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By no stretch of the imagination was Bones a romantic; a roll of his eyes at a suggestion of dinner for two or a scoff in Jim’s general direction when he’d proposed an extended shore leave secured that fact.
He could never understand why Jim was so enamoured with him, why he’d waste his time sitting by his side and listening to him blather on about nothing in particular. He didn’t think himself incredibly interesting and nor did he think he had a great deal to give the kid, but there was something about the way Jim smiled when he was near him that made him doubt those thoughts in the first place.
And when Jim was near him, all traces of him being Captain seemed to melt away and Bones was left with a goofy smile and an almost childlike personality. Jim would regard him with a wide, cerulean stare with his chin in his hands and his elbows propped up on the top of the table whilst Bones sat opposite him, arms folded on the edge of the table with his expression somewhere between a frown and a smile.
He could really get lost in those eyes. All medical readouts he had stored of Kirk told him that Jim was 100% human, but the unnatural blue of his eyes always had Bones thinking otherwise; that and the sometimes almost intolerable annoyance level that the kid possessed because he was sure that no human could be that irritating.
Someone else may have called Jim’s eyes celestial, but like hell Jim was a celestial being. His angel eyes might have fooled a good proportion of his crew but they never fooled Bones.
Bones appreciated the times where he got to see Kirk at his most vulnerable. When Jim could be found nowhere else, Bones would find him on the observation deck where the windows sloped up, boasting great panoramic views of the stars and the nebulas around that boasted a spectrum of colours.
He’d learnt to bring with him a bottle of bourbon for Jim’s heavy heart; he’d miss his mother and his brother and always, no matter how much his crew told him he was a wonderful Captain, there was something in the back of his mind telling him otherwise.
Bones knew he was no comfort; he never knew what to say. Instead he’d pour Jim a drink and lay a hand on his shoulder and listen. He’d concentrate on his voice and on the stars reflecting back in that extraterrestrial gaze making Jim's eyes look even more other worldly, before the bourbon made him tired and Bones was leading him off to bed through the winding corridors of the belly of the Enterprise.
Smelling fondly of bourbon and that god awful, foul aftershave that Bones hated so much, Jim huddled up beside him in bed. With one of Bones’ arms outstretched to his right, the wrist of which resided in Jim’s loose grasp, Bones could feel him counting the freckles across the underside of his arm with a deft fingertip tracing a line to each. And with one final yawn Jim released Bones’ arm and settled under the covers with his warm, whisky breath tickling at the doctors neck.