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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"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.

"What's so great about my room?" he wonders, sliding his palm over Jim's hip until he's got the warmth of his body nearly and neatly cupped in his hand. He probably doesn't look as tired as he feels, but it's seeping through every part of him. "Jim, I'm sorry for being an asshole, but when we talk about kids, it doesn't give me that first thrill rush. It just reminds me of Jo."

"It smells like you," Jim murmurs in answer, and they're already close, but he leans in to rub the tip of his nose alongside Bones'. "And of course it does, she's your baby. That's never going to change, no matter what happens with us, and Bones. There's no rush, because we're not ready. When we are, I think that'll be different."

"My room only smells a little like me anymore, I spend all my time in your bed," he replies, because at this rate, Jim and his scent mixed together is going to be the whole house inevitably, save this room and only because they never come in here.

When he laughs, low and fond, he kisses Jim's lips. "The great Captain Kirk, discussing the babies he wants," he teases fondly. "You better believe that I'm not the kind of guy who has kids out of wedlock, Kirk," he jokes.

"Too much of a gentleman for that," Jim replies, his voice just as light, but he understands the implication behind the words, and he's not balking. "I know, Bones. But as you keep pointing out, neither one of us is going to get knocked up on accident."

"If either of us do, I will murder you. Eagerly," he enunciates each of the words, wanting Jim to damn well understand that whether it's some alien culture or the island doing it, there's limits to how understanding he can be. He stretches out, his toes brushing against Jim's ankle as he slides his knee between Jim's. "I'm guessing this was a close-to-retirement plan of yours?"

"Like you wouldn't enjoy the chance to study a medical anomaly," Jim laughs, shifting his knees to accommodate Bones. "And yeah, I guess you could call it that. When things had slowed down, and, you know." Jim shrugs, dropping his gaze to Bones' collarbone. "I figure you can't be a father until you've done something that would've made your father proud."