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seren_ccdTitle: Bourbon
Fandom: Star Trek 2009
Spoiler: pre-movie McCoy, McCoy's ex
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Because it was bourbon that got him here, so maybe it'll find him a way out.
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
yahtzee63's: Star Trek Reboot Drabble Challenge, Mark II. Go forth and see the other awesome entries!
One cube of ice clinks into the glass. McCoy would really prefer two cubes, but this isn't the kind of establishment where you can be picky. He watches as the bartender pours the bourbon into the glass.
"Thanks," he grumbles. The bartender gives what would probably constitute as a nod, but the thickness of his neck prevents it from being so. McCoy takes the glass and finds a small table away from the windows and the doors. He's currently on a masochistic streak and doesn't want to watch the way the sun sets through the pecan trees or the spectacle the starlings make as they come home to the old warehouse to settle down for the night. He wants to sit in a craphole of a bar, at a table that rocks back and forth every time you so much as touch it and a chair that numbs his ass. And drink.
Because it was bourbon that got him here, so maybe it'll find him a way out.
He raises the glass to his lips and takes a drink. It's surprisingly smooth for the amount he paid for it and he holds it in his mouth for a second and then swallows sharply, wanting the burn on his throat. He breathes deeply letting the taste of smoky wood fill his head. Christ, he is a morose bastard.
How his ex always managed to find a way to get him out of one of his moods, he'll never comprehend.
He sets the drink down on the table and hunches over to look through the liquid to the grain of the table. He lets his eyes unfocus and the liquid becomes a blur of amber and he can almost see her eyes, wide and intelligent listening to everything he was lecturing and absorbing it. She was part of a group of relief workers that had come down south to take part in the Katrina simulation and McCoy was doing his community duty by teaching basic first aid.
She'd approached him after the class and for a second he thought she was going to proposition him. He was only halfway disappointed when all she said was,
"Is the only viable approach to a sucking chest wound to apply an air-tight bandage? What if you don't have access to a good adhesive?"
She was long legs, full hips and a steady smile. They'd talked for an hour, then moved on to a local bar where he'd gone straight for a beer and she'd ordered bourbon and made him try a drink from her glass. The rest of the evening was a slight blur of worst-situation-ever stories, subtle flirting, outright flirting and then an offer from him to show her more complex first aid techniques. Which had led them straight to his too small house and a sweet, slow tangle of limbs on the bed.
He had slid his fingers up and along her leg and patiently instructed exactly where to apply the right amount of pressure to which she'd replied, "Exactly what type of relief aid do you think I'll be providing?" But then she'd gasped and he followed the sound with his mouth. She later proved to be a very apt student when she duplicated the exact pressure on him and made him gasp.
They had gotten married a month later.
McCoy leans back heavily in his chair and takes a proper swig ignoring the taste and just wanting the effect. He absently hears the bartender switch on the cracked vid-screen in the corner above the bar. The sound of static and garbled words mix well with his current state of mind.
Six years. The first had been easy days and warm nights. Then came the wonderful, beautiful chance of a daughter.
"We'll call her Joanna. No one else in either of our families has that name. She'll be her own person."
But even modern medicine can only go so far and the loss broke his heart and almost broke her spirit. He worked eighteen hour days and she went back to relief work full-time and was off planet on mission after mission.
She never tried to get him out of his moods anymore and he couldn't blame her.
McCoy holds the glass up to his lips and just inhales the scent of charcoal and oak. The divorce papers were the first thing he saw on the table when he got home after a seven day working binge and the second thing he saw were her eyes, sad and resigned. He reached for her and they stood arms wrapped tightly around each other in the still too small house with the faulty replicator humming it's broken rhythm in the background. He signed the papers. She kissed his cheek and then left.
That was six months ago.
The hospital kept him on because he was, above all else, a damn good doctor, but their patience with his lack of patience is getting pretty short. Shape up or ship out. And that was a direct quote.
McCoy snorts and throws the rest of it back, hearing her voice in his head admonishing him for wasting perfectly adequate bourbon. The bartender turns the vid up louder and he glances up to see the latest on the starship construction in Iowa. It's a massive thing. McCoy's never had a mind for machines but even he can tell it's going to be a thing of beauty.
Shape up or ship out.
They're still recruiting for Starfleet, the vid says in a disjointed tone.
Shape up or ship out.
She'll be her own person.
McCoy goes to take another drink and swallows air. He looks at the glass. It's gone. Not a drop left.
He looks back up at the vid-screen.
Shape up or ship out.
Maybe he'll do both. Goddamn, does he hate space, but he hates the idea of not practicing medicine more.
He heads to the bar and buys a whole bottle of bourbon, 'cause it's a hell of a long way to Iowa.
Fandom: Star Trek 2009
Spoiler: pre-movie McCoy, McCoy's ex
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Because it was bourbon that got him here, so maybe it'll find him a way out.
A/N: For
yahtzee63's: Star Trek Reboot Drabble Challenge, Mark II. Go forth and see the other awesome entries!One cube of ice clinks into the glass. McCoy would really prefer two cubes, but this isn't the kind of establishment where you can be picky. He watches as the bartender pours the bourbon into the glass.
"Thanks," he grumbles. The bartender gives what would probably constitute as a nod, but the thickness of his neck prevents it from being so. McCoy takes the glass and finds a small table away from the windows and the doors. He's currently on a masochistic streak and doesn't want to watch the way the sun sets through the pecan trees or the spectacle the starlings make as they come home to the old warehouse to settle down for the night. He wants to sit in a craphole of a bar, at a table that rocks back and forth every time you so much as touch it and a chair that numbs his ass. And drink.
Because it was bourbon that got him here, so maybe it'll find him a way out.
He raises the glass to his lips and takes a drink. It's surprisingly smooth for the amount he paid for it and he holds it in his mouth for a second and then swallows sharply, wanting the burn on his throat. He breathes deeply letting the taste of smoky wood fill his head. Christ, he is a morose bastard.
How his ex always managed to find a way to get him out of one of his moods, he'll never comprehend.
He sets the drink down on the table and hunches over to look through the liquid to the grain of the table. He lets his eyes unfocus and the liquid becomes a blur of amber and he can almost see her eyes, wide and intelligent listening to everything he was lecturing and absorbing it. She was part of a group of relief workers that had come down south to take part in the Katrina simulation and McCoy was doing his community duty by teaching basic first aid.
She'd approached him after the class and for a second he thought she was going to proposition him. He was only halfway disappointed when all she said was,
"Is the only viable approach to a sucking chest wound to apply an air-tight bandage? What if you don't have access to a good adhesive?"
She was long legs, full hips and a steady smile. They'd talked for an hour, then moved on to a local bar where he'd gone straight for a beer and she'd ordered bourbon and made him try a drink from her glass. The rest of the evening was a slight blur of worst-situation-ever stories, subtle flirting, outright flirting and then an offer from him to show her more complex first aid techniques. Which had led them straight to his too small house and a sweet, slow tangle of limbs on the bed.
He had slid his fingers up and along her leg and patiently instructed exactly where to apply the right amount of pressure to which she'd replied, "Exactly what type of relief aid do you think I'll be providing?" But then she'd gasped and he followed the sound with his mouth. She later proved to be a very apt student when she duplicated the exact pressure on him and made him gasp.
They had gotten married a month later.
McCoy leans back heavily in his chair and takes a proper swig ignoring the taste and just wanting the effect. He absently hears the bartender switch on the cracked vid-screen in the corner above the bar. The sound of static and garbled words mix well with his current state of mind.
Six years. The first had been easy days and warm nights. Then came the wonderful, beautiful chance of a daughter.
"We'll call her Joanna. No one else in either of our families has that name. She'll be her own person."
But even modern medicine can only go so far and the loss broke his heart and almost broke her spirit. He worked eighteen hour days and she went back to relief work full-time and was off planet on mission after mission.
She never tried to get him out of his moods anymore and he couldn't blame her.
McCoy holds the glass up to his lips and just inhales the scent of charcoal and oak. The divorce papers were the first thing he saw on the table when he got home after a seven day working binge and the second thing he saw were her eyes, sad and resigned. He reached for her and they stood arms wrapped tightly around each other in the still too small house with the faulty replicator humming it's broken rhythm in the background. He signed the papers. She kissed his cheek and then left.
That was six months ago.
The hospital kept him on because he was, above all else, a damn good doctor, but their patience with his lack of patience is getting pretty short. Shape up or ship out. And that was a direct quote.
McCoy snorts and throws the rest of it back, hearing her voice in his head admonishing him for wasting perfectly adequate bourbon. The bartender turns the vid up louder and he glances up to see the latest on the starship construction in Iowa. It's a massive thing. McCoy's never had a mind for machines but even he can tell it's going to be a thing of beauty.
Shape up or ship out.
They're still recruiting for Starfleet, the vid says in a disjointed tone.
Shape up or ship out.
She'll be her own person.
McCoy goes to take another drink and swallows air. He looks at the glass. It's gone. Not a drop left.
He looks back up at the vid-screen.
Shape up or ship out.
Maybe he'll do both. Goddamn, does he hate space, but he hates the idea of not practicing medicine more.
He heads to the bar and buys a whole bottle of bourbon, 'cause it's a hell of a long way to Iowa.
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Date: 2009-05-20 06:09 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2009-06-02 06:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-14 07:54 pm (UTC)I even put up sad!Bones for this fic... It was a lovely look at what might have changed in this universe, and nice to see the ex isn't portrayed like some golddigging harpy.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-15 07:54 am (UTC)*hands you a tissue and some ice cream*
no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 01:46 am (UTC)You do have a point about Bones' loyalty, and I'm glad you didn't make the ex a harpy. Bones is, however, a rather cranky soul and I could see a backstory that involved too much bourbon one Southern summer night, a sexy lady, a surprise pregnancy & sudden wedding, and said sexy lady getting too fed up with having both a cranky child & a cranky husband! :-P But even then, I have a hard time seeing Bones willingly being so far away from his child, so maybe your take is the more in-character after all!
Thanks for the lovely (if sad) story!
no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 07:52 am (UTC)I still have a hard time believing Bones would go so far. In the original series he was much older when he joined the Enterprise, so I could believe him leaving when his daughter was more grownup.
Thank you very much for giving it a try!