A shadow fell over the table.

Great. My favorite thing: unwanted company.

He wasn't very tall, the man standing there like a priest, hat twisted in his hands. Slice off an inch or two and he wouldn't even reach Leonard's shoulders.

None of that mattered, of course, the moment the stranger pulled out a chair, making himself comfortable at Leonard's table. He gave the man a lazy once-over before turning back to his drink.

After all, he hadn't snagged that table in the darkest corner of the bar because he felt talkative.

"Evening," the man said, flashing a smile that Leonard would've just loved to smack off his face.

Instead, he gave a half-hearted nod in return, pouring himself another glass of bourbon.

The man set his hat on the table.

Oh, yes, please, make yourself comfortable.

"Seems you've been in a nasty fight."

Leonard raised a hand to his lip, still throbbing and trailing blood from way back when Jim had let his fist fly. Seems like it shoulda stopped by now…

"You don't know the half of it," he muttered.

"Do your friends know you're here?"

Why'd he have to say it like that?

The liquor seared his throat on its numbing journey downward. "Is that what you do for a living? Go bar hopping and pry into people's personal lives? Well, I've got news for you, pal: people don't come here to talk, they come here to drink."

"They're probably worried about you."

"Who?" Leonard scoffed as another burning sip scorched his insides. "Christine? I scared her half to death, so probably not. Spock? I can't remember the last word he said to me. Probably something along the lines of 'what have you done?' And Jim?" Leonard gestured to his lip once more. "I wouldn't count on it."

"Perhaps if you go back to them, Leonard; explain what happened. They'll forgive you. They always do."

The advice, while kindly meant, sent shivers down Leonard's spine.

What the…?

I'm not drunk enough for this.

Or, you're too drunk…

When in doubt, get defensive. That had always been his motto.

And it had always worked—more or less.

"Hey, who are you anyway? 'Cause I sure as hell don't know you."

"I'm Jackson," came the man's easy reply, "and I'm your guardian angel."

He'd had one drink too many for a statement like that to come as a surprise. This was a bar, for crying out loud. People say all sorts of wacky things.

Sizing up the man with a dull stare, Leonard couldn't help but quip, "Well, that figures. You look like the kind of angel I'd get. Hey, aren't angels supposed to have those huge wings and ridiculous harps?"

"Oh," the man said, sitting back with his hands folded in his lap as if they were simply discussing the weather, "I haven't earned my wings yet."

"Pretty embarrassing, being seen around an angel without any wings," came Leonard's dry comment. "I don't know if I should hang out with you anymore."

"That's why I've got to earn my wings."

"What, like earning your stripes or something?"

"In a way. So…" Now, he leaned forward with a grin. "You'll help me, won't you?"

"Sure, sure." Leonard waved a dismissive hand before cradling his chin in it. "Whatever you say."

"Wonderful! You can help me by letting me help you."

A wry chuckle escaped his throat. "The only way you could help me is if you happened to have a few units of augmented blood on you. Another miraculous transfusion by Doctor McCoy would sure come in handy right about now."

The answer was way too matter-of-fact to be real. "We don't need blood transfusions in heaven."

"Oh, sure. Of course. I forgot how it is with you angel-types. No sickness, no death, no sadness, right? Hey, you want a drink? Might as well, since you're here and you don't seem to wanna go away…"

"I'm not here to drink, I'm here to save you."

"Save me?" Leonard scoffed. "Sorry, pal, you're a little late to do any real saving. Should've been here this morning…" The accident, the operating room, the hypo. Jim… He shook his head as if the motion could shake the memory away. "Better yet, should've found me years ago… Save me from what, anyway?"

"From taking your own life."

Leonard chuckled—even as his veins turned to ice. "I'm a doctor. I don't take lives, I save 'em. Well, at least, I used to… Do you ever…?" Washing a hand over his face did nothing but remind him of the sweat lining his brow. "Do you ever get the feeling everyone would just be better off without you?"

"What have you done, Doctor…?"

"It's only natural to lose a patient," the man said, voice solemn. "But you've touched more lives than you know and in more ways than you can count, Leonard. I don't think you realize how much you're needed—"

"Bones, how…?"

"You don't get it, do you?" Leonard snapped, slamming his glass on the table. "I've lost patients, sure. What doctor hasn't? You can't save everybody, but you can damn well try. What I did back on… I wouldn't be surprised if Jim never speaks to me again."

"Jim, I… What can I say? How can I even begin to apologize—?"

Crack!

"Leonard—"

And damned if that calm voice didn't drive him to murder within the next ten seconds.

"I grabbed the wrong hypo!" Even as he said it, his hands trembled, stilling only when Leonard anchored them against his glass. "I botched the procedure! If I'm capable of making a mistake that big, who knows what'll happen the next time or the next! If it weren't for me, Jim would still have a brother!"

"Spock… Spock, how do I fix this…? How do I…?"

"So you think taking another one of his family members away from him will fix everything?"

Silence.

"Didn't you hear me? I killed Sam Kirk! I made a mistake that cost him his life! I'm not part of Jim's family, I murdered his family!" He sucked in a breath, deflated and defeated; worn as he topped off his glass.

"You don't know all you've done," the stranger tried. "All the good. Why, if it hadn't been for you—"

"If it hadn't been for me, everyone would've been a lot better off. That's all I'm saying. Jim, the Enterprise, Christine, my crewmates—hell, even Spock."

"And that sort of thinking is why I'm here to save you."

Tired. He was so tired, and the alcohol certainly wasn't helping. "Look, I don't need any saving, all right? I just need you to leave me alone. Go find someone who really needs your help. Someone about to jump off a bridge or something, I don't know. Go haunt literally anyone but me."

"Ah." The man—the angel, what a joke—nodded, a wise expression on his face. "You're not the only one who knows the contents of that hypo."

Just like that, Leonard froze, fist tightening against his glass. "What hypo?"

Another knowing look came his way. "The one tucked in your inside coat pocket."

Leonard sucked in a breath, taking a moment to really study the man. He was short, McCoy's brain had already established that. His fair complexion foretold relentless sunburns if he traveled any further south. However, December in San Francisco wouldn't do too much damage.

Not with this damn cold front we're having.

Despite the warmth of his dark brown overcoat and jacket—civilian clothes, because why pretend? It was over—the doctor shivered.

"Quick and painless," the stranger went on. "Physician-assisted suicide." His slow nod grated on Leonard's fraying nerves. "Well, I suppose you're no stranger to that, but just because you're capable of doing something doesn't mean you should."

His frozen blood was now coming to a boil at the thought of such a terrible, long-buried memory. A father in pain. A mistake. A cure too little, too late.

But you'd stirred it up yourself only hours ago.

Didn't you?

Another life that should've been spared his healing touch.

Shut up.

"Listen," Leonard began, voice hard and thick, "I don't know how you know my name. I don't know where you get off knowing all that crap about me or telling me what I should and shouldn't do with my own life, but I came here to be alone. So, why don't you go annoy someone else for a change?"

With a sigh, the man lifted his gaze toward the ceiling.

Or the heavens…

Oh, knock it off.

"This is going to be harder than I thought," he murmured.

Heaving a sigh of his own, Leonard shook his head and returned to his drinking.

The man muttered something else, but the doctor had stopped listening the second his lips met the rim of the glass, downing the last of his alcohol.

Just a little longer…

One more drink wouldn't kill him.

The hypo burned in his pocket, a hot iron pressing against his chest.

When he glanced up, the stranger was staring at him again, eyeing him with a glint in his orbs Leonard couldn't decipher.

"So," he began, clasping his hands together, "you really think killing yourself would be better for everybody, hmm?"

Leonard opened his mouth. Closed it. Then sighed, carding a hand through his hair. "I don't know… I can only think of the people who'd be alive right now if it weren't for me. Maybe it would've been better if I'd never been born, or something."

"What was that?"

Is he deaf or am I just losing my mind?

"Damn it, man!" Leonard exclaimed. "I said, I wish I'd never been born! By some voodoo magic, you know everything about me! You know what I've done, so you should agree!" Suddenly aware of the heads turning his way, he lowered his voice to a hiss. "Was that loud enough for you?"

The man's smile held a tinge of sadness.

Seems everyone's always sad about something or other…

"All right, Leonard. You'll get your wish."

Sliding a finger around the dry rim of his mug, Leonard furrowed his brows. "What wish?"

"As of this moment, you were never born."