[For Jim]

[leftwithmybones]

It's nearing the end of yet another day and McCoy's honest to god lost track of them. Instead of sitting around with his father and staring at the machine like it'll just vanish, he's gone out to the bar that's just down the street. Jocelyn's favorite place, considering McCoy had spent so much of his time here in the last days. He's got a heavy drink in front of him and has been rubbing his hands over his face, trying to make sense of any of this.

He can't finish a cure in a day. Killing his father does nothing. Not killing him doesn't do a damn thing. He's ready to put on a goddamn tutu and dance the ballet around the hospital in a day's time just to see if that does anything. The only consolations to any of this is that he's got friends and that every day at the same time, Joce brings by Jo and he sees his baby girl.

He's going to miss that if ever they solve the stupid problem.

He finishes the fifth of whiskey and slides it back over the counter. "Another, Jack," he requests quietly, laying down the credits he needs. He's got the same number in his wallet every day, he just varies the spending habits. Now, all he wants to do is use every last one of them for drinks while he tries to figure out why they can't get back.

Comments

[youwereameteor.livejournal.com]

"I think you do," says Jim, and he very carefully sets his drink down on the bar and then he leans in and drops his arm around his friend's shoulders and, for a moment, they just sit like that.

"But I'll be right there with you."

[leftwithmybones]

McCoy lets out a heavy and tight exhalation of breath, like he can barely breathe as it is and now he's expected to be capable of killing his father, act like a mature adult, and pull this off. "I don't know if I can do this, Jim. Accept this."