leftwithmybones | (no subject)

When McCoy finishes with interviews and paperwork, the first thing he does is hail a cab. Jim had given him enough information that he can manage his way out of the city and give the address, sitting back and relaxing and enjoying the civilization he's missed so much. Sure, he'd liked being on the ground and letting his life get on with itself, but this is like a step forward. The technology's still a bit more behind than he'd like, but there's purpose here and a reason to earn money and society.

And hell, but McCoy's missed that.

Paperwork from accepting the job at the hospital in hand, McCoy tips the cab driver and walks up the steps to the house. He's only been here about two days, but he still hasn't seen Spock and he's still coming to grips, a little, with the relationship that he's about to witness. He's a grown man and he's happy if Jim's happy, but he can't deny it's gonna be an adjustment.

Clearing his throat, he knocks on the door and shifts the bottle of wine in hand, hoping that they don't mind a surprise visitor.

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"Bones!" shouts Jim through the foyer window. He's been as good as bouncing off the walls for days, tearing through project after project with a frenetic energy, and at the sound of a car in the drive, has to step over the bowels of two computers in his haste to reach the door.

Flinging it open, he seizes Bones by the sleeve to haul him inside, hollering over his shoulder, "Spock! Bones!" Turning to beam at his friend, Jim adds, "They're looking at you for head of the trauma already, you don't want that, do you? Talk about shitty hours. Or do you want it? Because the other guy up for it, Richards or whatever, he's been at six hospitals in the last two years. Sounds shady to me. I could delete some of his references." Pausing for breath, Jim claps Bones on the shoulder.

"They're probably not even real, anyway."

Spock had his expectations set for the night when Jim had gone monosyllabic at Dr. McCoy's arrival. He hadn't seen the man yet, but also hadn't had the need that Jim had to be in his company. Spock was neither fond, nor unfond, of Bones. Spock knew he was better to have the man in his life. For a number of reasons, Dr. McCoy being in Darrow, from Spock's point of view, worked out to be a net positive.

But Spock rarely sought people out on his own without a better reason.

"Doctor," he said from a nearby entryway, a little stiffly. "I don't think that you will have any trouble reaching the career you most want here, even without Jim's 'assistance.' Although I'm to understand that there is a possibility that you are somewhat out of practice?"

Jim had already told Spock that the circumstances around Bones' arrival were, if no less strange than anyone else's, not entirely in-line with Jim and Spock's own.

Holy hell, it's like stepping into a hurricane if the eye of it was filled with cool, logical disdain. He nearly takes a step back out onto the porch to try and get his courage up for this conversation, but he just tells himself that it's like dealing with the cat in a good and bad mood all at once. "Jim, you wanna take a breath for me, there?" he suggests, a little worried he might go red and pass out trying to advance McCoy's career.

He turns a rueful smirk on Spock, next, shaking his head. "Son of a bitch, it's like no time's passed at all." There's some fondness in his tone, though. You aren't roommates with a man for as long as McCoy had lived with Spock without feeling that friendship develop. "I'm still sharp on the research side of things, but I could use a little more hands on practice. Then again, some people always did say my bedside manner left something to be desired," he notes pointedly in Jim's direction.

It's been long enough that Jim looks upon said bedside manner through the filter of wistful nostalgia, and he gives Bones a puzzled look, even as his hand creeps up to unconsciously protect his neck from hypos.

"Are you hungry?" he asks. "We're putting dinner on soon, vegetable tajine from the garden and - " Jim casts a furtive look at Spock. "I totally hid some steaks at the bottom of the icebox."

Spock isn't bothered by the comment from Dr. McCoy -- to the affect of 'you haven't changed.' Spock takes it as a compliment. A stable personality, within reason, was highly sought after in a Vulcan. 'Boring' was a purely human concept. For the most part. Spock is happy to be considered quite predictable, by McCoy's standards.

Spock allowed a leisurely blink before nodding McCoy welcomingly into the house.

"Please eat something. Especially if it means you're going to be consuming half of whatever saturdated fat that Jim would have been, if you hadn't showed up to partake. If you need practice," he adds. " ... I haven't had a check-up in more than long enough."

"We'll make sure we get you a check-up," McCoy says, with a firm nod, but he's quickly spinning on Jim with an accusatory look on his face. "What's this about saturated fats? Does that mean you're still eating more than you should? I've told you a million times your heart's at risk for that sort of stuff, Jim," he complains sharply, but he's smiling like an idiot to be ranting at Jim like this again. It's been far, far too long.

"Probably less than I should," Jim replies, saved from the mental spiral he'd plummeted down at the thought of Bones examining Spock. It shouldn't sound weird - it would have been entirely normal on the Enterprise, and is probably even regulation, but Spock can surely tell what's wrong with him just by going into one of his meditation things, and -

Jim's head swing abruptly towards Spock. Holy shit, he's being nice. To Bones. Jim grins broadly at the pair of them. "Seriously. I eat more vegetables than I ever dreamed or wished for, and it is not at risk!" Jim pats his own chest. "I run like five miles a day."