leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

McCoy has passed righteous indignation roughly an hour ago and he's slid right into a comfortable niche where he's mad as hell and he's just not going to take it anymore. He'd been relieved and proud to get the signatures needed, but when he'd stopped to hand them in and ask how Jim's had come along, they'd told him that Jim had dropped his name out of the running.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out why, even though McCoy's got about ten on hand in order to give him an answer. He tugs at the sleeves of his long emerald green henley and paces back and forth outside of the farmhouse, trying to find some kind of sanity or sense or calm words that will help him out.

He's got nothing.

Instead, he's going to go in guns blazing. He's going to kick down the door and he's going to let himself be mad as hell. He doesn't bother knocking, using his shoulder as leverage to get the door open. "Hey!" he snaps, voice booming through the house (and probably scaring the cat while he's at it). "Jim Idiot Tiberius Kirk. Where the fuck are you?" he demands, pushing his hand heatedly through his hair one more time and managing to dislodge it from its hold.

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He doesn't calm down. In fact, what he does is level Jim with a look that's even angrier than before. "Because you basically threw yourself on the sacrificial stone and for what? I'm not worth that, Jim, not at fucking all," he hisses, sharply. "You should be running."

"What are you talking about?" Jim asks, heartrate ratcheting up, his cheeks beginning to flush with a sudden but rising anger. "Where do you get off talking about yourself like that, huh? Of course you're worth it."

Jim takes a steadying step back. "You got nominated, it's awesome, why shouldn't I support you?"

"Not in the stead of supporting yourself!" he shouts back at Jim, furious. "You don't throw yourself on the sword for me, you're gonna hold it against me some day when I fail and you gave up your chances for this!"

Jim gapes at him, not even sure where to start when there's so much to take issue with. "Are you serious? Bones, you're not going to fail, and even if you did, I'd support you through that, too, not blame you for taking my shot. I'm going to have plenty of shots, you - you're acting like I'm some kind of asshole."

"You can support me without taking yourself out of the running!" he says, not shouting because he's too exhausted for that, aghast running him ragged. "It's not that you won't have plenty of opportunities, but you gave 'em all up this time for me. I don't want you to handicap yourself, not for me."

"I'm not handicapping myself, Jesus!" Jim barks, walking abruptly from the room to pace the length of the kitchen instead. It's one of the things he misses most about the Enterprise, all her long and winding hallways where he could walk and work things out. The small, cramped space of the kitchen doesn't feel like nearly enough tonight.

"It's just one race, I thought you'd want me to campaign for you. You did for me!"

"Because you're the Captain, you're a leader and I had next to no shot," he says, staring at Jim as he takes a few steps to follow him, lingering in the doorway. "I wanted you to run," he says. "Jim, I wanted to support you and watch you run again, I wanted you to win because you're amazing. And you..." He shakes his head. "I don't even know why you think you need to take yourself out of the race, not even to support me. Nobody nominated me last time, Jim, I wasn't..."

He shakes his head, staring down at the ground beneath his feet. "You make me feel like an asshole, now. I wouldn't have taken myself out of the race."

"I'm the leader on our ship, Bones," says Jim, breathing hard when he rounds, steadying his hips against the counter. "This is an island. And obviously you have every shot, or will when you stop trying to act like me not running is the worst thing that ever happened to you."

"I still wish you hadn't done that," is all he says, finally pushing himself away from the door frame, letting out a long sigh as he goes. "And you not running offends me. You're a genius and you're a great leader and you did good work and you, what, you want to act like a politician's wife?"

"I don't want to act like anything." Jim folds his arms, forcing them to hang loose and not protective. "I can do good work regardless, so what if I thought it'd be nice to focus on you for a while? You think I want everything to be about me all the time?"

And, okay, sometimes Jim does, but he can just as easily pull his head out of his ass and appreciate what everyone else can contribute, including his genius boyfriend.

He takes in a sharp breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, well, maybe I wanted you up there by my side," he says, grumbling out the words so he doesn't have to say them too loud. "Maybe I'm shit at this alone and I didn't want you to pull out, especially not because of me."

"I will be by your side. I'll be by your side whether I'm running or not, whether you win or not." Jim's arms curl in tighter. "But you don't actually believe that."

"I believe you'll be there, I just don't get why you had to pull out of the race," he says, stepping closer to Jim and giving him a look that implies he's confused as hell. "Why wouldn't I believe that?"

"Hell if I know," Jim replies, looking down at his feet. "I'm not going to abandon you if a council race goes bad, I'm not going to abandon you for anything, and I'm sure as hell not going to resent you over it." Jim frowns. "I'm not Jocelyn, Bones."

He's so ready to reply with 'I know', but the truth is that he keeps expecting things to go badly and it's not fair to Jim and it's not fair to the relationship. "Hey," he says, reaching out to slide his fingers over Jim's forearm, tugging him a little closer. "Jim. I love you. You know that, right?"

"And I trust you."

"Then why are you so mad at me?" Jim asks, letting himself be pulled. "I hate to deprive you of one of your favorite rants, but I did think this through beforehand. Supporting you this round is what I want."

"I don't understand why you had to withdraw," he admits, completely honest. "You could've run and still supported me. I'm mad because I don't think I'm worth throwing the hat in," he says with a shrug, wrapping his arm comfortably around Jim's shoulders and resting his chin against the collarbone. "I need you to do me a favor though, Jim."

"It's not about what you're worth," Jim murmurs. "You make everything about that because half the important people in your life have been assholes, but you're worth everything to me, and that's not gonna change."

Sighing, Jim leans into Bones. "What favor?"

This is the hardest thing that he's had to do in a long time and it's not because he doesn't want it. He just doesn't know how to phrase it, especially when they've both agreed this ought to happen later down the line. "Say yes," is all he says, manages, clearing his throat after. "When I ask, sometime, down the line, whenever I do. Say...you know, say that word."

Jim pulls back, studying the face he knows so well, the cheeks still red from shouting, that bowed mouth pulled down in a worried frown, and Bones' eyes, warm and flecked with green, not quite meeting Jim's own.

He reaches, tipping Bones' chin up with gentle fingers, and kisses him, brief, but tender, curling his free hand so it doesn't shake. "I will."

"Good," he says roughly, still finding it more than difficult to get the words out, but he needs them to. "And I want you to know that I don't believe you're gonna leave. I don't think you're on your way out or I wouldn't even be entertaining the idea of asking," he says sharply, reaching out for Jim's free hand and sliding their fingers together, intertwining them comfortably.

Jim kisses him again and sighs, dragging his nose along Bones' cheek. "I'm not gonna leave," he repeats. "And you wouldn't be you if you didn't worry about it anyway, but I wish you wouldn't. So."

Jim pulls back. "Am I out of the doghouse yet?"

He wrinkles his nose and gives Jim an appraising look, like he's genuinely thinking about whether or not to let him out of trouble. "I don't know. I'm still pissed you're not running. I could've used you up there to settle me down, but I suppose you're doing it out of devotion and love."

"I'll still be there," says Jim, leaning their foreheads together. "You think I'm going to miss it? I'll be right in front of the stage, ready and waiting for whatever poor questioning bastard pisses you off first."

"I can take care of myself with question period," he retorts sharply, given that that's the one place he's not too worried. "You might need to haul me off when I start getting more pissed at the questions. You're good at that. You get a good circumference around my shoulders and just haul."