I have returned! And as always, I want to apologize for how long it took me to get this chapter out to you guys. And as always, this is the part where I complain about college sucking up my entire life. I took a 20-credit semester/eight classes (which JUST ended) and I am proud to say that all my hard work (no free time, very rarely going out with friends, no writing, waking up early on Saturdays to study, etc) has paid off. I now have a 3.485 GPA. SUCK IT, COLLEGE.

Okay, whining and bragging is over. And this chapter-baby is ready for you! Oh, and this chapter marks the "over one hundred pages in Microsoft Word" mark! Yay! lol

Notes: This AU takes place about 20 minutes in the future in San Francisco. I'm not sure what sort of "verse" it is yet, so if anyone has any ideas, please let me know! Also, I rated this T because there's nothing too bad except for McCoy and Kirk's language. I don't think it's strong enough to warrant an M rating, but if anyone has a problem with it, I will up the rating.

Disclaimer: I own pink hair dye (I'm actually letting the dye settle in my hair as I type this. The first time I have ever dyed my hair!), but not Star Trek or anything else you may recognize. I also want to make sure that you guys don't think I'm making fun of the songs incorporated into this chapter. I actually like both of the songs, but I thought given the context of the story, they were pretty amusing. So, if Bless the Broken Road is your favorite song or if it was the song you danced to at your own wedding, please don't think I'm making fun of you. It's more of a "making fun of Jocelyn" shtick.

It was a little after four in the afternoon by the time they finally left Atlanta's airport. McCoy was still feeling sluggish from his nap and from the crash after his adrenaline rush during the plane's landing. Other than the occasional concerned glance, Jim seemed perfectly content to blithely ignore McCoy's unusually quiet attitude. He continued to babble on and on about the most inane things possible, his voice level and excited as he bounced from subject to subject as the pair walked from the airport to the nearby car rental place.

McCoy seemed to walk on auto-pilot, barely registering as his feet rounded well-worn corners and took him past familiar buildings. The crowds were no denser than those in San Francisco, but he seemed unusually bothered by the multitudes of people knocking his elbows or brushing past his stiff arms.

Not really caring about much other than getting to a nice hotel room so he could sleep away the day, he allowed Jim to pick out the car they would rent. He didn't really know much about cars anyway. He knew how to change a tire and knew the basic makes, but otherwise cars meant very little to him. Unless it had organs that could be operated on, he wasn't too sure how it worked.

So, he walked around with Jim as Jim squinted and poked and prodded car after car. He asked the workers questions with a mechanical vocabulary McCoy could only blink at. He would listen to the workers' answers with a deeply concentrated face and then lean back to examine the car. His long fingers would lightly stroke the clean-shaven skin of his chin as he tilted his head just so to the side until finally he shook his head with an attitude that clearly said, "Gentlemen, this is so painfully obviously not what I am looking for."

Then he would wink over at McCoy who could only respond with a bemused chuckle as they made their way over to the next prospect.

After an amusing twenty minutes, Jim eventually settled on some new model car with a foreign name and shiny silver paint.

Something young, flashy, and not at all modest. Of course. It was Jim in mechanical form plus leather interior.

Before long, they drove past the "Welcome to Daisydale!" sign and McCoy felt his anxiety mount, though Jim ignored it whole-heartedly.

("Really? Who the fuck names a town Daisydale?"

"Trust me, I've been trying to figure that one out for about thirty years now.")

The two men found a hole in the wall sort of restaurant ("These are the best kind, Bones! Pinky swear!") and ate their hamburgers with a sort of fervor. McCoy had never realized how hungry his fear could make him.

Jim swirled his French fries around in the small heap of ketchup he had squeezed onto a few spare napkins as McCoy continued to glance out the window at their rented sports car. As perceptive as always, Jim noticed where McCoy's eyes stared.

"Admit it, you like it," Jim teased McCoy, talking around the mass of French fries in his mouth.

McCoy imagined them roaring (Literally roaring, the engine seemed to purr.) down the highway with the Georgia sun gleaming off the long hood before them.

He did like it.

"I will rock-paper-scissors you for the bed by the window," Jim announced in the elevator, holding a fist over the trolley carrying their suitcases.

"Or we can act mature and you can just ask me for it," McCoy replied snarkily.

There was a moment of silence as Jim refused to move his hand away. His blue eyes continued to stare at McCoy until he flipped a thumb out of his fist.

"Or we can thumb wrestle."

Somehow, the thumb wrestle turned into a massive battle in the elevator. When the doors opened on their floor, a small family of four waiting to get on the lift was privy to the sight of Jim jumped on McCoy's back and smacking the dark-haired man's head as McCoy tried to back up and smash the younger man against the wall.

They froze as they glanced up at the family.

"Um, hi."

"I so totally won that fight," Jim bragged as he fiddled with the key card to their room. He slid it through and opened the door.

The two men entered a modestly sized hotel room, complete with shitty comforters and ugly-ass pictures on the buttercream walls. Seriously, who picked the fabric for these places? The criminally colorblind?

He held the door open for McCoy who pushed the trolley in. Both of them stood near the entrance and glanced at each other. There was a beat during which they stood as still and alert as animals hunting prey before they both tore across the room and flung themselves into the bed nearer the window. McCoy threw an arm out to halt Jim's movements before landing on the bed first.

"No fair! You pushed me!" Jim cried from his spot on the hideous carpet where he had fallen. McCoy grinned, baring all his teeth in laughter.

"Ya five years old now? Gonna go tell on me?" he chuckled, kicking off his shoes and falling back against the pillow with his arms folded under his head.

He shut his eyes in comfort for a moment before a dark figure blocked out the yellow light through his eyelids. McCoy opened his eyes to see Jim standing beside the bed, leaning over his outstretched body.

"I dare you to lick the sheets," he half-ordered, his hands on his hips like he's the five year old McCoy accused him of being.

"Do you have any idea how disgusting that is?" he answered with a revolted look on his face.

"If you don't do it, I will steal your bed," Jim promised, not acknowledging McCoy's protest. His eyes brightened devilishly. "You have to piss eventually. And that is when I will make my move."

The threat was real, there was no denying it. All of a sudden, McCoy was struck by the sudden urge to pee, and he mentally cursed the hell out of his bladder.

With a final defiant glare at Jim, he shifted in the bed with a growl, lowered the comforter, and dragged his tongue against the cotton sheets. He lifted himself back up and tried not to gag at the idea of all the germs he just willingly let into his body.

"Ew! I can't believe you did that!" Jim roared, holding his sides and bent over with laughter.

"You're an ass," McCoy snapped, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"I have a fantastic ass," Jim stated as usual, strutting across the room with an exaggerated swagger in his hips. "That doesn't make me an ass."

"Shut the fuck up," he responded, forcibly pulling his gaze away from Jim bending over the suitcases.

The sound of a zipper permeated the air and a bit of shuffling could be heard. McCoy stood up from the bed to walk over to Jim, curious as to what he was doing.

"Want your toothbrush?" Jim asked impishly, brandishing an orange toothbrush like a sword.

McCoy tugged it out of his hands without a word and waited for Jim to hand him the toothbrush before walking into the tiny bathroom.

"So what are you wearing to the reception?" Jim questioned curiously, continuing to shift through McCoy's suitcase as though looking for the clothes.

"What the hell does it matter?" McCoy called over the sound of the water running.

"Well, if you wear blue or green or something, I don't want to wear the same color as you. That's too cutesy." He spoke with a look of disgust in his voice, causing McCoy to smirk at his reflection in the mirror in front of him.

"Fair enough," he responded before beginning to brush away the nasty memory of his tongue on those damn sheets.

"Your dress clothes aren't in the suitcase."

"Stop going through my shit," McCoy warned him through a mouthful of toothpaste goo.

As he spit into the sink and cleaned off his toothbrush, he saw Jim out of the corner of his eye standing in the open doorway.

"Tell me honestly that you are not planning on wearing this."

McCoy turned to look at the clothes Jim held out to him. A pair of washed out jeans with the knees so worn out they looked white. A t-shirt with UNIVERSITY OF MISSISSIPPI written in his old school's colors.

"What's wrong with it?"

Jim might or might not have looked at him like he had gone insane. His mouth literally dropped open, and for a moment, McCoy wondered if he was going to throw the clothes at him and have a fit.

"It's a wedding reception! You have to look nice!" he shouted, gesticulating around the doorframe with McCoy's clothes shaking in his hands.

Pause.

"Why?"

"You want to look like a bum? No! You're supposed to look smoking hot so that Jocelyn realizes what she missed out on!"

McCoy chose to ignore the "smoking hot" part. Addressing that part of Jim's dialogue would probably make him feel as though he was in one of those poorly written sitcoms Jocelyn used to watch all the time. Fucking Friends.

"What?" He decided that was the most diplomatic of responses when Jim was staring at him like a crazy man.

"We're going shopping tomorrow!" Jim declared, throwing the clothes carelessly onto the floor. "That's final!" With a final glare at the discarded clothes, he spun on his heel and walked away.

"But—"

"Final!" Jim cut him off. He fell back on his own bed, the expression on his face clearly meant to change the subject. "So what do you want to do tonight?

"Let's just stay in tonight," McCoy said, reaching into his suitcase to pull out a pair of sweatpants.

"Why?" Jim asked, blinking in surprise. Both men glanced over at the bright red numbers staring out at them on the clock on the small table between their beds. 7:09.

"Just because," McCoy shrugged. He dropped his jeans into a pool around his feet, kicking them away from him and tugging the sweatpants on. He was acutely aware of Jim watching his movements. "I'm tired," he finally expanded, only somewhat lying.

"Oh," Jim perked up as a sudden realization struck him. "You're afraid you'll run into someone you know."

He stared at McCoy knowingly until the doctor could only sigh.

"Yeah, I guess. If they see me and Jocelyn finds out, she'll probably move the whole damn wedding," he said before adding bitterly, "Knowing her, she's already got that planned out just in case."

"Alright," Jim complied, nodding sagely. "We'll stay in." He shifted the pillows behind his body and leaned against the bed frame. His long fingers wrapped around the remote on the table next to the clock as he turned on the television and tried to find something to watch.

"You sure?" McCoy cautioned, standing like a fool with his pants still on the ground. "I mean, you can go out if you want."

"Nah," Jim shook his head. "I'd rather hang with you." He flashed a smile at McCoy, his pearly whites bright in their room.

McCoy watched him suspiciously for a few more moments before releasing the tension in his shoulders and kicking his jeans out of the way. He fell onto the bed he had fought for not that long ago, moving his own pillows to mirror Jim's.

"Thanks, Jim," he finally said after a few minutes passed by as they watched mindless commercials for Eggo waffles.

"Thank me after we get you some decent clothes," Jim snorted with amusement.

"No promises," McCoy smiled.

The two men glanced over at each other and grinned. Even when the shit hits the fan this weekend, McCoy thought, tonight will be pretty good.

Jim dubbed himself a surgical shopper, in and out of the store as quickly as possible. They drove out to the nearest, nicest store ("Please let me pay. Trust me, it's not me being nice. It's the fact that I will be so fucking ashamed to be your friend if I am seen at the reception with you in ratty clothing.") and Jim was flying out of the driver's seat and racing to the door.

Fifteen minutes within being there, Jim had a handful of crisp shirts thrown over his arms, moving faster than McCoy could keep up. Blonde hair could be seen dashing between sections of clothing and McCoy was nearly dizzy following him. Occasionally, Jim would pop up seemingly out of nowhere, holding a shirt against his chest before a shake or nod of the head and an occasional comment.

"No."

"Yes."

"It looks better on the hanger."

"If you ever wear this color, I will stop being your friend."

Other shoppers glanced at them with varying levels of amusement and McCoy couldn't hold back a laugh or two. Fifteen minutes later, Jim was practically man-handling him over to the dressing area. The attendant looked mildly concerned as Jim bodily shoved McCoy into a dressing room and tossed the clothing over the top.

"Put on the black slacks first," Jim ordered from the next cubical over. The attendant laughed quietly a few feet away.

McCoy stood in the middle of the tiny dressing room under the harsh fluorescent lights in front of a somewhat beat up mirror with clothing in piles on the floor and a shirt that had landed on his shoulder. Perfect. So far, it was already better than any time he had gone shopping with Jocelyn.

As quickly as the clothes had been selected, the final outfits were chosen.

Jim modeled in front of the full length mirror, blowing kisses at his reflection much to McCoy's stoic chagrin. Jim wore charcoal slacks that were more fitted towards the ankles with a long-sleeved, button-down white shirt made of some sort of fancy fabric. Silk? Could 3000 threadcount only be for sheets? McCoy wasn't sure.

He stared at his own reflection and found himself unable to find fault with Jim's and the attendant's selection for him: neatly ironed black slacks with a folded cuff at the bottom and a similar shirt to Jim's with cobalt buttons and minus the fancy fabric.

Jim took a break from his narcissism to stand behind McCoy and slap an arm around his shoulder.

"Dah-ling, you never looked better."

McCoy wondered vaguely if Jim had taken some shots before they went shopping, but decided it was easier in the long run to just go with the flow.

"I thought you didn't want us to look cutesy," he commented, gesturing between their nearly matching shirts.

Jim rolled his eyes at him through their reflection. "It's a wedding. Do you have any idea how many guys will be wearing white shirts?" He looked away from the mirror to actually glance over at McCoy. "Fuck, you really are nervous."

McCoy did not need to respond. Jim knew as he always knew. There was no need for conversation about it.

"Come!" he exclaimed loudly as he began to march back to his dressing room to change. "We shall commemorate with new ties."

She had rented out the entire firehall for her reception. It wasn't couture or at the Ritz or in Hawaii or any of the thousand places that McCoy knew without question of a doubt she would have wanted instead. But that's what you get for marrying a carpenter instead of staying with a doctor.

There was pink and yellow everywhere and everything seemed to suggest that a butterfly threw up. Speaking of throwing up, McCoy was pretty sure he was going to puke his guts out if they got any closer to the nauseating building and he couldn't blame that sensation on the color scheme.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," he repeated over and over again, hissing into Jim's ear as the younger man literally pushed him towards the building that seemed to pulsate with wedding music.

"Whatever you are picturing and imagining, it's not going to be that bad. I promise," Jim swore, gritting his teeth in effort as he strongarmed McCoy and maneuvered the door handle at the same time.

Jim, however, could not have expected what happened next.

The plan was to go in through the back door (The smaller door near the Dalmatian dog entrance is the back right?) while music was playing so that no one, absolutely no one, would see them right away.

Ha. McCoy would have laughed if this had happened to anyone else.

Jim had flung open the door with a resounding thwack! Apparently, he thought it would have been heavier. Mistake one. Mistake two was choosing what now was clearly known to be the main entrance to the reception. Mistake three was that awkward timing in which the DJ had just turned off the music and the wedding party was standing, presumably for toasts and kisses and whatnot.

Mistake four was bringing Jim.

"So, is this the Treadway wedding shin-dig?" Loud. Clear. Heard over the entire room.

As soon as McCoy regained sensation in his legs and arms, he was going to fucking strangle him.

Dead silence followed their dramatic entrance and McCoy's eyes immediately sought Jocelyn's. What was that saying? Hell hath no fury? Yeah. That applied in this instance. Back when they were together, he had appreciated that her face grew red with anger before she started yelling. He had seen it as a warning sign to get the hell outta dodge. Now, she was as red as the fire trucks that had moved for the wedding.

No one in the room seemed to know what to say, but a few twittering nervous laughs could be heard from various tables and some whispering fluttered around.

Then suddenly…

"Daaaaaaaad-dyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

With all the force of a hand grenade, a tiny little pixie of a girl flew across the small dance floor with feet pounding determinately on the floor and dark hair streaming behind her like a flag. McCoy's legs worked long enough for him to fall to his knees just in time to collect his small daughter into a bone-breaking hug.

"Oh, Daddy, I've missed you!" she exclaimed, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

"Me too, baby, me too," he murmured into her hair which smelled a bit like icing. He was pretty sure that if he saw the wedding cake, there would be a bit of icing or a decorative flower missing and little-girl-fingerprints in its wake.

With Joanna in his arms, he found the sensation returning full force in his legs. As all of his joints began working again, he stood up, still hugging his daughter. Without a glance back at Jim who was undoubtedly watching like the hundred or so other people in the room, he crossed the floor to address Jocelyn face-first.

She actually looked fairly pretty and any man who didn't know what a bitch she could truly be would have been attracted to her. After all, isn't that what happened with him? She stood there, looking so similar to how she had looked on their own wedding day. Her hair was twisted up, a dark bun under the veil she hadn't taken off yet. The dress was modest for her age, a bit of lace and a pink wrap around her waist that matched the tiny roses sown on the bodice. The anger in her face actually enhanced the fierceness of her beauty, her gray eyes bright and cheeks still flushed. It had been her saving grace during the early years in their marriage because she could get so mad and he would still think she was beautiful.

He should have slammed the fucking door in her fucking face after their first fight on the third date.

She was staring at him, waiting for a reaction. He tensed up momentarily, feeling the floor fall away from his feet for a moment, but Joanna tightened her grip around his neck and kept him anchored to the world. Hefting her back up on his hip for a stronger hold, he wondered, what would Jim do?

"Hey, Jocelyn," he announced with ease. "Didn't mean to make such an entrance, but well, if you knew Jim, you'd understand." He gestured back to where his friend was still standing and everyone in the hall glanced over to give Jim a once over. He waved gaily as though there were no awkwardness whatsoever.

Jim held McCoy's gaze for a moment and smirked, somehow passing off some of his own confidence to the older man. When McCoy faced his ex-wife once more, it was with an identical smirk playing on his own lips.

"Ya look great, Joss," he told her before sweeping his eyes over the table to see who else was there. "Ah, Clay, good to see you," he said as casually as if they had run into each other at the grocery store. He stretched out a hand to shake the groom's hand. Treadway seemed hesitant to reciprocate the gesture, but he ended up not needing to make a decision because Jocelyn grabbed McCoy's wrist herself.

"In the hall. Now," she hissed, her face livid. McCoy nodded and glanced over at Joanna who sighed wearily, but seemed to understand that she needed to let go of him. He lowered her to the ground and scampered around the table to sit in Jocelyn's mother's lap. She stroked Joanna's hair gently while staring at him as though he was a monster with two heads and how dare he touch a little girl.

Oh, in-laws. How much he did. Not. Miss them.

"Sweetie, is that icing in your hair?"

He could hear Jocelyn's mother fussing over Joanna as the little girl peered over at her parents with great interest.

"No, Gramma. I promise."

McCoy glanced back at his daughter, catching a final glimpse before Jocelyn tugged him out the glass doors. Joanna grinned mischievously at him, trying to hide the icing from the eagle eyes of her grandmother.

That's my girl.

Jocelyn forcibly dragged him to a somewhat secluded hallway of the fire hall, far away enough that the music was barely discernible in the otherwise overwhelming silence. When she finally turned to look at him, McCoy was struck with a memory of how Joanna had looked only a few years ago when having temper tantrums. Jocelyn's eyes were a bit wild, bugging out of her face slightly as she seemed to chew her tongue before speaking.

McCoy remained silent, wanting her to make the first comment and thus decide what sort of tone the conversation would carry.

"What the fuck were you thinking? You need to leave!"

Ah, so she wanted to use that tone.

"I could say the same thing for you, darling," he snapped back, adding as much contempt as possibly into the last two syllables. "You had our daughter lie to me."

"I didn't want you to show up! So leave! Get the hell outta here!" she half-whispered, half-screeched. Her hands shook in front of her body, her fingers constricted and angled awkwardly. He could tell she was just itching to strangle him.

"So, you were going to keep this from me? Get me to pay more alimony? Cheat me out of my money? You goddamn selfish bitch," he spat at her, taking a step forward.

She flinched, but otherwise did not move away from him.

"Stop!" she commanded almost regally. There was a moment of terse silence in which the two ex-lovers glared at each other hatefully. Then something unrecognizable flickered over Jocelyn's made-up face. She rolled her eyes juvenilely and rested her hands on her hips, her puffy white skirt flaring out from beneath the palms of her hands.

When she spoke again, it was with slightly less fierceness coloring her tones, but the anger was still a clear undercurrent. "Okay, you can call me all the names you want, but that's not what happened."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" McCoy shot back, nearly exploding with rage. Her sudden release did nothing but enrage him further.

"I didn't want you to show up!" she shrieked as though he were an idiot and how dare he not understand that. "How many times do I have to say that? I knew that if you knew about the wedding, you'd show up and we'd have an issue like this!" She ended on a high note, her hands gesturing madly between the two of them and back into the general direction of the reception.

Jocelyn seemed to catch herself in her crazy actions and lowered her hands to place them back on her hips. She took a deep breath and when she spoke again, it was much calmer.

"I was going to tell you I got married after the wedding," she told him, refusing to look him in the eye and instead focusing on a random spot on the concrete floor beneath them.

"I didn't know that," he stressed, untaken by her calmer actions. "You need to tell me these sorts of things."

"I'm not obligated to tell you anything anymore," she spit back with weak venom. He could see her struggling not to stomp her foot juvenilely. "You're gone. You're not part of my life anymore."

"I will always be part of your life. Joanna," he reminded her, his facial muscles still tense and aching. Despite his best intentions, he could feel some of the frustration leaving him as he saw how downtrodden Jocelyn looked in front of him, so small in her wedding dress.

"Len…" she started, evoking his old nickname as though that would sooth him. It didn't.

"Jocelyn, you need to let me see her more."

It was not a request. Or even a demand. It was said evenly because he knew she would not respond to any more anger. It was just honest and open and there was no rebuttal against his tone.

"I," she hesitated, her eyes glancing between him and the hallway leading back to her wedding reception. "Well, can we work something out later?" she pleaded like the spoiled brat her daddy had raised her to be. "I want to get back to my wedding. Just leave."

"I'm not leaving here until we work something out," he refused to give in.

"Fine," she snapped, all pathetic tones and sorrowful eyes gone. He knew it had just been an act, a deliberate attack on his compassionate side. Phah. As if he still had one when it came to her.

She turned on her mock-designer heels and stomped off back to the reception like the brat she really was under all that pretty tulle and make-up.

"Just leave me alone and we can talk afterwards," she called out over her shoulder to where he still stood.

Oh, fuck her.

"Well, you don't smell drunk."

And with that, Lorelei Signal plopped herself down at McCoy's and Jim's otherwise empty table.

Of all the people, McCoy thought amusedly to himself as he eyed his old friend. Nearly everyone else at the wedding had refused to talk to McCoy and Jim, though did nothing to stop themselves from openly staring and stage-whispering. Fuckers.

Deeply tanned skin, pleased brown eyes, dark lion hair and all, she grinned with saccharine sweetness across the table at McCoy.

"That would be because I'm not drunk," McCoy responded in turn, frowning at her expression.

"Then why the hell else wouldja come to this wedding?" she announced a little too loudly as always.

"Okay, bigger questions!" Jim interrupted before McCoy could answer. The two looked at him as he crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. "Who are you?" he asked, looking over at the stout woman before turning to face McCoy with raised eyebrows. "And why aren't you introducing me?"

Lorelei looked at McCoy with one heavily penciled eyebrow raised. "Yes, Lenny, who's your friend? He's cute," she purred teasingly at the younger man who, of course, took it all in stride.

"Oh, I like you already. Jim Kirk," he announced, holding out his hand to the woman who accepted immediately.

"Lorelei Signal. Lenny here and I used to go to high school together. I'm here for the bride," she informed Jim with a friendly glance over at McCoy. "I assume you two're also here for the bride?"

"Actually, I'm here for the flower girl," McCoy corrected her, ignoring the bright look that had overtaken Jim's face at the mention of "Lenny."

"Precious," Lorelei smiled as she turned to face Joanna, who was still tightly held by her grandmother and looking over at her father wistfully.

"Oh, our Lenny's quite the precious guy," Jim concluded, flashing her his best hundred-watt smile.

The two of them chuckled over McCoy's flushed (it's not a blush, dammit) face. He glared at both of them, already not liking the friendship springing up between the two.

"So, how'd your talk go?" Jim asked, only slightly more serious as he jerked his head in the direction of the door McCoy and Jocelyn had gone through.

"Eh, we yelled," he shrugged to no one's surprise. "Nothing much was resolved. Apparently, I'm supposed to trust that she'll talk to me after this fucking thing is over with."

"Oh, it's been so long since I've heard ya curse," Lorelei spoke nostalgically, seemingly unmoved by his summary of the fight.

Both of the men shook their heads, Jim with a smile and McCoy with a look of incredulity.

"Bones," Jim interjected raucously, gaining more than just a few curious glances, "you keep straying from the more important parts of the conversation: Do we get cake?"

"Oh, somehow I forgot to ask about that in the midst of screaming at her about keeping my daughter away from me," McCoy deadpanned as Lorelei laughed heartily beside him, her hair shaking wildly around her.

"Dammit, Bones, get your priorities in order," Jim responded with mock seriousness, ignoring everyone else around them.

"I'll work on that," McCoy sighed.

The toasts passed without too much pomp and circumstance, and the biggest problem was that they had no alcohol to make a drinking game out of it.

"I knew I should have brought the booze," Jim said for the umpteenth time as yet another cliché, corny line passed through the lips of another shmuck spouting words of poetry to the newlyweds.

McCoy and Lorelei nodded without too much enthusiasm.

After twenty minutes of stifling warmth and monotonous speeches, Jocelyn's father kissed her cheek and some angel of mercy (or the wedding coordinator. Whichever.) stated that the buffet would soon be ready.

Truly thankful applause was finally heard, not that fake shit that followed each of the speeches.

"Sorry, honeys, but I don't think you RSVP'd in time," Lorelei drawled, glancing between the two men as conversations erupted at the tables around them.

"Oh, damn. And I would have picked beef, too," Jim responded, snapping his fingers in exaggerated dejection.

Lorelei chuckled good-naturedly, running her tickle-me-pink-painted talons through her hair, making it appear wilder than usual.

"You can pick off my plate, Jimmy," she promised. He shook his head with a smile, brushing off her suggestion with gratitude.

A server came to their table, a spotted teenager McCoy knew vaguely. He nodded stiffly in recognition at McCoy before glancing curiously at Jim and turning to Lorelei to inform her that she could go to the buffet after the wedding table had gotten their food.

She waved him off, waggling her fingernails at him a few times before her fist came to rest under her chin.

"So, how'd you two meet?" she asked amiably. Her free hand gestured between the two of them, her gold bangles shaking on her wrist.

"Business," Jim answered quickly with a side-glance at McCoy before he could answer.

McCoy blinked twice at his friend, unsure of what he was talking about.

"What sort of business are you in?" she questioned with sincere interest.

"My dear," Jim charmed, trying to distract her with his too-white teeth, "why bore up the conversation with such talk? The open bar has finally been opened and I spot an empty seat. Join me when you want a bit more entertainment."

He walked off with a considerable amount of swagger and more than just a few coifed heads turned to watch him strut over to the open bar.

More like watch his ass shake, McCoy grumbled in his mind.

Lorelei eyed him leaving with barely concealed laughter. She waited until he had initiated a conversation with the bartender with not-so-surprising ease before turning at neck-break speed in her seat to face McCoy once more.

"Please don't tell me he's your version of Pretty Woman," she begged, her eyes sparkling.

"What?"

"A sophisticated hooker for hire, Lenny," she told him exasperatedly. "Have you really never seen this movie?"

His blank expression made her blink so rapidly that he was momentarily concerned that her false eyelashes would fly off and impale another wedding guest.

"Pretty Woman! With Julia Roberts?" she said, staring at him as though that were an obvious clue.

"Oh, God," McCoy groaned, bringing his hands to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Please don't tell Jim he's the male version of Julia Roberts. He already has the ego of a Greek god."

"Well, if he's not the Julia Roberts to your Ricky Gere, then who is he?" she pressed with all the curiosity of a teenage girl on the edge of juicy gossip. Her eyes grew wide with interest, her fingers tangled into her hair, and her coral pink lips pursed in anticipation.

"A friend," McCoy finally relented. "We met in San Francisco. He's… interesting," he finished lamely, unsure of how to really describe Jim without use of elaborate comparisons and similes.

"No kidding," she responded rolling her eyes. She looked over her shoulder at him and the pair of them watched Jim wave jovially. He motioned towards McCoy. "He's wavin' you over for a drink," she translated unnecessarily.

"Eh, I'll pass for now," he answered, shaking his head at Jim. Jim shrugged and then faced the bartender once more, striking up what seemed to be a fairly animated conversation. McCoy wasn't much in the mood for a drink, not wanting to be at all impaired during his impending conversation with the she-devil herself.

"Did Leonard McCoy just pass up the opportunity for a drink?" Lorelei asked with piqued intrigue, her too-thin eyebrows raised in question.

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, it's a bit of a shock for most people here," she said, pushing away from the table to cross one leg over the other casually.

"What do you mean?" he asked slowly, leaning in towards her and placing his weight onto his elbows on the table.

"Oh, haven't you heard?" she spoke with fake surprise, clearly excited to share her inside knowledge with him.

"Apparently not." He could feel his characteristic irritation growing. "We aren't getting younger here, Lor."

"Speak for yourself, honey," she responded pointedly as she smoothed the skirt of her zebra-print dress over her thighs. "Anyway, your lovely flower of an ex-wife has explained away the reason for your departure as you being a recovering alcoholic."

A pause.

"You're shitting with me."

"Oh yeah, I made up the story 'cause it's so damn classy," Lorelei snarked with a roll of her eyes before shrugging one shoulder. "Nah, Joss went around telling people that you were a drunk. That's the reason she left you and got to keep Joanna."

"That's not true," McCoy managed to say through terse lips. His hands clenched into fists on the table as people's chatter around him became white noise in his newfound anger.

"Honey, I know that," she comforted him, her voice immediately dropping its gossip-y tone and adopting a more sincere tenor. "Hell, everyone knows that. We all know that Joss has been stuck in cheerleading camp since sophomore year." She paused for a moment to let the information set in and settle McCoy's nerves. Once he felt the redness drop from his face and his heart rate return back to semi-normal, she mused, "My theory is that she was just ashamed of herself for sleeping with Clay."

"Don't you excuse her for making up stories," he warned her, an empty threat heavy in his voice.

"No, it don't excuse her at all," Lorelei agreed with an infuriating casual tone. Didn't she understand the magnitude of this? "But she did it and there's nothing you can do now. No one believes it though," she assured him, reaching out over the table to squeeze his forearm. "We all know the truth. It's a small town and you're a damn good guy."

He stayed quiet, his eyes unfocused on how dark her skin appeared compared to his. Had he really been away from the Georgia sun for so long?

"'Sides," she began again, squeezing his arm once more before withdrawing, "you two always assumed people cared more."

"What do you mean?"

Lorelei stopped talking for a second, which worried him. He knew her well enough to know that she only ever stopped talking if she was really deep in thought. He could count the amount of times it happened on one hand. And he had known her since grade school.

"You two always seemed to think that the rest of town gave two shits about what you were doing with your time." She moved her hand across the table again to grasp his hand into hers. "Lenny, I love you and God help me I love Joss, too," Lorelei stated with some confusion as though she couldn't figure out why she was friends with Jocelyn. She shook her head and continued. "But you two both need to get a grip and realize that no one really cares too much what you two did and do. You were never quite the talk of the town like you thought you were."

Nothing like some good, blunt honesty during the most awkward wedding reception in the world. Nice.

"Well, gee, glad to know I didn't matter," he answered snidely, pulling his hand out from under her carnation claws.

He debated internally about whether or not he should join Jim. A drink, a really hard drink would be fucking amazing right now. All un-inebriated conversations be damned.

"Don't get all offended now," Lorelei chided, sounding a bit like her mother. He wondered if he should tell her that. It might be the mortification she needed. "It's not that you didn't matter. It's just that other things mattered more to the rest of us. Like our own lives, for instance. Ya'll just needed to get over yourselves."

"I'll keep that in mind," he gruffed. McCoy was, however, temporarily assuaged and thought that perhaps maybe she was on to something there.

"You could take her to court, ya know," she pressed when she was sure that he wasn't going to yell at her or get angry. "Get some custody of your kid. Ya won't get full custody. The only judge in town—"

"—is her cousin," he finished for her with a sign of resignation while she grimaced sympathetically. "Yeah. I know." He looked down at her hand still comfortably around his and gave it a tiny shake, looking up at her face with a wan smile. "Wanna know something funny?"

"Yeah," she mirrored his smile. "Tell me something hilarious."

"I don't think I'll take her to court."

Clearly, she had been expecting something funny in the haha-sense. This was more ironic funny. And not at all what she was hoping for, if the crestfallen look on her face was any indication.

"Why the hell not?" She practically threw his hand back at him and crossed her arms across her chest.

McCoy watched Jim across the room for a while. Everyone else was getting food at this point and sometimes someone would block his vision, but he kept his eyes trained in his friend.

"Too many reasons."

Lorelei shook her head, unruly curls swaying against her cheeks as she finally stood up to get her dinner.

"You're a better person than I am."

McCoy doubted that.

No more than five minutes after the cake had been cut and served (and pointedly not served to Jim and McCoy) did Joanna rush over to her father.

She glanced at him conspiratorially before settling down under the table. She brought her finger to her lips to remind him to stay quiet, and then noticed the icing coating it and licked it off instead.

Both Jim and Lorelei were also peering at the small girl sitting at their feet and smiled fondly at her actions.

"Baby, what are you doing?" McCoy asked her, slipping a napkin under the table so that she could clean herself off better.

"Hiding from Gramma. I wanna talk to you," she informed him as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Then she made a big show of peering out between the legs of one of the empty chairs at their table at her grandmother who was focused on Jocelyn and Treadway smearing cake into each other's faces.

"Then come out from under the table so you can talk properly like the little lady you really are," he reprimanded her gently. She eyed him for a moment and snuck another peek at her grandmother before nodding slowly and crawled out from under the table.

Joanna pushed an empty chair right up against McCoy's and climbed into it, her patented white shoes hanging out over the sides and her head slumped against her father's arm.

"Why, hello there, Joanna-Banana!" Lorelei greeted warmly, waving her fingers at the little girl.

Joanna returned the wave, her hand flopping at her wrist, and then turned to face Jim curiously.

"Joanna, this is my friend Jim," McCoy told her, reaching over the table for one of Lorelei's napkins. He dipped it into the water glass before him and used the corner of it to wipe off Joanna's sticky hands and face.

"Hey there. Your dad's told me a lot about you," Jim smiled. Despite the open grin on his face, McCoy detected a smidgeon of nervousness around the younger man and chuckled softly to himself. Of all the women who could make him nervous, it was a seven year old girl.

"You gave me the necklace, right?" Joanna asked carefully, still withholding judgment on the golden haired man-child.

"Sure did," he nodded, looking up briefly at McCoy to wink.

She grinned at him, one canine tooth missing (was she really losing her baby teeth already?) and pulled at the golden chain around her neck until the Chinese symbol pendant emerged from under the front of her dress.

"I wear it all the time," she whispered in that way all little girls know how to do. Then she giggled happily and peered down at the charm, rubbing her thumb over it.

"What do we say?" McCoy prompted, nudging her slightly.

She looked up at him curiously before her brown eyes brightened with sudden understanding. "Oh!" She turned to look at Jim earnestly. "Thank you, Mr. Jim!" Her brown curls bobbed around her head as she nodded profusely.

Jim laughed, his mouth wide and his eyes crinkled, looking for all the world the very personification of a good mood. "You're welcome, Miss Joanna."

Joanna's smile matched Jim's, clearly flattered at being called "Miss." She pulled herself into her father's lap, settling down comfortably on his legs with her feet hanging out almost ninety degrees away from her, knocking her heels together idly. McCoy brought his hands to encircle her tiny waist and she rested her head on his chest while sliding her arms around his neck.

McCoy closed his eyes for a moment, drinking in the feeling, and then dropped a kiss down on the crown of her hair. She smelled like icing, strawberry shampoo, and home. This was his little girl and he wasn't sure how he'd be able to leave her when he went back to Georgia.

"Daddy?" she questioned, pulling her head off of his chest to peer up at him soulfully. "How come I can't push cake into anyone's face like Mommy?"

McCoy pushed his brooding thoughts aside and laughed freely.

Oh, Joanna.

"Of all the songs," Jim said, one or two beers away from giggling.

"Shush!" Lorelei hissed at him, nearly doubled over herself with a handful of empty margarita glasses in front of her.

McCoy was still stone-cold sober and even he was finding it hard to keep his own amusement concealed. He spared a glance around the room at the other tables to find a mixture of people either tearfully watching with sappy smiles or hands pressed to their lips to keep the laughter in.

Bless the Broken Road continued to play from the DJ's speakers as Jocelyn and Treadway floated across the open dance floor. Well, it was more like they swayed awkwardly while Jocelyn occasionally winced as Treadway stepped on her feet.

Classic.

Others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars pointing me on my way into your loving arms

A few people couldn't entirely contain themselves at this point and more than a handful glanced over at McCoy to see how he reacted to that line. He merely shook his head slowly with a grin as he handed a napkin over to Jim so he could wipe the tears of mirth off his face.

Treadway twirled her around, or at least tried to, but they managed to keep their balance and not fall.

A spasm of anger flashed over Jocelyn's face, but she masked it quickly enough with a loving expression and doe-y eyes as she patted her new husband's cheek in a pretense of affectionate touches.

It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true.

Immediately after that line, as if on cue, with the air of someone on their final walk to the gallows, Joanna stood up from where she had been sitting with her friends and walked dejectedly over to her mother and new stepfather.

"Oh, Joanna! Do you want to dance with us?"

Really, the whole thing was just so fucking rehearsed. No one, not a single person, would buy that Joanna walked over of her own accord to dance with them.

The giggles teetered throughout the room, but Jocelyn turned a deaf ear as she and Treadway opened their intimate circle of arms to allow Joanna between them. The new circle of three spun around the room slowly as the song continued.

"Oh, that poor, sweet girl," Lorelei commented in a drunken-induced girlish voice.

The three of them muffled their laughter into their hands, Lorelei pulling the cloth napkin out of her lap to further silence her giggles.

Rascal Flatts's voice finally crooned the ending, much to everyone's relief. However, no one was as excited for the song to be over as Joanna. She flew out of their arms like the hounds of hell were after her and went back to her friends, falling hard on her knees.

As the song ended, the DJ commented on how lovely a couple Jocelyn and Treadway were (Hah. She must have paid him a shit-ton to say that.). Polite applause followed and the floor became quickly crowded as the wedding guests scattered themselves on the floor.

The next song began, slowly serenading from the speakers, and the guests all began to move almost as one. In a moment of surprising compassion, McCoy actually thought it was almost sweet. Off to the side, Joanna, her friends, and a few more children forced to attend the wedding were trying to start up a congo line around the dancers.

As was usual for Lorelei, as soon as the dancing started, she was immediately scooped up by whichever man happened to come by her first. A whirl of a zebra dress with a pink underskirt was the last McCoy knew he'd see of her for a while.

"She's fun," Jim remarked, eyeing her appreciatively as she waltzed away into the heart of the dance floor.

"You should have known her in high school," McCoy chuckled, looking at his friend fondly. He had missed her. Hell, he had missed a lot about his old town.

"You never mentioned her," Jim said. It wasn't a question or anything, really. Just an offhand comment, an observation. McCoy didn't need to respond.

But he did anyway. Jim had that affect.

"I lost touch with a lot of friends when I went off to college," McCoy admitted, leaning back in his chair, not facing Jim. He watched the dancers, recognizing some faces as old classmates and neighbors. His old mailman was swinging around the town's florist and he watched with a twinge of reminiscence. "Not too many people here went far from home to college, if they went at all. Only reason I talked to them after getting my MD was because Joss stayed friends with them while I was away."

"High school sweethearts?"

"In the biggest way."

"You came back to her," Jim murmured after a short silence. "That's sweet."

"Surprisingly so, I know," McCoy joked, tossing his glance over at his friend, expecting him to be grinning teasingly. But instead Jim looked rather serene, spinning a slick finger around the rim of his glass creating a one-note melody.

"Eh, not a surprise. You're a loyal man, Bones." His lips curved upwards in a small imitation of his signature smirk.

The rest of the song played and they sat in their silence, Bones watching as Jim collected the different glasses around him and played a strange song with them. The song ended and the next one started, to which Jim's head perked up as the strains of the guitar started.

"Dance with me," he announced, already standing up from his seat.

What the fuck was this kid on?

"No."

"Oh, come on," Jim grasped the back of his chair and leaned forward imploringly. "It'll be fun."

"No."

Fucking insane.

"You can't take someone to a wedding and then not dance with them," Jim chided like he was Miss Manners or some shit like that. He moved around the table with ease until he stood directly beside McCoy. He lowered himself just slightly to be face to face with the older man, his blue eyes sparking impishly. "No wonder your wife divorced you. You don't know how to be a romantic."

Those eyes.

And somehow, he couldn't explain it, his legs forced him to stand. A completely separate force from his mind was governing his body and Jim led him out to the dance floor amid strange glances and second looks.

"I didn't take you to this wedding, you forced me to go," he grumbled, using his grouchiness to cover up the fact that yes, actually, he was going to dance with Jim at a wedding.

"And this isn't a damn romance!" he finished with a bit more grouch than necessary.

"Whatever you say, Bones," Jim laughed with an amiable roll of those damn blue eyes.

One hand firmly pressed to Jim's shoulder and the other resting in his grasp, McCoy glanced around the room. No one was watching anymore. No one seemed to care. Maybe Lorelei was right. Damn her.

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin,

For I can't help falling in love with you.

They could have fit a whole other person between them and it was quite possibly the most awkward embrace McCoy had ever experienced in his life. But, it was comfortable. Jim smelled like beer and some sort of Jim-scent that he carried with him wherever he went. The lights were low and it was already dark outside, the street lights too dim to shine through the high-above windows.

The music was deep, reverberating through the wooden tiled floor, and Jim was there. Jim was smiling, his eyes were laughing. He had opted to place his hand on McCoy's elbow rather than his waist, more for McCoy's comfort, he knew. But it worked. It fit.

McCoy stopped glancing around by the second verse because as far as he was concerned, Lorelei was right. No one gave a damn and for the first time, he didn't give a damn either.

"Can't believe the music list she picked," he muttered almost under his breath.

"Hey," Jim said, jerking his elbow a little with a frown on his otherwise unlined face. "Don't diss on the King."

Take my hand,

Take my whole life, too,

For I can't help falling in love with you.

Lorelei waited until Jim had started dancing with a young, curious girl who had been eyeing him all night. As soon as he began twirling her on the dance floor like a pro (Jocelyn glared jealous daggers the whole while as Jim never stepped on his partner's feet. Poor Treadway.), Lorelei turned her head to McCoy in tipsy curiosity.

"You sure you're just friends?"

"What do you mean?" McCoy practically snapped back, ignoring the unpleasant feelings randomly (it had to be randomly, there was no other explanation) bubbling in the pit of his stomach as he watched Jim and the girl.

"Nothing," Lorelei responded in a contradictory tone. She turned her head to watch the pair with McCoy. Jim swung the girl out, never bringing her too close to him. Without turning her head back to face McCoy, Lorelei continued. "I just think you might want to consider being something more with him."

"Why on God's green earth would you say that?" Oh great. Now she was crazy. Well, she had always been a bit on the crazy side to begin with, McCoy reasoned with himself.

"Because you look at him the way Joss always wanted you to look at her."

And on that enigmatic note, Lorelei pushed the chair from the table, got up, and walked away, leaving McCoy in his stunned state. These would be words to contemplate, if his brain ever started working again.

The reception ended around nine thirty, a whopping two and a half hours after it started. Jocelyn made a big show about how the little kids, including her precious little daughter (cue the guests' ooh-ing and ah-ing), needed some rest after such a big day. Of course, anyone with half a brain knew this to be a cover. Everyone, including that precious little daughter judging from the roll of her big, round eyes, knew that Jocelyn just wanted to the awkwardness of the ex-husband-showing-up-at-the-wedding faux pas (Jim insisted it was a faux pas instead of a catastrophe despite McCoy's own eyeroll.).

The wedding guests began to exit the building, a few of them drunk enough to bid McCoy goodbye while a few other more sober guests even nodded politely to the surly man. He nodded in return to his old classmates and neighbors, wanting more than anything to just get the fuck out of there.

Lorelei slurred her words as she promised McCoy she would stand by him through the whole conversation, but McCoy assured her he would be fine. After a few attempts, she nodded in agreement and tightly hugged him to her, wishing him good-bye. And as her standard farewell, she brought his mouth down to hers in a smacking kiss which left him wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

She then spun from his arms and headed towards Jim with a sort of determination in her glazed over eyes as she landed a wet kiss right on his lips, which he returned in equal measure as he dipped her with grandeur.

Grinning, McCoy turned to find someone who could take her home only to find a small group of people trying to decide whose turn it was to take Lorelei's inebriated ass home this time. Apparently this wasn't the first time.

A rather resigned-looking blonde haired guest lost the rock-paper-scissors debacle and walked over to Lorelei, speaking in soothing tones about how it was time to head home.

With a final wave of her hand and twirl of her zebra skirt, Lorelei exited the building with her chaperone. The remaining guests exhaled a breath of relief as one before gathering their belongings and making their own departures.

Before long, only a handful of guests remained. The servers began clearing the tables (a few of them discreetly finished off some of the half-full glasses of alcohol) as the wedding party began to transport the large pile of wedding gifts from the table they had been resting on to various cars to be taken to Jocelyn's and Treadway's home. Even the DJ was packing up, still humming the song Joanna had requested him to play while she and McCoy danced.

Both Jim and McCoy stood off the side, twin pillars with their arms crossed and their eyes resting on Jocelyn, waiting for her to make due on her promise to talk to McCoy. Joanna sprung for the ensnaring arms of her grandmother and rushed over to stand between the two men, mirroring their position. Jim and McCoy refused to look at each other over Joanna's curly head for fear of bursting out in laughter. Still, the stifled smiles were surely not at all intimidating to Jocelyn.

Treadway made sure to steer clear away of the whole situation, but both of Jocelyn's parents spoke in hushed tones to her, all three taking turns to glance over at McCoy with a mix of anger and concern etched into their faces.

Finally, Jocelyn raised a single French-manicured finger and beckoned McCoy to follow her out the same doors they had exited a couple hours previous.

With a pat to Joanna's head and a significant look of support shared with Jim, McCoy headed over towards his ex-wife and walked out the door with her, ignoring the glare from his former father-in-law. Bastard had never quite liked him all that much.

They walked together in silence, their footsteps echoing on the floor, her heels clapping in time to her clipped, tense steps. After a short distance had been placed between them and the other party guests, Jocelyn turned around so quickly that McCoy nearly ran into her.

He steadied himself in a cocked-hip, arms-crossed position that he knew he must have gotten from Jim. Smiling sardonically at the she-devil down the bridge of his nose, he let his voice drawl out.

"So, ready to handle this thing like adults?"

Jocelyn gave him her best "fuck you, I'm really not amused" smile before crossing her arms with a little too much force.

"So, tell me once more."

Exasperation was clear on both of their parts, in Jim's tone of voice and in McCoy's heavy sigh following his friend's words.

"I told you, I'm not taking her to court," McCoy informed him again.

Jim closed the hotel door behind him, standing near the door with a disbelieving spot on his face.

"You're an alien, right? I mean, that's the only explanation I can think of as to why you, Bones, would not take her to court."

McCoy groaned as he sat down on the bed and kicked his shoes off.

"Jim—"

"Tell me the truth, Bones, if that is your real name!" he nearly shouted, jabbing a finger at McCoy accusingly.

"It's not my real name, you dumbass," McCoy responded dryly. He let a moment of silence pass between them as Jim crossed the room to sit on his bed across from McCoy, watching him carefully. "I'm not taking her to court because I, I don't know," he trailed off, gesturing aimlessly with his hands before letting them fall listlessly into his lap. "I sorta take pity on her for leaving her alone while I worked at all time."

Another moment of silence.

"That's the biggest load of crap I have ever heard."

"Fuck off," McCoy flicked him off without any real heart in his words. "She agreed to give me part-time custody."

Jim's blue eyes seemed to bulge out of his boyish face as he slammed his fist down onto his knee.

"You should have gotten full custody!"

"No," McCoy said firmly, his voice rising slightly. He refused to speak again until Jim appeared to have calmed down some. "I don't have the money right now to get a bigger or nicer apartment. You know the place I have now would not work at all."

"No kidding," Jim scoffed, crossing his arms across his broad chest. "She'd have to sleep in the shower."

"Plus, if she lived with me, I'd be taking her out of her hometown and all of her friends and a whole neighborhood full of people who care for her," McCoy tried to reason with Jim. Jim still looked unconvinced, blowing away the flop of hair that had fallen into his face. "San Francisco is a nice city, but it's still a city and not the best place for her."

"So move," Jim challenged him as though it was just a simply solution.

"I can't switch jobs again, Jim. I've explained this to you already."

"So then when do you get to see her?" Jim nearly exploded with the question.

"She goes to school year-round, so she gets long vacations during the different semesters or whatever. She'll come visit me for a week or so every few months."

"It's not enough, Bones," Jim said, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly as he stared off behind McCoy. When McCoy did not respond, he snapped his eyes back to the older man in front of him. "What if Jocelyn, aka the she-bitch, doesn't let you see her? What if she goes back on her word?"

"That's when I will take her to court," McCoy stated darkly. "And I most assuredly will be calling up a judge that isn't related to her."

"Why are you doing this?" Jim responded, momentarily calm and sated with McCoy's assertion.

"Look," McCoy started, trying to reason with his friend, "Jocelyn and I already turned Joanna's world upside down once. And now Joss is married again? I don't want another huge change in her life. I want her to have some stability."

"Okay. Fine." Jim let the words hang in the air for a second and then slumped onto the bed. He huffed out a huge breath of air before his voice rang out again, two shades away from sounding whiney. "I'm tired."

"That's the depressants from all the alcohol you drank starting to work," McCoy informed him, still sitting on his bed and watching his friend.

"Ooh, that doctor-talk is so hot," Jim snarked, his eyes shut against the bright lights of their room.

"Ass."

"You know it." Jim stood up slowly from the bed and crossed over to his suitcase. "I think I'll just shower in the morning."

McCoy nodded and followed suit, walking over to his own suitcase to extract sleep clothes. On his right, Jim started to unknot the tie from around his neck.

"Explain to me one more time why you picked a gold tie," McCoy asked with a note of amusement.

"I honestly don't see why this bothers you so much," Jim answered stiffly with indignation, still refusing to answer what seemed to be McCoy's question of the day.

Jim tossed the slim piece of fabric into his suitcase. When he turned away to shrug off his button-down shirt, McCoy stealthily snagged the tie out of the suitcase.

"Gold?" he asked, grinning as he dangled it just out of Jim's reach. He laughed as Jim grabbed it out of his hands, scowling.

"Because I'm the golden boy," he answered loftily, his nose in the air. McCoy was still laughing as Jim tossed it back in the suitcase. "Shut up. It matches my hair."

Chuckling, McCoy changed into his clothes and freshened up in the bathroom, washing his face of the stress from the day.

When he exited the bathroom, he found Jim sprawled out on the bed on top of the covers and flipping through the channels on the television. After a few seconds of channel surfing, he settled on House. McCoy stared at the television for a moment before a tremor of shock ran through his body. He turned to Jim with sudden question, which Jim waved off before McCoy even spoke. Jim assured him that he had called ahead to the hospital so that McCoy wouldn't be fired.

"I used your vacation days. It's not like you've been using them for anything else."

McCoy ignored Jim's subsequent questions about whether or not it was required for all doctors to be grouchy and instead laid down on his own bed, half-watching the show. Almost instantly, he began to feel his eyelids droop tiredly.

Without any words, Jim turned off the television and the lights as both men settled more comfortably into their bed and readied for sleep.

McCoy had nearly drifted off when he heard Jim's voice sound as though it came from twenty thousand leagues under the sea.

"Hey Bones?"

"What, Jim?" he responded. Maybe. He was sorta muffled into the pillow and not entirely awake, so it might have been less coherent.

"Guess what."

"What?" he growled, not wanting to deal with this shit when he was so tired.

"You don't have to pay alimony anymore."

Silence. And then…

"I don't have to pay alimony anymore," McCoy said incredulously as the words began to set in.

"You don't have to pay alimony anymore," Jim repeated, smug in the darkness.

"I don't have to pay alimony anymore." It was like a new dawn was breaking onto McCoy's life.

"Hot damn."

More silence passed between them as McCoy grinned stupidly into the blackness surrounding him. He waited until Jim's breath began to even out before getting his own retaliation against the younger man for disturbing his sleep (regardless of the good news Jim had reminded him of).

"Hey, Jim?"

"What?" Jim whined. And in the darkness, McCoy could see the outline of Jim's form twist in the bed as he hugged the pillow tighter to his body.

"Thanks," he told him sincerely.

"Shut up and let me sleep."

The pillow suddenly flew across the space between the beds and landed on McCoy's chest, which he pushed onto the floor. But McCoy could hear a smile in the golden-haired man's voice and fell asleep with a smile of his own.

Did you like it? Did you guys still love me? Does anyone still care that I'm writing this? Thank you to all the people still reading!