Title: But I Love You
Author: Caera1996
Disclaimer: Not mine
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Someone at the buckleup_meme asked for Bones dealing with alcoholism; Jim (as husband/boyfriend) at the end of his rope.
Note: I am the daughter of an alcoholic father. I wrote this from the point of view of a loved one caught in someone else's spiral. I have no idea if this is what OP wanted. But, it's honest, and I sincerely hope that no one takes offense. But please, don't read it if you think it's going to bother you.
Struggling to open the door while juggling a couple of bags of groceries, Jim cursed as he dropped his keys. Leaving the door wide open to the heat that still had not dissipated in the twilight of the summer day, he deposited the bags on the nearest counter and then bent to retrieve his them. He hesitated before closing the door, looking out into the early evening's failing light, and then slipped the keys in his pocket with a quiet sigh. Leaning against the door, facing the dark kitchen, Jim rubbed his eyes hard and tried to swallow the thick feeling of unease. He couldn't get rid of it though. It couldn't be banished as easy as it was to banish the shadows by simply turning on the lights.
It was the silence. Bones was home, but the house was still and silent. There was no way to describe the pain that accompanied the knowledge of what that meant. There was no way to acknowledge the truth of the situation without breaking. And so, in the gathered gloom, Jim broke. His heart broke.
Sinking into a chair at the kitchen table, he held his head in his hands. Tears dripped off his face and splattered on the wood. One drop, two…he didn't usually cry. Usually, there was anger and frustration. But things had been good for so long. And in one day, one fucking day, Jim lost him all over again.
Jim only allowed himself a few minutes to grieve. He sniffed and ran a hand over cheeks. Sniffed again. He plucked a napkin from the holder in the center of the table and blew his nose. There were things he had to do.
Feeling weary beyond words, Jim made his way through the house and trudged up the stairs. He struggled through the nearly overwhelming desire to walk away. For now. For good. He tried to imagine what life would be without this. Without the hurt. Without the constant battle. Without Bones. For better or for worse, this was life with Bones. This was life with the person he loved. This is life at the bottom of a bottle. Doesn't matter that it's not his choice. Bones made the choice for both of them.
Jim took a deep breath before entering the guest room. Because that's where he would be. That's where he always goes. As if he were symbolically and practically separating himself from Jim because of what he does. And this is what Jim doesn't understand. He obviously knows Jim doesn't want him to drink like this; knows it's going to piss Jim off. And he chooses to do it anyway. Deep down, this is what hurts the most…knowing that Jim wasn't enough for Bones to choose him. And he didn't know why.
Steeling himself, Jim pushed the half-open door more fully and turned on the light. He stood on the threshhold, eyes immediately drawn to the legs and feet he could see sticking out from the side of the bed. He was slumped over sideways, his body obscured by the bed. For a moment, as he rushed over to him, fear completely took over.
Jim knelt in front of him, gently putting his hands on the sides of Bones' face, relieved to see glassy eyes open and try to focus. He was sweaty and he stunk like booze, but he was alive. Jim took the bottle out of his loose grasp. Half empty. He set it to the side, momentarily distracted by a clinking sound. Taking his eyes off Bones' face, he looked at what had made the noise. Another bottle. Empty.
"Bones-" Jim's voice cracked and he had to clear his throat. "What're you doing, man? Why do you always have to do this?" Jim strained to get Bones sitting upright, wondering what to do. He didn't think he could lift completely dead weight from this position. Jim spent a few minutes trying to get him to rouse enough to help him stand with no success.
"Damn it!" Jim shouted, pushing at Bones' shoulders in frustration. "I fucking hate this Bones! I hate you when you do this! Why? Why…" There was no answer. There never was. Jim let his head tip forward, forehead resting on Bones' shoulder, hands clenching the fabric of Bones' shirt. He took a few deep, shuddering breaths. Crying was a waste of energy. It didn't help. He couldn't help it.
After a little while, a hand gently hit the back of Jim's head, clumsily patting his hair.
"Jimmy – wha's th'matter?" Bones slurred. It was a moment before Jim could make himself answer.
"You're killing yourself Bones. And you're taking me with you. I don't know if I can do it anymore," he said, knowing it wouldn't matter. Bones wouldn't remember.
"Sorry, Jim, I'm sorry…won' do it again…" Jim snorted and pulled back. He wanted to believe that so much it physically hurt. All the fight and anger drained out of Jim, leaving him feel wrung out and exhausted.
"Whatever," he mumbled. "Yes you will."
"No, no…really love you," Bones murmured, eyes drooping again. His tenuous grip on consciousness was leaving him, and Jim knew that's what needed to happen anyway. He sighed, and gently ran his hands through Bones' hair.
"I know, Bones. I know." He had no doubt of that. Bones loved him. This wasn't all the time…and when things were good, they were really good. And when they were bad, they really, really sucked. This sucked. He grabbed a pillow from the bed and put it on the floor. He gently eased Bones down on his side, propped in place with the bed at his back. He yanked the throw blanket off the bed and draped it over him. "Just go to sleep Bones. We'll deal with it later."
Jim stayed on the floor beside Bones, stroking his hair soothingly until he was sure he was completely out. Jim listened to his steady breathing for a few minutes, and then pushed himself up. He hurried downstairs to deal with the groceries, and stayed down there for a few minutes, contemplating his situation.
It would be so much easier if he could just…not care. Not love him. But this wasn't all the time. And there were stretches that this wasn't what it was at all. And those times were the happiest of his life. Those are what he lived for – when he had Bones, free and unfettered by alcohol.
And those were also the times that made everything else so hard. It was so hard to lose him over and over again. And know what it could be, if Bones could just get this under control. And though nights like tonight made him just want to walk away and be done, he knew he wouldn't. Not this time.
Because tomorrow, Bones would be back. And maybe, just maybe, that would be the time he stays.