Archive of Our Own

Jim Kirk didn't really like touch.

Jim grew up with too many unwanted touches. He didn't like others trying to lead him somewhere by his elbow, trying to give him comfort by hugging without warning, trying to discipline him in whatever physical manner they deemed appropriate. He learned quickly how to deftly move out of the way with a disarming smile and a quip whenever he saw someone's hands moving towards him.

Anything physical was on his terms -- barfights, in bed, putting himself in front of another child so he was hit instead of them -- and he grew up fine with that.

(Granted, he was sure if he actually still saw the therapist he had been forced to talk to when he was thirteen, they'd disagree, but they weren't around anymore to say so.)

Too many bad touches, too few good touches.

So, Jim was fine with avoiding touch.

Really.

Jim's first introduction to Leonard McCoy was the latter ranting about the dangers of space with bourbon both on his breath and in the flask he handed to Jim on the shuttle. Names and threats of vomiting were exchanged, and Jim was too distracted by the doctor's mannerisms to notice how the doctor's fingers lingered when the flask passed between the pair of them.

Despite the doctor's fears, the shuttle landed without incident, and Jim didn't think much more about him until Jim ended up at Starfleet Medical a couple of weeks later.

Rather, even then Jim didn't think about the other man because Jim was too busy arguing with whatever sorry excuse of a doctor had been assigned to him because the doctor was not fucking listening to Jim at all.

"--don't want you to do that!" Jim was cornered, ready to knock the doctor down and bolt out of the room. Unfortunately, Dr. What's-His-Name was between Jim and the door, and Jim's left eye was swollen shut from the barfight (bad touch), which kind of impeded Jim's vision.

"It's standard procedure!" the doctor shouted back, and Jim wasn't even really sure what the doctor was talking about. He just knew he didn't like the doctor coming up and poking and prodding him without saying a damn word.

Before Jim could yell back or make some sort of escape, a gruff, southern accent demanded, "What the hell is goin' on in here?"

"Dr. McCoy," the stupid doctor said, exasperation laced in his tone, "maybe you can handle this difficult patient."

"I'm not being difficult," Jim shot back. "I just don't know what the hell you're doing."

"I'm the doctor, you don't need--"

"Dr. Gand," Dr. McCoy cut in, "I'll take over here. Give me his chart."

Dr. Gand grumbled something, and Jim was able to see enough through his good eye that Dr. McCoy placed a hand on the other doctor's back to give him a helping push out of the room.

"Kirk, right? From the shuttle?" Bones asked, and his voice was much calmer.

"Oh... Yeah, yeah." Jim's good eye squinted as he fully recognized the doctor before him. "You're Bones."

"I'm what?"

"'All I got left is m'bones.'"

Bones snorted from the terrible imitation, and he asked, "You good if I shut the door?"

He didn't move to do so until Jim nodded, then Bones asked, "You good to sit up on the biobed?"

"What are you going to do?" Jim asked instead.

"Give you a check-up since you clearly need it," Bones said. "Can already see some things I need to treat, like your black eye and your nose is a bit out of joint. Your breathin' isn't steady, but I can't tell if that's from your nose or if you're tryin' to hide bruised ribs." He paused. "Or just nerves."

Jim took Bones's words in stride, drank them in, thought about them enough to gingerly sit up on the biobed.

Bones didn't move towards him just yet. "What did Dr. Gand say to you?"

"Nothing," Jim spat. "He didn't--He came in, took one look at me, and started trying to grab my face." Bad touch.

"Probably to try to inspect your shiner more," Bones said, "but I agree that he should have told you his intentions." He took the few, deliberate steps needed to cross the distance from the door to the biobed. "I'm gonna hold onto your chin and direct your head so I can look at your injuries, okay?"

"Okay." Jim braced himself for Bones's hand, sitting straight and stiff as Bones's fingers reached him. His fingertips were calloused, rough, but the touch wasn't. Neutral touch, quick touch.

Bones murmured the direction that he was turning Jim's head before he did it. The notice wasn't entirely needed, but Jim appreciated it, especially since Bones's calmer and matter-of-fact tone allowed Jim to relax after Dr. Gand's so-called bedside manner.

"I'm going to get an ice pack for your eye," Bones said when he finally stepped away. "We'll use a dermal regen on it once the swelling goes down a little as long as we don't see any other protrusions around the area.

"I can probably just snap your nose back into place," Bones continued as he ducked around the biobed to the small freezer in the room to grab said ice pack, "but I want the swelling to go down around your eye first. Care to share what happened?"

He held the ice pack out rather than try to put it on the swollen area himself, and Jim was thankful for it.

"Barfight," was all Jim said. Bones waited for elaboration that he would not receive. Instead, what he got was Jim saying, "Don't mind you putting my nose back into place when you can."

"That's all I'm gettin', huh?" Bones asked, and Jim just shrugged. "Ya know, fear of doctors an' hospitals is a normal phobia--"

"I'm not scared of doctors."

Bones raised an eyebrow but said nothing, meeting Jim's glare with his own steady gaze.

Eventually, Bones moved over to the other instruments on the counter, never breaking eye contact as he said, "Gonna run a tricorder, see if that tells me anythin' else, particularly with your breathin'. Good with that?"

Jim's nod was all the signal that Bones needed. The tricorder revealed that all of Jim's injuries were surface-level on his face, thankfully.

The time was then dragged by silence, with Bones barely moving as he waited patiently and Jim doing his damnedest not to fidget until the swelling around Jim's eye went down enough for Bones to do a second inspection. Like before, he spoke aloud regarding everything he was doing, where and why he was touching Jim's face, his fingertips grazing under Jim's eye.

Bones asked permission to snap his nose back, warned him when he was about to do it. Jim bit down a shout at the pain, earning another raised eyebrow, but Bones moved on to the dermal regenerator.

"Won't take too long for the dermal regen to do its thing," Bones said, going to the PADD that held Jim's chart. He typed away, probably documenting everything from the visit, and Jim ruefully figured his attitude would also be documented.

Despite everything, Jim did remember to say, "Thanks, Bones."

"Jus' doin' my job," was the response. "Try not to get into any other barfights, will ya? Pretty sure Starfleet doesn't like its cadets actin' out like that."

Jim huffed out a laugh. "Aw, c'mon. It's like combat practice. Besides, you should have seen the other guys."

"Are they here at the hospital too, or just you?" Bones asked, his tone pointed. Jim snapped his mouth shut, and Bones took that as his answer. When the dermal regenerator finished, Bones merely said, "Alright, get outta here."

Jim hopped off the biobed and gave Bones another quick thanks before escaping.

Then Jim wouldn't stop seeing Bones. The pair were obviously on different tracks, so there were no shared classes between them, and Bones's doctorate made it so some of his schedule was dedicated to shifts at Starfleet Medical, but Jim kept noticing Bones around campus.

There he was in the cafeteria, looking disgruntled at needing to be social, but having no problem talking with others, sitting with others, putting his hands on shoulders, arms, directing and guiding. There he was passing by on the quad, gesturing wildly with whatever debate he was having with those he walked with, automatically putting his hand around them to help avoid others passing by. There he was in the library, barely looking up from whatever book he was scowling at as he steadied another with a stack of books and PADDs, having no issues being tactile.

Considering what Jim knew of Bones, the way Bones moved made sense. The man was a doctor, after all, a surgeon, someone who used his hands all the time and was probably used to exploring the world that way. Maybe touch for Bones was more instinctual, something that Bones couldn't avoid.

Jim just happened to be the opposite. Observe everything first. Look, don't touch. Analyze then move if need be.

Sometimes, that strategy doesn't work so well.

The leggy blonde cadet that Jim had been talking to at the bar -- leaning against the counter, eyes on hers, keeping enough space between the two so he could see it coming if she wanted to reach over to him -- evidently had a boyfriend that she neglected to mention in the twenty minutes of their conversation. Said boyfriend moved too quickly from behind Jim, his punch mostly landing on the side of Jim's head rather than his jaw, and Jim was suddenly sprawled on his ass outside of the bar.

Bad touch.

A crowd started forming, Jim's shields starting rising, and he was doing his damnedest to twist and deflect from people trying to either help him to his feet or finish whatever the truck of a boyfriend started.

"Outta th' way!" Bones's voice rose above all others, barking commands for people to move, and Jim couldn't help but focus on the sound until Bones was suddenly in his field of vision. Furrowed brows and a frown accompanied Bones's sharp gaze as it roamed over Jim's face until they locked eyes. His hands were up, palms out, pacifying, and didn't move even when Jim instinctively flinched away.

"Not gonna touch ya," Bones said, quietly, and he held up swaying fingers. "How many do you see?"

"...Four?" Jim guessed. It would have been easier to answer if Bones stopped moving his fingers so fast that they blurred.

Bones huffed, and maybe Jim's answer had been wrong, but Bones didn't correct him at all. "Should get looked at, Kid. Let's go to Medical--"

"No." Jim shook his head, tried to get back to his feet, hated feeling all sorts of stares on him.

Bones stood up with him, mimicking Jim's speed, and he suddenly shouted, "I told y'all to back off!" before shoving some of the crowd away so Jim had a clearer path before him. He stayed in front of Jim, leading without hovering, and brought his voice down to a normal volume when he said, "Come back to my dorm, then, if ya won't go to the hospital. Got some supplies there."

Considering Jim wasn't walking steadily after the blow to the head, he figured that was the lesser of two evils.

Jim wasn't sure how long it took the pair to get to Bones's dorm, but Bones never tried to rush him. The lift in the dorm building made Jim sway and almost bump into the wall when he stepped out of the lift, but Bones was nice enough to not comment on it. Bones led him to the last dorm, and Jim may have said something about how cushy it must be to have a corner room, but it may not have come out the way Jim intended -- he only got a raised eyebrow from Bones before the doctor was leading the way in.

"Wait." Jim paused in the threshold, pretending that he wasn't holding onto the door frame to remain upright. "What about your roommate?"

"Don't have one," Bones said. "Perk of bein' old, a late recruit, an' already havin' a couple of degrees under my belt. Come in before you fall in."

"Old?" was what Jim grasped in that explanation, even as he did as Bones said. There was a chair suddenly in front of him and Jim sat down heavily on it.

"I'm almost thirty." Bones appeared in Jim's peripheral vision, the tiny beeps of a tricorder reaching Jim's ears. "When ya get to be my age in about a decade, hopefully you'll learn not to be so distracted by bleach-blonde hair to get beaten up by a gorilla. Still seeing double?"

Jim squinted, trying to focus on the fingers that Bones was holding again in front of him. "Three this time."

Bones snorted. "Somewhat of an improvement."

"You can't be ten years older than me," Jim said.

"Probably close to it," Bones muttered. "Alright, Kid--"

"Kid?"

"--seems ya got lucky. Not quite a concussion, but close to it," Bones said. "Might have a hypo to ward off the rest of it, or if you have someone around to wake you up in a couple of hours to make sure you actually do wake up, you can try that."

Jim swallowed hard. "Uh... a hypo?"

"You choosin' the hypo?"

"Well, no, wait, I hate those," Jim said.

"Then do you trust your roommate enough to wake you up in a couple of hours?" Bones asked, and Jim made the mistake of not answering quick enough. "Do you not trust your roommate?"

"He... doesn't really like seeing me," Jim admitted. "But I'll be fine. I'll set an alarm or something."

"Why not just let me give you the hypo?" Bones asked.

"Right, which means that we'll have to go to the clinic--"

"I told ya I got supplies. I got a med kit here."

Jim stared at Bones, trying to focus on him. "You always just... have a med kit with you?" Bones shrugged, and Jim added, "I have allergies."

"I have clearance as a doctor to look at your chart for at least that," Bones said, picking up his PADD from the counter and either ignoring or not noticing Jim squirm as he tapped on it.

How the hell did this man have an answer for everything? That was supposed to be Jim's department. No one else was supposed to match him with that.

Bones suddenly gave a low whistle. "Holy hell, Kid..."

"Yeah, it's a lot," Jim said, a huff of self-depreciating laughter accompanying his words. "Seriously, I'll just go back to my dorm--"

"Ya could stay here."

Jim wavered on his feet for a second before plopping back down on the chair. "Why? You barely know me."

"I know enough about ya that I don't trust you to make it back to your dorm on your own," Bones said, "an' even if you did, your words about your roommate don't inspire confidence. Ya don't like the hospital, so that's out, an' I got a couch."

Jim stared at Bones, trying to concentrate enough so the other man's frame and features didn't keep going out of focus. It would be easier to stay put, Jim knew that, but his fight-or-flight instinct flared up. Bones seemed like a decent guy, hadn't done anything to warrant Jim to be suspicious of him except for the fact that he was a doctor.

But, despite being a bit gruff, at least Bones was considerate with Jim's obvious discomforts.

"What if I say no?" Jim asked.

"Can't force ya to stay," Bones said, "but I would walk you back to your dorm. I'd talk to your roommate, too, emphasizin' on how important it would be to wake you--"

"No, no, don't." Jim shook his head for a second before putting it down on the table. Stupid leggy blondes and their stupid truck boyfriends with their stupid bad touches.

"Um, how would you wake me?" was Jim's next question.

"An alarm, most likely," Bones said, and Jim noticed him looking at the chronometer. "Why? Somethin' I should be aware about?"

"No, just wanted to make sure you wouldn't dump a bucket of water on me," Jim tried to joke.

"Please. That'd ruin the couch."

Jim let out a chuckle, even as he watched Bones get an extra blanket from the closet to set up the couch. Looked like Jim was staying.

"Might be a little short for your gangly limbs," Bones muttered as Jim wandered closer.

"S'okay," Jim said, plopping onto the couch and curling up. "I've slept in smaller places."

"...An' is that something I should be concerned about?"

"You don't have to be concerned about me at all, Bones," Jim said, and he ignored the disbelieving Ha! he got in response. "...Thanks, though. Really."

"Good night, Kid."

Jim awoke in a few hours not to an alarm, but to the sharp smell of industrial-strength ammonia. He bolted upright, head and sinuses miraculously cleared from the odor, and he coughed at the stench.

"You're in the clear," Bones said, his figure no longer blurry in the dim lights. He was bottling something to return to what Jim presumed to be his med kit. "Ya slept straight through the alarm, but th' smelling salts did the trick. How are you feeling?"

"Better except for that." Jim vaguely waved in the direction of the smelling salts, and he heard Bones chuckle in response. "But, uh, seriously. I do feel better. Thanks again for tonight. You... didn't have to do any of this."

"I wouldn't have left ya run over on the sidewalk outside of the bar," Bones said. "Jus' hope you don't get into this kind of trouble again. Considering this is the second time I've put you back together after an evenin' at a bar, my expectations aren't too high..."

Jim grinned at Bones's words trailing off into a mumble. "I'll do my best," Jim said, "but at least I know I can turn to you if I need to get patched up."

And Jim did.

Bones grumbled whenever Jim showed up with a bruised cheek or black eye, but he always fulfilled his oaths as a doctor. Jim appreciated his discretion and, as grumpy as he was, his bedside manner. Bones never failed to let Jim know that he was an idiot, but he also never failed to tell Jim what exactly he was doing. Jim always knew where Bones's hands were and why whenever Bones was healing him.

Okay touches.

While Jim would still occasionally go to Bones because he had gotten into a tussle, eventually Jim sought Bones out just to be together. Bones was baffled during the first couple of hang outs, but soon enough even Bones would seek out Jim in the cafeteria or wordlessly join Jim's table at the library.

Bones was chill and never made any sudden movements towards Jim. They were friends, and Jim did his best to hide his wonder and giddiness at actually having a true friend with whom he could just relax. Twinges of panic here and there still tried to burst through Jim's chest occasionally, but they never lasted long with how easy it was to just be with Bones.

Jim would show up at Bones's dorm, and Bones would open the door already in the middle of a sentence, ranting about his shifts at Starfleet Medical and listening when Jim ranted in return about how he couldn't skip prerequisite courses --

"Seriously, Bones, it's not like astrodynamics is rocket science."

"Pretty sure it literally is, Kid."

-- while making enough dinner for both of them. The first time Bones had made food for Jim, Jim barely realized it until he was halfway done with his plate at the tiny-ass table in Bones's dorm.

"Jim?" Bones caught Jim's attention and, when Jim looked up at him, pointed to Jim's plate with his fork. "Everythin' alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, it is, I just..." Jim looked back down at the food, unsure how to answer.

"Food disagreein' with you?"

"No, not at all."

"You sure? I've hypos--"

"Of course you do," Jim said, his lopsided smile evidently putting Bones at ease. "No, seriously, I'm fine. And the food is great. It just took me a little too long to realize that I'm actually sitting here eating a dinner that you made. So, uh, thanks for the food. You didn't have to make me a plate."

Bones rolled his eyes. "Please. You're too damn skinny, and you eat my leftovers whenever ya do show up. May as well make sure you eat when the food is fresh. Glad ya like it, though."

And then Bones restarted complaining about how he'll need to take basic flight training and Jim continued to assure Bones that he'd help the other get over his phobia, and the conversation kept going even after dinner was finished, after Jim helped Bones clean up, after the pair plopped down on the couch with Jim curled up on one end and Bones lounging on the other.

It was all so normal, simple enough that Jim fantasized about being roommates with Bones instead of sharing a dorm with a guy who didn't respect Jim's personal space at all, a guy that complained about the dorm being too small and argued when Jim pointed out that maybe it wouldn't seem small if his roommate's boyfriend wasn't there all the time. Jim was jostled (bad touch) more than enough times out of his dorm for him to stay at Bones's dorm, and it all seemed fine. Bones's dorm may have been a single, but there was plenty of room for the pair whenever Jim crashed there.

There was never a chance that Jim would experience bad touches, not with how considerate Bones was of Jim's personal space, while at Bones's dorm. In fact, Jim automatically relaxed whenever he was at Bones's dorm, never feeling the need to be so on guard.

Of course, there's always a first time.

Jim's breath seized in his chest as soon as the alarms started.

"Aw, hell." Bones glared at the ceiling as if that would stop the incessant blaring, but he was moving fluidly throughout the dorm like he had expected this. Jim stared at Bones as the other man took long strides to grab his med kit and class bag before moving towards the door. "Jim? C'mon, let's go."

Bones was frowning at him, paused just for an instant at the door before pivoting to step towards Jim still on the couch. Bones lurching in his direction made Jim move, because Bones should be leaving, should be going away from the fire alarm, not coming back for Jim, so Jim needed to move to make sure that Bones moved--

"C'mon, Kid." Bones's voice was almost drowned out from the alarm, but Jim tried to cling to the sound rather than the buzzing rushing through his ears. Bones's arm moved to hover behind Jim like a dog herding a wayward sheep, and Jim was stepping out of the dorm headfirst into a sea of other cadets milling about. Most seemed to be heading towards the stairwells, the crowd jostling Jim enough to follow their steps, but every touch made him wince, made him almost trip, almost freeze in place, and Jim suddenly couldn't see Bones near him any longer.

"Bones?" Jim's call wasn't loud enough over the fire alarm, the crack in his voice not helping in the slightest. Jim stopped in place, someone crashing into him before throwing a curse in his direction and going around him. Someone else stepped on his foot. Someone else put a hand on his shoulder, tried to redirect him, but Jim shook them off and darted in the opposite direction of the crowd to reach the wall.

Bad touch.

A voice rose over the din, some other cadet shouting directions to people, and Jim recognized Bones's voice joining it. Jim zeroed in on the sound, craning his neck to look over the other cadets and back down the hallway to see Bones playing every bit of the role of selfless doctor as he funneled confused cadets down the hallway.

"--south stairwell, out onto the southeast quad," Bones was saying. "Lifts as a last resort--Jim, what are you doin'?"

Bones was finally moving towards Jim, the crowd thinning just enough for Bones to catch up, and Jim lunged forward to meet him halfway.

"Reckless idiot," Bones muttered. "You're supposed to evacuate--"

Jim latched onto Bones's sleeve, his grip tight, and Bones snapped his mouth shut. Without another word, Bones maneuvered his arm so his own hand could reach and hold onto Jim's wrist. He didn't look back at Jim as he led the pair down the stairwell and out of the building.

Okay touch.

The cool evening air slapped Jim in the face as soon as they exited. Bones's grip loosened when they got outside, but it tightened again when Jim's grip didn't falter at all.

In fact, Jim didn't realize he was still holding onto Bones until later when the entire dorm building was milling about on the quad as a team of firefighters investigated what the hell set off the alarm. Bones's thumb suddenly stroked Jim's wrist, making Jim jump and break their connection.

Strange touch.

Bones didn't directly comment on Jim being startled. He instead simply asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Jim said, speaking too quickly, quickly enough that he knew Bones was raising an eyebrow before Jim even looked back at him. He focused on the wind, focused on it blowing away from the dorm building, focused on not being able to smell smoke. Abruptly, Jim remembered to ask, "You good?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm alright--"

"Good, good." Jim felt himself nodding and retreating, almost as if an alien had taken possession of his body to make him run away. "I'm gonna check on something at my dorm. Looks like the firefighters are clearing the building."

Bones turned to glance at the firefighters that were, indeed, saying something about how the dorm building was still in good standing, and Jim didn't give Bones a chance to say anything else as he bid him good night and absolutely did not walk away from the scene as quickly as possible.

Both Jim and Bones were safe. They had gotten out of the dorm. Jim wasn't even sure if there had actually been a fire or if the alarm had went off for any other reason.

They were okay.

Which was the thought that Jim tried to cling to throughout the rest of the evening, barely paying attention to his dorm, his roommate, the argument they had before Jim retreated back out into the night. Jim wasn't quite sure how long he was on one of the benches on the outskirts of the quad nestled in between his dorm building and the hangers, but it wasn't anywhere close to enough time for him to get his brain to settle down.

It took him a few seconds too long to look over at Bones when Bones somehow found him and sat down on the other end of the bench.

"Why are you out here?" Jim asked. His voice did not crack from being dry with disuse from the evening, thank you very much.

"'Cause you are," was the answer. "Ya ran off on me. What's rattlin' around in your head?"

"Thought you'd be heading to bed by now," Jim said instead. "Your room is okay, right?"

"It is," Bones said. "No damage to the building. No fire," and Jim hoped that Bones didn't notice Jim's breath hitching at that, "just a dumbass cadet who is now banned by their roommate from using their stove because they burned soup."

"What? Soup?" Jim blinked, the absurdity of the story nearly snapping the last tendrils of panic from curling around Jim's chest. "How the hell do you burn soup?"

Bones shrugged, a crooked smile on his face. "No idea. Jim, what's this?" His question was gentle, as was his foot nudging the box by Jim's feet.

"...My belongings. From my dorm. Guess not really my dorm anymore."

"What?" Bones sounded so shocked that Jim's eyes widened as he stared at his friend. "Jim, you're not leavin' Starfleet--"

"No, no." Jim shook his head. "Just, uh... Well, since I don't really hang out at my dorm often, really just to sleep if I decide to sleep there, my roommate kind of moved his boyfriend in."

"So, you just... let him have the room?" Bones asked, and Jim didn't have an answer.

Because he didn't just let his roommate have the dorm, not really, but Jim's brain had been too crowded with too many memories that afternoon for him to put up much of a fight. His roommate had shouted something about how his boyfriend moving in wasn't too much different than Jim living with his best friend, and Jim figured his roommate wasn't entirely wrong, but Jim couldn't just assume that Bones would put up with him like that even though he technically had been already--

"Well, c'mon then." Bones stood and picked up the box, making Jim gape. "It's gettin' late."

"Bones--Wait!" Jim hadn't had the energy to move from the bench in hours, but as soon as Bones started walking away, Jim's feet were spurred into action to follow.

"For what?" Bones turned towards him. "Ya got anything else back at your old dorm?"

He really didn't, and the box suddenly looked pitiful.

"I should go to the administrative office," Jim said, sounding uncertain despite his best efforts. "Right? Find an unassigned dorm?"

"It's long after hours, Kid," Bones said. "Where else were you plannin' on being tonight?"

Jim tried again. "I can't impose on you--"

"Why the hell not?"

And Bones didn't sound upset with his question, not really, more like confused, because why the hell couldn't Jim just stay at Bones's dorm when he's done so plenty of times already throughout the year?

Because the burn of fire was a really bad touch.

"Jim." Bones turned and backtracked until he was in front of Jim, the box playing the role of a barrier. A cross between gentle and casual, Bones asked, "Have you experienced a fire before in your life?"

Jim returned Bones's stare and eventually nodded.

"Are you worried about my dorm building?" was the next question.

"It's stupid, isn't it?" Jim blurted. "Nothing happened. Someone was just dumb enough to burn soup. There was no fire, it was just the alarms, and your room was untouched--"

"But it was still triggering," Bones stated, effectively cutting off Jim's rambling. "Look, Kid, I can't make any promises that we'll never hear the alarms again, but they did their job well. We got a warning, we got out. No one got hurt, least of all us."

"I know, and that's good--"

"An' I wouldn't let anything happen to you," Bones continued. "Nothing will touch you as long as I can help it, alright?"

Jim pretended it was the breeze that made him shiver. Trying to joke and failing miserably at it, Jim asked, "Sure, and how are you going to do that after graduation?"

A smirk flickered across Bones's face. "Guess I'll have to be right next to you, then. It's a CMO's job to make sure his captain stays in one piece, right?"

Jim stared at Bones, hardly believing what he heard but letting the words wash over him and bolster his spirit just the same. "Really? You mean that?"

"For some goddamn reason, yes," Bones said. "We ready to go back to the dorm?"

"...Yeah. Let's go."

They walked about halfway back to the dorm before Jim remembered to take his box back from Bones.

Jim meant to use the box as a stark reminder that he needed to get a new bed somewhere in Starfleet Academy's mess of dorm rooms. He placed it directly beside the couch, almost in such a way that it would be a tripping hazard to make sure Jim didn't forget about it, and Bones didn't comment about its placement. Instead, Bones made sure the couch had another pillow and somehow found three extra blankets so there was no chance that Jim wouldn't be comfortable. Jim was drained enough from the fire alarms, his ex-roommate's attitude, and the late time to just pass out as soon as he lay down.

He woke up late, and would have dashed off to the administrative office immediately if Bones hadn't pressed a bowl of oatmeal into his hands (quick touch, okay touch), determined that Jim wouldn't leave the dorm without having something in his stomach.

"Ya missed dinner last night," Bones grumbled, "and I'll be damned if you skip breakfast, too."

"I skip breakfast all the time--"

"Not anymore."

Jim shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. "Won't ma'e it--"

"Chew and swallow your food before talkin', for God's sake."

Jim rolled his eyes but did as Bones said. "I won't make it to the offices before my first class if you don't let me leave now. I had a bite--"

"What, afraid the administrative offices are gonna pick up an' move? Don't worry about that," Bones said. "Slow down and eat."

Jim stared at Bones's back as he made himself some breakfast and poured what Jim was sure was at least his second cup of coffee already. When Bones turned back to see Jim looking, it was Bones's turn to roll his eyes before bringing everything over to the kitchen table.

Including Jim's bowl of oatmeal.

"Sit down," Bones said, and he took his own seat. It still took Jim a few seconds too long to listen.

Considering Jim usually ran out of his previous dorm room almost as soon as he woke up, actually taking the time to sit and eat breakfast was a bit of a marvel. Doubly so because someone else had made him said breakfast. He had dinner at Bones's dorm plenty of times, had bought dinner himself for the pair of them as well, but it felt a little too domestic to wake up and have breakfast with Bones.

Not that Jim minded the feeling.

Unfortunately, he reveled in it for a little too long considering it was Bones who looked at the chronometer and mentioned the time, lightly asking when Jim's first class was. Jim absolutely did not miss the smirk Bones had when Jim accused Bones of making Jim feel relaxed enough to let the time pass by as much as it had when Jim all but ran out of the dorm and across campus.

Jim's classes were busy that day, busy enough that Jim forgot about visiting the administrative offices until he was already heading back to Bones's dorm. Which sounded ridiculous even in his own head -- he needed to find an available dorm for himself so he wasn't forever crashing at Bones's dorm despite already being so used to automatically going to Bones's dorm at the end of the day.

He had an apology ready for forgetting to go to the administrative offices, but it died on his lips when he reached Bones's dorm just to see Bones directing a couple of maintenance workers in adding a second twin bed to the place. The nightstand that had been next to Bones's bed was now sitting at the side of the couch as a makeshift end table so there would be enough room for space in between the two beds at the back of the room, their headboards against the wall below the dorm's solitary window.

Bones caught Jim's gaze and actually looked a little nervous, watching Jim for a reaction while having his head cradled in his hand. Regardless, his voice was casual as Bones said, "Not sure where else to put your bed. Any suggestions?"

"I...No." Jim shook his head, his eyes not even really looking at the second bed and instead glancing at the maintenance workers who seemed relieved not to have to move anything else. Jim was vaguely aware of Bones thanking the workers as they left but he didn't move from his spot, couldn't move from his spot until Bones was suddenly in front of him.

Bones winced. "Hell... Jim, you alright? I overstepped, didn't I?"

And Bones's hand hovered in front of Jim's face, not moving any closer despite obviously wanting to. Jim actually didn't flinch away, but he must have looked confused enough for Bones to quietly clarify with, "You're cryin'."

"What?" Jim wiped at his face quickly. "I, uh--sorry. I didn't, um..."

Bones didn't move, stayed as a solid presence before Jim, until he asked, "May I?" And Jim nodded, even if he wasn't sure what Bones was asking, but he trusted Bones and he found his brain thinking okay touch, soft touch when Bones gently and deliberately dried the few traitorous tears with his own sleeve that Jim had missed.

"This okay?" Bones asked, gesturing to the second bed now in the dorm room.

"You're asking me?" Jim blurted. "Are you okay with this, with me permanently crashing here?"

"Jim, don't you think I am," Bones said dryly, "since I'm the one who arranged for a second bed to be put in here?"

...Okay, that made sense. What didn't make sense was that there were still some damn tears running down his face and, shit, Bones was making his brows all furrowed and worried, and Jim really didn't want that.

Jim took a deep breath and said, "Thank you, Bones. Really."

"You're welcome," Bones said slowly, sounding entirely unconvinced. "Figured we'd make it work, what with how often we're together anyway. If you don't want this, though, that's fine--"

"No, you're right," Jim said. "This arrangement is perfect, as long as you're okay with it, which obviously you are since..." Jim gestured rather needlessly to the second bed.

"What matters is if you're okay with this, Kid," Bones insisted.

And it was, really, but Jim was just realizing how much smaller the dorm seemed with a second bed, but that was okay because Bones was always considerate when it came to Jim, and there really wasn't anything to worry about because it was Bones. Even if they did bump into each other more often than not now that there was less room, Bones was okay, and it actually seemed like he wanted Jim to be around, which was kind of a novelty.

Bones didn't touch Jim without permission and, even if he did, it wouldn't be because Bones would try to hurt or chase Jim away.

"I am okay," Jim said, and he tried to figure out how to explain that to Bones while giving his friend a watery smile. "I just... My other roommate didn't like me enough to even be alright with me just sleeping in our dorm, and now you're sacrificing your single dorm to squeeze me in so I won't have to figure out how to live with another stranger, so I'm a little..."

"Overwhelmed?" Bones finished for him, looking a bit more relaxed and relieved at the explanation, so Jim nodded.

He was absolutely sincere when he said, "Thanks again, Bones."

Bones's hand flexed but he refrained from bringing it anywhere near Jim even as he smiled and said, "Glad to have ya around, Kid."

Just like that, they fell into their normal routine. Jim's school bag dropped down on his side of the couch and he asked Bones what he could do to help with dinner, and Bones predictably shooed Jim away from the kitchenette as he started cooking.

Bones ranted about his basic engineering class talking about transporters and how he didn't trust the damn things in the slightest since, "who the hell is okay with their atoms getting scrambled?" and Jim could only smile at his friend's back while trying to squash the anxiety that began growing the more time passed.

Jim showered after dinner, and it wasn't the first time he used Bones's shower but it was weird to see Jim's shampoo and soap in there instead of just bumming off of Bones's products. It was even weirder to step out of the bathroom to see Bones putting his spare sheets on the second -- well, Jim's -- bed.

"If you're not okay with this after a night or two," Bones suddenly said, and it snapped Jim's attention from the bed to his friend, "then we'll talk to the administrative offices."

"Same to you," Jim said, wanting this to be just as much of Bones's choice as it was his. Bones raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with Jim throwing the statement back at him, but he did snort when Jim added, "I could snore like a broken down shuttle, you know."

"If ya did," Bones said, just barely grazing Jim's side (okay touch) as he passed by to the bathroom, "then we may need to go to the hospital to get your sinuses checked out."

"Why would I need to go to the hospital," Jim called after him, "when my roommate is the best doctor on campus?"

"I may be a doctor, Jim," Bones retaliated through the bathroom door, "but I ain't a miracle worker."

Jim smiled at the closed door, musing on how it was a miracle that Bones was handling Jim being Jim so well.

Gingerly, Jim lay down on his bed, trying to get used to the new angle and the new wall beside him and the fact that it would be Bones in the bed just a couple of feet over instead of his ex-roommate across the room who had gotten sick of him much too quickly, and what if Bones did too, it was a really different thing to hang out all day together and then share a space at night--

"Lights," Bones commanded as he stumbled into his own bed, and the room was plunged in darkness except for the sliver of moonlight that came in from the window.

Jim froze in place, just listening to the soft sounds of Bones getting comfortable, and he tried to cling to that rather than the shapes of the dancing shadows surrounding him.

He was safe. He knew that. The clean sheets and blankets were soft, and soft touches were good. Bones was nearby, really close by, and for some reason Bones wanted Jim close by, too.

And Jim would get used to it, he knew he would, he (almost, sort of) did in his original dorm, and it wasn't like sleeping in Bones's dorm was a new thing. He was just in a bed this time rather than curled up on the couch. There wasn't that much of a difference between the two, right? He just felt a little more out in the open while laying on a bed rather than scrunched up in a corner of the couch--

The shadows flickered.

Jim rolled over to face the wall, trying to block out the images of shadows that looked too much like giant men coming for little kids, but what if they actually were giant men and Jim needed to be on the look-out, so Jim rolled back over so he could glimpse the front door in an instant, and maybe he should have double-checked if the window behind him was locked--

Bones shifted and made Jim jump. Jim glanced over at Bones, being able to just make out his friend's frame in the dark. Bones's breathing was even, steady, and Jim focused on the soft sound to block out any of his wayward thoughts.

Carefully, Jim rolled over onto his side so he was facing Bones. Jim inexplicably wondered if they were close enough for him to reach over and touch Bones's sleeve, arm, hand, and he almost tried. Instead, Jim took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting Bones sleeping peacefully be the last image he saw before sleep claimed him.

Jim woke up to the smell of eggs and bacon, coming to the world slowly until his eyes realized that the bed in front of him was empty. He bolted upright and his heartrate slowed only when he heard Bones say, "G'mornin'," from the kitchenette.

"Was about to wake ya for breakfast," Bones said, filling in the silence as Jim internally reined in whatever panic had been about to overtake him. "Sleep alright?"

Jim watched as Bones placed a couple of plates at the table and he moved to disentangle himself from his blankets. Bones raised an eyebrow at him, pausing to no doubt assess why Jim hadn't said a word yet, but did smile to return Jim's own when Jim said, "Yeah, yeah, I did."

As Jim joined Bones for breakfast, he vaguely realized that it was the truth.

And it got easier as the next few weeks went by, so much so that eventually Jim realized that he was actually happy. He was happy to be living with Bones, and he hoped that Bones felt the same way and he figured it was a good thing that Bones hadn't hinted at wanting to kick Jim out yet. Bones made sure Jim ate regular meals, which Jim couldn't remember ever doing in his life, and Jim helped Bones with homework when he could, which he knew Bones was grateful for even if he did tease Jim for being a "genius right outta the womb."

The only time Bones raised his voice was when he was passionately ranting about his classes or "dumbass patients," not even when Jim returned late to the dorm after a barfight or an evening with a friend with benefits. Granted, those situations became few and far in between once Jim realized he wanted to spend more time with Bones at their dorm instead of being out all night.

Despite their routines and jokes and quality time together, there was still a niggling feeling crawling under his skin that Jim couldn't quite name that reared up more and more often when Bones and he spent the evenings together.

It took a long time for Jim to realize that he actually missed Bones's touch which, considering how Jim lived his life up until then, was a really fucking weird revelation.

Even with the close quarters, the only time Bones really touched Jim was to patch him up when needed, and Jim had been content to let him. Bones always did so with permission and always detailed what he was going to do, and Jim was always okay with it. He was okay with it because it was Bones and Bones would be insufferable if Jim didn't let him heal any bumps, cuts, and bruises Jim was apt to get, and Jim figured that was all it was.

But...

Well, with Jim and Bones opting to stay in rather than go out more often than not, there was no real reason for Bones to touch Jim. Which Jim thought he would be good with. No touching means no potential bad touches, right? Except it was Bones, and there had never been a time when Bones's touch was bad throughout all the time that the pair had known one another.

And Bones was never a stranger to touch, which Jim realized with a startling fervor whenever he and Bones did go out with friends. As grumbly as he was, Bones was the Mom Friend -- he always had an available hand to help steady any tipsy friends, automatically reached out to brush off dirt and lint from collars, was more than willing to shove a napkin in people's faces if they needed it and, no matter how much Bones himself had to drink, he was always the first one to sling an arm around anyone else who needed someone to make sure they got home safe.

Unless it was Jim.

Of course, the pair lived together, so Bones was there to make sure Jim got back to the dorm in one piece anyway, but he always hovered just out of reach. Jim warred with himself on that particular not-so-fun fact after most nights out, but he didn't quite do anything about it until he had just enough alcohol coursing through his system.

"Watch the table," Bones said predictably after he opened the door and waited for Jim to go through the threshold first. Jim did not bump into the coffee table as he walked fairly steadily -- in his humble opinion -- to the couch, plopping down more so in the middle rather than what had become his side, and he squinted up at Bones as his friend locked up their dorm for the night.

"No fair," Jim said.

Bones raised an eyebrow and sounded a little too amused when he asked, "What's not fair?"

"You're not drunk."

Bones chuckled. "Told ya I was only havin' the one when we decided to go out," he said. "Can't afford to be hungover for my anthropology test tomorrow."

Jim tried to blow a raspberry at Bones but he may have only succeeded in sticking his tongue out.

"Gonna take off your shoes an' jacket," Bones asked, "or do ya need help?"

The question was familiar, and Jim always declined Bones's help because, really, Jim was used to doing the basic tasks no matter how drunk he was. Tonight, though, he studied Bones putting his own jacket away and decided, "Help?"

Bones paused by the closet, brows furrowed just a little bit which made Jim chuckle, but he dutifully reached Jim's side. He started with Jim's shoes, murmuring what he was doing, and Jim wondered if that was an automatic thing now, what with Bones just used to narrating his actions when it came to being around Jim. The shoes didn't take long to be abandoned, and Jim felt a wave of disappointment that Bones didn't make any skin contact during the task.

"Can ya unzip your jacket?" Bones asked when he sat back up and joined Jim on the couch.

Jim watched him move and it took a few seconds for him to comprehend the question. He was able to unzip his jacket, but his arms felt heavy. Carefully, Bones took hold of the jacket's collar to start tugging the sleeves off his shoulders, and all Jim felt was the fabric.

"How come you don't touch me?" Jim blurted when the jacket's sleeves were down to his elbows.

Bones stared at him, eyes wide, maybe a little startled, before he said, "You don't like touch," as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"True," Jim muttered, and he tried to wiggle his arms out of the sleeves. Bones helped, but still really only did so by holding onto the jacket. Jim frowned. "But you're okay with touch."

"I am," Bones agreed, and Jim was successfully freed from the jacket. "But you're not. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable."

Jim watched as Bones moved to hang up the jacket in their tiny closet, watched Bones's hands deftly put it on the hanger, and Jim must be drunker than he thought if he was getting miffed at his jacket for being handled by Bones.

"You've spent," Jim said, slouching further into the couch, "your entire time knowing me makin' sure I'm comfortable. Well, I'm comfortable... I'm comfortable with you."

Bones stood in front of him, peering down at Jim with an expression that Jim didn't understand. Bones's brows weren't furrowed and his frown lines weren't pronounced. His eyes looked at Jim with something soft that made Jim's stomach swoop even as Bones scrutinized him.

"Jim," Bones said, in a tone that was as soft as his gaze, "I don't know if you'll remember this conversation in th' morning. I'm always gonna warn or ask ya if it's okay to touch you until you tell me otherwise. But know that you never need to ask me, alright?"

Jim blinked heavily, mulling over Bones's words. They sounded fine. That all sounded fair. Which made perfect sense, because Bones was always fair to him.

"Okay," Jim agreed, then pleasantly informed his friend, "My mouth tastes like sandpaper."

Bones laughed quietly and Jim didn't notice when he got the glass of water to offer Jim. Jim also didn't quite remember how and when he got to his bed, nor did he remember anything from when he was sleeping. It was kind of nice to be so drunk once in a while that no dreams bothered him.

He did, however, remember the conversation in the morning.

Jim took a few extra minutes to actually stretch and drag himself out of bed before the previous night pieced itself together in his mind. He glanced over at Bones still snoozing and tried to be quiet as he went about his morning routine. In the safety of the bathroom, Jim took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the sudden anxiety he felt as he recalled what Bones said, what Jim said, and he wasn't sure what to think. Bones hadn't seemed uneasy from Drunk Jim's words, at least.

By the time Jim was done with the bathroom, Bones was up and starting his coffee. "Hey," Bones greeted, casual. "Sleep alright? How are ya feelin'?"

His head hurt and the sleeves of his pajamas were itchy enough for him to fuss with them, but Jim said, "I'm alright."

Bones's eyes glanced down at Jim's hands, seeing him tug on the edge of his sleeves, needing to touch something that felt okay, and Jim made himself stop before Bones could ask.

But Jim didn't need to ask Bones.

Jim reached out and pulled Bones into a hug before he could talk himself out of it. Bones took a second to relax into the hug, but he brought up his own arms, solid and secure, around Jim and Jim's brain almost fried.

Strange touch, strong touch, not bad touch, okay touch...

Jim pulled away too quickly and said, "Thanks. For last night."

"You're welcome, Kid," Bones said, acting as if the hug wasn't the most awkward thing Jim had ever done, and Jim had a feeling that Bones wasn't just speaking of last night. "Eggs or oatmeal this morning?"

Bones didn't comment on how long it took Jim to pick oatmeal, and Jim took a deep breath as some sense of normalcy fell over their usual morning routine.

But the normalcy didn't last long.

It was fine, of course, everything was always fine with Bones. It was mostly Jim's fault, Jim and not knowing how to deal with both not liking touch but also wanting to feel Bones. He couldn't bring himself to just regularly reach out and put a hand on Bones's shoulder, hook an arm around Bones's own, just fucking hug Bones, couldn't bring himself to just regularly do something simple to taste the comforting weight of Bones physically being there.

Bones had somehow wiggled his way under his skin in such a way that didn't make Jim nauseous. Jim wasn't quite sure why, especially since he had lived his entire life keeping people at arm's length, and trying to figure out the reason was starting to make Jim even more jittery.

Throughout Jim being completely awkward about trying to figure out his boundaries with touch, Bones was just there.

Calm.

Steady.

Endearingly grumpy about everything except Jim (usually).

Most humans needed touch. It was some biological need. Jim knew that touch was normal for Bones, but he was always conscious of Jim's comfort level with it. Which eventually made Jim try to think of touch from Bones's point of view. If Jim could figure out a way to think more of Bones's needs and comfort level, then touching could become easier.

Bones needed and liked touch. Therefore, as Bones's roommate and best friend, Jim should be more than willing and able to give that to him. And he was willing to do this, wanted to be able to do this with Bones, Jim's own discomfort be damned.

It was this thought that came with the single-minded determination that Jim applied to most problems he dealt with throughout his life, and it was why Bones barely stepped into their dorm one evening before Jim had launched himself at him.

"Whoa--!"

Jim immediately released Bones and watched, dumbfounded, as Bones almost fell backwards out of the dorm from the sudden loss of additional weight.

Bones steadied himself against the threshold, both brows furrowed in absolute confusion as he stared at Jim, before pulling himself fully into the dorm. After the doors hissed shut behind him, Bones greeted Jim with a questioning, "Hi?"

"Hi," Jim said in return, and stopped himself from fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Bones didn't quite sound okay, but he didn't sound upset, which Jim took as a good sign. Bones did turn the question right back at Jim, asking, "Are you alright, Kid?"

"I'm okay."

"Anything special happen to warrant that kind of greetin'?"

Jim shook his head, and Bones took an instant to give him a crooked smile.

"Well, alright." Bones put down his school bag and stood up straight. "Still want a hug?"

Jim returned Bones's smile and nodded, reaching around Bones who didn't hesitate at all in hugging Jim right back. Jim was able to hold onto the hug for about four seconds longer than usual before he needed to step back.

Okay touch, not bad touch.

Then Bones asked about dinner, like usual. Jim made his suggestions, like usual, which Bones vetoed because they were all take-out places, also like usual. Bones gave Jim a couple of choices of what he could make and he went into the kitchenette to get started after Jim made his choice.

Unlike usual, Jim hovered a little too close as Bones cooked. Also unlike usual, Bones never shooed Jim away and, instead, put Jim to work.

And if Jim's hands brushed against Bones's own more often than was necessary as they passed each other pots and utensils, neither of them commented.

Jim did his best to build up his tolerance for touch that didn't involve sex or fighting, and Bones seemed to be a willing partner in that endeavor. Which was great, since Jim really didn't care to try to do this with anyone else that he knew.

Bones was safe. Bones was familiar. Bones was totally fine with Jim reaching out to him.

It was an added bonus that Jim believed that Bones liked it, too. He was fine with Jim slinging an arm over his shoulders occasionally, holding onto his wrist when tugging him somewhere, even leaning against his side when the pair ended the evenings on the couch with a holovid.

Bones would bring a hand up to cover Jim's own whenever Jim's arm was over his shoulders, he would twist his own wrist so he could hold onto Jim in return, and he would pull Jim even closer whenever Jim sidled up to him on the couch.

And it was all... fine. Jim's mind was okay with Bones's touch. He did his best to relax whenever Bones reciprocated because he took Jim's touching as permission.

Until it all came to a head one night.

Granted, the night had already started out as bad, what with Jim and Bones meeting up with some friends at one of the local bars. Another bar patron had a little too much to drink and was flirting a little too much with everyone at their table. Jim eventually tried to become a barrier between the drunkard and their friends, to get rid of the nuisance, but the drunk somehow took that as Jim flirting in return.

The drunk moved faster than Jim thought possible and grabbed Jim's arm, yanking Jim forward.

Bad touch, bad touch...

Jim may have cursed out the drunk or shouted something, but nothing deterred the drunk until Bones abruptly appeared back from the bar and nearly dislocated the drunk's elbow.

"Beat it," Bones snarled, and he hovered by Jim, ensuring that Jim was okay but not daring to touch.

Jim's mind raced with the last touch being bad and Jim wasn't sure if he wanted Bones's touch to counteract it, but Bones wouldn't do so without permission and Jim couldn't figure out his words.

They returned to the dorm not too long after, Jim trying to squash any anxiety (nothing happened, the bad touch wasn't long, he was safe) that started growing. He hoped to sleep it off, barely remembering if he said good night to Bones.

Anxiety and bad touches were a winning combination in making Jim's nightmares return.

It started dark, like being hidden, which back then meant everything could be okay for the night. Jim couldn't tell if he was hiding under a bed or in one of the caves on the outskirts of the colony, but if he could stay quiet, it wouldn't matter.

There was smoke. A whisper of it on the wind, maybe not even there at all, but his nose caught something of it, and he couldn't tell if it was a cigar or the beginnings of a fire.

Someone was crying. Jim couldn't see which kid it was, found that he couldn't move since his arm was entangled in something, something rough and tight and yanking, a bad touch, bad touch, his stomach was hurting, something gnawing at him from the inside, like something was trying to dig its way out from under his skin.

The fire blazed, phasers filled the air, and the crying turned to screaming.

"Jim?"

Who was calling him? One of the kids? He needed to help them--

"Jim! Jim, c'mon!"

It was one voice, just one voice calling him, deep and panicked at something, and maybe Jim needed to run away, stay hidden.

"Jim, wake up for me--"

There was a hand on his arm and Jim lashed out before he could figure out what kind of touch it was. The smack was accompanied by a southern accent cursing, and Jim was awake enough to realize that he had been the one screaming.

"Lights, 20%," came Bones's voice, and the dorm brightened up enough for Jim to see Bones holding onto his face. Bones was staring at Jim, hazel eyes trying to stay locked onto his own as if they could give him any answers.

And Jim's face was wet and his throat hurt and he was pressed up in the corner of the wall, his bed's headboard nearly digging into his back as he stared at Bones in return.

"Ya back with me?" Bones asked, voice low and casual.

"I..." Jim looked around, drinking in the familiar sights of the dorm room, seeing Bones's bed empty and abandoned, his blankets nearly on the floor as he probably bolted out of bed to reach Jim's side, and Jim realized that his legs and one arm were totally tangled in his own blankets. He tried to shake himself loose but ultimately stilled when Bones reached out to help, moving slowly and carefully so he only touched the blankets and not Jim.

"Did I hurt you?" Jim asked, his hand twitching instead of reaching towards Bones's face.

"I'm fine," Bones said quickly. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah--"

"Bullshit." And the word didn't sound angry, just tired, coded in sympathy, as Bones refused to let Jim look away from him. "Jim, talk to me. What was that all about?"

"Nothing, it was just a n-nightmare." Jim twisted so he was staring at the wall instead of chancing seeing any disappointment in Bones's eyes. His vision was blurry and he blinked rapidly to dispel his tears but instead of retreating, they started falling, and Jim couldn't be subtle about wiping his face.

He rubbed at his arm, the one that had been yanked, the one that had been tangled in his blankets, and it wasn't comforting at all. Jim's breath stuttered, panic clawing its way through his chest. Bones moved, sitting further back up on Jim's bed, giving him a reminder that he wasn't alone but still giving space. Jim's gaze shot over at him, seeing Bones's eyes watch as Jim failed to self-soothe.

Jim hiccupped, tried desperately not to, tried to calm himself down and joke. "You know," he said, "this is why my old roommate got sick of me so quickly. He always said he was gonna send you fl-flowers or a fruit basket. Did he ever do that?"

Bones's brows furrowed. "No, Jim--"

"He should have," Jim barreled on. "You deserved them. He kept saying he would send you gifts as thanks for taking me off his hands so often. He actually was able to get some sleep instead of randomly being woken up by m-my fucked up memories--"

"Memories?" Bones's echo was too soft, too heartbroken, and Jim immediately backpedaled.

"I didn't mean that--"

"Jim--"

"Please. Don't--"

"When was th' last time someone just held you?"

If Jim could have merged with the wall behind him, he would have. He tried to swallow and clear his throat, only able to shake his head instead of having any sort of words with which to answer.

Bones's gaze sharpened. "Ya said you were comfortable with me," he said, voice hushed against Jim's harsh breathing. "That still true?"

"Of course it is," Jim breathed out in a rush. Because it was true, it was probably the truest thing about Jim right now, that he was comfortable with Bones even when he was embarrassed and hurting and just wanted to rip off his skin because he was sweating and shaking and crying and everything touching him just felt wrong--

Bones's hand was in Jim's hair. Bones's hand was carding through Jim's hair, gentle instead of yanking, and Jim absolutely froze.

"This alright?" Bones whispered, his ministrations never slowing. Jim took a few long seconds, his brain trying to catalogue the touch before he decided that it was good.

He nodded. Bones shifted closer.

"Okay," Bones said, and his hand went through Jim's hair down to in between his shoulders. Bones began rubbing circles in that spot, then asked, "How about this?"

It was a little weird, but it was Bones, and Jim realized that Bones had moved close enough so most of his arm was behind Jim. Only his hand was touching Jim, but if Jim just leaned back a little more...

The circles slowed to a near halt, only Bones's thumb starting to stroke where it could reach. Bones whispered, "Too much?"

Maybe not enough.

"I don't know," Jim admitted, shuddering.

"Alright, s'okay," Bones said, and his hand was carding through Jim's hair again. "We'll go back to this for a while."

Jim focused on the feel, on it being Bones, on Bones's hand running gently through his hair, on the occasional scritch of Bones's nails on his scalp, and Jim's breathing eventually stopped stuttering. He wasn't sure how long Bones had his hand in Jim's hair, but Bones never complained or slowed his actions, and Jim wasn't sure when he started leaning more towards the touch.

"Bones." Jim curled towards Bones, reaching out himself to cling to Bones's pajama shirt, scrunching the soft fabric in his grip, pulling just enough to feel resistance from it stretching around Bones's body. "B-Bones..."

Bones smoothly moved to accommodate Jim as if it was the easiest thing in the world. He dropped his hand that had been carding Jim's hair to behind Jim, twisting so his other hand could resume the touch.

"That's it, Darlin'," Bones's murmured, cradling the back of Jim's head while the other stayed wrapped protectively around Jim's back. "Everythin' is okay. You're not alone. I got you."

And Jim burst into tears. His hands scrabbled for purchase, grip flexing at Bones's shirt, arms, chest, whatever he could so his brain could recognize good touch, safe touch.

The only movement Bones made was to occasionally hold Jim tighter, his hands applying comforting weight and pressure to Jim's body, a physical shield to the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions that were trying to tear Jim down. Bones held Jim like he was precious and let Jim take as long as he needed to cling and feel safe.

Eventually, Jim ran out of tears. He was a little lightheaded, unsure if embarrassment was something he should be feeling, but it took him even longer to detach himself from Bones's side. Bones didn't fight him, didn't try to hold him still, just let Jim take the lead.

"Do you get nightmares like this often?" Bones eventually asked when both of them were sitting up next to each other against the headboard. The question was casual without any hint of judgement.

"It's been awhile," Jim admitted, needing to clear his throat in the middle of his words. "I'm sorry--"

"Don't."

Jim took a deep breath. "Had them more often while in my original dorm. Was worried they would have showed up before now after moving in with you."

Bones's next question was a little confused. "What's the difference between your old dorm and this one?"

"...You." Jim averted his gaze after Bones caught it. "You either, heh, you're either a fantastic actor or you actually don't mind me being around.

"My, uh, childhood," because Jim had already let it slip that his nightmares were fueled by memories, there was no taking that back, "wasn't the greatest. I beat it, I survived, but my brain can be an asshole sometimes and... I'm sorry I woke you. And hit you, I really didn't mean to do that--"

"Jim, there's nothin' to apologize for," Bones said. "Did you want to talk about it--"

"Nope." Jim brought his knees up and buried his head in his arms against them, curling up, making himself smaller.

Bones was quiet for a moment before he asked, "Can I hug you again?"

And before Jim could really think about it, he blurted out, "Please," and there was no hesitation when it came to Bones wrapping his arms around Jim.

It was a nice touch.

Jim buried his face against the crook of Bones's neck, his nose feeling Bones's pulse, his alive, steady pulse, and he breathed in deeply. The rhythm of Bones's breathing lulled Jim enough to calm his own heart and sleep soon dragged him under again.

He stirred to the streams of sunlight trying to shine through the cracks of the window's blinds and his face still pressed against Bones's shoulder.

His brain sluggishly informed him that it wasn't a bad touch.

Neither was Bones's arm still wrapped around him, moving slowly up until his hand could card through Jim's hair again.

"G'mornin'," Bones whispered, and all Jim wanted to do was curl back up against Bones's side.

It scared him in a different way than his nightmares had.

"Hi," Jim said, his voice just as quiet as he sat up. He immediately missed the feel of Bones's hand when it dropped away after Jim moved, and that was weird.

Ignoring both that and how gentle Bones's gaze was, Jim winced as he realized that Bones hadn't been able to move at all throughout the rest of the night. "God, I'm sorry. Your neck must be killing you."

"Nah, I'm fine," Bones said, and Jim wasn't sure if he believed him. "Slept in worse positions during times I've been stuck at the hospital overnight. You alright? How's your back after bein' curled up like that?"

"I'm okay," Jim said, and he was. Maybe his back was a little sore, but it was nothing compared to everything else that had happened during the night. He paused before trying to say, "I'm so sorry about everything last night--"

"No." Bones shook his head. "Everythin' is alright--"

"No, I woke you up, I hurt you--"

"Jim, we're fine--"

"You don't deserve any of that--"

"Neither did you." Bones's words cut through Jim's own, and Jim faltered. "You never deserved to be hurt, still don't deserve to be hurt, and I will say that until I'm blue in th' face to make you believe me."

Jim swallowed hard, swallowed down the instinct to argue because he didn't want to argue with Bones, it didn't make sense to. He looked away, tried to take a deep breath, ignoring his fight-or-flight instincts and took a few seconds to still the tremors in his limbs.

A hint of a smile, a poor attempt at a joke made Jim say quietly, "Probably gonna be a long time before that happens, Bones."

Bones's hand came into Jim's line of vision and moved slowly enough to give Jim plenty of warning before his fingers lightly touched Jim's chin, directing Jim to look at him again.

A real smile, a tired smile, accompanied Bones's words when he said, "I'm not goin' anywhere, Kid. There's plenty of time."

Jim's throat started to burn and tears pricked at his eyes again, but Jim was too exhausted to let them fall. What fell instead was a muffled, "Fuck, Bones," when Jim dropped his head back on Bones's shoulder. Bones brought a hand back up to cradle Jim's head, not doing anything until Jim pulled himself together enough to attempt to get off his bed.

"What's happening with your classes today?" Bones asked, and he chuckled at the no-doubt baffled look Jim gave him at the change of subject. "Got tests or anythin'?"

Jim shook his head. "Just a couple of lectures today, really. You?"

"Only had a hospital shift that I already got covered while you were still sleepin'." Bones stood and stretched, then answered Jim's unspoken question. "How do you feel about skippin' today? We'll get breakfast at that doughnut shop just outside of campus an' come back here to relax."

"You think those doughnuts are too doughy," Jim said, unwilling to hide his smile.

"I don't think, I know," Bones said, gruff without any real bite, "but you like 'em."

"We'll go to the smoothie place you like, too."

"Deal." Bones caught Jim's smile and, moving carefully, reached over to run a hand through Jim's hair. Jim took a deep breath, enjoying the good touch. "C'mon, get some water. Can't imagine how dehydrated ya are..."

Bones moved towards the kitchen, ever the dutiful doctor as he got the drink, and Jim chased after him.

They took the day to reset, getting the promised breakfast foods to bring back to the dorm and block out the rest of the world. It was simple to exist with Bones, their talks turning to the usual topics of classes and hospital shifts, things like figuring out plans to find time to go to the hangers to help Bones with his Basic Flight class in between washing loads of laundry and other simple chores.

"How often do you think they'd let me take the test?" Bones asked at one point.

"What?"

"I'm not foolin' myself into thinking I'm passing the test on the first try," Bones grumbled, nearly stuffing the shirt he just folded into his dresser drawers. "How many tries do you think I'd get before Starfleet decides to ground me for good?"

"You're not going to need more than one try," Jim said, and absolutely ignored Bones's roll of his eyes. He hung up one of his cadet uniforms in his own wardrobe before saying, "Even if you did, I can't imagine Starfleet permanently grounding anyone who actually wants to pass Basic Flight. Shouldn't they give you as many tries as you need?"

"Some people are actually hopeless at that kind of stuff, Jim."

"Not you."

"Thanks for the confidence."

Jim said, "Hey, you already promised that you'd be my CMO, so you have to pass Basic Flight." He didn't quite like the distressed wrinkles in Bones's forehead when he furrowed his brows like that, so Jim turned back to his own laundry and added, "Worst-case scenario, I smuggle you aboard my starship. Maybe sedate you with your own hypos so you can't give us away by going, 'Dammit--'"

A powder-blue bundle of fabric smacked Jim's side, and he couldn't help his startled laugh as he nearly fumbled the catch. He stared at it for a moment, seeing "Ole Miss" written in fancy cursive on the front, the red lettering being the sweatshirt's only decoration. Bones only wore the sweatshirt occasionally, it really only being taken out during his very few free days.

Jim's fingers scrunched the collar and sleeves, having never realized how soft the sweatshirt was.

Impulsively, Jim stuffed the sweatshirt over his head, the clean scent of laundry detergent not quite being powerful enough to fully overtake the hint of bourbon and cedar that was Bones's signature body wash. The worn sweatshirt was as warm as the gaze Bones gave Jim, giving him a once-over as Jim straightened the shirt out.

"Looks good on ya," Bones said, his voice low before clearing his throat and returning to folding his clothes.

Jim grinned to himself, feeling extremely pleased even if he couldn't quite figure out why.

It startled him, but he tried not to let it show. Instead, he turned back to his own laundry, throwing out other ways they could get Bones to be comfortable with his Basic Flight test -- "Like hypnosis!" -- and getting a rise out of Bones -- "Are you shittin' me, Kid?" -- while both ignoring and reveling in the comforting feel of Bones's sweatshirt.

The sleeves were a little long, reaching just the end of Jim's fingertips, allowing him to caress and squeeze and play with the fabric throughout the day. Bones didn't seem to mind that Jim had stolen his sweatshirt, and Jim caught the small smiles on Bones's face when the doctor in turn watched Jim fidget with the ends of the sleeves.

Eventually, Jim wore the sweatshirt on days off almost as much, if not more, than Bones did. A piece of his best friend, a helpful reminder to Jim's brain that someone existed that liked Jim's existence in turn and was willing to prove it, had proved it several times. Nightmares still reared up every once in a while, but Bones only seemed to mind them because they hurt Jim rather than because Bones himself lost sleep.

Jim would never be able to repay Bones for being there for him.

Jim tried, though. He was getting better at reaching for Bones, hugs, shoulder pats, quietly leaning against one another, when he could. That stupid niggling voice in Jim's brain mentioned that there was probably a hell of a lot more Jim could do for Bones, but Jim wasn't sure how. Bones seemed to like it when Jim reached out to him, and Jim hoped it was because Bones liked touch rather than just merely being pleased that Jim himself appeared to be healing some of the dark stuff that had been festering within him for most of his life.

Either way, Bones contently reached back for Jim whenever Jim held out his arms first, and Jim hoped that that was enough.

Like when Bones passed Basic Flight on the first try.

"You did it!" Jim's exclamation was punctuated by pumping his fists in the air. His excitement didn't seem to get through to Bones right away, since Bones still stared at the message on his PADD, his face warring between disbelief and relief.

Jim bit his lip, trying to figure out how to snap Bones out of his daze. With both too much and not enough hesitation, Jim reached over to hold onto Bones's shoulders and draw him closer into a hug.

Because Bones responded well to touch, even if Jim was still figuring it out.

The PADD and the hand Bones was holding it with was sandwiched in between their chests, but Bones's free hand splayed across Jim's back, steady and strong and clinging to Jim as soon as Jim closed the gap between them.

"Holy shit, I passed. I passed Basic Flight." Bones's comment was a rush of breath against Jim's ear, and Jim felt more than heard Bones's rumbling laugh even through the brief kiss that was pressed against Jim's temple. "Couldn't have done it without ya, Kid."

"We need to celebrate!" Jim decided, breaking the hug despite his brain telling him that it was a very nice touch because he wasn't quite sure what to do with it, and he tossed Bones his jacket from the closet before donning his own. "We'll get that really expensive bourbon that you like and take-out from your favorite Chinese food place, because that'll be all we can afford after the bourbon--"

And Bones was laughing again and Jim's heart almost burst as he realized that he wanted to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

Jim wasn't quite sure when the pair fell asleep after eating dinner and downing the shared bottle of bourbon. He awoke slowly to the two being on the couch, their heads together as if they had tried to argue over who should use whose shoulder as a pillow. Bones's arm had been wrapped around Jim's back to pull him close and rest against his hip while Jim's hand had a loose hold on Bones's other wrist over his leg.

And the touches weren't bad. They weren't bad at all.

In fact, they were pretty damn good.

Jim took a few seconds too long to catalogue that detail before slowly disentangling himself from Bones. He had a dull headache, one that was expected but nothing he couldn't handle, as he tried to go about his usual morning routine instead of focusing too much on how comfortable leaning against Bones had been throughout the night.

"Mm. Mornin'."

Bones stumbled into the bathroom after Jim within about ten minutes, his eyes only half-open and Jim did his best not to laugh.

"The hell did we drink last night?" Bones muttered. Even if Jim didn't take that as a rhetorical question, Jim didn't get a chance to respond, since Bones murmured, "Right behind ya..."

Bones placed a hand on Jim's waist as he passed by to reach the other side of the bathroom. Jim paused in shaving, his brain suddenly registering the good touch as he watched Bones in the mirror.

Bones gave himself a hypo from his med kit, probably to counteract his hangover, barely wincing at the jab before moving around Jim to grab his toothbrush. He was brushing his teeth for a few good seconds before he finally caught Jim's gaze in the mirror.

And Jim was snapped out of his stupor by Bones giving him a slow wink.

Bones looked absolutely ridiculous with his half-closed eyes and bedhead hair and toothpaste foam clinging to his lips, but his wink still somehow settled the twist of anxiety that had tried to rear up in Jim's chest. Jim responded to the wink with a crooked smile, bizarrely feeling bashful as he resumed his shaving, a feeling that only increased when he heard Bones's low chuckle.

But the feeling was okay, because it was Bones and Bones was safe and gentle for some goddamn reason, and Jim could never thank the universe enough for bringing Bones into his life.

Jim got better with touch as the few years passed by. He still internally categorized touches, something that kept him grounded and kept doing so out of reflex, despite Bones's own touches helping him.

He eventually felt like he was thriving in Starfleet Academy...

Jim didn't flinch nearly as much as he used to when he did well on a test or practical and a professor or fellow cadet shook his hand or patted his shoulder. They were okay touches.

All of Gaila's touches were fun touches.

Neutral, absolutely fair touch was what he thought whenever Uhura shoved him out of Gaila's and her dorm room.

More than okay touch was a new category that Jim eventually placed all of Bones's casual touches -- cleaning up after meals together, Jim leaning against Bones when watching a holovid, nudging each other for attention when one was spending too much damn time studying -- as they existed together.

We did it touch was the only coherent thought Jim had when he reached out to pat Bones's back after they beat the Kobayashi Maru test because he couldn't help himself from reaching for Bones. He didn't miss Bones's disbelieving grin in return.

...until everything went to shit.

I trust you touch when Bones held onto Jim's arm to bring him onto the Enterprise for the Vulcan distress call, even when Bones explained why he was jabbing hypos into Jim's neck and the touch was recategorized into a what the hell touch before Jim was sedated.

Jim didn't even register that Spock had touched him before he was marooned on Delta Vega.

Weirdest thing ever touch when the older Spock placed his fingertips on Jim's face to throw memories and emotions at him until suddenly Jim was crying.

Bad touch, bad touch, bad touch, was all Jim thought when Spock had his hands around his throat. Jim couldn't look at Bones when Spock released him, not with Jim putting on his poker mask instead of showing how fucking terrified he was of everything happening around them, not even when Jim first sat down in the captain's chair.

REALLY. BAD. TOUCH. screamed Jim's mind when Nero's minion was choking him.

Okay touch, what is happening touch, when Captain Pike took the gun from Jim's belt and leaned around him to shoot one of Nero's men. Pike was exhausted, leaning on Jim until they could get him back onto the Enterprise. Bones dashed into the transporter room, called Jim's name, and took Pike from him, their arms brushing, and all Jim could think of was Bones's touch.

And Nero preferred to die rather than negotiate, which Jim was perfectly fine with, and they almost got sucked into a black hole with the Romulans, and all Jim could think of when he tightened his grip on the captain's chair was how he wanted to hold onto Bones.

Then everything was okay.

Well, as okay as it all could be. There were casualties to take care of, decks to clean up or section off, but the Enterprise was heading back towards Earth, limping as quickly as it could after some of the warp cores were detonated to give it a push away from the black hole. Jim eventually was given some relief, Spock highly suggesting that Jim go and get checked up in sickbay, and Jim was certain he surprised the Vulcan by immediately listening to him.

The sight of Bones moving so fluidly in sickbay made Jim pause by the threshold.

Bones dishing out orders to the other doctors and nurses, getting nothing but the respectful, "Yes, Sir," he deserved in response, Bones going from biobed to biobed, typing on PADDs and screens, checking vital signs, rearranging pillows, bandages, hands never stopping...

Until he spotted Jim.

Hazel eyes gave Jim a once-over, always checking, always scrutinizing, and Jim wasn't sure which one of them moved towards the other first. Bones's hands flexed at his side, wanting to reach out, but still knowing Jim so damn well that it was Jim who fully reached out and snagged the sleeve of Bones's blue science shirt.

Bones took Jim's grip in stride and led them both to one of the private sickbay rooms, really just a box with curtains that was supposed to be used for quarantining patients rather than privacy.

"Sit," Bones said, voice low, tired, rough. He gestured to the biobed with the hand that was still in Jim's grip, and Bones moved with Jim when that grip did not release. He reached over to tap at the screen of Jim's vitals calculating from the biobed, doing what he could one-handed until he sighed and gave their connected hands a small shake. "Jim. Ya gotta let go--"

"No." Jim tugged Bones closer until the doctor was standing in between Jim's legs, the pair close but not close enough.

Bones's shoulders dropped. "Okay," was all he said before returning Jim's grip with his own. They both held onto each other's arms, both patient as Bones did a preliminary check-up on Jim, his free hand deftly moving over Jim's skin as Bones murmured what he was doing and all Jim could think of was good touch, good touch, gentle touch, good touch...

Then Bones grazed Jim's neck.

Jim swallowed hard at how featherlight Bones's fingers were...

-- good touch, gentle touch --

...at the familiarity of Bones's fingers...

-- good touch, Bones's touch --

...at how Bones's fingers stroked the bruises on Jim's neck...

-- good touch, Bones's touch, safe touch, Bones, BonesBonesBones --

Jim reached up and cupped Bones's cheek, making Bones's gaze drag back up to Jim's own, and Jim momentarily forgot to breathe at the veil of tears in Bones's eyes. Frustrated tears because they had gotten hurt, relieved tears because they were alive, tears that were now safe to fall if Bones just let them...

Which Bones did when Jim pulled him close enough to kiss.

Bones's lips were chapped and salty, but Jim didn't complain as Bones gripped Jim's arm harder and moved his other hand from Jim's neck to the back of his head and pressed closer. The biobed beeped in the background, Jim's heartrate speeding up.

The sound made them break apart and breathe each other's air for a few seconds, before Bones asked quietly, "You're okay with this?"

Jim tried to bring Bones's face back down within reach. "Touch me."

And Bones murmured, "Dammit, Jim," before he ducked his head down and kissed and licked and sucked Jim's pulse point on his throat. Jim's mind pleasantly clouded except for one thought.

REALLY. GOOD. TOUCH.

Jim Kirk didn't really like touch...

...Unless it was from Bones.