Ramblefic: Wherein Jim is nice to drunk Bones (773 words, PG, Jim + McCoy)
This was supposed to be for a prompt from re_white, but... it ended up nothing like the prompt so I'm not even sure why I'm bothering to tell you.
773 words, PG, Jim + McCoy
Bones is drunk. Jim is drunk, too, but he is celebratorily drunk because he has officially survived his first week as a Starfleet cadet. No, more than survived; he has totally kicked ass. He's been mistaken for a third year twice already (probably due to his utter confidence in navigating campus, thanks to all those years of Space Camp) and all of his instructors love him already , so Jim is pretty cheerful.
Bones is not. Bones spends most of the night propped up in the corner booth, downing shots with the glum precision of self-medication. Jim doesn't begrudge the poor bastard some sulking time, and he's a nice guy, so he gets Bones into the booth with a bottle all for himself and checks on him every hour or so to make sure he's still vertical and mostly awake-ish.
Jim almost forgets to collect his new drunk-bastard-cum-chia-pet before he heads home, but that's not really his fault; the girl he hooked up in the bathroom just before closing left him sleepy and distracted (and bleeding a little.) The important thing is that he remembers eventually and doubles back. The momentary lapse makes for good timing, actually; he gets there just as the cleaning staff are sweeping Bones out the back door with the rest of the debris. Jim gets to be heroic and kind and shit, hauling the guy off the pavement and taking him home.
Unfortunately, Jim doesn't know where Bones' assigned bunk is and when he asks, Bones starts muttering that he needs to get to the bus station and "get myself up to Alaska and get my woman back." Jim's pretty sure that's a bad idea. He doesn't know a whole lot about Alaska or Bones' woman, but he does know that bus attendants are usually mean to drunk people and Bones is all maxed out on mean.
"Why don't we wait until tomorrow to go to Alaska," Jim says, but Bones protests and tries to stagger away. On the one hand, it gives Jim's back a break; Bones is fucking heavy, and though he doesn't have a whole lot of pointy bits he does have a pretty impressive elbow, and it's digging right into Jim's claw marks. On the other hand, Bones isn't exactly capable of independent motion, and two seconds later he's on all fours.
Jim considers leaving him there. The grass is pretty soft (albeit a little swampy where Bones is vomiting all over it) and the weather's not too cold tonight. The commissary is just a few hundred yards down the path from here, so surely some early-morning auxiliary staff will see Bones and get him carted off to the infirmary before anyone high-ranking notices.
The other option is schlepping Bones back to his own room, which Jim has nothing against on principle--he's planning to present himself as convenient rebound material at some point in the future anyway--but Bones is a little moist and Jim is pretty much all fucked out for tonight (and still bleeding a little.) Still, there's just enough light to get a good view of Bones while he's retching, and while Jim doesn't lack for eyecandy he does appreciate the unstudied gracefulness of his twitching haunches and his meaty forearms, trembling against the grass.
Jim decides he wants to lock this down. Not for shallow reasons only, of course. Isn't Bones a doctor? That could come in handy, considering the way that official clinic visits have a way of prompting lectures and/or demerits. Anyway, Bones seems more like a friend-fucker than an enemy-fucker, so that means being nice.
Luckily, Bones is doing a pretty good job of emptying himself out (it didn't take long; Bones hasn't exactly been eating three square meals a day lately) so Jim isn't worried anymore that taking Bones to his room will result in vomit on the five things he owns and mysterious stains that'll get him marked down on barracks inspection.
"Are you ready to head back to the barracks, Bones?" Jim asks, because Bones is crawling away.
Bones falls sideways and stretches out like he's doing a snow-angel. He manages not to sweep his arm through the pool of vomit, which is impressive. "Who Bones is," he slurs.
"You're Bones," says Jim. This needs to be clearly established, because it fosters loyalty when you give people special nicknames. It shows you care. Bones looks like he's about to drift off, so Jim hunkers down to grab his arm and help him up. "Come on, Bones, let's get you into bed."
"Aight," says Bones. "If you say so."
Jim grins. That's the spirit.
773 words, PG, Jim + McCoy
Bones is drunk. Jim is drunk, too, but he is celebratorily drunk because he has officially survived his first week as a Starfleet cadet. No, more than survived; he has totally kicked ass. He's been mistaken for a third year twice already (probably due to his utter confidence in navigating campus, thanks to all those years of Space Camp) and all of his instructors love him already , so Jim is pretty cheerful.
Bones is not. Bones spends most of the night propped up in the corner booth, downing shots with the glum precision of self-medication. Jim doesn't begrudge the poor bastard some sulking time, and he's a nice guy, so he gets Bones into the booth with a bottle all for himself and checks on him every hour or so to make sure he's still vertical and mostly awake-ish.
Jim almost forgets to collect his new drunk-bastard-cum-chia-pet before he heads home, but that's not really his fault; the girl he hooked up in the bathroom just before closing left him sleepy and distracted (and bleeding a little.) The important thing is that he remembers eventually and doubles back. The momentary lapse makes for good timing, actually; he gets there just as the cleaning staff are sweeping Bones out the back door with the rest of the debris. Jim gets to be heroic and kind and shit, hauling the guy off the pavement and taking him home.
Unfortunately, Jim doesn't know where Bones' assigned bunk is and when he asks, Bones starts muttering that he needs to get to the bus station and "get myself up to Alaska and get my woman back." Jim's pretty sure that's a bad idea. He doesn't know a whole lot about Alaska or Bones' woman, but he does know that bus attendants are usually mean to drunk people and Bones is all maxed out on mean.
"Why don't we wait until tomorrow to go to Alaska," Jim says, but Bones protests and tries to stagger away. On the one hand, it gives Jim's back a break; Bones is fucking heavy, and though he doesn't have a whole lot of pointy bits he does have a pretty impressive elbow, and it's digging right into Jim's claw marks. On the other hand, Bones isn't exactly capable of independent motion, and two seconds later he's on all fours.
Jim considers leaving him there. The grass is pretty soft (albeit a little swampy where Bones is vomiting all over it) and the weather's not too cold tonight. The commissary is just a few hundred yards down the path from here, so surely some early-morning auxiliary staff will see Bones and get him carted off to the infirmary before anyone high-ranking notices.
The other option is schlepping Bones back to his own room, which Jim has nothing against on principle--he's planning to present himself as convenient rebound material at some point in the future anyway--but Bones is a little moist and Jim is pretty much all fucked out for tonight (and still bleeding a little.) Still, there's just enough light to get a good view of Bones while he's retching, and while Jim doesn't lack for eyecandy he does appreciate the unstudied gracefulness of his twitching haunches and his meaty forearms, trembling against the grass.
Jim decides he wants to lock this down. Not for shallow reasons only, of course. Isn't Bones a doctor? That could come in handy, considering the way that official clinic visits have a way of prompting lectures and/or demerits. Anyway, Bones seems more like a friend-fucker than an enemy-fucker, so that means being nice.
Luckily, Bones is doing a pretty good job of emptying himself out (it didn't take long; Bones hasn't exactly been eating three square meals a day lately) so Jim isn't worried anymore that taking Bones to his room will result in vomit on the five things he owns and mysterious stains that'll get him marked down on barracks inspection.
"Are you ready to head back to the barracks, Bones?" Jim asks, because Bones is crawling away.
Bones falls sideways and stretches out like he's doing a snow-angel. He manages not to sweep his arm through the pool of vomit, which is impressive. "Who Bones is," he slurs.
"You're Bones," says Jim. This needs to be clearly established, because it fosters loyalty when you give people special nicknames. It shows you care. Bones looks like he's about to drift off, so Jim hunkers down to grab his arm and help him up. "Come on, Bones, let's get you into bed."
"Aight," says Bones. "If you say so."
Jim grins. That's the spirit.