this is a drabble for a possible full-blown AU set to the theme of the movie RED, which Karl Urban recently starred in.

kind of necessary for you to have seen the movie...I guess? the idea is that McCoy is Bruce Willis' character and Jim is Mary-Louise Parker's character.

"Okay, okay," Jim's voice is warm from barely contained laughter and just as breathy. Len takes a deep breath at that thought and lets it out with a hand over the phone mouthpiece. "You can't tell me you don't see the homoerotic subtext going between the sergeant and the medic!"

Len lets out a laugh of his own, no snooping floor managers in his house to hear him and catch him on it unlike in Jim's office. "What? What about the babe translator?" he asks, playing dumbfounded.

Jim sees, or in this case hears, through it immediately. "Don't give me that sh—crap, man," he says huffily. Len imagines colour staining his cheeks. Whatever those cheeks may look like. "Sure, supposedly the translator-babe is his love interest but!-" Len laughs. "But! Sarge and the medic touch each other so freaking much."

"Yeah," Len says still laughing, "I guess they do."

"There isn't anything to guess there, Bones," the kid retorts. "I should just write a letter to this author, Mr. Reynolds. A letter of notification because he really needs to wake up and face the light outside his closet of overtly-homoerotic-scifi war novels."

And that's all it takes for Len to start laughing all over again.

"Honestly!"

"Jim," Len breathes as he finally catches his breath from that bout of laughter. "Knowing how the publishing world works, there's a good chance that Mr. Reynolds is actually miss."

Jim makes a thoughtful noise, followed by a pause of silence. "You think she's hot?"

Len chuckles and shifts the phone from one ear from the other. "Whether Sarge and Medic are gay or not," he says with a pointed snort, "how are you enjoying this book?"

"Oh, it's dreadful," Jim bemoans and there's a clatter in the background and Len imagines Jim leaning forward noisily on his elbows, head hanging. "Absolute tripe but," Jim sighs and it's almost dopey, "it's got really good action and—man, like I am so living vicariously."

"There are worst ways to do it," Len says, earning himself a laugh that is hastily cut off. "Good god, Jim, the harpy didn't catch you again did she?"

"No," Jim answers quietly. "Just, that one earned me a few looks. Speaking of," this causes Len to glance at the clock on his wall—they've been talking for two hours now, "I should probably get back to work."

"Yeah, you probably should."

An awkward pause spread between them, the entire distance between rural Georgia and Des Moines.

"Well, uh, Bones," Jim says uncertainly. "I'm glad you called. Again."

Len huffs and rubs the bridge of his nose roughly with his thumb, feeling a headache come on suddenly. "Me too, Jim," he says, "maybe the check will come next time."

Jim snorts. "Probably not," he admits with chuckle that melts all the awkwardness immediately. "Talk to you again…soon?"

"Definitely," Len says and untucks the receiver from between his jaw and shoulder and drops it onto the cradle with a clack. After that, the silence of his empty house echoes the sound of Jim's voice back at him but it isn't the same. Never really is.