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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"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."

"Well, if everyone has their way, I'll never get my own ship. Too reckless," Jim spits out, regurgitating every bit of criticism he's ever received regarding training scenarios. "Because apparently being a captain means never winning no matter what. There's a way to achieve the mission objective and save people at the same time. I know there is. They just think too small, you know? Don't go outside the box."

The tests have to be designed by either A) old men or B) Vulcans.

"They're just jealous that you're outpacing them in your courses," he says dismissively, because he gets crap all the time at the hospital considering he outranks most of them and he knows he's smarter than most of them. "Look, Jim, don't worry too much about it. You're gonna prove that you're worth more than a ship. You're worth a whole damn fleet."

It makes him feel good to hear that from Bones, mostly because Bones isn't saying it just to get in his pants. Bones is saying it because he means it, or at least Jim thinks so, and that makes him feel indescribably good.

"Yeah? I think I'll get one sooner rather than later. And I want you on my crew."

"You really think I'm gonna take anyone else's offer?" There's a part of him that's damn tempted to accept some ground post, but he'd probably get tired of teaching the kids after about two weeks and then, where would he be? He digs out his card for the room, hauling Jim out of the cab after he's paid. "Thankfully, that's still a ways off."

"Yeah, considering I've got to get through the rest of this term first," Jim jokes. It's a very real concern, considering his track record, but he doesn't think anyone's been kicked out of the Academy for a few youthful indiscretions.

"I owe you cab fare, don't I?"

"Forget about it, just buy me a drink the next time we're out," McCoy replies dismissively, seeing as there'll be plenty of opportunities for Jim to pay him back without having to dig up some credits now. "You got problems with the rest of the term? I though you were doing fine."

"Academics? No. Behavioral, well. You've seen," Jim says, thinking it doesn't need to be spelled out at this point. He is not exactly the model of propriety. "So we're hoping I can fly under the radar for the rest of term and keep my nose clean."

"And I suppose telling you that you oughta behave wouldn't move the needle, huh?" McCoy asks wryly, knowing that it's never going to take and he's not even sure he wants it to. He digs out their key and gets them inside, heading to the small cabinet he keeps his medical things in, in order to start to patch Jim up properly.

"Sit," he orders.

Jim sits, because there's nothing else to do at this point. "Well, I could tell you that I'm going to atone for my sins and be a good boy but we both know it's a lie. I like to get in trouble a little too much. Still, I need you to help me stay on the straight and narrow so I don't get busted."

"Yeah, yeah," he sighs, "I'll keep on covering when you need me to," he promises, mainly because it's pretty much his only hobby outside of drinking, classes, and work. It's pretty much the only variety he gets, these days, which means he's going to keep doing it. "Just promise you'll invent something so that when you're on a ship, I don't feel like I'm in space at all."