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Looking back, McCoy still had no idea how any of it had happened. One minute, he was laughing, the next - well - his life was falling apart.
They were on some away mission, on a deserted island, for no scientific-damn-reason except “Bones, we’re EXPLORERS.” Two days he’d been camping on this godforsaken planet. There were no rivers, no forests, just a wasteland of dust and scrub. Yet, despite all reason, Jim had wanted to stay there, just the two of them, and see for themselves. The first day they had explored around the landing site, sending any reports back to Enterprise, which was circling above. But on the second day, Jim had pointed enthusiastically to the mountain two miles south from their landing zone with a wicked grin. Protesting had been useless. So McCoy, laden with supplies (a weeks worth of water, all their rations, medical kit and spare tent- well this was Jim we are talking about). Jim, on the other hand, had only brought himself and his wicked grin.
They were about 200 foot up when it had all happened. They were following the clearest path, which overlooked the sharp drop. On their left was a wall of rock, beneath their feet was an uneven path that was made for nature, not man. To their right, was the breathtaking drop.
McCoy was picking his steps carefully, unlike Jim who was leaping like a gazelle down the path.
“Come on Old Man,” Jim had cackled, darting back to kiss a grumpy McCoy on the lips. “Can’t you keep up?"
"Jim,” McCoy had warned, frowning at the ridiculous man in front of him and managing to keep the smile from his lips.
Jim had only laughed, reaching to grab his arm and pull him along. Jim’s hand tugged on his, pulling him forward. McCoy had growled, and yanked his arm back, roughly, unbalancing Jim. Jim’s smile dropped from his face as his arms had windmilled, far too close to the edge. “Shit, Bo-,” but Jim hadn’t managed to finish his sentence, for he was falling backwards, in surprised shock, over the edge.
“JIM!”
Heart-in-mouth, McCoy had peered over the edge, seeing Jim flailing, grabbing, scrabbling against the rocks. With a thud, over 50 feet down, Jim had collided with a rocky outcrop, and come to a sudden, silent, stop.
“JIM” he again yelled, pulling out his communicator. There was no movement.
He’d spent four hours fixing the guy, mending bones, stitching back together, till he felt that Jim had more resembled a jigsaw puzzle that he himself had put back together. Then he’d sat for hours, on the floor of their rooms, a bottle they’d been saving, pressed against shaking lips.
He still hadn’t woken up, he was in an induced coma, but with that head injury… well he was a Doctor. He knew the dangers, the risks, the likelihood…
McCoy sighed, the hand not holding the bottle swept across his eyes.
“Oh Jim,” he said, not knowing the words to say. Knowing he should be by Jim’s side, like he’s promised he always would be. But was that really Jim? Had Jim already gone on, his body just an echo of a life that once was? Or, even worse, how could he sit by his friend, his lover and hold his hand while knowing, without a doubt, that he put him there. That this was all his fault, if he hadn’t… If Jim hadn’t…
He hadn’t even been the first one to reach Jim, stranded as he was on that ledge. No, Nurse Chapel had been the first to lay her hands on his broken body, she had been the one who brought him back from crashing. Not him.
Perhaps he was cursed? He already had one failed relationship behind him, and now he’d killed his best friend. Literally pushed him to his death. How could he go on knowing that? Knowing that Jim’s fall was all on him? That if he died… that was on him. If he was paralysed, if he was brain damaged… that was all on him.
McCoy couldn’t have stopped the tears, not if he’d tried. His own breaths were as shallow as Jim’s, as he struggled through each minute.
The door chimed, but he ignored it. He just wanted them all to go away, to leave him. Couldn’t they leave him to his misery? Was that too much to ask?
He took another gulp, there was only dregs left now anyway. Might as well finish it off. Jim had given it him last year, when the Enterprise had been rebuilt and they had walked into their new room, an adaption to their old single quarters. ‘To better times,’ Jim had laughed as they stood in the small lounge area, a wicked glint in his eyes. He’d responded in kind, and they’d saved the bottle. Waiting for those better times. Leonard had always hoped, that they would drink this bottle the day he proposed. But that day would never come.
Whoosh
The door slid open, and McCoy drunkenly raised his head in confusion. Who could enter the room when it was locked?
Spock.
The Vulcan slid into the room, looking around with a simple raised eyebrow. He was followed by Uhura, who winced in sympathy, walking over to him as though he was an injured animal about to pounce.
“Len,” she said softly, trying to reach for the near-empty bottle that Leonard was determined not to lose.
He shook his head, wishing they’d leave but not having the ability to voice it himself.
“I do not understand why you are in your quarters rather than being with the captain,” Spock said, Uhura rolled her eyes but said nothing, simply reaching again for the bottle, which this time he let her have.
“Go way.”
“I understand drinking is common in humans when emotionally distressed, however, your friend, and captain-,”
“Spock,” Uhura warned, and Spock stopped. A look of utter confusion on his face. In normal circumstances, McCoy would have laughed. Instead, he stared at the floor.
“Len, sweetie,” Uhura said softly, “why aren’t you waiting for Jim to wake up upstairs.”
“Because he’s not going to wake up,” he said thickly, ignoring Uhura’s gasp of pain. “Empty shell.”
Spock stepped forward, “Dr McCoy, Nurse Chapel informed us a mere hour ago that Jim had a 98% chance of survival. It is very unlikely that he will be paralysed, facts, I’m sure, you are already aware of."
Leonard shook his heard. "If he’s brain damaged, it won’t be him waking up.”
“Oh, Leonard,” Uhura said sympathetically. “Nurse Chapel said-”
“I know!” he shouted suddenly.
“Then what is the problem?” she asked, reaching out to take his hand.
He swallowed hard, the burning feel of alcohol was fading and as it did his mind was clearing. “It’s my fault.”
“It was an accident,” Uhura said softly. “Jim wouldn’t want-”
“It was my fault! I pushed him!”
No one spoke for a moment. “Dr McCoy, the events that occurred on the surface were, as Nyota put it, an accident.”
McCoy scrubbed his hand over his face yet again, rubbing at his swollen eyes.
“Jim will want you there when he wakes,” Spock said with finality. McCoy nodded and allowed them both to lead him to the bed of his beloved. He dozed there for the rest of the day.
The lights were all dimmed, indicating it was night aboard the ship. He blinked sleepily as he looked for what had roused him. Jim’s hand had moved from the bed, and was on his. He gasped slightly and looked up, catching Jim’s bleary eye.
“Jimmy,” he half sobbed as he stood to check the monitors.
“Bo-nes,” Jim chocked out.
“Save your energy, kid,” he said as he grabbed a mild pain reliever.
“Bones,” Jim said again, insistent. Leonard looked own at him, surprised at the determination in his eyes. “Not your fault.”
Leonard gulped, but prepped the hypo.
“Say it. Say-” he panted, “say it wasn’t your fault.
Leonard closed his eyes, a smile rising from his despair. "Alright, Jim. You win. It wasn’t my fault.”
“Go sleep."
Again Leonard smiled as he administered the hypo, "whatever you say, Jimmy.”