leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's strange to have a reminder on the island of what there used to be. He's happy with his current life, happy as hell. He's got Jim, he's got a good thing going, but then there's Madelyne walking around and while he's got no intention of wooing her, it's hard to see her. It's a picture-perfect (nearly) reminder of Jean and every once in a while, it catches him off guard. Sometimes, when he calls Jim 'darling', it sticks on the tip of his tongue and he remembers doing the same with Jean.

Hell. He still remembers that the first time he and Jean had sex was right after Jim vanished the first time. Today's one of those days -- nostalgia days, as he's starting to call them -- and though he's at the Winchester to pick up Jim from after his shift, he's wound up staring at Madelyne (who's at a distance), and trying not to let himself get overwhelmed with history.

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"No," Jim agrees, anger banking in his amusement. Bones is quite frequently awful with Max, but Jim knows it's only because he misses his own kid so much. "But you're getting better." He lowers his voice. "Max told me about your touching hug."

"He told you about that, huh?" he mutters, sliding his hand away from Jim's and folding both in his own lap. "Look, he was worried that I was going to take you away and we cleared that up. Am I ever going to be as close with Max as I am with Rachel? I'm not, Jim," he says, honestly. "I'm better with daughters."

"You've only ever had a daughter," says Jim. "Of course you hit it off better with the girls around here, you've been there, you get it. But you'd be good with a son, too. I'd say there's no way we're taking boys off the table, but I think we're already ahead of ourselves here."

"For one, we just started dating," he agrees, grateful that Jim's on the same page when it comes to the idea of it being way, way too soon. Besides, he's not ready to have kids out of a marriage and he's in no way springing that one on Jim anytime soon. After all, they really did just start dating. "I love Max, I do. I just can't help that he hates me and that he's a hyperactive miniature version of you."

"Bones, he doesn't hate you. Honestly I think he's a little scared of you. The grownups he knew at home, all they did was yell at him."

Jim raises both brows. "And you do a lot of yelling. Not at him, but he's wary. If anything, he's afraid you won't like him, and that that means I'll stop coming around, too."

He snorts as he sets his napkin on the table and starts to get up. "As if I could ever stop you from doing anything?" he points out, trying to chase away the dark mood still haunting the edges of his mind as he thinks about kids and Jim and Jean and Madelyne and it all feels a bit too heavy. "Besides, you know me. I'm all bark and only mild bite."

"Yeah, I know, I had you figured out that very first day, but kid's aren't like that. Especially one that expects grownups to hate him and yell at him. Just."

Standing too, Jim comes around the table and slides his arms around Bones' waist with a grin. "Be nice to our training baby."

"Yeah, I know," he grumbles, even though the divorce put him in a permanently grumpy position some days. He leans into Jim's touch for all of a microsecond before he remembers that they're in public and he's still not feeling so cheerful. "And I'll be plenty nice to him if you start actually acting like a father-figure and not just cool Uncle Jim," he says pointedly.

"If he actually lived with us, it'd be different. I'd be different," Jim points out, giving Bones' hips a ticklish squeeze for settling back into that scowl.

"He's got a bed at the homestead, and as long as he's happy there that works for me. But if he lived with us it'd be different. There'd be bedtimes and discipline and chores."

"Good," McCoy murmurs, punctuating his words with kisses, "boy." That's what he'd been searching for, that need for discipline and rules and not letting the kid run ramshod around the island just because it's hard being the mean parent. "Speaking of home, you okay if I walk you home and crash for a while? Thought I'd take you out for a drink, but I'm not feeling up to it anymore."

"Not up for some me time?" Jim asks, threading his fingers through Bones' hair, sinking in to rub along his scalp. "Or a drink? Should I be worried?"

He shrugs, mostly tired. He manages a small smile for Jim's sake, but that's as much as he wants to muster before he starts his walk out of the bar, rubbing at his face as he tries to shake this goddamn slump.

Jim lifts a brow as Bones turns away. It's another moment before he follows, and more moments still before Jim does something he hasn't done before. Reaching down, Jim twines their fingers together, joined hands hanging between them as they walk.

Bones can go home and feel terrible if he wants to. But he's going to have company along the way.

He holds tighter than he might normally, only because he doesn't really know what else to do but hold on tight. "Sorry," he does manage, quiet and feeling raw. "I guess I'm a shitty pseudo-dad and boyfriend in the same day. You ought to lock me in the bedroom on days like today."

"You're not a shitty anything," says Jim, squeezing his hand. "And if you keep talking like that, you're going to get your wish. Up to you whether you're locked in there alone."

"I'm in a mood," he growls, fully ready to accept that he's not really being wholly fair, but there's nothing in him to care. He wants to pull the covers up or possibly drink until he's passed out and he's aware how unhealthy the latter is. "Usually, you'd pawn me off on some unsuspecting bartender."

Jim fixes him with an innocent look. "That was before I discovered how much fun it was to bang the cranky out of you."

Some days, he can tolerate this. Some days, he even likes it. Today, he winces and pretends he never heard that, sliding his fingers out of Jim's grasp as he heads for the Farmhouse, grateful for the shortcut that he's marked with several ribbons and pieces of string -- taking them through the trees. "Sad thing is, I'm not entirely turned off," he narrates, mostly to himself.

"Of course you're not," Jim calls from behind, a little cranky himself now. "You get off on being a grump."

"Jocelyn took my optimism in the divorce," is his reply, mostly because there's a part of him that's rollicking with the bad mood now and he wants to keep riding it out, but there's another part that genuinely wants to do nothing more than curl up in bed and process the fact that Jim wants kids and he didn't know and he's being a complete asshole.

He pushes his breath out sharply. "Look, I'm serious, Jim. Best solution to this is to give me a bottle of something and let me pass out. I'll be a human being in the morning."

"Jesus, fine," says Jim passing him towards the house. He'll rally again in no time, but for the present moment, Jim's tired of feeding the bear. "There's at least one bottle beneath the sink. Knock yourself out. I'll be in the kitchen working on my tricorder. And eating some fucking cake. And you know?" he adds over his shoulder. "Most people want to bang like bunnies after talking about having kids."

He could snap back, but he's tired of fighting, especially when he's not even mad. He's just tired. He heads for the sink and crouches to hook the bottle between his fingers, gripping it hard between his fingers as he heads for his bedroom, not mentioning that he's had this conversation before and it's part of what's making him so damn tired. Thoughts of Jo and the last time he had the talk about having kids and hell, he's exhausted.

He closes the door behind him, sets the bottle on the dresser, and sits on the edge of the bed without taking any of it back. Shit, he's terrified. He's not sure he realized how deep into a relationship he was until right now and the last time he got this far in, Jean vanished weeks later.

He reclines back until he's staring at the ceiling and trying to think back to the day he and Joce decided to go for it, to try for kids, to say 'hell with it' to their youth.

Jim sits at the table, but as the minutes stretch on, he's forced to admit he doesn't have the stomach for cake right now, and his concentration's shot. He switches to staring at Bones' bedroom door, from the table, and then on his feet in front of it.

Finally, Jim heaves a sigh and turns the knob. "I'm going to work in here," he announces to Bones' still form. "Just fucking deal with it and scoot over."

He shifts. He makes room for Jim on the bed, shifting onto his side and forming half of a circle with his body, shoulders tucked in until he feels somewhat small and it's a mirror of how he and Jocelyn talked about having kids. He straightens his posture, but eventually gives up again. "C'mere," he says tiredly, reaching out for Jim. He'd never forgive himself if he drove a wedge into their relationship because of the past.

Still clinging to the specs he'd brought in with him, Jim shifts on the bed, leaving the papers on the bedside table as he curls himself towards Bones. "Missed this room," he says.