leftwithmybones | Dated July 4th

Dated July 4th

The truth is, the last week has been one of the roughest that McCoy's ever had to deal with. He's been worried about Jason and Bucky in the Clinic for one, not to mention the part where Jim not only forgot everything, but has started to get a slideshow of the bad shit he's dealt with during his time. It's probably a slideshow of horrors in his head. He thinks he ought to be forgiven for the way he's thrown himself into work, trying his best not to think about Jim.

Still, he's not completely himself. His jeans and polo shirt are wrinkled and he hasn't bothered with the lab coat, strewing it over the nearest desk. His eyes are tired and every sample he looks at strains him to the point of exhaustion. He'd contemplate giving up, but then he'd have to head back home and wonder what new terror Jim's going to remember today.

He really doesn't want to do that.

So he works. He works because it's the best alternative, right now.

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And just like that, that tiny smile is gone. "I can't," Jim says, "Not exactly, I don't know what this other Jim said or did. I know what I'd say. For all intents and purposes, I only met you a few days ago, and you're still all I think about. All I want to be around. I mean, I think I - "

Jim stops, pushing a frustrated hand through his hair. "I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you."

Jim's not making this any easier, that's for damn sure. McCoy closes his eyes and feels the exhaustion pinching, the tension behind his eyes clear as day. "Kid, I love you, that's not a mystery, it shouldn't ever be, at least not when this place isn't screwing around with us." He opens his eyes and wearily stands, advancing enough to wrap his hands around Jim's wrists to hold him in place. "We roomed together in the Academy. Three years. Couple months back, I found a tape of you confessing your sexual history. I mean, all of it. All of it. So, yeah, I held off. I held off and I'll hold off now because I don't think it's right for anyone to push you into anything."

"I'm sorry if you don't like that," he says hoarsely.

"Then don't push." Jim can't help the catch in his breath when Bones comes closer, and though his entire body sings to feel that gentle grip around his wrists, Jim doesn't try for more.

"Come home and be my friend. Please." He's one step away from begging. "All I got are bad memories rolling in. Please just be my friend, in our house, until it's over."

He nods. Before he's even aware of what he's doing, he's nodding, because he can give Jim that much. "Okay," he says. He can only imagine how this might go in reverse, with McCoy remembering in fits and starts all the bad shit that had happened to him right before Starfleet. "Jim, you have to know. There's some bad memories coming," he warns.

Jim all but deflates with relief, tugging his arms free to throw them around Bones' instead, face pressed hard to his shoulder. "Whatever's coming, it can't be any worse than today," he exhales, squeezing tight. And whatever else comes, he's not going to have to do it alone. "Thank you."

This could be a grand mistake, but it's too late for McCoy to take it back now. He resigns himself to holding Jim as best as he can, one hand on his shoulder. "Remember you said that, at some point," is all he says mildly, easing back. "Now get, scootch, I really do have to work."

"It can wait," Jim replies. "If the circles under your eyes get any darker you're gonna look like you got punched. Can you even see for squinting anymore? You're a wreck."

Jim steps in again, chaste but cajoling. "You need some sleep. And a shower, you smell like a lab."

"I smell like the lab a whole lot of the time," he admits, but Jim's not wrong. McCoy's absolutely exhausted and there's very little that he can do except give in to what's the best logic for the moment. He sighs and starts collecting his files, not intending to sit at home and slack when there are things to analyze.

"Let me," says Jim, because today sucks, but he's pretty sure he's not the one asleep on his feet. He pulls the papers into his arms, privately deciding that if Bones tries looking at them once they're home, he's going to find one of those sedatives he loves threatening Jim with and use it on its maker.

"Don't..." He hisses when he thinks that Jim's about to drop one of the vials, which ends up with McCoy pinching the bridge of his nose. "Swear to god, Jim, if you make me lose my research, you're going to start remembering a whole lot of why you don't piss me off."

"I'm not gonna drop it, Jesus," Jim grunts, eyeballing Bones over his armful. He looks like one of the island boars about to paw up the ground. "Are you always this cranky? Is this something new I forgot?"

"I'm always this cranky, you forgot," McCoy says, his terse tone on 'forgot' a little angrier than it ought to be, but he's tired and every day keeps getting worse. "Incidentally, when you get your memory back, there's something we're going to have to discuss so you don't freak out."

"Yeah, 'cause that's not ominous," Jim mutters, getting behind Bones with every intention of herding him out the door if he has to. "If I start freaking out, will you tell me now instead, because after three days of this bullshit I'm pretty sure I can do it on command."

McCoy sighs, finding himself pushed out of the door. "Nearly got decapitated by some falling plane debris the other day. I'm a bit scraped up, but nothing permanent. Still, would've told Jim if he could remember things, so I figure you ought to know too." As if they're two different people, twins or something else he can't really explain.

"I'm still Jim," Jim replies, all the fiercer for his fears that it isn't true. He needs to be Jim, even if he still doesn't know everything Jim does and is, he can't just be - he can't just be nobody.

"You should've told me, I can take care of you, too, you know. Are you still hurt? Should we go to the clinic?"

"I'm standing here talking to you, aren't I?" he mutters, still as grumpy as ever as he shoots Jim a displeased look, trudging with every step and exhausted beyond the telling of it. "And maybe. Maybe you're still Jim in a lot of ways, but you got a bit to go before you're my Jim."

Jim knows Bones is tired, but if he weren't already all cried out, that little grunt would have been enough to send him ducking into the nearest bathroom. "I would be if I could," he says, watching the hallway tiles pass beneath his feet. "I'd take all my crappy memories back at once if I could be him, instead of. Instead of whatever it is I am."

"You'll get there," is all McCoy has to say about it, given that Jim seems to be gaining more and more back by the day at this rate. "Tell you what. The day you remember the Academy and meeting me, you wake me up and I'll show you one of the techniques I didn't suggest for calming me down that day."

"Is it hypoing you?" Jim asks without spirit. "Because you threaten me with that all the time. And you didn't really answer the question. Are you hurt?"

"Not even close," McCoy says wryly, continuing to walk as he gives a grunt. "Couple of bruises. Won't be that bad. I'll live." Might have to take a pill to calm his anxiety and yeah, so he's still not feeling completely up to snuff, but he'll live and that's the important part.

"Did you mean something sexy?" Jim asks, perking up and hurrying until he's at Bones' side. He's supposed to be behaving, but a little deviance will go a long way towards cheering him up, and it might give Bones something new to bluster about, which Jim has already identified as Bones' favorite activity.

"You meant something sexy, didn't you?" he grins, "That's not very nice when I'm not allowed to touch you."

McCoy rolls his eyes. "I don't mean something sexy." He means that he should've gotten Jim in the bathroom on that shuttle so they could drink and shoot the shit while Jim coaxed Bones to breathe deeply instead of some order-happy Fleet officer shoving him into a seat where he promptly had a panic attack and threw up all over Jim's shoes.

"And it's not very nice that you were kind of easy for three years while being my roommate," he retorts.

"Maybe I was waiting for you to make a move," Jim replies, and it's no stretch in his mind. As far as his memory is concerned, he's known Bones for four days, and Jim already thinks he hung the moon, lightyears away from anything Jim will ever deserve. "I probably thought you were too good for me."

"Not fucking likely," McCoy scoffs, the incredulity of the idea the funniest joke he's heard in a while. "Sorry to ruin your fantasy, kid, but I was a hell of a mess for the first two years and by the third, I was so busy trying to TA courses, work at the hospital, and prove to a bunch of children that I'm field ready that I saw you maybe an hour a day when I wasn't patching you up or collecting your ass from the nearest party." Or study group or whatever new thing Jim had found to intrigue him on a weekly basis.

"So I acted out," says Jim, turning that over in his mind. The way Bones tells it, and only in frustratingly small fits and bursts, Jim had been a terror at the Academy. As much as Jim feels like climbing the walls every time he looks at Bones, he thinks he understands. "I probably wanted your attention, you big, stoic blowhard."

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