If you are lonely when you are alone, you are in bad company. [Bones and Sam] [early day 11]
It wasn't too long after Joanna left that Bones began drinking. He'd opened up a bottle of bourbon and a new document on the computer, wanting to compose a letter to his Joanna, the little one back home. He hoped it would settle his thoughts, bring him back to who he was but fuck if he couldn't get his mind back to where it needed to be. It wasn't like he was thinking non-stop about the pon farr - he was just thinking, no rest, no down-time, none of the lazy sort of thoughts that Bones liked to let flit though his head.
It was like... like his thoughts weren't his own.
Fuck. Because they weren't his own. Not anymore. Now there was someone else in there. Fucking Spock. Inside his head... for the rest of his life.
Fuck that shit. Bones took another long drink, straight from the bottle. The chronometer read 1042, which meant he'd been sitting here for a few hours now, the sky darkening outside, but Bones hadn't noticed.
A hot shower and another quarter bottle later and Bones was laying in bed, looking up at the ceiling again. Fuck. 0015.
Then it was 0136
Then it was 0208. Bones rolled over in bed, but there was no one there. He was alone, despite the fuzzy full feeling in his head, there was no one there, and Bones wasn't sure which was more disconcerting: being alone in his bed or being 'not alone' in his head. He got up, his head ringing a little from the drink. It was strange, feeling drunk, feeling Spock almost angry at him. Displeasure filtered back to him through the fucking bond, he guessed.
Well fuck that. Spock could be angry if he wanted, Bones didn't give a shit. But he hated being alone right now. Maybe it was the days of constant company, someone near him, pressed close to him for days and suddenly he was alone. Empty, but for the pressure in his sad, lonely thoughts. And he needed to sleep, but fuck, it wasn't happening. Not here. Not alone like this.
He found a pair of track pants and a t-shirt, grabbed his pillow and headed out into the hallway. Sam was somewhere in the building, one of the smaller rooms down below, and that's where Bones was heading. He leaned against the wall of the lift, heading down to Sam's floor with no more than a half-formed thought in his head of 'not being alone'. As he padded down the hall, Bones was completely aware of the picture he must have made, half-dressed, disheveled and drunk... and didn't give a fuck.
Once he reached Sam's door, it occurred to him that he hadn't called him to let him know he was coming. Fuck. Hoping that wouldn't be a problem, Bones pressed the chime to let Sam know that someone was outside.
It was like... like his thoughts weren't his own.
Fuck. Because they weren't his own. Not anymore. Now there was someone else in there. Fucking Spock. Inside his head... for the rest of his life.
Fuck that shit. Bones took another long drink, straight from the bottle. The chronometer read 1042, which meant he'd been sitting here for a few hours now, the sky darkening outside, but Bones hadn't noticed.
A hot shower and another quarter bottle later and Bones was laying in bed, looking up at the ceiling again. Fuck. 0015.
Then it was 0136
Then it was 0208. Bones rolled over in bed, but there was no one there. He was alone, despite the fuzzy full feeling in his head, there was no one there, and Bones wasn't sure which was more disconcerting: being alone in his bed or being 'not alone' in his head. He got up, his head ringing a little from the drink. It was strange, feeling drunk, feeling Spock almost angry at him. Displeasure filtered back to him through the fucking bond, he guessed.
Well fuck that. Spock could be angry if he wanted, Bones didn't give a shit. But he hated being alone right now. Maybe it was the days of constant company, someone near him, pressed close to him for days and suddenly he was alone. Empty, but for the pressure in his sad, lonely thoughts. And he needed to sleep, but fuck, it wasn't happening. Not here. Not alone like this.
He found a pair of track pants and a t-shirt, grabbed his pillow and headed out into the hallway. Sam was somewhere in the building, one of the smaller rooms down below, and that's where Bones was heading. He leaned against the wall of the lift, heading down to Sam's floor with no more than a half-formed thought in his head of 'not being alone'. As he padded down the hall, Bones was completely aware of the picture he must have made, half-dressed, disheveled and drunk... and didn't give a fuck.
Once he reached Sam's door, it occurred to him that he hadn't called him to let him know he was coming. Fuck. Hoping that wouldn't be a problem, Bones pressed the chime to let Sam know that someone was outside.