Archive of Our Own

They met on a shuttle. A shuttle taking them to new lives for them both. One of them shared his flask with the other. They were both clearly the outliers of the group, of the entire academy, really. Older, rougher, with nothing and everything to lose. 

They put them together as roommates. With all the orientations, entrance paperwork, and administrative tasks, they barely saw each other their first week. 

With his three year plan in place, a full schedule in front of him, Jim sat at the table in their small kitchenette and rubbed at his temples, a migraine brewing. He wasn’t sure why exactly they had received such a large dorm. If it was because it was all they had available or if Pike had pulled strings, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t much care.

Well, he did care. He didn’t want any special treatment. Especially if it came from being the Kelvin baby. Even more so if it came from his being one of the Tarsus 9. But he didn’t think Pike would do that, so he tried not to question it. He actually appreciated having space to breathe while living with someone else. A stranger at that. 

He had never shared a room with someone, aside from all the nights he crawled in Sam’s bed as a kid, Frank raging at his mom downstairs, complaining that she’d left him with her brat kids while she went off planet yet again. So he was fine not seeing his roommate for a while. He had started to think maybe it would be for the best, maybe he’d get through his three years in relative peace and quiet. 

He made sure his side of the room was spotless and well kept, not only out of habit, but out of a desire to keep himself as small as possible. Well. Maybe that was out of habit. He kept his books- his true, actual antique paper books- lined up alphabetically on his small shelf. He didn’t have pictures to put out, he didn’t have trinkets or souvenirs or even heirlooms. He had the clothes on his back, and a closet full of academy uniforms. He’d had to blow his last credits on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to sleep in, buying them on campus at a discount. He felt like a bootlicking nerd wearing all Starfleet gear all the time, but it was all he had. 

Starfleet was now all he had. 

He got up to get a glass of water, seeing stars as he did, knowing his blood pressure was climbing as the migraine increased in severity. But he knew how to handle migraines, they weren’t a new occurrence at all. 

He planned to lay down in the dark, in the quiet, and try to sleep off his headache, when the door slid open and his roommate- who he had taken to permanently calling Bones- walked in. 

He dropped his book bag on the floor, toeing his shoes off with a sigh, pulling the collar of his cadet reds loose. 

Wincing at the noise but trying to show it, Jim lightly said, “hey,” sipping his water as he leaned against the counter. 

“Why's it so dark in here?” Bones grumbled, ordering the lights to increase. 

Jim couldn’t help but wince again, his eyes throbbing as the light hit them. 

His roommate glanced him over, “you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just a headache. That’s why I had it dark. Swear I’m not a vampire,” he joked lightheartedly. 

“Mm,” Bones responded, pulling his uniform jacket off. “Take anything for it?”

“Nah, nothing ever really helps.”

Bones walked over to his side of the room and began to hang his jacket up, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and an Ole Miss sweatshirt to change into. “Well that’s not good.”

Jim shrugged, “yeah, well, I’ve learned to live with it.”

Bones looked him over again, “the clinic could give you a hypo of a migraine cocktail, you know. Knock that thing out.”

Jim’s brow furrowed, “how did you…?”

“I can recognize a migraine when I see one.”

Jim harrumphed, “yeah well, I don’t do clinics. Or hospitals. Or doctors, for that matter.”

“…uh huh…” Bones muttered, stepping into the bathroom to change. “Why’s that?” He called out. 

A thousand memories flashed through his head, hands holding him down, tubes forced up his nose and down his throat, sedatives forced on him when he wouldn’t stop screaming to see the other kids…

“Eh, they’re all useless.” He called back, painfully shaking his head to rid himself of the memories. He set his cup in the sink and walked over to his bed, propping his pillows against the headboard to lean against. 

“Well I hardly think that’s true…” he muttered as he folded his uniform pants over his arm. 

Eager to change the subject, Jim nodded at his sweatshirt, “what’d you study? In college, I mean.”

Bones looked down at himself, “premed,” he answered lightly. “Graduated early before starting med school.”

Jim’s head pounded uncomfortably, “so did you finish post grad or…”

“Oh yeah, went straight into residency in Atlanta. Bounced between the emergency department, surgery, and pediatrics. Learned a lot there.”

His heart then began to pound, “wait, so you’re… you’re a doctor?”

He looked up at him as he walked over to retrieve his book bag, “you didn’t know that?”

He shook his head, “no, pretty sure I’d have remembered that one…”

“Apparently, that’s why we got the big dorm. They roped me into teaching while I’m still a cadet. Tried telling them I don’t teach well, but… here I am.”

Jim tried to control his breathing, “oh, that makes sense.”

“Yeah, well,” he pulled out a few padds from his bag and sat on his own bed, tucking a leg under himself. “Least I can do is make sure there are as few “useless” doctors as possible.”

Jim winced, “sorry about that.”

“Well, you ain’t wrong, I suppose. Way too many doctors are idiots. Thankfully they assigned me to Dr. Boyce for my academic advisor. He’s Surgeon General and actually knows medicine.”

Jim remembered Boyce, the same way he remembered Pike. He remembered Boyce’s kind eyes, his gentle touch, his reassurances that no one was going to hurt him. But by then, he didn’t believe a word any doctor said. He wondered if Boyce would remember him. The Kelvin baby that was also one of the Tarsus 9. 

“You sure you don’t need anything for that migraine? You’re lookin’ zoned out,” Bones’ voice brought him back to the present. 

He shook his head, “nah. I’m just going to lay down for a bit. I’ve got early classes anyway. Don’t mind me though, go about your business, I can sleep through anything.” A lie. He’d learned even before Tarsus to wake up at the slightest sound, the slightest hint of a threat. He could fall asleep anywhere, but not because he felt safe. He knew to take sleep where he could get it, but to always stay alert, always be ready to defend himself. 

“I’m just going to study,” Bones answered. “I’m good on all the medical courses, but these Starfleet ones are going to be a pain. History, diplomacy, debate, engineering, hand to hand, flight sims ,” he shuddered. “Plus shifts at SFM. I’m going to be beat.”

Well, at least he wouldn’t be around often, then. 

“Yeah, I’m planning to graduate a year early, so my schedule is pretty full, too. Spent all day today running from one end of campus to the other.”

“Well no wonder you have a migraine.”

He scoffed, “yeah, true.” He shook his head, the pounding bouncing around his brain like a pinball. 

Bones stood and walked to the kitchen table with an armful of padds, “alright, well, hopefully you can sleep it off. I’ll be here if you need anything.” He lowered the lights in the bedroom portion of the apartment, not missing Jim’s small sigh of relief when he did. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Jim said in the darkness. “I’ll be fine.”

______

The next morning, he certainly was not fine. 

He was grateful his first class wasn’t until 0800, which begged the question why he was being jerked awake at 0430.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bones hissed from across the room, turning off the alarm. “I’ve got a 5am shift. I just have to shower and I’ll be gone.”

Jim waved a hand, head feeling like it was about to explode from behind his right eye, and pulled his pillow over his face. 

He tried to doze, but the jackhammer in his skull made it near impossible. He got up to get himself a glass of water, resolving to drown himself in a hot shower once Bones was gone. 

When he emerged from the bathroom in a pair of red cadet scrubs, he paused when he saw Jim leaning against the counter. “You look like crap, kid.”

Jim’s stomach had jumped into his throat the moment he saw his roommate in scrubs, but he tried to swallow the fear down with a sip of water. Taken aback at his bluntness, he responded, “thank… you?”

“No, seriously. I can tell just from lookin’ at ya that you’re in pain.”

He ducked his head, “nah, I’m fine,” he said, desperately trying to pull his mask back on. His heart sped up and it echoed in his ears, throbbing into his teeth. 

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said lightly. “You done in the bathroom? I’m going to hop in the shower myself, get a jumpstart on my day.”

“Yeah, I am, but-”

“Cool. Guess I’ll see you tonight, then?” He patted him on the shoulder as he walked by, keeping a good amount of distance between them. “Have a good day, man.”

Bones’ brow furrowed as the bathroom door slid shut. He didn’t know what his young roommate’s issue was and unfortunately, he didn’t have the time just then to figure it out. He tucked away the interaction to dissect later, grabbed his bag, and went off to work. 

______

The hammering in his skull didn’t let up all day. The lights in every lecture hall stung and the sounds of his fellow cadets moving about rang through his head. 

He had a full day of classes, and by the time he was back at their dorm, he was doing all he could to not throw up his lunch. 

The new fact that his roommate was a doctor was also not helping. His stomach kept filling with dread at the thought of spending the next three years rooming with someone he couldn’t trust. Not that he trusted anyone. He’d simply hoped to not have a reason to distrust his roommate. And he now felt like he did. 

And he felt utterly ridiculous at how scared he was of the man. Even more, he felt utterly embarrassed that he was reacting so strongly to the new information. 

He sat on his bed in the dark with his head in his hands, trying to knead out the pain and tension. When another wave of nausea hit him, he couldn’t stop the building pressure in his esophagus and found himself running to the bathroom, slamming to his knees in front of the toilet. 

He hated throwing up. Hated it. It brought back too many memories. Memories of vomiting up precious resources, but also vomiting up maggots. Vomiting up enteral formula that had been forced down his throat, his body rejecting all efforts to help it. 

Through his retching, he didn’t hear the front door slide open, didn’t hear Bones calling his name. What he did hear was, “Jesus, Jim,” followed by a gentle hand on his back. “Are you alright?”

He couldn’t help the flinch that came at the contact, the fear that projectiled through his body. “Fine,” he bit out. “Just… just a bad migraine.”

He wasn’t surprised when Bones walked out, because when does a doctor ever care about a little headache? What did surprise him was Bones returning, a tricorder whirling in his hands. 

He flinched away again, bringing an arm up to guard his face automatically. “What are you doing?” He asked a little sharper than he meant to. 

Bones glanced up at him briefly before his eyes went back to the screen, “checking your vitals. Your blood pressure is high.”

“That happens when you’re in pain,” he replied flatly. “It’s not a big deal,” he added. 

“You get these migraines often?”

He huffed, pushing himself up against the shower door. “No.”

“Liar.”

He raised an eyebrow, then lowered it when the movement rattled through his skull. “Maybe when I’m busy,” he conceded. 

“Yeah, well, you’re going to be very busy with this hairbrained 3 year plan of yours,” he grumbled. “You’re going to need to find a way to manage them.”

He ground his jaw, “yeah no duh.”

Bones glanced at him again, picking up on his hostility but choosing to ignore it. “Have you taken anything?”

“No. Nothing works when they get this bad. I just have to wait for it to pass. It’s not a big deal.”

He could tell that Jim just wanted away from him. That he felt cornered and his hackles were up. “I can run to the clinic and grab you a migraine cocktail. Hypo of magnesium, fluids, painkillers, nausea meds.”

“I don’t do clinics.”

“I said I could go, genius,” he rolled his eyes, turning his tricorder off. 

Jim eyed him warily, “really?” He asked as if it were a challenge. 

He nodded, “yeah, really,” he felt his face scrunch up in confusion. “No sense in your toughing this out for no good reason.”

“Since when do doctors care about a little headache?”

His brow furrowed again, “since we took an oath to take care of people?” 

He didn’t miss Jim’s small scoff, his murmur of, “oath…” under his breath. 

“So… can I go or do you wanna suffer like a masochistic idiot?”

Jim looked up at him, wincing at the light, “I really don’t need-”

“If I bring back meds, will you take them?”

Jim fell silent, studying his face, searching for any sign of deception or deceit. “…yeah. Yeah I’ll take them.”

He patted his knee and stood, “good. Be back in a bit. Try and drink some water if you can keep it down.”

Jim looked at him a bit incredulously as he left, and he chose to ignore that as well. What was his deal? Why was he convinced he wouldn’t care that he was clearly in agony? 

He shook his head to himself as he hustled to the clinic. 

Jim crawled out of the bathroom and threw himself in bed, moaning lowly and regretting it when the noise ricocheted through the silence of the dorm. 

He started to worry about what his roommate was going to return with, if there would be more drugs in the hypo than he claimed. If he would try to drug him without his consent for some stupid reason. Like doctors always did. 

“James, this is for your own good,”

“James, you need to listen to us,”

“James, if you don’t stop fighting we’re just going to sedate you more.”

His blood boiled at the memories, the fear and helplessness flooding back to him. 

By the time Bones returned, he was on guard even more than before, watching him warily as he moved through the dorm as silently as he could. 

“Alright, kid,” he said lowly, “relief is coming.”

Jim eyed him as he approached, hypos in hand. “What’s in that again?”

Bones blinked, hearing the suspicion in his voice. “Magnesium, fluids, painkillers, antiemetics, and a triptan.”

“…no muscle relaxers or sedatives?”

His brow furrowed, “no… but I did bring some if you want-”

“I don’t,” he replied sharply. 

“Okay, okay, fine,” he set one of the hypos aside. “Not like it’d make you test positive for anything salacious on a drug test, but your choice.”

‘Your choice.’ Since when did a doctor care about what a patient wanted?

He sat on the edge of Jim’s bed, careful not to touch him until he had consent. “Ready?”

Jim nodded once, “go for it.”

He deposited the hypo into his neck, not missing the hard flinch Jim gave at the sound. 

“There. Done. You should start getting relief within 20 minutes.”

He nodded, “…thanks.”

“Anytime, kid,” he patted his leg and stood. “Not a big deal.”

Jim closed his eyes, still tracking his movement by sound, but he felt pleasant coolness flooding through his veins and head. He listened as Bones undid his cadet uniform jacket, rustling around for a change of clothes in his half of the room. “My ex used to get bad migraines,” he said out of nowhere. “I mean, she was… is, a lawyer so it ain’t surprising.” 

Jim wondered if that was how she managed to get the “whole planet” in the divorce. 

“So I used to press down on trigger points for her when they got bad and she was waitin’ for meds to kick in. You know about those?”

“…not really.”

He hummed, “try pressing above your eyebrows, following your brow line. If you’ve got something to press against the base of your skull, that may help, too.”

Jim nodded, “sure. Thanks.”

“I’m going to sit up and study a bit. Can’t believe they’re makin’ us take tests already,” he scoffed. “Like a doctor needs to know about battle tactics.” He paused. “Well, maybe it’ll warn me what injuries to watch out for…” he shrugged. “Anyway. I’ll be over here if you need me.”

“Sure,” Jim hummed again, starting to doze off as the tension in his head began to melt. 

Len glanced over his shoulder at him every so often, carefully examining his face for signs of pain as he slept. He had no idea why the kid got so jumpy and defensive around the tricorder and meds, and he sure hadn’t missed the wide eyed horror when he’d stepped out of the bathroom in scrubs, but he figured it was his own business. He just hoped the kid would get less suspicious of him as time went on. 

______

Weeks went by before Jim was hit with another migraine. As careful as he was about his eating schedule, he often neglected his water intake, even though he knew getting dehydrated was a migraine trigger for him. But he couldn’t much help that he spent all day running from class to class, having meetings with Pike in between. 

After his third consecutive day without much water, he felt the telltale pulsating begin on the right side of his head, behind his eye. He sighed internally with frustration, dreading the incoming pain and inconvenience. He trooped through his next classes then skipped his final one, hoping to get back to the dorm and lay down for a bit before Bones returned. 

They had been having more classes together, and Jim had to admit that even for a doctor, he wasn’t bad company. He hadn’t considered just how much older he would be than the other cadets, they were all fresh out of high school for the most part. He knew some of them had to be older, there were quite a few people from his class in that bar in Riverside, but he often felt out of place amongst the younger crowd. And he knew Bones felt the same way as he readily complained about the ‘children’ he had to deal with on a daily basis. He had a tendency to tune out whenever Bones started going on about working at SFM, dissociating, not that he’d admit that to himself. 

He was somewhat aware of his long hours, his habit of coming back to the dorm later than planned because he’d been stuck in surgery or had been helping some young resident with charting. He was aware that Bones had a thing for kids, for sticking around for pediatric cases. That seemed to conflict with his personality, but hey, Jim knew what it was like to take care of kids, to feel protective of them. He didn’t know Bones’ reason for it, but it didn’t go unnoticed. It was just another thing he filed away. 

He returned to the dorm and as he kicked off his shoes, Bones called out hello from his spot on his bed, padds spread all around him, dashing his hopes for silence. “Do you know why the sam hill we are studying-” he looked up at Jim, “Jesus, kid, you okay?”

Jim winced and shrugged, dropping his book bag. “Been better,” he sighed, moving to lay on his bed without even undoing the collar of his reds. He felt Bones cautiously watching him, even as he closed his eyes. “What?” 

“Another migraine?”

“That obvious?”

“The flinching at light and sound of my voice is. I mean, I know I ain’t that pleasant to listen to, but…” He looked him over. “What triggered this one?” 

“Not enough water,” Jim admitted wearily. “Too many classes. Not enough time.”

“Ever heard of a reusable water bottle?” He asked, getting up. 

“Just another thing to carry…” Jim moaned, pulling a pillow over his head. 

He listened to Bones rummage through their small refrigerator and walk back over to him, “here.” 

He pulled the pillow off his face and saw him holding out a sports drink. “I stowed a few of these away, drink it.” 

Jim took it carefully, if not a bit suspiciously. 

“Electrolytes,” Bones said simply, walking back over to his bed. “If you’re refusing pain meds, you can at least rehydrate.” 

“‘S not that I refuse them,” he said, sitting up. “It’s that they don’t work.” 

“There are prescriptions for that, you know.”

“And have chronic migraines in my medical file? No thanks.” 

“Migraines won’t preclude you from command,” he said with a furrowed brow. 

“Don’t like giving anyone a reason to even consider it. Things are already hard enough being a nepo baby here.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean no one takes me seriously. They all think I’m acing classes on my last name alone. The professors think I’m cheating. That’s why I’ve been having to see Pike so often…” He sighed. “Anyway…” He grumbled, sipping his drink, “thanks for this.” 

“Mmhm,” he nodded with crossed arms, observing him. “Anyone in your family have migraines?” 

“My mom, I think,” he said, leaning against his headboard. “She used to lock herself in a dark room and demand quiet from me and my brother.”

“...I didn’t know you have a brother.” 

‘Had…’ Jim silently corrected. “Yeah,” is what he said. 

“You know they can run in families,” 

“I know.” Jim didn’t want to talk about his family. Or lack thereof. 

Len changed tactics, “what are your other triggers?”

Jim looked up, and he could almost swear he saw alarm on his face. “What?”

“Your migraine triggers,” he clarified. 

“Oh,” Jim blinked. “Stress, dehydration, allergies, uh, low blood sugar…” he seemed to shake his head at that, like he was trying to dismiss a memory. “Nothing that isn’t preventable.” 

“Hm,” he hummed, “that why you always keep a protein bar on you?”

Jim looked up again in surprise, “what?”

Len rolled his eyes, “you think I don’t see you tuck a protein bar in your boot every morning? If you can carry around one of them, you can find a way to carry a water bottle…” he grumbled, going for his keycard. 

“Where are you going?” 

He didn’t miss the nervousness in Jim’s voice. 

“Going to get you another migraine cocktail hypo.”

“No-” Jim began to object. 

“No sedatives or muscle relaxers, I know.”

“…I was going to say no, that’s not necessary.”

“Yeah, kid, it is,” he said, putting his coat on. “You’ve got hand to hand in the morning and the last thing you need is a migraine when that idiot Gary Mitchell keeps taking cheap head shots.”

“You heard about that?”

“You ain’t the only one he’s done it to.”

“How do you know my schedule?”

“How do you know mine?” He countered. 

They both stared at each other, both unwilling to admit they were control freaks. 

“I’ll be back,” he announced, slipping out before Jim could object again. 

By the time he was back, Jim was asleep, his sports drink drained. He left the hypo on his nightstand with a note of how to administer it. 

When Jim woke up at 2am and found it, he gave it to himself before getting up to get more to drink. 

He was surprised at the realization that Bones hadn’t just given him the hypo without asking. That he seemed to value consent. 

After draining his water, he noticed that on the table, was an insulated water bottle he hadn’t seen before, with a note underneath it. 

Use this. 

He still didn’t like being around a doctor so often, especially one that noticed all too much. 

But he smiled softly. 

Maybe Bones wasn’t so bad, for a doctor. 

______

They had been roommates for a couple months, and Bones could tell Jim was still wary of him- if not downright terrified. He could tell Jim started to tune out, if not fully dissociate, if he ever talked about work. 

Anytime he went back to their dorm in scrubs, his eyes went wide and he skirted around him, avoiding him at all costs. 

There were things that, as a physician, worried him about the kid. The way he had a strict schedule for mealtimes that he refused to deviate from. The way that he tried to hide how frequent his nightmares were. The way he flinched ever so slightly if he moved unexpectedly or a little too fast. There were so many signs of control issues and past abuse that it made his stomach churn, but they weren’t in a place where he could comment on any of it. 

He could barely comment on anything without him getting defensive. It’s like Jim was always on guard with him, always waiting to defend himself from something. But from what, he had no idea. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, he’d done to the kid to make him so wary and distrusting. Sure, there was the whole puking on him thing, but he didn’t think that was the issue. 

Jim seemed to do all he could to hide his wariness, putting on the mask he seemed to wear for everyone else. The mask of a flirt, of a guy full of self confidence and swagger, of a man with no traumatic past. But he could see through it, and he didn’t even need his psych degree to do it. 

He couldn’t help but also notice that Jim kept any injuries to himself as well, as close to the chest as possible. Most people who knew he was a doctor were more than open about asking him just about anything, even following him into the bathroom to drop their pants and show him a rash. Jim, on the other hand, seemed to go out of his way to keep his injuries hidden. That one made him a little sick, because people who learned to hide their issues and injuries usually did so because they’d been taught that either no one was trustworthy or that no one cared. And Jim’s migraines had shown him that Jim believed he wouldn’t care about them for some reason that was beyond him. Even after he’d repeatedly gotten him meds, Jim still seemed to believe he didn’t actually care. 

But he didn’t quite grasp the depth of Jim’s fear of doctors until he saw it on full display, in the SFM emergency department. 

He was working a 12 hour overnight shift, 8-8, and the ED had been as busy as it always was. Cadets coming in with things they really only needed the clinic for, cadets coming in with injuries from certain late night activities- a lost condom wasn’t a rare occurrence- and cadets who’d had a bit too much to drink and had worried friends dragging them in. Enough cadets that he was seriously starting to worry about the competency of the future of Starfleet. 

But one cadet in particular gave him pause. 

His first clue something was different about this one was the yelling coming all the way from the ambulance bay, “I am fine , you need to let me go !”

He heard the paramedic try to calm him down, “just let the doctors check you out, you’ve easily got at least a broken occipital bone.”

He let them take the patient into a room before sighing, making sure his tricorder was ready, and walking in. 

It surprised him when he saw his roommate on the gurney. But said roommate didn’t see him. 

Jim was snatching his arm away from a nurse trying to start an IV, holding it close to his chest defensively. “Don’t touch me,” he growled. 

“You’re clearly injured,” the resident that had beat him to the room was saying, “we just want to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Jim spat. “I need an AMA form so I can go .”

The resident tried to step closer, but Jim flinched away towards the nurse, prompting her to try and take his arm again. He promptly snatched it back again, shooting her a nasty and almost dangerous look. His breathing picking up, he tried again, “I don’t want-”

“Jim?” Len finally stepped in. 

Jim’s hackles didn’t fall when he saw him, but he did register a bit of relief on his face. “Bones,” he said with surprise. “Didn’t realize you worked emergency.”

“You never asked,” he responded, taking the padd from the resident’s hands and telling him he’d handle things. “Tell me what happened.”

Jim waved a hand, “I broke up a fight at a bar and took a decent hit in the process. I blacked out for like, a second, and by the time I came to I was being loaded on a stretcher- against my will !” He yelled after the retreating medics.

“Just a second, huh…” he muttered, reading over the ambulance report. 

“But I’m fine , I just want to go home and ice my face.”

Len nodded to the hesitant nurse who had taken a few steps back, “Kalani here can get you an ice pack.” They met each other’s eyes, understanding passing between them, and she nodded and scurried off. 

Then it was just him and Jim. “Alright, kid,” he said, tossing the padd by his feet on the bed and crossing his arms. “What really happened?”

“I told you-”

“You told me a lie ,” he countered. “You’ve got open wounds on your knuckles and an already black eye. You weren’t breaking up a fight, you were in one.”

Jim looked away self-consciously. Fearfully. Like he didn’t like that he had clocked his injuries that he was trying to downplay and hide. 

“You ain’t about to go to hand-to-hand tomorrow morning with a broken face. So just shush and let us fix you up.”

Jim’s jaw ground in circles, “I don’t do hospitals.”

“I’ve noticed,” Len scoffed, moving closer. He didn’t miss Jim’s small shuffle away as he pulled out his tricorder. “I don’t care how you got injured, I just need the whole story so I know what to fix.”

Jim rolled his eyes, “you remember the shirt you threw up all over? How if already had blood all over it? Well, it looked that way on the shuttle because Pike found me after a bar fight with some cadets in Riverside. Some idiot friend of one of the guys from that night decided he wanted to take a shot at me himself after too many shots of liquor.” Jim smirked, “I don’t turn down a good fight.”

“A good fight?” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “A good fight ends with you unconscious?”

“It was barely a minute.”

“Paramedics took 7 minutes to get there.”

“And hauled me onto a gurney without consent.”  

“You weren’t in a position to make that decision for yourself.” And that, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. 

Jim immediately started to try and get up from the bed, but a bout of vertigo slowed him down. When Len went to put a hand on his shoulder, Jim ripped it away, “I’m fine.”

“So you keep saying,” he said as he backed up to give him space to breathe. He tried to change the subject, “you still wear that blood stained t-shirt.”

“Stains won’t come out.”

“You’re supposed to use cold water.”

“How do you know that?” He asked suspiciously. 

“I’m a doctor…” 

“Oh yeah. That.”

“So can you let me, as a doctor, patch you up?” 

Jim eyed him warily, “…how?”

“Probably an osteogenic regulator on your face, dermal regen on your knuckles. Let me check your belly for internal bleeding.”

Jim stayed silent for a few moments. “How long will it take?”

“Maybe a couple hours?”

Jim ground his teeth again, “don’t want to be here that long.”

“No one does,” he said lightly, picking his padd back up. “So how bout it, kid? I’ll even get you a popsicle if you behave.”

Jim scoffed, “bet you don’t even have the blue ones.”

“Are you kidding? The blue ones are the best, I always make sure we have them.”

Jim gave him a half cocked smile, “eh. I’d still rather just head out if you don’t mind.”

He blinked, “I do mind.” He noticed his heart rate increase on the monitor above the bed. Clearly, he wasn’t accepting the reasoning that he needed to be there for his own good. Jim Kirk, contrary to popular belief, did little for his own good. He was going to have to find another reason to get him to stay. He didn’t like hospitals, he didn’t trust doctors, and he never wanted any meds that would alter his mind. He was starting to get the picture that there was severe medical trauma, if not outright abuse, in Jim’s past. He realized that Jim wasn’t going to meet him even halfway on the issue of staying admitted. 

He sighed, “how about this, I discharge you into my care and we go back home to patch you up?”

Jim blinked, “but, you’re working all night?”

He waved a hand dismissevly, “they don’t need me. I’ll sign out with an explanation to Boyce that I had to make a house call under extenuating circumstances.”

“…you’d do that?”

“I’m not about to let you just carry on with a broken face, kid. If you won’t stay here, I’ll come to you.”

Jim pondered for a moment, “…alright. If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure,” he said firmly, tapping away on his padd. “ Stay here while I go get the equipment then I’ll walk you back home.”

Jim gave him a sarcastic salute and he gave him a dubious look back before he left the room. 

He shouldn’t have been shocked when Jim was gone by the time he got back. 

He sighed and began the trek home. 

______

Ten days. 

Ten days Jim had been missing on an away mission. 

The entire command crew was on edge, barely able to eat or sleep, worried about their captain they’d grown to love. 

When they got the blessed communicay that he needed a beam up, and fast, they hustled to get him aboard. 

Bones was waiting for him in the transporter room, hand at his mouth, fingers pulling at his bottom lip, as he nervously paced back and forth. 

When Jim appeared, he had to hold in a gasp at the sight of him. His shirt was ripped- of course- and he was full of dust and dirt, his hair caked with grease and mud. His face was pale, his eyes sunken with dark circles underneath them, and he looked… haunted . 

When he tried to take a step but fell to his knees instead, Len was instantly at his side, tricorder whirling. “Jesus, Jim, what happened?”

“Was a trap,” Jim choked out. “Was some sort of…” he shuddered, “ zoo where they kept different species for their own amusement.”

“Did they hurt you?” He asked, hand reaching under his arm. 

Jim laughed, a sarcastic, pained laugh, “nothing I couldn’t handle.”

That was a hard yes . 

“Let’s get you to medbay.”

“…can I eat first?” He asked quietly, glancing around to make sure the transporter chief wasn’t listening. 

“Did they not… did they not feed you?” Len asked, heart pounding. 

When Jim shook his head no, his stomach flipped. He pulled his arm, “alright kid, we’ll get you food.”

Jim nodded, struggling to get to his feet even with his help, and he threw one of his arms over his shoulders and the other around his waist. It was then he noticed the whip marks on his back and his stomach flipped again. 

He hauled him to medbay, taking him to one of the back private rooms. He didn’t miss Jim stiffen as they entered, though. 

He settled Jim on the biobed, “what do you want to eat, kid?”

Jim started to shake- shake - as he struggled for words. “I don’t… I don’t know… I don’t want to overdo it…”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, “how about a protein drink?”

Jim’s eyes flashed to his then back down at the floor, almost in panic. “What if… what if I can’t keep it down?”

“We’ll take it slow, we’ll-”

“Please don’t make me,” he whimpered. 

His heart broke, “Jim I wouldn’t- I would never- you know I’ll always go at your pace,”

He watched his best friend shrink in on himself, “please don’t get mad at me if I throw up,”

“Jim,” he breathed, moving closer, “I won’t get upset with you, not over this. Ever.”

Jim curled in on himself even more, nearly flinching away as he tried to reach out and touch him. He was clearly having terrible Tarsus rescue flashbacks, flashbacks to doctors shoving formula down his throat no matter how many times it came back up. Doctors screaming at him to quit fighting them, to behave. 

He backed away, “I’m going to call one of the nurses to get you a drink, and I’ll stay with you, okay?”

Jim nodded jerkily, but at least he nodded. 

He called down the hallway for one of Jim’s preprogrammed protein shakes then returned to his bedside. “How about we get this shirt off, kid?”

Jim nearly trembled as he nodded and let him reach for his hem, haul his gold command shirt over his head, hissing as it stuck to scabbed over wounds. 

As he examined Jim in his black undershirt, an idea occurred to him. He thought back to Jim flinching anytime he showed up at their dorm in scrubs, how uneasy it made him. So he stepped back and pulled his own blue medical uniform shirt over his head, leaving himself in his own black undershirt. He saw Jim’s eyes follow it as he tossed it aside, casually picking up his tricorder to start scanning again. 

“…why’d you do that?”

“Because medical uniforms always make you nervous.”

“…do not,” he objected petulantly and smally. 

A nurse returned then with Jim’s shake, and Bones took it gratefully from her to gently hand over to Jim. He put the glass in Jim’s hand carefully, laying his own over top of it to make sure he had a firm and solid grip. 

But as he let go, Jim didn’t make a move. He didn’t bring the glass to his lips, he didn’t smell it, he just stared at it in his hands like it was a dangerous being. 

“You can do it, kid,” he urged gently. “Small sips.”

Jim took in a breath that almost sounded like he had spent a few moments forgetting to breathe and had to gasp in air. He sucked the straw gently into his mouth and took a tentative sip, glancing up at Len for support. 

He nodded gently, cupping a hand at the back of his head for a moment. He let him go when he felt his muscles working to swallow, and he stepped back to give him space. 

“I’m going to run some scans on ya while you sip on that, okay?”

Jim’s big blue eyes stared at him in fear, in silence, but he nodded anyway. 

He took scans of his general vitals, of his wounds, and saw they were plentiful. He didn’t want to think about what the kid had gone through on that planet- but he had to. 

“Jim,” he said softly. “I need to know what caused these cuts and burns. So I can make sure there’s no chance of anything like tetanus or other infections.”

Jim stared down into his drink. “It was uh…” he huffed a bit. “It was a scalpel, mostly.”

His stomach dropped, “what?” 

“Yeah they… in between the hours they’d leave me in a cage… they sent in a doctor to try and… loosen my lips, even though I had none of the information they wanted. Took them a while to realize that. That’s why they keep prisoners as a spectacle, to get them to talk. Most of them are from other planets they want to conquer.”

Crap. 

For the second- third- time in his life the kid had been tortured by a so-called medical professional, and his stomach turned again. 

“Okay,” he finally said quietly. He stepped over to the cabinet on the far wall to pull out a dermal regenerator and he saw Jim’s eyes follow him the whole way, as if he was afraid he’d leave. 

And it struck him, then, just how much Jim trusted him, that he wanted him there when he was a representation of something that had hurt him so many times. 

Jim ducked his head in embarrassment as he walked back to him, and he wasn’t sure if it was due to the injuries or the iatrophobia. 

“How about we get this undershirt off so I can take a better look, yeah?”

Jim stopped sipping his drink hesitantly. He looked down nervously, “…do I have to?”

Len felt his brow furrow, Jim Kirk was one of the least modest people he’d ever met. Why… 

Oh. 

It stuck him, then, as he remembered the time late in their academy years when Jim had gotten the flu. He’d spent days puking up everything he tried to eat, even losing weight over those few days. The kid was pure muscle, and he tended to lose it fast if he didn’t keep up his nutrition. Especially in the very rare scenario he stopped eating altogether. 

He hadn’t wanted to let Len help him into a cool bath to lower his fever, not wanting to get undressed. He had admitted to him then that he had a hard time seeing himself whenever he lost weight unintentionally. That it was triggering in many different ways. 

And he knew that was the current issue. 

He looked at Jim’s drink, halfway gone, and he knew he needed a break from sipping it too quickly. 

“What if we lay you down?” He asked softly. “You don’t have to see anything you don’t want to.”

Jim snorted, “I still have to go home and shower after this. Not sure why I’m thinking I can avoid it.”

They both knew what ‘it’ meant. 

“I’ll help you shower,” he answered immediately. “You don’t need to see anything until you’re ready.”

Jim smiled sardonically, “I can bathe myself, Bones.”

“You can. Doesn’t mean you have to.”

He looked contemplative, “…alright.” He finally answered. “Go ahead.” He set his drink down and let him help him out of his black undershirt, laying down quickly and staring at the ceiling, taking shaking breaths. 

He made the executive decision then that this was one of the times he needed to make the medical decisions for him, and he loaded a sedative into a hypospray and administered it gently. 

Jim closed his eyes but didn’t complain, and he knew then that the kid’s head was really swirling badly. 

He cleaned and healed the wounds silently, as Jim closed his eyes and started to doze as the sedative went to work. Even when he had him roll over onto his stomach so he could work on his back, he slept, but not peacefully. He watched every muscle in his back tense and twitch every few seconds as he worked. 

He tried to let him sleep after he was done, but Jim spoke immediately, “can I go home now?”

Len looked up at his vitals, and at the results on the blood draw he’d done to check for any drugs or other issues. 

He held in a sigh as he answered, “yeah, kid. Let’s get you home.”

He gave Jim a scrub top to wear through the hallways as they made their way to the command crew’s living quarters deck and into Jim’s rooms. 

He watched Jim glance hesitantly at his bathroom, running a hand through his greasy, dusty hair. 

He took his elbow gently, “c’mon, kid. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Jim let him pull him along, but objected, “Bones, I can-“

“I know you can,” he said yet again. “But you don’t have to.”

Jim let him help him out of his clothes before he stepped in the shower and braced both hands against the tiled wall, legs shaking. 

Anyone who would have observed the scene that followed would have thought it odd, if not homoerotic, but Len had long put aside any feelings of awkwardness when it came to taking care of Jim in his most vulnerable moments. And it was a huge sign of trust, on Jim’s part, to set his iatrophobia aside to let him help. 

He had never considered it simply nurse’s work to help someone bathe or anything similar, because he was a healer, and he knew healing came in many different forms. 

So he washed Jim’s body with a lathered up washcloth so he didn’t have to look at himself, feel the weight he’d lost with his own hands, be triggered any more than he already had been. 

The last time Jim had looked so gaunt was after Khan, after he’d been in a hospital bed for weeks on end with only IV nutrients keeping him afloat. Bedbaths had been hard for them both. 

He finally pulled back, wincing as his back ached from being bent over and leaned into the shower stall. He picked up a towel to hand him before he eagerly took it, ordering the water off. 

They were both thankful the mirror was fogged up as he stepped out of the shower.  

As Jim gingerly walked back into his quarters, rubbing a towel over his wet hair, he followed at a distance to make sure he was steady on his feet. 

When he sat on the end of his bed wrapped in his towel, zoning out, he moved to pick out clothes for him. 

It was in that moment that he really thought, again, about how far Jim had come not just in trust, but in vulnerability, especially with someone who was a doctor. 

He handed him his clothes one item at a time, moving to help him maneuver his limbs through the proper openings when needed. The kid looked dead on his feet, and just a bit too haunted for his liking to be able to even consider leaving him alone. 

“Thanks, Bones,” he finally breathed, pushing himself to his feet and moving towards the head of his bed. “Really. I mean it.”

“‘S no problem, kid, never is, you know that.”

He nodded roughly, pulling his blankets back. “I’ll uh, I’ll com you if I need anything. But I’ll be fine, really.”

He blinked at him. 

Jim looked at him blankly, “what?”

“I’m not leaving you, kid.”

“But… I’m fine? I just need to sleep this off.”

“Sleep what off?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. 

“Exactly. You need rest, yeah, but the last thing you need is to be left alone right now.” He moved to take Jim’s wet towel from his hands and put it in the bathroom, “I already left M’Benga in charge of medbay,” he called over his shoulder, “so I’m free to stay-“ he dead stopped when he came out of the bathroom and saw Jim gaping at him. “What?”

Jim blinked owlishly.

“Jim, words.”

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times as he struggled to find any. 

His brow creased in concern, “talk to me,” he pleaded. 

“You’re going to stay?” He asked, voice nearly breaking on the last word. 

“Well- of course I- why wouldn’t I-“ 

Oh. 

He remembered, then, how things had gone for Jim after being rescued from Tarsus. They had beamed them aboard, healed their wounds, force fed them, and then left each kid locked in a medbay room completely alone. 

And there Jim was, well over a decade later, thinking he was going to follow the same script all over again. That he had been rescued, healed, fed, and was then going to be left alone with all his thoughts and memories. 

“Jim, I’m not going to leave you,” he said gently but firmly as he shook his head. “You’ve been without a friend for ten days, I don’t think you need to be alone with your thoughts right now.”

Jim swallowed thickly, “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it, Bones.” He said softly. 

“And you don’t have to. I’m just staying here to help you keep your head above water. So you don’t have to work so hard to when you’re already exhausted.”

He nodded stiltedly, like the words still weren’t quite making sense, before he glanced at his bed and slowly turned to lay down. 

Len moved throughout his quarters freely as he settled down, throwing away Jim’s ruined pants and socks, and sending the spare scrub top and his boxers off to laundry. 

He straightened the padds he’d left spread out on his desk, but left them in order as he did, knowing Jim always had things organized a certain way even if you couldn’t see how. 

He replicated a glass of water and went to set it on Jim’s nightstand, and that’s when he saw the tears. 

Jim was lying there, staring wide eyed at the ceiling, tears streaming silently down his temples. 

“Jim?” He breathed, moving to sit at his hip. “What’s wrong?”

He said nothing, didn’t even move.

“Jim, please , what’s-“

“I’d forgotten what it was like,” he croaked. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to be so hungry that your body starts to power down. I forgot what it’s like to be so hungry that you can’t even notice it anymore, until the pain sets in.” He shook his head, “every safeguard I’ve ever put in place, all the protein bars I’ve kept hidden around me over the years, all my perfectly scheduled meals, none of it mattered. None of it helped.”

He reached out and took one of his trembling hands in his, holding firmly. 

“And I’m embarrassed ,” he hissed through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m embarrassed I’m reacting this way. I’m embarrassed that I’m afraid to trust you when I know you aren’t going to hurt me.”

That hadn’t even occurred to him. Jim rarely got embarrassed. The kid had little to no shame. “Jim, a trigger is a trigger. You can’t control that and I’m not offended. I understand.”

“Well I don’t. I know you aren’t going to strap me down and force treatment on me but god if that isn’t where my head is at…”

He chewed his words for a moment before he picked up Jim’s nearest hand and held it in both of his. “Jim,” he said softly, but seriously. “Look at me.”

Jim slowly dragged his eyes from the ceiling to his. 

“You are in control. You are not 15 and no one is going to force anything on you. Especially not me. I’ve always let you have control. You are safe. We have plenty of food, but you can eat it at your own pace. You. Are in. Control. Say it.”

Jim closed his eyes, “I’m in control,” he said in a thick and watery voice. 

“Look at me when you say it,” he commanded gently. 

Jim opened his gummy eyes and looked at him, looking far away, “I’m in control.” He whispered. 

“You’re in control,” he whispered back, squeezing his hand to ground him. 

He went to let go, to give him space, but he frantically grasped at air, trying to get his hand back. He quickly took it back, shushing him gently with reassurances that he wasn’t leaving. 

“Scoot over,” he finally said, after realizing his verbal assurances weren’t doing much. 

Jim eagerly did. 

He got under the covers and laid down next to his best friend, letting Jim take the lead in determining how much contact and closeness he wanted. 

Jim curled himself into a ball on his side, protectively tucking his head down but leaning his forehead against Len’s arm. 

He waited for him to fall asleep, for the telltale signs of his evened out breathing and the twitching thing his brow did as he relaxed, but they never came. 

When he heard Jim sniffle, he knew he was silently crying again, and with a small sigh, he reached into his pants pocket for the sedative hypo he’d tucked away there. 

He rolled onto his side to face him, putting one hand on the top of his head as the other quickly but gently deposited the medication into his neck. The fact that Jim didn’t even protest said a lot. 

He reached behind himself to put the empty hypo on the nightstand, but stayed on his side to face Jim. He laid a hand on his bicep before he tipped his head to rest his forehead on the blond’s crown. 

Jim dug his forehead into his chest as he started to sob, fighting off the sedative as hard as he could. 

“Don’t fight it, darlin’,” he said gently into his hair. “Just let go for me. You’re safe now, I promise.”

“I’m never safe,” he sobbed. “I’m never safe from these memories. From these flashbacks.”

“No, but you’re safe with me to get through them. I think sometimes you forget that, but you are.” He said softly, rubbing his arm up and down. 

Jim’s hands found their way to his chest, clawing at his black undershirt, twisting it into his fists as he held on for dear life. 

“I’m here, Jim,” he whispered. “I’m not leaving you alone with this.”

He could feel Jim’s body start to get heavy, the sedative finally overpowering him. 

“Thank you for trusting me, Jim,” he said, not thinking he could hear him. 

“Thank you for never making me afraid of you.” He slurred back just as he fell asleep.