John Watson does not resemble a hedgehog. (what_son) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-12-03 01:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, john watson, leonard mccoy |
Who: Watson and McCoy
When: Mid-October, after these texts
Where: Baxter Bakery
What: Cuppa.
Rating/Warning: Low/None, talk of Amy’s stalker? So possible triggers for that?
Status: Complete
McCoy headed to the cafe/bakery, looking forward to having a cup of tea with his friend and colleague. Even though he was on call, he was expecting to have the whole afternoon off. Joanna had an after-school activity today, so she didn’t need to be picked up until six. He had plenty of time, and wasn’t sure what to do with it all. He was thankful that John had messaged him.
And John was fairly grateful that McCoy had answered. They didn’t hang out a ton, but John rather just needed a sound and proper mind for the afternoon or else he was bound to do something rash.
Amy was at work, and he was off and he was … a little grumpy, admittedly. Sort of. For him. He was still already waiting with a coffee in one hand and a tea in the other when McCoy showed up. “Hey,” he greeted.
“Hey.” McCoy said, giving him a nod. He moved over to accept one of the cups from his hand. “Thanks. Didn’t expect the five star service.”
“Just as long as you don’t think I’ll keep making a habit of it,” John said with a sage sort of nod. Which wasn’t really true. McCoy was one of his better friends and buying coffees was hardly an issue at all. “Want to grab a table?”
“Yeah, let’s. I’d like to hear more about your current… condition.” McCoy said. He said it with the air of a doctor discussing terminal cancer with a patient. The levity of John’s joke was lost as McCoy changed the subject to something more serious, and led the way to a window booth away from the door.
John made a face at the terminology, but didn’t comment because it was true that the time for slight jibes was over for the moment.
Once he seated himself, coffee still in hand, he slouched back in his chair for a moment. “Amy had a bit of a stalker,” he said, “It’s a bloody damn mess and I won’t lie about how I’ve got an urge for inexcusable violence.” Really, he got down to the brass tacks.
At the mention of the word ‘stalker’ both of McCoy’s eyebrows raised and scrunched together a little. Surprise and disbelief. “Wow. That’s… that’s…” The word impressive came to mind, but he decided that might sound insulting. “Intense. Who was it?” He asked, curious for the details.
Impressive was a little insulting -- but probably for all the wrong reasons. It wasn’t as if John thought Amy deserved stalkers (no one did), but he definitely thought she was pretty enough to see why she might..end up with some.
Yeah, he wasn’t going to vocalize that.
“Some shite photographer,” he said, twisting his coffee in his hands. “The touchy feely sort. She got him fired, and rightly so.”
And famous enough to end up with some? In any case, McCoy meant no offense. He was just a little shocked. That sort of thing happened in the tabloids, not to real life people. Though, Amy was a beautiful, beautiful girl. She had all the nurses in the hospital in a tizzy whenever she came to visit. Okay, they liked to gossip.
“Damn.” McCoy said, shaking his head back and forth a little as he thought about it. “Rightly so. And then… he didn’t take that well, did he?”
“Not so much,” John said, grimacing and then picking up his cup of tea. He didn’t drink it though, only held it in some strange attempt to keep his hands busy. “She got a restraining order, and we were holed up in a hotel for a while. It’s -- bloody strange.” It was rare he actually used Britishisms -- so that he was now was a clear sign that he was off his game.
McCoy nodded, holding his own drink in his own hands. It wasn’t exactly a mirror of what John was doing, though it might have looked like one. He was still trying to wrap his brain around the idea that John’s girlfriend, the fashion model and soon-to-be mega star, had a stalker. “I can only imagine. Actually, I’m not sure I can imagine. That’s just… bizarre.”
“Too right,” John agreed, frowning slightly. “I’ve never been quite so inclined to go cause someone bodily harm before.”
“I’d be right there with you,” McCoy said with a nod. As much as he didn’t really believe in violence, he would absolutely smack down a man causing such harm to one of his friends. Because that’s what Watson was. McCoy didn’t have many friends, but he was fiercely loyal to those he did keep. “How is she holding up?”
That was something, anyway. Watson felt a little swell of pride over the not quite offer, felt like he’d chosen his friends perfectly and properly.
“She’s… a little paranoid. A little scared. It’s expected, but it hurts to see, you know?”
He had chosen his friends perfectly and properly. Watson was almost as good a judge of character as McCoy was. So far as McCoy was concerned, anyway. He gave a nod. It was hard to imagine how this must be affecting poor Amy.
“I don’t really know, but I can imagine. The poor girl.”
“It’s not the best time,” Watson agreed, looking uncomfortable. “But we’re managing. Must admit it’s nice to just complain about it a little.”
“That’s what I’m here for. To help you fill your complaint quota.” McCoy responded, then lifted his coffee cup as if in a toast.
“Likewise. And it’s been at least an hour for you, so you’d best spill. Who do you hate today and why, Dr. McCoy?” John smiled, sparkling personality shining behind white teeth.
“I…” McCoy frowned a bit, his eyes going out of focus as he thought about that question. “I… don’t know.” He said. His life was… well, it was surprisingly good. Things with Joanna were going strong, Elizabeth was head over heels for him, and the two women in his life seemed to be getting along better than he’d thought they would.
“...I don’t have any complaints.” McCoy said, sounding absolutely shocked at the admission, even though he knew it to be true.
Watson only stared, like he wasn’t sure what to do with that information any more than McCoy seemed to be. “Okay,” he said a little blankly. “Well. That’s … good?”
“Good, good. Sure. It’s confusing, though. I suppose I could gripe about that one patient who won’t stop slapping my backside, or the nurses that giggle whenever I approach the nurse’s station.” McCoy thought aloud.
“No,” Watson said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Those are normal complaints. That happens to all of us.” Or, well, the holy trinity of holy older doctors anyway. Two of which were them. “I guess you’ve got to face it. You’re happy.”
“I suppose I am.” McCoy said. He nodded once. “What is this world coming to.”
“Best not to question it,” Watson said, raising his tea in cheers. “Just let it happen.”
McCoy lifted his own glass in cheers, then gulped. Just let it happen. Good advice.