0Title: For the Sake of Nothing, Part 12
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: pre-Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: Leonard seeks advice.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11
Part Eleven was posted yesterday. Please be certain you have read that first.
Sorry, this part is side-tracking from the main plot a little. Leonard wanted to go on another adventure?
Jim had had plenty of time to think and to plan. There was only one way to make things right and that was to piss Leonard off so much the man forgot they had ever shared a moment of affection. The problem, though Jim knew what needed to be done, was he had no clue how he would implement his plan. His thoughts went something like this:
McCoy liked nothing less than Jim wanting to know everything about him. Therefore, Jim needed to find out those things Bones did not want him to know and make a big show of what he knew. He could only think of one person (it wasn’t like Leonard dropped any names of friends) who could help him.
Problem 2 then became: How to Find The Hot Lady Who Knows Bones.
Jim hunched over in his chair at the dining room table, thereby causing the dull ache of his ribs to become a fresh pain anew. That heightened his aggravation. How was he supposed to begin a search if he was laid up—
“Jim, the soup is ready.”
—and he was under constant surveillance.
“Thanks, Spock,” Jim said.
Spock stared at him until he straightened his slouch and looked perky enough to accept a bowl of soup. When Spock handed him a spoon, Jim joked, “Aren’t you going to feed me?”
“Fractured ribs do not make you an invalid,” Spock replied, placing in front of him a tray complete with the vegetable soup, a few slices of French bread, and a glass of water with his pills laid out and ready to be swallowed.
Jim had never had anyone look after him this way. Was it normal to be appreciative and annoyed at the same time? Jim tried the soup (not his favorite kind) and, surprised at its hearty flavor, told Spock how good it was. Spock took the compliment graciously and seated himself next to Jim.
Jim paused in stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth. “Why aren’t you eating?”
“I will eat later.” Spock opened a briefcase and unearthed a brown ledger, which he arranged on his place mat before searching for a pen.
Something was off, Jim knew that much. Because he figured it had to do with him, Jim bit his lip and didn’t ask. Idly, he thought that Bones would have called Spock out.
Stop thinking about him, he chastised himself. The meal became the focus of Jim’s undivided attention for some minutes. Once his stomach seemed satisfied, he eased up on attacking his bowl of soup and ventured, “So… I was thinking I could run a few errands for you while I’m enjoying the luxury of your home.”
“That will not be necessary,” Spock replied, never looking up from his ledger. He turned a page, removed a bookmark, and made another notation on a column of figures.
“C’mon, Spock,” Jim insisted, “I feel like a freeloader here. Let me do something.”
“You are injured. You should do nothing but rest.”
Jim pushed his tray away, agitated. “You just said I am not an invalid! If that’s the case, then why are you treating me like one?”
He had Spock’s attention now, who placed his pen aside. “I want you to be well, Jim.”
Jim reined in some of his temper. “I know that, Spock, I do. But I don’t need a crutch—and I don’t want one.”
“That was not my intention,” Spock murmured softly. He paused. “If you wish to leave, you may.”
Jim felt like he had concluded a ten-year war with his worst enemy and somehow still come away defeated. “Please don’t think me ungrateful for your hospitality,” he said. Jim gave Spock a brief smile. “I’m just… not good at being cooped up. Or sick. But you probably know that.”
“Indeed.” Spock resumed making entries in his accounting ledger. “However, I am aware of the value of compromise. If you feel rested after tomorrow, I would not mind company on my outings.”
“Okay,” Jim agreed, feeling somewhat easier. He tried not to think about what would happen on those outings—or that he would need to ditch Spock to pursue his own agenda.
Jim played with his spoon and turned his mind back to Problem 2. He pondered how he was going to track down the mysterious woman Bones did not want him to meet. Hadn’t Jim warned McCoy he intended to pry? How apt, he thought, that he’d already covered that basis without knowing it. At the time he had been bluffing.
Because he wasn’t paying attention, when Jim went to pick up his glass of water he knocked it over instead. “Incoming!” Jim warned and snatched up a napkin to staunch the flood.
Spock, way more quick to respond to Jim’s orders than Jim would have thought, immediately tucked the precise accounting ledger against his chest to protect it from water damage.
“Sorry,” Jim apologized as he sopped up the trail of water across the dining table. “Really sorry,” he repeated, picking up a now sadly soggy piece of paper. “I hope this wasn’t important.” He squinted at the inked numbers beginning to spread into an indiscernible smear.
“Unfortunately,” Spock said, “that was not intended for me.”
“Oops, um, wait I can still read it… 312…5? No, that’s a 6… or an 8. Shit.”
“You may throw it away,” Spock told him. “I memorized the phone number.”
Jim eased away from the table, ruined bookmark in hand and wet napkin in the other hand. “Who was it for?” he asked out of curiosity as he began to hobble toward Spock’s kitchen.
“Mr. McCoy” came the slow answer. “A… woman wished to contact him.”
Spock had his back to Jim so he couldn’t have possibly seen how Jim froze in place. Looking down at the mess in his hand and recognizing it as something completely new and valuable, Jim released a quiet breath. A godsend or a golden ticket—he couldn’t decide which this was. “Tell me the number,” he remarked too casually once he had reached the archway of the dining room. “I’ll write it down—just in case.”
Spock did not think twice about obliging him.
Leonard had debated on doing this more than once in the past few weeks. On the day he threw his writer’s notebook across his apartment and threatened his muse with dire consequences for being absent, he knew he had to take his pride in hand and seek out help or he would most likely never regain his sanity. Thus that decision led Leonard McCoy to this door in hopes a friend could make some sense of his life. When the door to the condo began to open, Leonard said immediately, “I need help.”
A young man—not the person Leonard expected at all to answer the door—blinked at him from behind large-framed glasses.
Clearing his throat, Leonard corrected his demand. “Sorry. Is Jocelyn home?” Watching the young man (and here Leonard was tempted to think of him as a boy because he looked more like a teenager than an adult) pale, Leonard made an educated guess. “Clay?”
Clay opened his mouth, closed it without saying anything, and nodded slightly. Leonard was beginning to wonder if Clay was actually capable of speech when the young man gently widened the door as an invitation to come in. He left Leonard standing there, just inside the threshold, as he puttered away.
Leonard glanced at the condo’s neatly decorated living room and thought maybe he had the wrong place. Then he spied a few touches here and there in the pristine environment that was purely Jocelyn.
“Len!”
Jocelyn came hurrying from a hallway, Clay following awkwardly (and still oddly silent) on her heels.
Leonard accepted the enthusiastic hug then leaned in to whisper against her ear, “Is he a mute?”
Jocelyn punched his bicep. Then she beamed at her fiancée. “This is Leonard McCoy, Clay. Leonard, Clay Treadway.”
Clay softly said hello, extended a scarecrow arm, and shook Leonard’s hand. Jocelyn tugged Leonard toward a couch, leaving her fiancée to linger uncertainly in place. Clearly he did not know whether she wanted him to be party to her visit with her ex-boyfriend. And just as clearly, Leonard thought, the guy didn’t look like he had balls enough to ask.
“So, Clay,” Leonard said, figuring he might as well be polite, “Joss tells me you’re in pre-med.”
Clay, who had been looking at Jocelyn in a dopey, helpless way, startled at Leonard’s directness and blurted out, “Milk!”
Leonard silently questioned Jocelyn, Is he crazy too?
“S-Sorry,” Clay said in a rush. “Yes, pre-med. And milk—we need milk.”
“Oh!” Jocelyn called at the young man’s swiftly retreating back, like his behavior wasn’t unusual at all, “Clay, can you pick up some tomatoes too? I forgot to buy them for the spaghetti tonight.”
“Stewed,” Leonard guessed.
She nodded and confirmed to Clay. “Stewed.”
Something sharp and annoyed flickered across Clay’s face; then it was gone. So was he, gently shutting the front door in his wake.
“Weeell…” Leonard drawled purposefully.
“He’s nice,” Jocelyn interrupted. “And a little shy.”
Leonard leaned back into the couch. “You said he was handsome, too, and rich. Exactly how many lies did you tell me, Joss?”
Boy, he’d forgotten how easy it was to pull her leg. Leonard ducked the couch pillow that came barreling at his head. “Whoa! Truce!” he shouted peremptorily.
“Clay is perfect the way he is!” she snapped back. “Don’t you dare judge him!”
More like still wet behind the ears. Leonard knew better than to say that, however, or to insinuate she was robbing the cradle. Clay probably was a lot older than he looked.
Easing his legs out of kicking distance, Leonard pretended he was there for an impromptu friendly visit. He steered the conversation to a mundane topic like hi, how are you? and isn’t the weather nice today?
Jocelyn saw right through it, almost instantly. She scooted closer, peered into his face, and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Leonard paused mid-lie and considered how to answer that properly. Then he sighed. “Joss, I need help,” he said, circling back to his initial reason for coming to see her.
She said instantly, “Anything I can do, just name it.”
He shook his head slightly, seeing her suddenly serious expression. “Not help-help. I meant advice. Advice would be good.”
Oddly, she frowned. “So you haven’t come to your senses yet. Damn it, Leonard!”
He sat up, realizing what she had expected of him. There wasn’t anything he could say that wouldn’t sound defensive or rude.
Jocelyn glanced away. “I guess it was too much to hope for.”
Clenching his jaw, he asked, “Should I leave?”
Fire in those eyes. Yes, there was the girl he knew so well. And she wasn’t going to let him walk out now. Leonard relented a little. “I know I’m disappointing you again, Joss, but… give me time?”
She wanted to say something snarky or sarcastic, he could tell, but she didn’t. Instead, Jocelyn rose from her end of the couch and retrieved an afghan slung over the back of a chair. She settled into cross-legged position next to Leonard and wrapped herself in the afghan and announced, “I’m ready.”
Leonard couldn’t help but smile. “Cold, darling?”
They both knew good and well it was her habit to do this when she thought she was about to get into a long, drawn-out, emotional conversation. Fortunately for Jocelyn, Leonard had no such intentions of going that far.
But he did have to tell her something important. “Phil came to see me.”
Jocelyn made a noise of surprise. “Your dad’s lawyer?”
He nodded. Suddenly Leonard found himself in a death grip by an afghan monster.
“Is it money?” Jocelyn demanded. “Oh god let it be money!”
Leonard tried futilely to separate himself from her. “Joss, damn it, Joss, let go! No, it’s not—okay, it is money!”
“Eee!” she squealed. “YOU’RE GOING BACK TO COLLEGE!”
Leonard scrambled off the couch and glared at her. “It’s not that much!”
“Who cares!” his friend crowed. “You deserve every bit of inheritance—wait—” Jocelyn stilled. “You already inherited everything. Or at least I thought so. Didn’t you sell it to pay the debts?”
He rolled his eyes. “I know that, and yes I did sell the house.” A tinge of bitterness colored his tone, but he pushed the feeling aside. His parents couldn’t have known they would be leaving him to sort out their finances. It wasn’t that his family had been poor, but they were middle class and suddenly raising another son later in life. He didn’t blame them for anything, no matter how disappointed he was when he had to let go of a lot of what he had considered sentimental and “home”.
“Leonard,” Jocelyn said, pulling him from his thoughts, “but how can you be getting money when there’s nothing left?”
“A small life insurance policy,” he said. “Did I tell you my dad used to sell insurance right before I was born?”
“You told me,” she agreed. “There’s another life insurance policy?”
“Not the same company,” he said, sitting down on the couch again when she made room for him. “It was bought out by a bigger corporation years ago. To be honest, you know my dad. I wouldn’t be surprised if he lost the paperwork.”
She muttered something he didn’t bother to hear. Jocelyn had been the one to dig through his father’s office after the accident, looking for anything like policies or bank statements or savings accounts. Anything that could have helped him figure out how to pay funeral costs for three people. He had been to numb to do it himself. In the end, Phil had become involved as well, organizing what assets were available and helping Leonard understand what he had—and what he didn’t.
Leonard didn’t know why Phil even thought of him now, given all of the time that had passed. Loyalty, maybe. Phil’s family had been the legal counselors of the McCoy family for more than one generation. When Leonard had asked the older man how Phil could have possibly found out about the ancient policy, Phil had only said, “It’s the least I can do for you, Leonard. It never did feel right, you ending up with nothing. What does that say about my expertise if your father left his son a beggar when I know he’d worked all of his life to give you a better one?” Phil had looked emotional for a moment, not an unexpected reaction since he had been a close friend to Leonard’s father for over thirty years. “He’d have wanted me to keep lookin’.” And that was all Phil would say of the matter.
It was a good thing Leonard had had enough control over himself not to break down into tears in the middle of the coffee shop.
Jocelyn had rested a hand on his arm. Perhaps she saw the memories playing across his face. The pressure against his flesh was sympathetic. Leonard rubbed at his eyes.
“It’s real small, a term-life policy,” he said softly. “Not worth more than a few grand, because my parents were young and couldn’t afford anything expensive. Funny thing is…” His smile wobbled. “Somebody had to keep making the payments all these years so it would stay active.”
“Your mother,” Jocelyn guessed.
He nodded, his throat too tight for words.
“Oh, Len,” the woman beside him said and pulled him in for a hug.
Leonard welcomed the closeness, the comfort. He hadn’t realized how much he needed it until the moment her arms were around him. Seeing Phil had brought back memories of a painful time, and yet somehow felt like the lancing of an old wound too. He didn’t understand.
“I’m so glad for you. So glad.” She eased back. “Can I make a suggestion?”
Leonard snorted lightly and wiped the tears off his face. “You mean can you tell me to use it for tuition money?”
She was silent for a second. “…As much as I think that would be a good idea, you need a break, Len. Maybe you could take a trip?”
He looked at her, startled. “Why in the world would I waste it on travelin’?”
Jocelyn raised her chin. “Because you’re just starting to live a semblance of a normal life again!”
He was?
“You’re finally starting to heal—”
How in the hell did she figure that? “Joss…”
“—and I’ll be damned if I watch you backslide because you’re a stubborn jackass!”
“I’m just the way I was!”
“No—you—aren’t!” she countered, poking a finger into his chest with each word. “You actually have a job where you associate with people.”
“I associated before!”
“Riiight. ‘Hello, I’m Mr. Grumpy-McGrump. Stay the hell away from me.’ Oh and, your favorite form of communication,” she finished, her eyes twinkling, “grunt, grunt, grunt.“
He automatically started to make a wordless, irritated grunt in response and caught himself. Jocelyn laughed so hard, she rolled into an afghan ball and almost fell off the couch. Leonard was very tempted to help her along to the floor.
Instead he sighed loudly and said, “Story of my life. Are you done making fun of me yet?”
Jocelyn wiped her eyes. “Okay, okay. Sorry. Besides,” she said cheekily, “if this is the story of your life, we’re finally getting to the good part.”
“If I were the one writing the story, I’d have felt bad for my sorry ass chapters again and had me win the lottery.”
“That’s cheating,” Jocelyn argued.
Leonard gave her sharp grin. “Not when you’re the author.”
“Well, I would tell it differently,” Jocelyn said, standing up and throwing off her afghan. She cut him a sly look. “I’d have you fall in love. What’s the point in winning lots of money if you can’t share it with anyone?”
Leonard didn’t mean to. He made a noise, one that Jocelyn would recognize too well. But she had caught him by surprise with the talk of love and he had a moment of panic, thinking, how the hell does she know?
He was off the couch by the time she deciphered his reaction and heading towards the door. That didn’t deter Jocelyn from leaping him after with a gasp of “Leonard! LEONARD! OH MY GOD YOU LIKE SOMEBODY!”
Face flushed, Leonard flung open the condo’s door and stepped right into Clay’s personal space, who had obviously had made it no farther to the grocery store than the keyhole. He tossed his arm around the startled man’s shoulders, more as a way to pin him than as a friendly gesture, and said loudly, “Clay, you look like you’re legal. Congratulations, you’re my new beer buddy.”
“Len!” Jocelyn demanded, incensed he was ignoring her, and stuttered to a stop within the doorway to stare at him.
Leonard just grinned shamelessly at her as he not-so-subtlety maneuvered her helpless young fiancée toward the third floor’s stairway door and shoved it open with his free hand.
“Um,” Clay said, looking hesitantly from Leonard to a glaring Jocelyn with her hands on her hips and back again.
“Come with me if you want to live,” Leonard deadpanned.
“Damn you, Leonard Horatio McCoy!” Jocelyn called as they disappeared inside the stairwell. “I will find out all your secrets! And bring my future husband back in one piece!”
Beer wasn’t just good; it was great. Especially, Leonard thought, the third one in a row. He took another swallow of the light house brew, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and set about staring at his best friend’s (and ex-girlfriend’s) soon-to-be husband. Clay’s face had taken on a red tint from his second beer.
A lightweight, Leonard decided smugly.
At least the boy had loosened up enough to string two words together.
“So…” Leonard began as a conversation starter (given that they had been in the pub for thirty minutes and drank silently the entire time). He glanced at one of the televisions on the walls. “Sports?”
Clay put his now-empty beer bottle on the table with a thud and hiccupped. “Not really.” The boy blinked at Leonard owlishly from behind his glasses. “Astro-stro-y?” Another hiccup mangled the word.
Leonard raised an eyebrow. “Astrology? You want to read each other’s fortunes… in a bar?”
A flush crept across the young man’s neck; he shook his head vigorously and corrected, “Nooo, astro-nomy. Stars. I—” Hiccup. “—like looking at stars?”
Leonard wasn’t sure how to answer that since Clay had made it a question. Time for another swallow of beer, if anything so he didn’t have to ask what kind of medication the guy was taking.
Clay seemed to deflate a little. He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and traced the condensation on his beer bottle. “Leonard.”
Leonard looked up.
Clay frowned, still contemplating the very uninteresting tabletop. “Len?”
“I prefer Leonard.”
“Okay. Leonard.”
Seeing Clay draw a deep breath was the clearest warning bell Leonard had heard in a long time. He braced himself.
Clay looked intently at him then, dropping his hands, palms flat, to the table. “Leonard, are you going to take her back?”
Leonard almost turned over his beer bottle in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“My girlfriend—fiancée,” Clay asserted. “I know what you mean to her. So, are you here to take her back?”
“No.” Leonard thought about it for a second then added, a bit relieved, “Good god, no.”
Clay stiffened in his seat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Leonard leaned back, somewhat casually, and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Hey, don’t take it like that. I love Joss. Lord knows, I’d be the first one to tell you what a gem she is.” He paused, considered Clay. “You do know how damned lucky you are, right?”
Jocelyn’s fiancée nodded.
“Good.” Leonard’s mouth quirked with humor and a touch of something else. “I didn’t want to have to break your face. Joss mentioned how much she likes it.”
Clay made another owlish blink, no doubt trying to work out how sincere Leonard’s threat really was. “So you came by to visit. Just visit. Seriously?”
“Not to shock you or anything but old friends do that on occasion, the visiting thing.”
Apparently Clay didn’t like his mocking tone.
Leonard relented a little. “She probably told you about… how we broke up.”
“Everything,” Clay said flatly. His mouth thinned into a serious line. “You were an asshole.”
Leonard nodded. “I know.” He picked up his beer for another swallow but grimaced, for some reason suddenly not wanting that taste in his mouth. He gently set it back down and pushed it aside for the waitress to pick up. “Clay, just so we’re clear, I’m still kind of an asshole. I understand if you might not want me hanging around.”
Clay frowned at him, touching the corner of his glasses though the frame wasn’t crooked. “You’re an asshole who admits he’s an asshole? That doesn’t seem… to align, somehow.”
Leonard shrugged. “All I know is I screwed up with Jocelyn. That isn’t to say we might have made it much longer as a couple than we did, but… things shouldn’t have ended that way. It was my fault.” And damn, he really hadn’t come here to have a heart-to-heart with Clay. He’d just wanted to get away from Jocelyn’s prying. Clay had seemed like a good buffer at the time.
“Okay,” Clay said slowly. “So that makes you an asshole in the past. Why are you an asshole now?” He looked like he couldn’t decide what else Leonard was besides an asshole. Maybe a psycho too, like Leonard had thought of him?
Leonard’s smile turned bitter. “I’m still screwing up people’s lives, if you really want to know.”
Clay opened his mouth, then quickly closed it. His expression was caught between befuddlement and alarm.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Leonard said offhand. “But we’re here to drink and judge each other like proper, tough guys, not bemoan our shortcomings.”
For the first time, Clay’s face showed a tentative sense of humor. “Is that what we are—tough guys?” He pointedly flexed one of his thin arms. “Can’t say my yearbook bio has ever said that.”
Leonard relaxed a little. “Same here. In high school, I was the guy who had too much to say about everything, whether it was with my mouth or on paper.”
“Joss said you write.”
“I do—or did,” Leonard admitted. “I’ve probably run out of words by now. Said ’em all a million times.” He suddenly craved coffee, strong and unrelentingly black. Nothing sugar-coated.
Clay didn’t offer him any sympathy, which was for the best, Leonard thought.
But what Clay did say was surprising and not the least bit off the beaten track. “I’m sorry about your family.”
Leonard studied the young man’s face. He didn’t see anything misleading or unpalatable there. Leonard nodded. “Thanks.”
Clay sighed and slumped slightly in his chair. “I’ve been paranoid because since—since she ran into you, she’s talked about you nonstop. She said she was ecstatic and worried and a thousand things she couldn’t describe so of course,” Clay continued, taking off his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose before replacing them, “I read more into it.”
“Clay,” Leonard said with honesty, “you don’t have to worry. Jocelyn, she loves you, I can tell. And I’m…” Here he hesitated, not certain of what he could say to make Clay believe him.
Damn, the boy looked so worn down. If it was an act, it was a convincing one.
Leonard thought that maybe, just maybe, the truth might help this once. “I’m sort of involved with someone.”
The relief in Clay’s face was almost heartbreaking. “Really?”
Leonard let loose a much more dramatic sigh than Clay had. “Really. And believe me,” he added grumpily, “it’s so damn complicated I’m not likely to want to date anybody ever again once it goes south.”
Clay looked interested now. “That’s a pretty pessimistic view.”
“‘Cause I’m all sunshine and rainbows, kid,” Leonard remarked dryly.
“Right,” Clay agreed dubiously. Idly, he fiddled with an empty bottle. “…So what’s wrong with her?” He blushed. “The girl you’re sort of involved with, I mean.”
Leonard groaned. “Him.” Or maybe that should be hims? Thems? Damn it, even the English language didn’t like his situation and the English language was supposed to be his bread and butter!
So caught up in his musings, Leonard almost missed Clay’s sudden clumsy fumbling and sputtering. He caught a bottle before it rolled off the table and eyed the man. Was he having an asthma attack?
Once Clay had calmed himself, or gotten himself under control, he stuttered, “B-But I don’t. Jocelyn.”
“Jocelyn…?”
“You slept with—I mean, dated!—Jocelyn!”
That took a moment to ripen in Leonard’s brain. When it did, he sat back in his seat, wary. “I did.”
“But you’re gay?” Clay said, blinking.
“Gay, straight. I am what I want to be when I want to be it.” He asked mildly, “Is that problem for you?”
Clay started to shrug but stopped. “Does Jocelyn know?”
“She knows me better than I know myself, Clay,” Leonard said. “But to answer your question, yes, she knows I’m not too picky about the packaging.”
Silence descended between them for a minute while Clay absorbed this news and no doubt re-evaluated his entire impression of Leonard McCoy. Leonard waited for him, wondering if this was going to be the first and last time they had a civilized conversation. Sometimes this type of situation had no hope of turning out better, not when a subject such as sexuality could make people very uncomfortable being around one another.
“You don’t seem like you are attracted to men,” Clay said at last.
At least they had made it past the silence. “You mean I don’t fit your stereotype of homosexual behavior.”
Clay’s face reddened. “I meant you seem like a normal guy.”
“I am normal,” Leonard said in a too flat tone and checked his temper. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe gays are normal people? You like chocolate, I like vanilla. You like women, I like women and men. Preference isn’t really abnormal by definition, is it?”
“I offended you. I’m sorry,” Jocelyn’s fiancée said quietly.
Leonard looked away and sighed once, twice, to regain his balance. Clay wasn’t a bad guy. He could tell that from the moment he saw the young man sheepishly following Jocelyn when she came into the living room. “Forgiven,” he said, not ready to condemn Clay out of hand for ignorance.
Silence began to creep up on them again. Perhaps Clay wasn’t looking forward to a future where he alienated one of Jocelyn’s best friends and had to explain that to her. He said to Leonard, “I, um, like vanilla too. Not chocolate.”
There was a little devil inside Leonard. Sometimes it liked to make itself known. “Vanilla, huh?” He grinned sharply. “Maybe we have more in common than you think. Are you sure you don’t like dick too?”
Clay turned pale white then banner red and opened his eyes to the size of quarters.
Leonard burst out laughing at the poor man’s expression.
“I don’t—oh geez, was that—?”
“It wasn’t an invitation,” Leonard assured Clay after he had toned down his amusement.
Clay took off his eyeglasses and cleaned them religiously until his color had returned to normal. When he slipped the glasses back on, he said contritely, “Please don’t tell Jocelyn I’m an idiot.”
Leonard looked at him askance. “Clay, I’d be the idiot if I told Joss about anything I just said to you.”
Clay considered that. “Then we had beers… and were non-communicative macho men who grunted monosyllables at each other all night?”
“Now you’re gettin’ it,” Leonard said approvingly.
Clay finally relaxed too. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
They ordered another round of beers and discussed Clay’s hobby of star-gazing.
Leonard hauled a not entirely sober Clay Treadway into Jocelyn’s condo, dropped him face-first onto the couch and found a note on the coffee table.
It read: Clay, my darling,
Leonard scoffed and read on. Jocelyn loved her dramatics.
Gone to meet a friend. Be back soon. Spaghetti’s ready.
Love, Jocelyn
PS: Leonard, I know you’re reading this. If my drunken fiancée vomits on my brand-new white rug, I WILL KILL YOU. THEN HIM. NO ONE WILL EVER FIND THE BODIES.
PPS: You can have some spaghetti too.
She had drawn three cute little hearts at the end, two of them holding hands under a rainbow. Leonard was the heart standing apart, frowning, in a chef’s hat and an apron. Leonard would never understand how the female brain worked.
He stopped contemplating the nonsensical drawing at exactly the moment Clay gave a tell-tale groan. “No!” Leonard shouted, horrified. “Hold it in, man! Not on the—god-fucking-damn it, Clay!”
“I feel sick,” Clay slurred and threw up again.
To answer a reader’s question about the by-play between Leonard and Clay: Leonard does not specifically say he is “bisexual” (or gay for that matter – you’ll notice he avoids putting a label on himself!) but that is certainly what he is implying in his conversation. Also, he uses the word “gay” or “gays” in order to rattle Clay and to make a point. Leonard is challenging the fact it might be a taboo word, and a taboo concept, to Clay by forcing him to acknowledge it.
Personally, though, I see Leonard as more than the word bisexual can describe. To me, he does not have “two” sexualitites but rather a sexuality that doesn’t make a distinction based on gender – or anything else. That’s why I love a futuristic Star Trek – because I can get away with pretending that Leonard not only could like a human male but a person who is not a human at all, like Spock. Gender becomes irrelevant, as does species! (Three cheers for a threesome!) Labeling is not my cup of tea, really, so I try to avoid it when I can. But in some cases, where the AU is set in a world like today, one simply cannot discount how *others* are going to see, let alone judge, our dynamic trio.
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