The bench in the brig was uncomfortable.

Not that he supposed that it was meant to be comfortable. Not that he expected that he would be much more comfortable anywhere else, except maybe under heavy sedation in his own damn sick bay.

Jim stood outside the forcefield. No, not Jim; whatever it was that had crawled inside his skin. It stood in Jim's body with a smile that had come from somewhere else entirely.

"Leonard," Not-Jim said, and he alomst laughed. How could the other's not see? "Leo, Len, Lenny... what were you thinking?"

'I'm Bones," he thought. 'I'm Bones, after the only thing I had left, before I threw up on you- on Jim- in the goddamn shuttle.'

He didn't say it though. He didn't say anything. He was pretty sure that his chances of breathing tomorrow went up with everything this guy got wrong.

"Nothing? Not even a glare?" Not Jim cajouled. Jimmy, Bones decided. He'd call this thing Jimmy. Jim had always hated that nickname.

"Well, that's disappointing," Jimmy's face fell. "I was hoping we could have a heart-to-heart."

Bones smirked, ever so slightly.

"I mean, we've already done fist-to-fist, and I won that pretty resoundingly. Are you sure you don't want to talk to me?"

Bones forced his smirk to stay in place, and ignored the way ever single one of the bruises he was currently sporting flared up.

"Well, maybe later then," Jimmy turned around and walked out of the room, his stride a little too wide-set. "See ya, Doc."

Bones settled against the wall, and began to wait for someone else to figure out that Jim was more than a little off, hissing when he put some pressure on his busted rib.