leftwithmybones | (no subject)

When McCoy wakes up, it's to that early-morning loathing that always comes when it's been too late of a night. Between stumbling home too late and rousing Jim for a late night quickie, it doesn't leave much time for rest. She wakes, dislodging the covers while trying as best as she can not to wake Jim up -- and hell, it's not that she's avoiding him completely, not totally, it's just that she's had a lot on her mind now that their marriage hasn't completely imploded and she ain't getting any younger. The thoughts had started occurring to her a while back, but now they're coming out in full force like they won't hide any longer.

Those thoughts can be put aside.

She stumbles, naked, for the shower and puts a lot of time towards feeling human again. The cascade of warm water over McCoy's face is desperately needed and she leans into the spray, using Jim's soap, since it looks like she's out and needs a trip to the Compound. She towels off and heads for the bedroom, creeping on tiptoes and peering inside the drawers. She fiddles with her ring as she looks, absently hooking it back onto the chain she's taken to wearing it on so she can still do clinic hours and wear her ring.

Right about the third drawer she's looking in, things get weird.

"Damn it, Jim," she growls, yanking drawer after drawer open. Back in the Academy days, a prank like this might've been appreciated or laughed at, but it's too damn early in the morning and Jim's dumped all her clothes. She yanks men's shirt after men's shirt out of the drawers, littering the floor with the damn things. Eventually, she grabs hold of Jim's Starfleet U t-shirt they'd found buried and one of his pairs of boxer-briefs, yanking them on with the furious efficiency that always turns up when Lena's mad at Jim.

Clothes all over the floor, temporary clothes stolen, she leans over and flicks him hard at the arch of his foot. "Damn it, Jim," she snaps. "Wake the hell up and tell me where you put my clothes."

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Jim gasps, stumbling a little on the path, but manages not to send any of his cargo sprawling. "Hard to walk with a boner, Bones," he says, laughing. "I do love your cooking, you know that. What's the occasion, anyway?"

She can't help the grin she presses against Jim's shoulder, remembering to be a grumpy bitch almost immediately after. "So maybe I'll cook us some dinner," she says, picking at his shirt to avoid talking right now about the subject at hand. "It's...you know, it's a conversation. I just think it's a conversation better had with wine and food," she grunts. "Maybe something nice to wear."

Because if she plays her cards right, Jim ought to be ripping said clothes off her by the end of dinner. So maybe indoors and private is the best option.

"That makes me nervous," says Jim, "But I'm a big enough fan of your food that I don't care. So you're going to get a dress?" He pictures that as he walks them down the path, Bones' much smaller feet crisscrossed over his middle. Maybe Bones will hate him for it when he's back to normal, but Jim can't help saying, "I'd love to see you in a dress tonight."

She keeps her cheek to his shoulder, getting comfortable now that he's decided hauling her around is his new job description. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea," she hums softly, already thinking of something. "I used to have this little blue number back at the Academy I used to wear when some poor sucker asked me out on a date. Slinky, shiny, and showed off all the leg," she snorts. "If I play my cards right, I ain't wearing it long."

"Sounds like a true weapon of mass destruction," says Jim, caught being trying not to picture that and dreaming of it in three dimensional surround sound for the rest of his life. Hitching her a little higher around his waist, Jim sighs. "I do love these legs."

McCoy goes with the hitch, bouncing slightly in order to keep tightly pressed to Jim, flush against his back. "Well, I'm real glad you do, but remember you can't have 'em. They're mine," she drawls, glad to see the Compound. It's not that she thinks she's heavy, but it's not fair to Jim to make him carry her the whole time. "Might even make you a fatty dessert tonight to thank you for being a gentleman, carrying me all this way, darlin'."

Despite his many doubts, Jim grins for the darlin'. It's just so Bones, and he studies the last of the boardwalk with a lighter heart. "Not so sunny here, you could walk without burning your feet," he says, swinging her suddenly around from his back and into his arms. "Or do you want me to princess carry you over the threshold?"

She lets out a cry of indignation at the twist, glaring at Jim with the fury of a dozen suns when suddenly she's in his arms like she's a goddamn rag doll. "I can walk, you cretin," she seethes, kicking his thigh lightly enough as she dismantles and walks the rest of the distance, though she does wait at the door with a hand out for Jim to take.