Red Means Dead

Reflection

It is early in the morning, I've been awake for a bit listening to him breathe and dream. It's one of my favorite things to do. Every now and then, he'll mutter quietly or twitch, or squeeze my bicep. His arm is around me and clamps down briefly against my back, pulling me tightly against his side as he struggles in his unconscious state. I rub my hand over his stomach once, twice, three times until he relaxes again with a heavy sigh. My body is comfortable with his touch, used to his quirks to the point I know his movements as if they are my own and what it takes to settle him. It is a comfort.

I am in a state of quiet contemplation.

My mind is fluttering around from thought to thought, settling for longer spans of time on favorite memories of Meiying but mostly what happened last night and other moments with McCoy.

During our time at the Academy, we saw each other frequently because our study breaks happened at the same time. Or maybe I just happened to find myself near the medical buildings when I knew his classes were getting out. It's all a bit fuzzy now that I'm seeing it with new eyes. He was an enigma to me: a bit of snark with a whole bunch of southern charm, he always knew what to say to make me smile or knew when to listen. We met by chance soon after I arrived and I knew I needed him near to keep me sane, despite his efforts to drive me bonkers with that little nickname he gave me. Secretly I knew he liked ruffling my feathers. Or at least think he was.

Not all my memories of him were pleasant ones.

One night, after a horrible relationship ended with a horrible break up, and a lot of tears shed by my ex, I walked to McCoy's room full of pent up energy and emotions. We'd known each other for a couple years at that point and had never truly talked about feelings but my cursed feet carried me to him.

When his door slid open, he looked surprised to see me but he offered a welcoming grin.

"Peaches, what can I do for you?"

"I need a hug and to punch something."

"Uh oh. One of those sounds more appealing than the other." He hiked up his shirt sleeve and presented his shoulder, smacking it a few times. "Go ahead. Hit me." The look in his eyes was mischievous and atypical for him but it drew me in. It was a side I'd never really seen of his and I almost felt like I'd been invited into a club.

Chuckling, I shoved him playfully, acknowledging this new version but not drawing too much attention to it.

Quickly, he grasped my hand before I could remove it and pulled me into a tight embrace, my arms trapped between us, his hands rubbing my back. We'd never hugged before, never even touched really but somehow it was righting all the wrongs I was feeling. The tension was rolling in waves from my shoulders the longer we touched, the longer he ran his hands over my back and arms until none was left and I felt better than I had in weeks.

How did I not realize it then?

Probably because of what happened next.

"Bones? Who's there?"

Reluctantly, I pulled—or was pushed—out of his embrace as a green arm snaked between us and around his chest. Another arm coiled around his waist as a head of bright orange hair popped around his shoulder revealing a smirk laced with desire and possession. I stumbled backwards as if she'd hit me and slammed my emotions into the deepest darkest corner of my brain that I could.

Personally, I wasn't friends with any Orions but their reputation and sex drive preceded them.

It shouldn't have surprised me, given who his best friend is, it shouldn't have appalled me, he was a healthy, attractive male, it shouldn't have ruined my opinion of him. But it did.