leftwithmybones | (no subject)

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Today's been a hell of a rough day.

Normally, he can get through his shift at the hospital with ease. Starfleet is hesitant to shove its cadets into situations they can't handle and thanks to paperwork and seniority issues, no one will let McCoy do the work he knows he can. So he's a glorified intern, instead, consulting and doing only half the work he ought to be. Today, though, he'd been working in the clinic when a married couple had come in, bright and beaming and barely off their honeymoon. It had been a kick in the ass; one that reminded him of Jocelyn in more ways than he liked.

That's why he ends up at the most popular dive-bar, knowing that it'll be crowded, but that it also has the best alcohol and the fairest prices, making it a popular campus choice. What he doesn't expect (though he should), is to walk into the bar and discover there's already an event going on, by the looks of it. More than that, looks like he knows the instigator.

Ignoring that mess, he heads up and holds up his fingers to order a drink. "Just bring the bottle," he amends his order, after a second.

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"Yeah, because that's what all men want. Someone to take pity on them," he replies wryly, giving Jim a look that says if he hadn't just been beaten to a pulp, he might have thought once or twice about smacking him. "Look, I know you don't have anything to compare it to, but getting divorced really sucks and you don't just jump right back into the fishing pond."

"You do have to eventually fish again, though," Jim says. "And how long has it been? Too long. You've been moping about this since I met you." Jim is of the opinion that holding onto hurts like that is not the way to live. Feel it, live it, move on from it with some other woman.

"And it's about time you at least tried to talk to someone."

"Jim, I got divorced," he says again, putting heavy emphasis on the topic at hand. "It's not something you get over real quickly and besides, it's not like I'm ready for another woman. I got trust issues, funny enough," he says wryly, drinking a little heavier because he doesn't know why they're still talking about it.

"When I'm ready, I'll go out and find me a rebound with someone, guy or girl, but I'm not ready yet."

"Suit yourself," he says, shrugging a little. It's not as comfortable and easy a gesture as he would prefer but he's fairly certain some of his bones and tendons have been (at least temporarily) rearranged.

"I just think if it was me, I'd be trying to get past it with someone new. Something new."

"I know exactly what you'd do, Jim, I'm your roommate," he replies, rubbing his eyes as he stares at Jim and knows that even though he hadn't meant to stumble onto a distraction, he's got one in spades, now. "Come on, let's get out of here and I'll treat your injuries so you don't miss classes tomorrow."

"Wouldn't want my grades to suffer," Jim says dryly. Honestly, he has incredible marks in all his courses but that's because there is nothing he wants more than to be a captain in Starfleet someday and people with less than stellar grades aren't exactly getting pushed into senior officer positions. It means something to him, it means everything to him, so he isn't screwing around.

"You think you can fix...all of it?"

He takes a critical look at Jim's face, then his body, and internally grimaces. It's all not so bad, but it's probably going to take a hell of a lot longer than he'd planned on working tonight. Still, Jim's pretty much the only person in the last year who's really stuck by him. "Yeah, kid, I can fix it all," he promises. "But you're gonna owe me a bottle of something."

"I don't think either of us need a bottle of anything right now," Jim says reluctantly. It takes a lot to admit that, to be sure, but he's finally reached his limit for once. It's probably wise to quit while he's ahead.

"Let's get it done and pass out, yeah?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I could always use a bottle," he says, but he grumbles as he reaches for a few credits to settle his tab, dropping them on the table as he finishes his drink, figuring he'll still be steady enough to patch Jim up, at this point. Gesturing for Jim to move, too, he points towards the door. "Back at the dorm?"

"Yeah, I don't want the ladies to see me crying like a baby." Jim isn't exactly the best patient which is unfortunate because he is, quite often, a patient of McCoy's. He thinks McCoy takes some real pleasure in inflicting regular pain on him.

"Better we do it in private like usual."

"I've never known anyone so whimpery around medicine," McCoy says, shaking his head as if continuously stunned that Jim can be such a wuss when it comes to getting patched up. He hauls himself up, making sure they're all good and settled, and that Jim doesn't start a fight on their way out.

He feels worn, but he's glad they're heading home. "Next year, I'm applying for off residence apartments," he threatens. "Right next to a bar so I never have to walk more than a few steps."

"And I'm moving in with you," Jim says, laughing softly. "Because that's really convenient for me to have my doctor and the bar within walking distance of one another. I think it'll cut down on alcohol related injuries in my life."

He also thinks it will contribute greatly to getting Bones out there so he isn't moping anymore.

He really never expected to fully lose Jim, so he's not entirely surprised at the proclamation, though he doesn't expect the relief that comes on its heels. "See, you say that you're gonna see a decrease in the alcohol-related injuries in your life, but I've got this funny feeling I'm gonna see an increase in migraines in mine."

"You know, I bet there's some medicine for that," Jim says good-naturedly. "You know, I heard sex helps with that. Sex with actual people and everything." He's back to pleasantly drunk and still on his crusade to get Bones out there and not so miserable about his ex.

The look he gives Jim in return is one of his best glares, but even that doesn't feel like enough, so he flicks at Jim's forehead and hell, but that has the uncanny result of making him feel better. "Look, we live like sardines in a ridiculous high school like bunk," he complains. "Until I've got the privacy of my own single with a door that locks and no spying roommates, I'm not bringing anyone home."

"It's not like I care. I bring women home all the time," Jim says, shrugging. It turns out to be a painful motion and he makes a mental note not to express his opinion in anything but words until Bones patches him up to more or less 100%.

"And you...don't usually complain about it? A lot?"

"Yeah, well, I care," is all he says, and it's not that he means to grumpy or old-fashioned, but sometimes he likes his privacy and when Jim entertains, it means he loses out on that. "Maybe it'll be fine when we each have our own room, but I'm losing sleep as it is. You don't help," he deadpans, but he's joking.

"Yeah, well, I just make life interesting," Jim protests. He really does. If it weren't for him, Bones would do nothing but wallow in misery and study with a few breaks to get roaringly drunk. As it is, he gets a chance to patch Jim up occasionally.

"Admit it, you would miss me if I wasn't your roommate."

He makes life interesting and frustrating and a whole lot more things, but yeah, McCoy would probably be extra deep into a bottle if it weren't for Jim's presence in it. He sighs and gives Jim a rare moment of honesty. "All right, fine, yes. I'd miss the hell out of you if you vanished," he concedes.

"Happy?"

"Supremely satisfied," Jim says, grinning a little. It's not the effect he wants with his split lip and cracked nose but he guesses the sentiment is still there. "I live to make you happy, Bones. I'm just not really that good at it."

And that's an understatement.

He snorts and gives Jim a wry look from where they are. He manages to call them a cab before he turns to look at Jim's wrecked face again. "You know what the really sad thing is? This is me happier than I usually am. That's just how far the pit of despair goes, when it comes to me."

"Well, when you have a face like this to look at, how can you be anything but happy?" It's only half joking because really, most of Jim's best memories at the Academy have had Bones attached in some way, shape or fashion. He hopes the feeling is mutual.

"Right?"

McCoy lets Jim hang for a little while, knowing it might be a little mean, but hell, some of his enjoyment comes from jerking Jim around a touch, giving him some private delight. "Here," he says, gesturing to the cab. "Get in, we'll go back and patch you up so you don't get any cool scars on that face of yours."

Jim tumbles into the back of the cab and stretches out as best he can manage in the backseat. It means Bones has less room, of course, but that's not a concern at the moment. They know one another well. It's not like there's personal space issues.

"I heard that chicks dig scars. What do you think, Bones? You think I might need one just to back up how much of a badass I am?"

"Yeah, I think you need a scar from a barfight because you wouldn't wed the guy's sister," is his deadpanned retort, squirming as he tries to make room for himself and inevitably just ends up shoving at Jim to make some space, because it's easier than just giving it all up. "How about you become a Captain and earn some real scars. Not serious ones, though. Just superficial."