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The thing is that Jim really has excellent depth perception and peripheral vision, despite his ocular difficulties. So long as he was wearing his contacts– or his glasses, as was currently the case– he could sense minute shifts in light and shadow basically anywhere within a two hundred degree radius. So naturally, he noticed when the brightness of the room shifted ever so slightly, indicating a figure looming in the open doorway.
Of course, he also knew from the footsteps that preceded the figure’s appearance and the eerie silence that followed meant that said figure was Bones, and didn’t bother looking up from the PADD and notes scattered across the bed in front of him. He also didn’t bother removing the stylus from between his teeth, or to stop typing, or really to react at all.
But he knew Bones was there. Of course he did.
Which is why he 100%, absolutely did not shriek like a banshee when he finally glanced up and noticed saw Bones lurking in said doorway, thank you very much, no matter what the doctor claims.
Reclaiming the stylus from where it had fallen when he–- maybe, a little bit, might have gasped... not shrieked–- reacted to Bones’ presence, he smiled sheepishly and said, “Ok, you’re mad. But in my defense–”
And that opened the gates of rage.
“In your defense?” Bones spluttered, an angry flush creeping up his neck and into his face as he blinked rapidly in disbelief. “In your– you idiot, my hair is purple!”
Jim winced apologetically. “I see that. And I’m sorry, but in my defense,” he reiterated, “that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Bones’ expression fell flat. It was impressive that the man could be sarcastic without so much as twitching a muscle or making a sound. Really, cynicism was like a second language to him and he spoke it with every fiber of his being. Xenolinguistics had nothing on the non-verbal powers of Leonard H. McCoy.
“It wasn’t,” he drawled, unimpressed.
“No,” Jim assured him, waving a hand, “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you, man. Purple is not your color. Blues, sure, green, maybe but–“
“Jim.”
A single word, and Jim could practically hear Bones’ enamel wearing down, he clenched his jaw so hard. Bones’ needed to relax. Maybe once finals were over they could–
“Jim.”
Right, focus. Wow, really should not have skipped that third–- fourth? Fourth. – cup of coffee if he was gonna pull all-nighters like this. His concentration was shot.
“Sorry,” he said dismissively. “Right. But no, it wasn’t supposed to turn purple. It wasn’t supposed to turn any color, really, maybe I should take a sample of your hair to analyze, figure out where–”
“Jim!”
“Right, sorry!” Jim shook his head a bit to clear it, shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose where they had slipped down before taking a deep breath and meeting Bones’ gaze with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “It was supposed to get curly.”
“I cannot believe that you– wait, what?”
“Well,” Jim shrugged, not entirely sure what Bones was missing. Really, this was so straightforward… or at least, it had seemed to be at the time. The whole glaring and looming thing was making Jim question the soundness of this course of action with each passing minute. “I know you’ve been struggling with your chemical composition theory and with finals coming up and all, I figured this might give you some incentive to” – he waved a hand searchingly– “…fix… that.”
Bones didn’t so much as blink.
“Ok, the brooding silence thing is very impressive and all, but should I start running, or…?”
Nothing.
“Yeaaah,” Jim dragged the word out as he slowly closed his books and set the stylus down, slipping off the bed to his feet and edging closer to the door. The door that was currently inhabited by his apoplectic– maybe? Hard to read, what with the not moving or speaking thing– friend. “I’m just gonna… squeeze past you there!” Jim said cheerily, pointing towards the hallway and attempting to ease himself through what little space remained in the doorway.
He made it about halfway through, maneuvering around Bones’ limbs and winding up with one leg, one arm, and his head out of the room before Bones moved, twisting around to face Jim so that both of them stood in the hallway rather than in the small Starfleet issued bedroom.
“If it helps,” Jim began, raising his hands between them, “I think I can fix it.”
That sparked a reaction.
“Wha– you… you think you can fix it?”
Jim nodded eagerly. “Like 97% sure!”
Bones’ eyebrows furrowed. “97%?”
Jim tilted his head in consideration, running the calculations in his head with a shrug. “Well, 96.6% but–”
“Jim!”
(Now, ordinarily, Jim would like to clarify that he is not afraid of Bones. He’s not afraid of anything, really, at least– not beyond the abstract generally human fears that accompany the species. But logic does not always play into decisions, and sometimes mistakes are made– best-laid plans and whatnot– and every good strategist knows when to cut and run. Tactical retreat, one might say. And truly experienced officers know to defer to the judgment of Commanding Officers– and ok, maybe Jim wasn’t so good at that one, but needs must.
And really, Pike should have probably been more surprised when Jim Kirk came bursting into his office before ducking under the desk with a stage whispered, “I was never here!”
And Jim should not have been at all surprised when Bones followed him in and Pike promptly ratted him out, despite Jim’s truly heart-wrenching accusations of: “You traitor!” and “I trusted you, you monster!” which would have perhaps been a touch more sympathetic if they were not interrupted with laughter as Bones hauled the younger man to his feet and promptly trapped him in a loose headlock while spewing vague, half-hearted threats.
And none of them were the least bit surprised when a photo of that particular moment– Jim tucked playfully under Bones’ arm getting his hair ruffled by Bones’ knuckles, and Bones with vibrant purple hair and a scowl that didn’t meet his eyes– wound up in a prominent place of honor in the Captain’s Quarters once Jim was given the Enterprise for real, framed and placed squarely above the desk with a handwritten note in Christopher Pike’s spiky scrawl:
“Have some fun out there, too.”)