three sheets to the wind [open]
After the endless stream of hungover officers, the emotional confusion that had been Ensign Martine and Lieutenant Romaine, the always-draining conversation with Jim, and the absolute clusterfuck of a confrontation with Spock in the officer's lounge, McCoy well and truly needed a drink. Maybe five. He wasn't sure yet how many he needed, but he'd know once he got there.
About an hour and far too much bourbon later, Bones (when he was drunk, he was always somehow Bones, never McCoy) sauntered through the hall, wondering where the hell everyone was. Where was Jim? His goddamn best friend should be here; should materialize whenever Bones needed him. Where was that bastard Spock? Bones was certain he'd be able to get the last word this time.
He wondered idly where he was going. His quarters? The officer's lounge? A bit overwhelmed by the possibilities, he leaned against the wall so he could think. Damn, but this wall was comfortable. Maybe he should stay here for a while, mull things over. The wall didn't seem to mind.
About an hour and far too much bourbon later, Bones (when he was drunk, he was always somehow Bones, never McCoy) sauntered through the hall, wondering where the hell everyone was. Where was Jim? His goddamn best friend should be here; should materialize whenever Bones needed him. Where was that bastard Spock? Bones was certain he'd be able to get the last word this time.
He wondered idly where he was going. His quarters? The officer's lounge? A bit overwhelmed by the possibilities, he leaned against the wall so he could think. Damn, but this wall was comfortable. Maybe he should stay here for a while, mull things over. The wall didn't seem to mind.