his breath and then continued. "I always expected it would be something different—something quick—not this—this lingering. I was a doctor for decades-I saved so many people and now this is how I go."

McCoy shifted uncomfortably. "Dad, don't say that. Something could happen , they find cures for things everyday –and"

A harsh half-chuckle sliced through McCoy's words as his father spoke. "You're deluding yourself, Len... You and I both know what happens. First every nerve in your body begins to breakdown, the pain is...incredible... eventually you can't walk... then you can't talk...you soil yourself...your lungs shut down and still they can keep you alive on machines...until your brain finally breaks down enough for you to die...Months to die...months of pain and humiliation...maybe years."

McCoy crossed to the window and refused to look at his father. He stared at the moon and tried to forget the horrific images his father had conjured up of people dying from Pyrroneurits.

The next words were like a whisper. "I just want to sleep Len... you can understand that right?"

McCoy turned back, "You have a family." He struggled to get the next words out. " Donna just got married. Me and Jocelyn just had a child."

His father didn't speak but McCoy continued. He moved closer and his voice was louder. "You can't just give up! You can't just throw in the towel. You can't just leave because it's easier. What about Donna, Mom? What about any of us?"

"Leonard—"

McCoy ignored the words. "Do you realize what you want me to do! Ask someone else. Sign a decline resuscitation form, ask about PAS"

" I don't want to ask someone else, I don't want anyone else knowing. "

"Why because then,. They would know tough—as—nails doctor McCoy isn't that tough. Finally somebody would see the real you! You never were what you wanted everybody to believe you were, always needed something to take the sting out of things, liquor, women—"

" You don't know what this is like—"

"No, maybe I don't but if I'm ever in the same position I wouldn't be like you."

McCoy's father's eye blazed with anger. He pushed himself up with newfound strength that anger had given him. " You wouldn't be like me because you can't."

"Why, because I'm weak?" When his father didn't speak McCoy continued. "Just say it, you've always wanted to. I'm weak, I can't do it. That's what everybody thinks, Leonard H. McCoy always doomed to live in his father shadow." McCoy laughed bitterly. "But I proved them wrong, I graduated, I'm a doctor. I have a family, I not the one always trying to run away."

"I didn't run."

"You never faced anything either. Everything has to be swept under a rug, lie upon lie. You want me to do this because if I'm the one to kill you, that shifts all the responsibility off you. That's all you've ever cared about. " McCoy face was bright red as he glared at his father. "I never was good enough for you except at keeping your secrets. The nurses from work that you had lunch with all throughout my elementary school, the bottles of gin you hid from mom, the late night hospital calls you got" McCoy was nearly yelling he was surprised the nurses hadn't came, but the next words he spoke were soft, they were steeped in guilt. "Why David died."

McCoy's father had turned a deep red at the first three accusations but the last statement drained the colour from his face. "That –that boy's death wasn't my fault."

"No it was mine wasn't it. That's what you wanted me to believe, that's what you wanted everybody else to think—then your secret was safe."

"Leave me alone" McCoy father collapsed back to his pillows and his breaths came in harsh pants, but the younger McCoy refused to be silent.

His voice was coated in anger. "I'm not the reason, a group of kids had access to an entire shitload of liquor. Where were the adults that day? Where was my own goddamn father?"

McCoy laughed bitterly. "I'll tell you where he was , he was busy holed up in the boathouse banging the nurse he invited and getting so fucking drunk that he couldn't watch his own nieces and nephews let alone his own son."

"You knew better than to touch that liquor."

"Yeah, I did I was seven and I knew but I also knew I should clean my room and brush my teeth and mom still had to make me do those things. So when some of the older ones asked me for the key of course I gave it to them, finally somebody was paying attention to me."

"That wasn't—"

"Almost all the kids were shit—faced but me and David especially and you weren't paying any attention. Can we go build a raft in the middle of a fucking lake? Sure, just don't get between you and your bottle right? Twelve half-drunk kids piling on a raft the size of a kitchen mat? No big deal, just be quiet so you can get drunk and fucked in peace huh?"

"Leonard stop..."

But McCoy couldn't stop. "Then some of the kids fall in the water? No big deal, until 10 minutes you finally realise two of us are missing. I nearly drowned , David did and you acted like none of it was your responsibility. I gave the key, I horsed around and pushed David, I did it. You're secret is safe."

"I stopped Leonard, can't you forgive."

"Can't I forgive , being blamed for killing my own cousin? Can't I forgive you always bringing me into your lies and secrets? No I can't."

"Please, Len, stop."

"You stop, stop with the lies , the secrets. I'm done. I'm not doing what you asked. Call me weak , call me whatever you want but I'm done."

"Please."

"I'M NOT KILLING YOU!" The shout reverberated in the air. Both father and son stared at each other. Now that the words were spoken they McCoy felt tainted. Seconds passed and the door to the room slid open.

A nurse slipped inside. "I heard a shout and—" She faltered as she sensed the tension between the two males but neither was looking at her.

"I'm done Dad, I'm done with secrets, I'm done with doing you dirty work." Then he walked out the room pass the startled nurse and ignoring the raspy breath of his own father. Anger surged through his body, he felt ashamed at what he had said, and yet he was still angry because although the words were motivated by anger he meant them.

He caught a air skimmer home and by the time he reached his house a slow rain was trickling down. He slowly walked up the pathway to a house that was as familiar to him as the back of his hand. It was his childhood home, He and Jocelyn were staying with his mother to help out. The old farmhouse was usually a welcome sight but all it reminded him of at the moment was memoires he would rather forget. Guilt was rapidly displacing his anger leaving, nothing but a cold feeling behind.

A light drizzle of rain started to fall, McCoy froze as the liquid tumbled down, It came slowly at first then in a thickening cascade, he stood perfectly still as the cool liquid soaked his clothes, until he was dripping. As it slowed the drips on his clothes ceased from a steady flow, he felt drained. He continued up into the house, pausing only to leave his muddy shoes on the back porch. Then he slowly walked through the dark house to where he and Jocelyn were staying in one of the guest bedroom.

Without bothering to turn on the bathroom light he changed out of his dirty wet clothes and took a hot shower. He slowly dressed in clean clothes and then navigated a careful way through the darkened room to his bed. Jocelyn was already fast asleep , he stared at her dark outline for several seconds before he climbed into bed beside her. His movement awoke her, "Leonard" she whispered uncertainly.

"Yeah, it's me." He said quietly. He wondered did his voice sound as dull as he felt.

"It's 3 in the morning, you said your shift was over at 9 last night," Jocelyn said, her tone clearly demanded an answer.

McCoy didn't speak. A light flickered on. Jocelyn blinked and dimmed the light slightly then turned to McCoy. "Where were you?"

McCoy didn't miss the slight accusatory tone, but he didn't answer still. Jocelyn continued staring at him then she asked. "What happened? Something's wrong."

"I had some extra stuff to do. Nothing's wrong."

"Yes, there is."

"Nothings' wrong." McCoy repeated, when Jocelyn began to speak he pulled he reached over and flicked out the light and muttered, "Leave me alone, I told you I had some extra work."

"Extra work that keeps you over 6 hours past shift?" McCoy didn't answer so Jocelyn continued. "Len, you don't come into the house and—"

McCoy turned back in her direction even though he couldn't see her in the dark. "Shut up and leave me the hell alone."

He heard the abrupt silence that was his response and felt Jocelyn tuck the blanket between them as she moved away from him. There was nothing but silence now, silence and memories. Jocelyn's quiet breathing soon came back, but McCoy couldn't fall asleep. Images of his father lying gaunt and dying alternated with memories of patients he had loss and of the first death he had ever witnessed. The memory was blurry, time and circumstances had taken the finer details. However, the ghost-white face and blue lips of a boy only a little older than him as water dripped from his soaked clothes and frantic people tried to coax life back into his body tormented him.

He was unaware he had fallen asleep, until a cry that was his own awoke him. His heart was hammering in his chest and his breaths were gasps.

"I'm not going to get any sleep tonight." He muttered to himself. "I don't deserve it anyway." The last few words were almost silent but they evoked a response.

"No, you don't not after what you've said and done. " Jocelyn shifted slightly and he saw dimly in the dark that she was watching him.

"You're awake?"

"I've been awake since you started moving around and kicked me."

"Sorry." McCoy mumbled.

"Oh so now you're sorry for kicking me but you can't apologize for telling me to shut the hell up?"

"Let's not start this today, I'm tired and—"

"I'm not the one who started this .First you come in hours late, then—"

"I'm sorry about that."

"You're sorry? How many times have you told me that? Too, damn many. I made dinner and waited for you for hours and you couldn't even give me a call and tell me where you were?" Jocelyn voice had risen slightly. "Today was our anniversary Len, or did you forget?"

"I'll make it up to you—"

"I'd be rich for all the times I've heard that from you." Jocelyn sat up. "I'll make it up. This was just one time. Next time I promise... What don't you just admit you stayed at that precious job helping people and didn't have time to come consort with us mere mortals, I'm sure Joanna and I will understand." Jocelyn's voice had risen to the point where McCoy was seriously worried about her awakening the other occupants in the house, particularly Joanna who was in a crib in the corner of the room.

"Shh, Jocelyn before you wake Joanna." McCoy muttered tiredly.

"Oh, now you care about her? She wasn't so important tonight when you were off trying to make medical history."

"I wasn't working those extra hours tonight." McCoy finally said. He tried not to think about what he had been doing those hours. He tried not to remember drinking himself into some sort of partial apathy at yet another attempt to fix the pile of problems that his life was quickly becoming. He didn't want to recall the tortured pain on his father's face as his own son had said awful things about him.

"You weren't working?" Jocelyn sounded confused, and then her voice turned accusing. "Then where were you. It was six hours and—"

"I was at the hospital."

She snorted. " I could have guessed that one. Your usual—"

McCoy cut her off loudly. "I was visiting my fucking father."

Jocelyn broke off with "oh." She didn't speak then he felt her hand on his shoulder and heard . "Well, how is he."

"The same." The same, dying , miserable, in pain, with a son who could help him but didn't have the courage to do so. McCoy bit tried to curb the thought and instead focused on Jocelyn's next words.

"I'm sorry Len, I would have gone with you, if I had known, but—"

"It's okay, he was –-he was out of it…mostly."

"Do you want to talk?"

McCoy didn't answer and after several silent minutes he felt Jocelyn lay back down. He knew that she would fall asleep soon, but he couldn't sleep. He was dead tired but he couldn't forget. He couldn't forget what he had said, or what he couldn't bring himself to do.

Jocelyn's breaths were more even now, McCoy moved closer to her wishing he could gain some of her calm. In the dark he moved a hand to her hair and traced the line of her neck with his finer. She murmured something sleepily and turned towards him. He leaned his forehead against hers and then abruptly kissed her lips.

He felt anger, guilt, fear rising in him like a beast he could not control. He wanted to tear and rent. He wanted to do anything to release the pent up memories tugging at his soul.

Cold blue lips…water trailing down ghost-white cheeks and panicked adults jostling him….his cousin's sightless eyes staring accusingly.

He kissed Jocelyn again, this time hungrily.

Peeking past a wood plank…. A woman with too red lips and half her clothes off whispering to his Dad. "When are you going to tell your wife about us Dr. McCoy?"

She awoke and started to speak but he stilled the words with another kiss.

"Hide these bottles for me kiddo."

He slid one of his hands to sleep down to the small of her back bringing her closer, his fingers tugged at her nightgown. He pushed her flat on her back.

Leo, where's the key?

He vaguely heard Jocelyn protest but he couldn't stop. She pushed him away at first but her attempts grew more halfhearted. , then her arms were around his neck and her body pressed against his. He slid on top of her, as his fingers undid the last buttons on her gown. They were both trembling. Her bare skin was cold against his, but his skin felt like it was on fire.

He slid in ignoring Jocelyn's gasp of suprise. He was in control. He wasn't weak…he could do this.

He was in control. Jocelyn tried to move against him and match his rhythm but he grabbed her wrists holding them down, this wasn't about pleasing her. This was taking not giving like he had been doing his whole life.

It was selfish and one-sided but it was what he needed. Hard, fast and the release he craved.

Minutes later when he finally pulled away, he felt numb. He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling in the early-morning light, Jocelyn's head was pillowed on his chest.

He thought she had fallen asleep until he heard he whisper. "Len, what's wrong. Are you okay?"

Silence stretched out in answer to the question McCoy didn't know that answer to. How did you tell somebody else that the problem was your own father wanted to die and he wanted you to be the one to do it? How did you tell somebody else that it was not only that action but all the other burdens, secrets, lies that his father had shoved on him that haunted him? No, he wasn't okay but he couldn't say that, because then Jocelyn would want to know more—she would want explanations and they were the one thing he couldn't give.