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Leonard "Bones" McCoy ([personal profile] maythrowup) wrote in [personal profile] kirking 2018-06-18 05:38 pm (UTC)

[The funny thing was, if Kirk was all complication, Bones functioned in shades of simplicity. To him, most things were either good or bad. Trustworthy, or not. Understood, or a god damn mystery of the universe. He could be proven wrong-- and he had been, on a number of occasions, most irritably of all by Jim or Spock-- and he'd accept it, cantankerous though it might make him. In this case; in their case; he didn't think it was all that complex. They were two people who liked each other. Who got along. Who wanted to make each other feel good, and who damn well accomplished it. Was there anything more simple in the whole world, on any whole world, than that? He'd been a lot of places by now, seen a lot of things; love was the same everywhere. You felt it, and you acted on it. It raised someone up to almost an intolerable position of importance where their weight was on your mind all day, and the thought of losing them to anything-- other people, rumors, promotions, transfers, bravery-- made you want to choke. But otherwise, being in love was like being in good scotch. It burnt so perfect, it seeped right in, and it made you warm all over. Best at night, and best not to over-indulge: but they'd always been the types to take a third glass when they shoulda stopped at two.

The other interesting fact of their relationship was that they both had things they didn't love to talk about from their pasts-- and Bones, for all his griping, for all his sometimes difficult bedside manner, liked it when people talked to him. About the real stuff, the authentic stuff. He took joy in unburdening others, he coaxed people to share their woes. Jim, for all he seemed happy-go-lucky and devil-may-care half the time, was a Captain for a reason. He was sturdy, reliable. And he'd been through his fair share of shit shows. If anything, Bones liked to think he could relieve him of some of that-- some of the burden of looking like he had no burdens. A Captain couldn't whine. But behind closed doors? Bones wanted him to bitch about every little thing that was on his chest, before they got off. Not every day, mind. But it seemed like this chat had been a long time coming.

So, here they were, and here Leonard was, taking his filled glass and holding it up, tipping his eyebrows along with the rim in a toast. If an expression could be sarcastic, his was that.

Generous though the pour was, he'd indulge in an equally generous sip, draining half the glass in one. The stuff might be too good to drink like that, but Jim would have to forgive him; often enough, they were drinking something backwater. Bones had a picky palette, for someone who appreciated a stiff drink.]


It's a relationship, that's what it is. [Which felt simple enough to say, once he had that burn on his tongue. To re-focus on Jim, who was tripping his way through his sentences, but with that bold honesty that he'd always liked about the man. Appreciated.]

Well, that was a god damn sonnet, wasn't it Romeo. Look-- [With a slight hake of his head and a glance at the ceiling; as if to ask some higher being to help him here, as he often was; he'd set the glass back down and slide it slightly across the table.] --we aren't other people. We're us. The question becomes, how do we explain us to other people. And that's up to you. [Some of his own honesty, here. It wasn't going to cost him as much, if this came out. It wasn't abuse of power, possibly, for him. It wasn't a sticky promotional situation. It wasn't the Captain's orders being questioned on authenticity versus emotion.

Refocusing on Jim again, he shook his head to punctuate the fact that he didn't know the exact right path, either. Hell, it was all new territory, packaged up in old habits.]
You gotta decide what you want out of this, and what we're gonna call it, if it needs a name now. Guess the first step in that is-- do you want to be able to sleep with other people?

[And he'd train his hand not to flex uncomfortably at that. Try to ignore the way it made his gut burn and his heart hurt.

They had to be realists, here. And his version of realism had always straddled the pessimistic.]

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