Ramble!fic wherein Jim accidentally becomes a therapist
Previously titled: "Wherein Jim continues to be an asshole"
Remember this fic, one of the very first ramble!verse fic, before the ramble!verse was even designated as such? the one wherein Kirk is an asshole? No? Well go read it, right now, that's why I've included the link. ::waits patiently::
Ok, now that you're back, here's the fic that follows directly from it. For a summary, I shall simply repeat Chaos' comment on the first fic:
*extends appalled sympathy towards Bones* I am so, so sorry. That divorce obviously sucked, and this is who you're getting for a best friend.
Obviously the sequel is full of fluff and sweetness. :)
800 words, Bones+Jim during first few months at the Academy, mention of The Ex, rated R for cussin'
Somehow, maybe by virtue of being the only person who's said more than two sentences to the guy in weeks, Jim ends up as McCoy's personal psychotherapist. They're in a bar instead of an office, and it's filled with noise and smoke instead of calculated pleasantness, but the verbal vomit the drunk bastard spews out is on par with the therapy scenes in any straight-to-torrent genre movie Jim has ever seen so it counts. In fact Jim is thinking about applying for an online certification because, hey, he's got to have at least half of the required practice hours by this point.
The sheer amount of time they've wasted on this is even more impressive because Bones never goes over the same things twice, except for the traumatic moments that he talks circles around for weeks until the outer enamel is gone and he can prod directly at the aching nerve. He works through his issues with a relentless masochism and maybe that's why Jim sticks around. He certainly doesn't like being the sympathetic ear-other people's problems have the double whammy of being depressing and boring-but Bones considerately restrains his emotional therapy for easily-predicted times and all other times he seems like a really fun guy. More fun to mess with, maybe.
Anyway, Jim (being in a general phase of discipline, self-sacrifice and forethought right now) listens to Bones bitch about his ex-wife because eventually he'll run out of things to bitch about and then he can settle down to the important business of being Jim's straight-man.
Bones doesn't seem to care who's listening-he'd be dumping all this on the hapless bartender and forgetting to tip if Jim weren't there, probably-and he certainly never asks Jim to say anything in return or, hell, even sympathize. The "therapy" sessions are comfortingly impersonal. To be honest, it reminds Jim of how he seeks out any warm body to fight or fuck on bad nights. Everyone has their own methods of self-help.
Still, it's a relief when Bones stops paying attention to anything else after a point. The first night the therapy happened, Jim looked around the bar, growing increasingly uncomfortable and wondering if he would be the biggest asshole in the world if he just left right about now. Bones was deep into some thread about how she lied so easily that he wondered if he really knew her at all and Jim said, "Maybe she's a spy." He hadn't bothered to keep his voice quiet, but Bones paid no heed and bitched on.
Heartened, Jim began a full-on sarcastic commentary of his own, pretending Bones and he were having an actual conversation. Sometimes Bones would glean a single word or phrase from Jim's commentary and swerve off into another emotional cul-de-sac. It amused Jim to see what Bones would do with more ridiculous words. Jim's still trying to work out the rhetorical leap from "pineapple" to "she's a workaholic" but apparently after a divorce, all roads lead to Rome.
The really funny thing is that even though Bones is totally incapable of objectivity on the subject, he's a fairly reliable narrator. The Ex sounds like a fucking psychopath but even so Jim can see that Bones is the number one champ in passive-aggressive hypocrisy. Jim wouldn't describe himself as an agony aunt by any means but he does know a thing or two about people and all the ways in which they suck, and he's got Bones pinned pretty neatly.
Even during the worst time of his life, Jim can see a lot of the good. All heart and no bite, that's Bones, wrapped around a core of obsessive altruism and tempered with enough sarcasm that no-one gets embarrassed. The Ex split this man right down the middle so Jim can see his insides, uterine and prickly like a geode. There aren't going to be any surprises from this guy, Jim knows. He'll be the perfect thing to lean on for the next three years.
Bones finally bitches himself dry one night in mid-September while they drink their for-the-road beers after close, huddled together in the spastic shadow of a doorway. Bones smushes his face into Jim's shoulder and mumbles, "Whatever. It's all over now."
Jim nods sagely and pats whatever vague body part is beneath his hand at the moment. Bones is wearing two shirts and a jacket so Jim pats him again, hard like he's a dog with thick fur, and Bones snuffles hotly onto his collarbone.
"I gotcha, buddy," Jim says, partly to say I hear you and partly to say I own you, and after a moment's thought he pours out a libation for The Ex.
Thanks for sending him my way, he thinks.
Sometimes the best things in life are secondhand.
Remember this fic, one of the very first ramble!verse fic, before the ramble!verse was even designated as such? the one wherein Kirk is an asshole? No? Well go read it, right now, that's why I've included the link. ::waits patiently::
Ok, now that you're back, here's the fic that follows directly from it. For a summary, I shall simply repeat Chaos' comment on the first fic:
*extends appalled sympathy towards Bones* I am so, so sorry. That divorce obviously sucked, and this is who you're getting for a best friend.
Obviously the sequel is full of fluff and sweetness. :)
800 words, Bones+Jim during first few months at the Academy, mention of The Ex, rated R for cussin'
Somehow, maybe by virtue of being the only person who's said more than two sentences to the guy in weeks, Jim ends up as McCoy's personal psychotherapist. They're in a bar instead of an office, and it's filled with noise and smoke instead of calculated pleasantness, but the verbal vomit the drunk bastard spews out is on par with the therapy scenes in any straight-to-torrent genre movie Jim has ever seen so it counts. In fact Jim is thinking about applying for an online certification because, hey, he's got to have at least half of the required practice hours by this point.
The sheer amount of time they've wasted on this is even more impressive because Bones never goes over the same things twice, except for the traumatic moments that he talks circles around for weeks until the outer enamel is gone and he can prod directly at the aching nerve. He works through his issues with a relentless masochism and maybe that's why Jim sticks around. He certainly doesn't like being the sympathetic ear-other people's problems have the double whammy of being depressing and boring-but Bones considerately restrains his emotional therapy for easily-predicted times and all other times he seems like a really fun guy. More fun to mess with, maybe.
Anyway, Jim (being in a general phase of discipline, self-sacrifice and forethought right now) listens to Bones bitch about his ex-wife because eventually he'll run out of things to bitch about and then he can settle down to the important business of being Jim's straight-man.
Bones doesn't seem to care who's listening-he'd be dumping all this on the hapless bartender and forgetting to tip if Jim weren't there, probably-and he certainly never asks Jim to say anything in return or, hell, even sympathize. The "therapy" sessions are comfortingly impersonal. To be honest, it reminds Jim of how he seeks out any warm body to fight or fuck on bad nights. Everyone has their own methods of self-help.
Still, it's a relief when Bones stops paying attention to anything else after a point. The first night the therapy happened, Jim looked around the bar, growing increasingly uncomfortable and wondering if he would be the biggest asshole in the world if he just left right about now. Bones was deep into some thread about how she lied so easily that he wondered if he really knew her at all and Jim said, "Maybe she's a spy." He hadn't bothered to keep his voice quiet, but Bones paid no heed and bitched on.
Heartened, Jim began a full-on sarcastic commentary of his own, pretending Bones and he were having an actual conversation. Sometimes Bones would glean a single word or phrase from Jim's commentary and swerve off into another emotional cul-de-sac. It amused Jim to see what Bones would do with more ridiculous words. Jim's still trying to work out the rhetorical leap from "pineapple" to "she's a workaholic" but apparently after a divorce, all roads lead to Rome.
The really funny thing is that even though Bones is totally incapable of objectivity on the subject, he's a fairly reliable narrator. The Ex sounds like a fucking psychopath but even so Jim can see that Bones is the number one champ in passive-aggressive hypocrisy. Jim wouldn't describe himself as an agony aunt by any means but he does know a thing or two about people and all the ways in which they suck, and he's got Bones pinned pretty neatly.
Even during the worst time of his life, Jim can see a lot of the good. All heart and no bite, that's Bones, wrapped around a core of obsessive altruism and tempered with enough sarcasm that no-one gets embarrassed. The Ex split this man right down the middle so Jim can see his insides, uterine and prickly like a geode. There aren't going to be any surprises from this guy, Jim knows. He'll be the perfect thing to lean on for the next three years.
Bones finally bitches himself dry one night in mid-September while they drink their for-the-road beers after close, huddled together in the spastic shadow of a doorway. Bones smushes his face into Jim's shoulder and mumbles, "Whatever. It's all over now."
Jim nods sagely and pats whatever vague body part is beneath his hand at the moment. Bones is wearing two shirts and a jacket so Jim pats him again, hard like he's a dog with thick fur, and Bones snuffles hotly onto his collarbone.
"I gotcha, buddy," Jim says, partly to say I hear you and partly to say I own you, and after a moment's thought he pours out a libation for The Ex.
Thanks for sending him my way, he thinks.
Sometimes the best things in life are secondhand.