Contrary to popular belief, McCoy didn't drink just to forget.

He drank to focus, to keep his mind from running in circles and giving himself a migraine. Because outside of Sickbay there was nothing to focus on, nothing to center his being and he didn't quite know how to be just Leonard and relax.

He knew how to be a doctor, commanding and in control of every life in his hands, but a normal functioning man? Not so much anymore. Somewhere along the way, he had lost himself, his essence, in his work and his acerbic armor to keep people at arms-length and it made thinking about things, like what Kirk had told him, that much scarier.

It drove him to drink more than he had initially wanted.

Usually he relished when his mind scattered into a million strands of thought, it not dwelling on things he couldn't control.

He stripped from his scrubs, tumbler of whiskey on the bathroom counter and his thoughts scarily narrowed. He absently turned the shower on and leaned against the counter, running through what Jim had divulged.

There was another Spock, an older and more approachable form of the pointy-eared bastard that Jim had met on Delta Vega.

There was mindfucking. What elder Spock had done wasn't a meld, so sayeth their own Vulcan, and it was something Jim was still recovering from. Jim said he still had echoes of nightmares that weren't his own and saw ghosts of the people around him – ghosts of what they were yet to become – while he was awake.

Then there were the allusions made by elder Spock that Spock of this time and Jim were destined to be friends; to become an unstoppable force.

Destined.

He rolled that word around his mouth. It tasted bitter.

He washed it away with another swig of whiskey as he stepped into the spray, ignoring the way the shower burned his skin as much as the alcohol did his throat.

Where did that leave him?

Jim said nothing had changed. That he had been swept under the current of duties and responsibilities that came with his new and grown up title and honestly hadn't realized how little time they had actually spent together. Kirk had said that his time spent with Spock was mostly work related, that their friendship was still a long time in coming and he was trying to fulfil elder Spock's words.

Then admitted sheepishly that he was trying to fill that aching hole within himself that had bloomed during the meld. He wanted to feel that deep and meaningful relationship that he had been told about, especially after brushing against in his ghost dreams; the incredible feeling of it – the potential of what could be.

He had scoffed at the time because Jim was explaining it as if he was justifying himself to a jealous wife. McCoy wasn't jealous and he most certainly wasn't a jilted lover. He was just a friend, one that felt awful for making Jim feel guilty about investing time in someone else.

He sighed into the hot spray, head pressed into the cold ceramic tiles and tumbler, now more water than whiskey, dangling in his left hand. Even as he said it, he couldn't quite make himself believe it anymore. It sounded hollow and made everything in his body strain just beneath his skin, tight and hot and agitated.

He said it aloud, "Friend."

And it fell flat against the cold tiles.

Just like the water ricocheting off his skin.

/

He found himself needing a distraction.

And work was easy. Work helped him function, so when his next shift rolled around, he threw himself into with gusto.

He had a PADD in his hand, eyes reading over the inductions for the day and absently pushed an order for coffee into his replicator.

Chekov and Sulu were both in with a nasty cold, noted down by a nurse he didn't quite know and decided to double check just to make sure that that was what they were dealing with. He smiled wickedly as he thought about giving them both a nice reaming that just happened to include a heaping side of teasing about being more judicious about when they stick their tongues down each other's throats.

He furrowed his brow as he thumbed through another file and picked up his coffee before settling into the chair behind his desk. His chair creaked as he leaned back in it.

A few people from engineering were in for burns, one for a broken arm, another for a, his eyes narrowed, wiring incident?

He sighed heavily and continued to the next file and snorted. Oh this was just funny.

There was someone from Gamma shift with something oozing and rancid in his pants. McCoy noted down that nurse Foster, the one that barely escaped being thrown from the airlocks for almost killing him, could take care of that one.

He sipped his coffee, the heat searing and comforting and taste, unfortunately, familiar. He spit it back out as soon as it touched his tongue, "God fucking dammit!" He threw the mug across the room and bellowed again, "Scotty!"

In another part of the ship the hairs on Scotty's neck stood on end.

/

It was a brilliant plan.

He circled the desk, one hand propped under his chin with the other folded across his middle, watching the liquid of the mugs he had just sat down slosh in lazy circles around the rim. He sent out a comm to the engineer, who had had ruined more days than McCoy would ever admit, for him to come to the CMO's office. Satisfied, Bones sat in his chair, picked up one of the numerous PADD's littering his desk and grinned.

A few minutes later, his office door swished open and Scotty popped his head in warily. McCoy arched a brow at him and the engineer cleared his throat, "Ya needed ta see me?"

Bones nodded and motioned for the man to sit down, "Just wanted to talk to you about an," he squinted his eyes at the PADD, "Ensign Tomas. It says here that he was involved in a 'wiring incident', care to explain, exactly, what the hell that is?"

Scotty snorted because apparently a crewman coming in with things, important dangly things, almost falling off due to lack of blood circulation was funny. Scotty waved his hand and chuckled, "Ah, tha kid and some other Ensign are inta a wee bit of bondage."

McCoy's brows lowered as he leveled a glare on the Chief Engineer, "I see." He straightened in his chair and cleared his throat, "Coffee?"

Scotty's eyes dropped to the mug, "O'Course, thanks."

McCoy watched on baited breath as Scotty took the mug into his hands and inhaled the wafting steam, "Is there anything else, Doctor?"

Bones lifted the PADD again, "Matter of fact," he trailed off as the rim of the mug touched the Scotsman's mouth, "Care to tell me how the coffee is?"

The comical widening of the engineer's eyes and the horrified twist of his lips as he fought not to spit out the hot liquid was more than enough payback.

Because McCoy was generous like that.

Scotty opened his mouth over the mug, letting the foul liquid dribble out, and flicked his tongue out of his mouth and scraped it against his teeth to get rid of the taste, "Wha' tha bloody 'ell was tha'?"

McCoy leaned back in his chair and smiled a lazy smile because all was right in the world now, "That, Scotty, was payback. Now fix my fucking replicator."

The Scotsman stared open mouthed at the Doctor. Then cracked up laughing.

/

McCoy was more focused on the PADD in his hand than he was the food in front of him or the people milling about around him. That is, until the loud squeaking and scratching of chair legs being dragged across tile hit his ears. He sighed heavily, donned a scowl and snapped his head up at the perpetrator.

"Heya Bones!" Jim greeted in regular Kirk fashion; bright eyes, killer smile and sure stance.

He should have been expecting this because Jim had been trying his hardest to weasel back into a routine with him, even if it had been sporadic at best. He sighed through his nose and nodded his head, "Jim."

Kirk's smile and hands that were moving to set his tray down faltered slightly. He cleared his throat and sat down heavily in the chair across from Bones, rubbing his head with a hand, "How is everything?" – Are we alright? Because we really haven't talked about it.

McCoy sat his PADD down and picked up a fork and stabbed at something mushy on his plate, intent on taking advantage of whatever this was, "Fine, Jim, just fine." – Give it time. We'll get there, Jim.

It always amazed McCoy how easily Jim's moods flipped from one end of the spectrum to the other with such ease. Kirk's eyes sparked and his smile grew, "That's great, Bones." – I'm glad I didn't screw it up.

McCoy's lips twitched, threatening to let loose emotion, but he beat the temptation down. He glanced back down at his plate and grimaced. What the hell did he get? He poked it with his fork again and it made a pfft sound before deflating, his eyes widened, "Uh, Jim. Did Scotty do any 'upgrades' to the replicator down here?"

Jim in turn was staring wide eyed at Bones' plate with abject horror, "He put in a work order this morning," he swallowed and fell back in his chair, because he wasn't quite sure he was ready to deal with sentient food this early or not, "The hell did you do to piss him off?"

McCoy cursed under his breath and slide his plate across the table, far away from Jim and himself. Bones looked him in the eye hard, because he wanted no doubt in Kirk's mind that what he was about to say was anything less than serious, "Jim, I'm going to fucking kill your engineer."

It took less than a week for Scotty to begrudgingly fix the program for McCoy's food card.

/

The next mission happened three months and a handful of times where there was much sweet talking, to get Bones to join Jim's and Spock's chess games, later.

It was an inhabited planet where the prime directive was in full effect and their mission was simple; collect organic, bacterial and liquid samples.

Therefore, it was a Spock mission.

Therefore, Jim was insistent on going.

And McCoy was too busy reading the atmospheric readings, which were strange, with Sulu to pay much attention to when they left, until the flashing red lights and sirens erupted. A strangled noise left Bones' throat as he read the read out, why the hell had it taken so long, for the planet and was fighting with his comm to get ahold of one of the imbeciles planet side.

"Spock! Jim! Someone pick the fuck up right now!" His breathing was harsh and the growl in his throat more pronounced, "Jesus, someone pick up," he pleaded again, pushing the comm to his forehead and closing his eyes.

He sucked a breath in as the crackle of Spock's voice ripped through his comm, "Doctor, please cease yelling."

McCoy had to remind himself that Spock wasn't all that bad and just liked getting under his skin. At least, that's what Jim had told him, "Now is not the time, Commander," there he thought, maybe that would get his attention.

"Indeed, it seems that we are not as compatible with this planet's atmosphere as I had deduced," he replied dryly.

"No shit, prepare for beam up to the decontamination room," McCoy stated and kept himself from asking about Jim, because he knew, in his gut that the moron wasn't alright.

And he was right.

When he reached the decontamination room with his supplies, Spock was the only one of the five that went down, still conscious.

"Any symptoms yet?" McCoy asked, hands loading medicine into hypos and eyes trained on the pulse and oxygen readings of the five behind the thick pane.

The Vulcan eyed his companions, "The others seem to have hit the coma phase quickly. I am beginning to experience tremors and decreased cognitive functions."

"What a shame," McCoy replied with bite and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath and shaking his head before glancing at the Vulcan, he said, "Sorry, reflex."

"Apology accepted."

A heavy sigh escaped through McCoy's lips and he donned a biohazard suit, five hypos ready, before he slipped between the heavy doors to be decontaminated and then through another set to his patients. Working on autopilot he depressed hypo after hypo into carotid after carotid, stopping at Jim and turning the canister of medicine in his gloved hand, "I don't know if he's allergic. We've never had to use a flusher before."

"Not giving it to him is not an option, Doctor." Spock countered. McCoy pivoted on his heel and eyed the Vulcan, hunched over against the wall and sweating the heavy metals from his skin as the flusher worked through his system.

"I know," he turned back to the Captain, emotion weighing his voice, "It's always been a damned if you do, damned if you don't with Jim."

He turned Jim's face upward to access to the artery in his neck and depressed the hypo into it without hesitation. He waited, fingers dug into Jim's pulse point, every joint and muscle in his body stiff and unmoving as he watched for signs of the adverse reaction he was sure was going to happen.

"If I may, Doctor," Spock began, straightening out against the wall, "what do you mean by that statement."

McCoy quirked a brow and looked over his shoulder at the Vulcan, "You don't understand the saying? Pretty sure it's self-explanatory." He turned back towards Kirk, breathing catching as beads of sweat, shiny from the metals, began to form on Jim's face. McCoy relaxed.

Spock studied the Doctor, dark eyes sweeping between him and the Captain, "I do understand the idiom but if I am not mistaken, and I am not, you implied it with a double meaning."

McCoy froze and fisted his hand on his thigh. He had to unclench his jaw before he turned back toward the Vulcan, "How do you think I meant it, Spock."

Because that's what McCoy did well, deflect.

"I believe you are referring to your relationship with the Captain," Spock was standing now, shiny stains from the metals flushing from his skin were all over his science blues. He tugged at the cuff of his sleeve, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle, and turned his steely gaze to the Doctor.

"Congratulations," McCoy gritted out as he stood to check on the other crewmen.

Spock blinked a few times, the only sign of his confusion, "You misunderstand, Leonard, I am merely curious as to why you said it now that your relationship with the Captain has improved."

McCoy rolled his shoulders and ran hand through his hair.

A heart to stone cold logic with Spock.

Fabulous.

"It is better," he began only to be cut off as Spock held his hand up.

"But you have reservations."

McCoy bowed his head in thought, mulling his words over, before he looked at the Vulcan meaningfully, "You can't have reservations with Jim. It's all or nothing with him," he replied, "and it scares the hell out of me."

"How so?" Spock's brows lowered minutely in confused thought.

"Because I have nothing left to give." He answered silently. The heavy silence, now beyond awkward, was broken by McCoy clearing his throat, "Alright then, nice chatting with you, I'm going to go jump out the airlock now."

McCoy's inner turmoil was interrupted by Spock, "One cannot jump out of an airlock. You are sucked through it by vacuum."

McCoy glared at him, but was internally grateful for the not so Vulcan reaction of Spock attempting to lighten the mood. Bones snarked, "We just had a civilized conversation. I didn't want to strangle you. I'm just beating the universe to the punch before it implodes."

Spock's lips twitched ever so faintly, "You would not be able to strangle me."

/

The observation deck was somewhere he normally avoided because being reminded that he was in space, alone and millions of miles away from his precious dirt and peaches, wasn't something he needed at any given moment.

Now though, the shining borealis of metals surrounding the planet they had just left, enthralled him. It was beautiful and dangerous all rolled together.

The interference of it with their electronics, namely comms and navigation, had stalled them for the time being. Scotty wasn't happy, but he never was when his silver lady was incapacitated.

But for now, McCoy just watched the fluctuating lights, letting his mind blank and his body forget its aches for the moment.

A few, preciously quiet moments later, the doors to the room opened. McCoy groaned low in his throat and leveled a glare at the intruder, "You were supposed to stay in sickbay until I released you."

Jim spread his arms and shrugged his shoulders, a shameless smile on his lips, "What can I say, you're a miracle worker. Feel like a million credits."

McCoy snorted, "You ain't getting out of your post treatment exam in the morning."

Jim's arms fell and he slumped petulantly before whining, "Booooones."

"Dammit Jim," he glared at the man good humoredly. This song and dance was familiar, "Either sit down and shut up or leave."

Jim walked over to Bones and slid down the wall next to him, resting his arms on his knees. He was quiet for a while before he peeked at the doctor from the corner of his eye, "What exactly was it that happened?"

"This isn't being quiet, just so you know," McCoy grouched before sighing and launching into explanation, "The atmosphere was heavily laden with mercury and copper molecules. They leeched into your skin. Simple case since we got you up so quickly. Just needed to flush the metals out of your system."

Jim twisted his thumbs together, "I guess it messed with our atmospheric readings?"

McCoy nodded, "Much like it's doing now. It made everything slow."

Jim's head fell back against the wall and he swallowed hard, "I heard you and Spock."

For a moment McCoy forgot how to breathe.

Jim's blue eyes flickered over to rest on the Doctors face, "Why do I scare you?"

The hurt McCoy saw on Kirk's face made his chest explode with a raw and deep ache. His hands fisted in his lap and jaw clenched as he closed his eyes. Taking a breath, wondering how he could explain this without stripping his soul bare and hurting Jim further. He licked his lips, "You apparently weren't very awake, because you misunderstood. I'm not scared of you, Jim."

McCoy chanced a peek at his Captain.

That striking jaw was set tight again and Bones figured that not looking at Jim would make this much easier.

Kirk ran the conversation though his head once more, 'All or nothing, nothing left to give… no reservations.'

McCoy exhaled heavily and closed his eyes, "Jim, I –," but he was cut off when the Captain stood to pace. He furrowed his brows, "Jim?"

He turned those bright blue eyes, burning and penetrating, back on McCoy, "You're scared of yourself."

Bones didn't reply and Jim continued stalking around the room, because he was very close, too close to figuring out the truth without McCoy sticking his foot in his mouth and giving himself away. Jim paced around, deep furrow weighing on his brow and mouth pursed tightly.

Then Jim stopped and the severe mask of thought washed from his face as his eyes widened and mouth parted. He turned to McCoy slowly and Bones wanted to flee. But like a deer caught in headlights, he sat frozen and terrified. Jim swallowed and McCoy's eyes followed the dip of his Adams-apple. Kirk took a hesitant step forward, "Bones," he whispered, hands out in a placating manner as he approached.

He couldn't move even if he wanted to because his brain seemed to have shut down and turned to fucking mush.

Jim continued his slow pace towards the doctor, eyes watching and wary, before he stopped right in front of him and squatted, ignoring the pops from his knees, "Bones," he said again softly, "What do you not have left to give?"

At that question, McCoy cast his eyes around, as if looking for an escape route and took a shaky breath before resting his gaze back on the blue ones piercing him. A low, rasping whisper was all that came out, trying to warn the Captain away, "Jim."

Kirk shook his head stubbornly, "No, not this time, answer me."

Was it pride that kept it in?

Or was it fear?

Maybe a mixture of both because McCoy shut down and Jim sighed in frustration.

"You're the most stubborn person I've ever met, you know that?" Jim chided and rubbed his face, continuing, "I'm not stupid, Bones. I'm not blind, at least, not right now. I see you and see through the bullshit you're trying to throw at me."

McCoy's hands fisted again, "I never thought or said you were stupid, Jim."

"Then stop acting like I am," he shot back before collapsing to the floor, legs touching the doctor's.

Bones chuckled breathily and pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, "What do you want from me, Jim? To tell you how much my heart breaks every time I see you laying in a bio-bed half dead? To tell you how much it fucking stutters when you bounce into my office with that stupidly perfect smile?" Bones sucked in a quivering breath, looking at Jim incredulously with suspiciously bright eyes, "To extol my undying love for you?"

Bones snorted and looked away, "Because that isn't going to happen."

Jim grinned like an idiot, "Good, because if you started all that romantic bullshit, I'd probably think something was wrong with you." He grabbed McCoy's shoulders and hauled the man upright, "I've never expected anything like that because it isn't you." He leaned in and McCoy could feel Jim's breath fanning over his lips, "However, I am."

Jim's lips brushed against Bones' gently before he leaned his forehead against the doctor's, "I've been an incredibly neglectful ass," he chuckled bitterly, "I had so much planned for us."

But Bones was still stuck on the feeling of that chaste kiss.

His brain might have imploded.

Because he couldn't stop himself from launching himself at Jim in a tangle of limbs and fevered touching, because this was what he was waiting for.

This perfect and terrifying thing between them; what had always been there.

He pulled back and looked into Jim's eyes, pupils blown, and opened his mouth but Jim stopped him with a well-placed kiss.

He smiled against his doctor's lips, "I know, Bones. I love you too."

(A/N: Yay not so angsty and Bones finally got Scotty back. I like the way things wrapped up and the way it ended. Also, apologies that it isn't as long as the first two chapters, but it was difficult to write, because apparently I find heartache and doom much easier to write than light hearted filler.