[Hell-- he'd never been good at defining relationships past their early stages. The first few meetings with someone, It made sense. He could be the charming southern gentleman, believe it or not. Hold doors, get a gal a drink without coming on too much like a damn creep, the whole nine. On the flip side, he also understood the intrinsic biology of the one-night stand: respect swaddled up in secrecy and thrown out with the bathwater at first light. Anything beyond that? "Relationships"?
After the first "Missus", that had all become rocky shores. Not the least of which because he was constantly jetting around in outer space like a god damn piece of floating debris with a jetpack and death wish strapped to it, having made the wise career move of careening between stars in a metal box at 0.73 light years per hour under the precarious directives of the most reckless, hair-brained, foolhardy...
Jim Kirk. How in the hell could he be dating Jim Kirk?
That was a question he asked himself daily, and before he could finish asking it he'd already be rolling his eyes. Had startled a fair few nurses in sickbay with that. Ask for a hypospray rolling your eyes a few times in a row, and you start to gain a reputation for yourself.
Now, the reason he couldn't quite ever finish the question in his head was because the answer was obvious. Jim was a lot more than the roguish playboy who'd had half the cadet class at his fingertips. He was a good man. Motivated. Handsome. Gave a shit about people-- and that one mattered most to Bones, because wasn't that the point of medicine, wasn't that the point of his whole career trajectory, underneath all the layers of gripe and grump? Jim Kirk was easy to talk to. Easy to share a drink with. Easy to sit or stand beside when the ride got bumpy. He was impish as all hell, came dangerously close to giving Bones a daily migraine, and for godsakes, he was his best friend. He'd liked Jim from the moment he'd met him and it was just one of those natural kinds of affinities that didn't need help in growing: it was organic, a monster all on its own, and it had expanded to encroach and finally envelope their lives in a way that neither man quite knew how to acknowledge properly. There was no break system for something like this. They were letting it freewheel, picking up speed constantly.
He'd never asked for something serious-- that is, monogamous-- when he'd slept with Jim the first time. Or the fifth. Or the tenth. Or the hundredth. It just didn't seem right. All it took was the first time though for Bones to stop seeking elsewhere. He justified it. He was a busy man. He was old. They were on a confined Starship, most of the time, which didn't lend itself to a healthy dating scene-- especially when it was his duty to know everyone's mental and physical stats like the back of his hand.
He didn't want to entrap Jim, is what it came down to. He was more than a decade older than Kirk-- and that didn't look good on anyone, give of take a few more years. They'd always leaned a little more down the path of women than men, and while no one would bat an eye at two men taking up together, the specifics of their arrangement might raise a few non-Vulcan brows. The Captain and the CMO? Either one of them could be accused of misconduct. Or worse. Transferred.
Funny, how playing fast-and-loose was less of a ship-wide scandal than fucking the same guy over and over.
The point was, he didn't know how to define what he and Jim had, and maybe a part of him was too scared or insecure to. Hadn't gone well the first time he'd fallen this hard, and he'd be losing a lot more than a house if his best friend suddenly felt uncomfortable with him. There was a whole divorce's worth of convincing himself he wasn't made to help things last, and there was Jim's reputation on Jim's own side that probably kept him from speaking up either. As if a word could break that fragile balance which had grown into spending most nights in his quarters, just like at the Academy-- with the slight difference that now the digs were nicer.
So, it was with a lopsided look that pulled his mouth into a half-open, mild scowl that he came into Jim's room to that particular statement. He didn't have a bottle in hand this time, but the question made him think he shoulda.]
Hello to you too. [Manners were manners, even if no one could tell by his tone, gritty and sarcastic as ever.] You have the most intelligent crew in the fleet, God help us. [Shaking his head at the whir of the door closing, arms folding as he ventured a few more steps inside.] Yeah, I think they've noticed.
[Some, anyway. The bridge crew, the sickbay unit, here and there. In a weird way, they two maybe acknowledged it less than those who already noticed it around them probably did, behind their backs.
As for context, he rarely needed it with Jim Kirk. He'd taken him up like a pet project and made an art form of knowing what he was thinking, usually before he could even get the sentence fully out, and purely so he could loudly voice all the problems he had with it. Then do whatever Jim wanted anyway.
no subject
After the first "Missus", that had all become rocky shores. Not the least of which because he was constantly jetting around in outer space like a god damn piece of floating debris with a jetpack and death wish strapped to it, having made the wise career move of careening between stars in a metal box at 0.73 light years per hour under the precarious directives of the most reckless, hair-brained, foolhardy...
Jim Kirk. How in the hell could he be dating Jim Kirk?
That was a question he asked himself daily, and before he could finish asking it he'd already be rolling his eyes. Had startled a fair few nurses in sickbay with that. Ask for a hypospray rolling your eyes a few times in a row, and you start to gain a reputation for yourself.
Now, the reason he couldn't quite ever finish the question in his head was because the answer was obvious. Jim was a lot more than the roguish playboy who'd had half the cadet class at his fingertips. He was a good man. Motivated. Handsome. Gave a shit about people-- and that one mattered most to Bones, because wasn't that the point of medicine, wasn't that the point of his whole career trajectory, underneath all the layers of gripe and grump? Jim Kirk was easy to talk to. Easy to share a drink with. Easy to sit or stand beside when the ride got bumpy. He was impish as all hell, came dangerously close to giving Bones a daily migraine, and for godsakes, he was his best friend. He'd liked Jim from the moment he'd met him and it was just one of those natural kinds of affinities that didn't need help in growing: it was organic, a monster all on its own, and it had expanded to encroach and finally envelope their lives in a way that neither man quite knew how to acknowledge properly. There was no break system for something like this. They were letting it freewheel, picking up speed constantly.
He'd never asked for something serious-- that is, monogamous-- when he'd slept with Jim the first time. Or the fifth. Or the tenth. Or the hundredth. It just didn't seem right. All it took was the first time though for Bones to stop seeking elsewhere. He justified it. He was a busy man. He was old. They were on a confined Starship, most of the time, which didn't lend itself to a healthy dating scene-- especially when it was his duty to know everyone's mental and physical stats like the back of his hand.
He didn't want to entrap Jim, is what it came down to. He was more than a decade older than Kirk-- and that didn't look good on anyone, give of take a few more years. They'd always leaned a little more down the path of women than men, and while no one would bat an eye at two men taking up together, the specifics of their arrangement might raise a few non-Vulcan brows. The Captain and the CMO? Either one of them could be accused of misconduct. Or worse. Transferred.
Funny, how playing fast-and-loose was less of a ship-wide scandal than fucking the same guy over and over.
The point was, he didn't know how to define what he and Jim had, and maybe a part of him was too scared or insecure to. Hadn't gone well the first time he'd fallen this hard, and he'd be losing a lot more than a house if his best friend suddenly felt uncomfortable with him. There was a whole divorce's worth of convincing himself he wasn't made to help things last, and there was Jim's reputation on Jim's own side that probably kept him from speaking up either. As if a word could break that fragile balance which had grown into spending most nights in his quarters, just like at the Academy-- with the slight difference that now the digs were nicer.
So, it was with a lopsided look that pulled his mouth into a half-open, mild scowl that he came into Jim's room to that particular statement. He didn't have a bottle in hand this time, but the question made him think he shoulda.]
Hello to you too. [Manners were manners, even if no one could tell by his tone, gritty and sarcastic as ever.] You have the most intelligent crew in the fleet, God help us. [Shaking his head at the whir of the door closing, arms folding as he ventured a few more steps inside.] Yeah, I think they've noticed.
[Some, anyway. The bridge crew, the sickbay unit, here and there. In a weird way, they two maybe acknowledged it less than those who already noticed it around them probably did, behind their backs.
As for context, he rarely needed it with Jim Kirk. He'd taken him up like a pet project and made an art form of knowing what he was thinking, usually before he could even get the sentence fully out, and purely so he could loudly voice all the problems he had with it. Then do whatever Jim wanted anyway.
If that ain't romance, nothing was.]