Work Text:
McCoy sits on the edge of the pool, squinting down at the tanned figure swimming beneath its clear body.
James, or rather, Jim had developed a bad habit of dragging him out here long after the pool had been closed. Had gotten away with it because he part timed as a lifeguard, and got away with it because Leonard had always had a hard time telling him no-
Well, telling him no, and really meaning it.
The sun is setting, and the water's getting colder, and McCoy should be dragging them both back to the academy dorms and shoving his friend into the sonics-
He should, but he won't, and he isn't sure if he wants to confront the whys that go along with that reasoning.
“Bones,” Jim calls, breaking the surface with a splash and shaking the water from his hair, “you aren't gonna get in?”
“It's cold.” McCoy complains, because it is, and because if he sits on the edge he can just keep watching. Jim shoves a bout of water his way.
“It won't be if you get in.” It's a bad argument, one that could have the both of them waking up feverish and snotty, and McCoy frowns when his shirt gets wet.
“It's getting late.”
“Then you better hurry and swim.” Jim grins, running a hand through his hair, “or I'll make you.”
“You won't make nothin,’ Jimmy boy.” The med student taunts, leaning back easily on his arms and shaking his head. “You’re all just talk.”
They both know what's coming next, that James will push, and Leonard will fold, but they pretend to drag it out a little longer.
McCoy parts his legs easily, pretending to find interest in staring up at the slowly darkening sky when Jim swims up to him, settles between his legs, and places wet hands on his thighs.
It's all friendly, they'd both attest to that, because friendly is all it ever was-
And ever had been-
And ever will be-
And McCoy is just glad he had remembered to bring a dry set of clothes in his bag this time. Though he won't tell James, and he won't ever get them out, and he knows Jim had already seen them when he had borrowed a laptop charger from him earlier that morning.
But Jim won't mention them, and Jim will lend him a towel, and a pair of his spare gym clothes, and they'd pretend to keep pretending because that was easier than talking about whatever this was-
Whatever seemed to be happening-
Out loud.
Jim's hands are cold, wet hair slicked to his forehead and glimmering slightly under the setting sun-
McCoy hadn't been one for pools growing up, spending his time swimming instead in rivers and murky lakes, and it all just has him labeling James as something so city.
As someone who makes him city by association-
And McCoy sets his dirty southern pride aside and eases himself into the clear, overly chlorinated, chilly water.
They're almost chest to chest being this close, and Jim wraps an arm around his shoulders and leans into him. “That wasn't so hard was it doctor?”
“I'm not a doctor yet.” McCoy argues, just to have something to argue about, and lets his friend use him to float.
His friend. Important. Final.
“And I'm not a captain yet,” Jim snorts, “but I will be, one day.”
“Not to me.” McCoy laughs, walking along the shallow end, and dragging James with him. “You’ll always just be the same, stubborn, Jim.”
“I think you're more stubborn than I am.” And there's affection in his words, perhaps more than their preset bond allows, but neither of them will mention it.
“Space just isn't ready for this little piece of Georgia.” McCoy shrugs, and he doesn't have to look back to know James is playfully rolling his eyes.
“My ship will be.” And it almost sounds like Jim is saying he will be-
McCoy swallows, opens his mouth, and then thinks better of it.
It's better not to ruin the moment, it's better not to risk it-
And so he dives, let's the cool water sting his eyes, and shames himself for his own internal cowardice.
What they had now was too important to lose, and so neither of them will ever put it on the line-
Leonard lets himself float back to the top, and James is already half way into the deep end, while McCoy breaks the surface in the shallow.
There's a metaphor there, if he were to look, which he wasn't, which he wouldn't-
McCoy paddles over and floats next to him.
His feet don't touch the bottom.
Jim's don't either-
And when they get out, his friend will help him towel his hair, and they won't take glances at each other from across the changing room sonics, and he won't leave wearing Jim's clothes-
Except they will, they both know that, and they both pretend they don't.
Jim doesn't splash him again for the rest of the night, and McCoy doesn't dip back into the shallow. They climb the latter out of the deep end-
And it's cold.