[ST XI] FIC: In Three Words (1/4)
See Masterpost for story notes and warnings.
In Three Words - Part 1
Signing your life away to Starfleet turned out to be a surprisingly easy process. Suspiciously so, if the lines snaking through the Academy Admin block were any indication. Jim thought that probably meant that Pike had pulled some strings during the shuttle ride but he wasn’t complaining. If the guy was so convinced Jim ought to be here, the least he could do was cut through the bureaucratic BS of enrollment. And so it happened that Jim’s registration was concluded with a minimum of fuss, leaving him to contemplate the introductory packet they’d shoved into his hands, his already-full schedule, and his brand-new roommate.
Jim had recognized him as soon as the admin staff had shoved them together and sent them on their way; he’d been sitting next to Jim on the shuttle, remarkable for being the only other person not wearing a uniform. He’d kept mostly to himself on the ride over and Jim hadn’t paid him much mind, being rather more occupied with the lovely Uhura (he still hadn’t charmed that name out of her, damn it) and his bar brawling buddies from the night before. Between the lack of uniform and the fact that he was noticeably older than most of the other cadets, Jim had figured him for another last minute recruit. Looked like that impression had been correct, given their new room assignment.
Oh well. It could be worse. Jim hadn’t been thrilled about being busted back to dorm beds but the resigned tolerance with which his new roommate had been regarding the noisily enthusiastic cadets bustling around him lightened into something approaching amusement as he and Jim eyed each other.
Could definitely be worse, Jim decided as he got a good look at the other man. At least he’d have something nice to look at for the next few years.
“Looks like we’re stuck with each other,” Jim remarked as they stepped back to avoid the panicked rush of a baby-faced cadet who hurtled past them juggling an armful of PADDs. Jim inclined his head in a wordless suggestion, pleased when Tall, Dark and Self-Contained followed his lead with a shallow nod.
“Looks like,” he agreed as he fell into step beside Jim, who shrugged his intake paperwork into one arm to free up a hand.
“I’m Jim Kirk,” he said, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Welcome to the next three years of our lives.”
“Looking forward to it already, kid,” came the slightly sarcastic reply as he irritably twitched his shoulder out from under Jim’s hand.
The edged tone had Jim glancing back from the pretty blonde whose passage he’d been tracking. The swat on the shoulder had been a little familiar but Jim hadn’t expected the guy to get all touchy about it. Heaving a mental sigh and gearing up for a halfway sincere apology, Jim turned to find himself the focus of a considering hazel stare.
Okay, so maybe there was more going on here than offense over Jim taking liberties. He raised his eyebrows in response. Yeah, what?
“John Grimm,” the man beside him belatedly offered, carefully casual but for the wariness in his eyes.
Jim kept his stride even with some effort, downplaying his reaction as his mind worked over what he’d just heard. The name itself wasn’t unusual enough to ring alarm bells but Jim had always had eclectic study habits and a very good memory. He knew who John Grimm was.
The bare outline of John Grimm’s history was a matter of public record. A soldier in the early twenty-first century, he’d gotten caught up in someone’s genetics experiment and come out the other side with a few distinct changes. Superhuman speed, strength and near-instant healing might have been an improvement on the human condition but they weren’t safe traits to flaunt while the Eugenics Wars were raging across the planet so Grimm had quite sensibly pulled a disappearing act. He’d resurfaced from obscurity not long after the founding of the Federation and appealed for recognition as a citizen. He’d won it, along with the attendant rights and protection due all of its members. After more than a century and a half on the run, John Grimm was finally able to live out in the open as a free man. Apparently that included joining Starfleet.
More than all that, however, Jim knew all about having a name that drew the wrong kind of attention. And he knew how goddamn sick he was of having people start in on the Kelvin as soon as they found out who his father had been. From the way John was visibly bracing himself, Jim didn’t figure that being a 250-year-old supersoldier made for any more enjoyable a conversation starter.
“Huh,” he commented mildly. “Reaper John Grimm?” he asked in an undertone.
John shot him a sharp look at the barely audible question and nodded once. The simple fact that he’d heard it would have been answer enough.
“Huh,” Jim said again, strolling along in thoughtful silence for a few seconds. “No shit?”
That won him a snort of laughter and an easing of the guarded tension that had tightened John’s expression. “No shit,” he confirmed.
“Awesome,” Jim decided, keeping his tone light. “Guess I know who to go bother for help when they make us take that history prereq.”
John’s expression wavered between disbelief and amusement before settling on the latter. “I think you’ve got more pressing concerns,” he said dryly, prodding at the dried blood flaking off of Jim’s shirt. “You might want to look into getting a refresher on hand to hand before you worry about ancient history.”
“Hey, you could probably help with that, too!” Jim suggested brightly.
“I’m your roommate, kid. Not your personal trainer,” John told him.
“This could be the start of a beautiful friendship, I’m telling you!” Jim insisted, slinging an arm over John’s shoulders and steering them in the direction of their new dorm.
He couldn’t help the smug grin that spread across his face when John failed to shrug him off, allowing himself to be shepherded along with only a token sigh of protest.
Oh yeah. This Starfleet thing really was looking up for him. Jim was going to have to find a way to buy Pike a drink sometime.
Later that afternoon found the two of them finally arriving at their dorm room, dumping armfuls of Academy-issued supplies onto their beds. Well, Jim dumped his stuff in favour of poking around their new territory. John was busy neatly stowing his things in the storage drawers. Better accommodations than he’d expected, Jim noted approvingly, more like a sparsely furnished apartment than the bare-bones institutional barracks he’d been envisioning. John probably thought it was the height of luxury.
“Hey, when’s your first class tomorrow?” Jim called to John, still at work in their sleeping area. “Should probably make sure we’re not going to be conflicting with each other.”
“I don’t know. My PADD’s on the table - check it out,” John answered.
Given permission to snoop, Jim eagerly scooped up the PADD and keyed on the display. He figured they’d have at least a few classes in common. First year courses were more generalized than the higher-level specialization requirements. And since John was most likely enrolled in - wait, the medical track? Jim squinted in disbelief, refreshing the screen to see if it would correct itself.
“No way! You’re in med school?” Jim practically yelped when the information remained unchanged.
The PADD was plucked out of his hands and Jim tipped his head back to find John looming over him from behind his chair.
“Nope, already finished that,” John responded absently, scrolling through the class list. “That’s Doctor Grimm, to you.”
Jim gaped at him. “Seriously?” he demanded.
“Seriously. This,” he said, waggling the PADD at Jim, “is adding a XenoBio component to augment my degrees.”
Degrees? Jim mouthed to himself as he shook his head. He had more than one? Not what he’d expected from a man with a history like John Grimm’s. He’d figured he’d be somewhere on the Security or Command track, probably testing out of half the classes. “That’s a bit of a career switch, isn’t it?” he ventured.
“Exactly,” John said, mouth flattening into a hard, unamused line.
Oh. Yeah, now that Jim thought about it, a few hundred years of soldiering would probably be more than enough for anyone. Especially if even a fraction of the rumours recorded about Reaper were true. Jim grimaced a quick apology as John visibly shook off the dark turn of his mood before continuing.
“I know all there is to know about breaking people, thought I’d take a turn at putting them back together,” he explained with a shrug.
“Besides,” he added, “I once promised someone I’d give the view through a microscope a try. Seemed like as good a time as any.”
“Fair enough. There’s just one problem with that,” Jim commented, brow furrowing in thought.
“Yeah?” John asked warily. “What’s that?”
“You can’t go around calling yourself ‘Reaper’ if you’re a doctor!”
John blinked at that. “It’s not like that’s how I introduce myself,” he pointed out mildly.
Jim shook his head. “You still need a new handle,” he declared, drumming his fingers thoughtfully. Grimm, Reaper, Death... “I’ve got it! You can be Bones.”
“Can I? Wonderful.”
It was a good thing there weren’t any rules against doctors being sarcastic bastards, Jim reflected.
And the hell of it was that Bones actually made a really good doctor. He was calm, competent, knowledgeable and surprisingly gentle, despite his generally gruff attitude. Jim had cause to know, since it hadn’t taken more than a couple of days for him to find new bars in which to drink - and brawl. The first night he stumbled home drunk, bruised and bloody, he hadn’t expected much in the way of help. Bones hadn’t struck him as the type who had much sympathy to spare for self-inflicted misery.
True to expectations, Bones just raised an eyebrow when Jim sauntered into their room, proudly wearing the marks of his night on the town.
“Hey, Bones,” he greeted him breezily as he sailed through the room, already unbuttoning his ruined shirt. He hissed when shrugging the shirt off tugged painfully at his bruised ribs.
The sound of footsteps trailed him into their room and he suppressed a sigh, calculating the odds that Bones was going to bitch at him for getting hurt in such a stupid way versus Bones being annoyed at Jim for causing trouble.
“So I’m guessing that the night before the shuttle ride wasn’t an isolated incident?” Bones asked mildly from behind him.
Jim shot a careful look over his shoulder and found Bones propped in the doorway, clearly assessing his condition. He pasted on a grin and waved off the accusation.
“Eh, you know how it goes. Boy meets girl. Boy offers to buy girl a drink. Girl’s boyfriend takes offense. The usual,” Jim replied, elaborately casual.
“Looks like girl’s boyfriend nearly broke your nose,” Bones commented, coming a few steps closer and squinting at the bruising Jim could feel spreading across his face. He was sure it was turning spectacular colours by now.
“It’s not that bad,” Jim replied, poking gingerly at his nose and flinching at the wave of pain that rolled through his face. “Okay, so it’s not broken bad.”
“Oh for - stop that,” Bones ordered him and then there was a pair of hands on his shoulders, pushing him down to a seat on the edge of his bed.
Jim grumbled but complied, kicking off his boots now that he was safely seated.
Bones was back at his side a minute or two later, hypospray and medkit in hand. Jim’s protest that he didn’t need any help was briskly ignored and Jim’s bruises were scanned and mended before he’d rallied from the unexpected kindness. Bones’ touch was businesslike but he took care not to cause Jim further pain as he put him to rights.
“You know that it’s possible to go for a drink without getting yourself pounded to a pulp, right?” Bones asked idly, eyes fixed on Jim’s hand as he verified the integrity of Jim’s knuckles.
Jim paused, listening keenly for the reprimand that usually lurked under expressions of concern. The lack of it left him feeling wrong-footed. “Wasn’t looking for trouble,” he answered honestly. “If I’d known she wasn’t alone and he was a jealous prick, I’d have found another girl to chat up.”
Bones nodded to himself in satisfaction - Jim’s condition apparently passed muster - and repacked his equipment. “Be more careful next time, kid,” he chided as he stood up again. “‘Tenderized’ isn’t your best look.”
Jim blinked in bemusement as Bones stowed his equipment and headed back out to the main room. Jim heard the couch creak under his weight and found himself hoping he hadn’t interrupted anything too important. Medical track cadets tended to carry ridiculous workloads even if some of them apparently didn’t mind taking a study break to play doctor for their trouble-prone roommates.
Jim pushed himself to his feet and wandered out into the kitchen. “I’m hungry,” he called over his shoulder, aiming for offhanded. “You want anything?”
“Sure. We should have leftovers from that Chinese the other night,” Bones answered. “Toss them in the warmer? That’d be great. There’s more than enough for two.”
“Dibs on the spicy noodles!” Jim declared as he set the cartons to warm.
“You can have them but I’ll give you all new and exciting bruises if you eat all the sweet and sour whatever that was,” Bones threatened absently.
As it turned out, there was plenty to go around - of food and bickering both - and Jim didn’t even get smacked for stealing the last piece of chicken. Though he did make sure to complain loudly about the nearly invisible mark where Bones had jabbed him with a chopstick.
Jim wasn’t quite sure how it happened but friendship with Bones came surprisingly easily. He’d been cautiously hopeful they’d manage amicable cohabitation, since Bones seemed like a decent guy and he’d proven to be surprisingly tolerant of Jim’s antics. Being buddies with his roommate was convenient. It wasn’t until Jim caught himself having honest conversations with Bones, far beyond the easy interactions he used to cultivate useful acquaintances, that he realized that he actually liked him. Aside from being unexpectedly pleasant company, Bones had evidently decided somewhere along the way that he trusted Jim. The fact that he’d lowered his guard apparently snuck right in under Jim’s. It was kind of hard not to return the favour when a guy like Bones decided you were worth having as a friend.
They made one hell of an odd pair but Jim wasn’t complaining. Whatever other favours life hadn’t done them, it had apparently screwed them up in complementary ways. Of course, accepting that he’d gone ahead and actually become friends with Bones meant taking on certain responsibilities. Bones had demonstrated that he could handle the taking care part. Which left Jim in charge of entertainment.
As nice as Bones was, he tended to be kind of detached. He wasn’t unfriendly enough to be considered standoffish but he kept his distance. Two centuries of watching the world change around him could do that to a guy, Jim guessed. If most of the cadets at the Academy made Jim feel old, how much worse would it be for Bones? The thing that Bones seemed to have forgotten was that passive observation might be a lot less messy but it was also a hell of a lot less fun. Life was meant to be lived, not survived. The least Jim could do was make sure that Bones actually had a good time now and then.
There was always something going on in San Francisco, even for a pair of cadets with a limited amount of time on their hands. Sports, exhibitions, museums, restaurants... Jim could have dragged Bones out to examples of each. He considered it before deciding to start with baby steps. Bars first, culture later.
Thus began Jim’s campaign to pry Bones out of his self-imposed isolation. It never really progressed much past the drinking buddies stage but Jim deemed it good enough. It got Bones out of their room, gave Jim company on nights out and led to Bones actually getting on speaking terms with people outside of a professional context. When they were just Jim and John, two guys out for a good night on the town, Bones finally lost some of his iron reserve and starting sharing more of those slow, warm smiles that Jim liked. Who needed culture anyway?
It was on one of their early ventures that Jim learned about the downside of Bones’ enhancements. Turned out that super fast healing wasn’t always a good thing.
“You’re kidding!” Jim was appalled. “It doesn’t affect you at all?”
“Not a bit. Wish it did, to be honest,” Bones replied, staring down into his glass. “Would’ve made some years easier to get through,” he muttered.
“I bet. That kind of sucks, Bones,” Jim told him. Alcohol and Jim were old, dear friends.
“So why the glass?” he couldn’t help but ask. Bones always had a drink in his hand when they went out, though this did explain his tendency to nurse them.
Bones shrugged, taking a sip. “Can’t get drunk but I still like the taste. The burn of it.”
Jim nodded. There was comfort to be found in old habits, Jim knew. Even when they didn’t actually help.
“You know, there’s dozens of bars around here,” Jim said offhandedly.
“Yeah, and?” Bones raised an eyebrow. “You bored of this one already? You haven’t hit on all the waitresses yet.”
“No, and I’m not leaving until I do - the really hot one just came on shift - but I was thinking that you can’t have tried everything yet,” Jim pointed out.
Bones raised a finger. “I am not drinking that orange shit you got so sick on last week. That drunk would not be worth it, even if it did work.”
“You’ve got no sense of adventure, Bones,” Jim complained though privately he agreed. That orange stuff had been shit.
Bones just snorted at him. “I’ve had plenty of adventure, thanks. I prefer tamer leisure activities, these days.”
Naturally, Jim took that as a challenge and flagged down the hot waitress to order shots of the orange shit. The next day’s hangover was deadly but Jim had the waitress’ comm code and had the satisfaction of Bones bitching for days about the aftertaste.
Drinking games aside, Jim stayed on his best behaviour the first few times he was out with Bones. Bones had proved surprisingly amenable to Jim’s plans to socialize him but Jim didn’t think that would last if Jim started picking fights. Having Bones around made it easier to stay out of trouble anyhow, since Jim wasn’t at the kind of loose ends that left him likely to screw with people just for kicks. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop people from messing with Jim.
He’d had a few run-ins with his buddies from the Riverside bar since arriving at the Academy and relations hadn’t improved since then. If Cupcake and his crew had been there when Jim and Bones walked in that evening, Jim would have found some excuse to introduce Bones to another bar. Instead, Jim found himself face to face with his favourite bar bully on his way back to his table. Jim recognized the expression on Cupcake’s face from the last time he planted his fist there; the chances of this ending without some sort of violence were slim. Jim flicked a glance over at Bones, watching from their table and resolved to try.
He really wasn’t surprised when it didn’t work.
Jim lost track of the fight almost immediately after they stopped trading insults in favour of taking swings. He knew he didn’t throw the first punch but his was the first to connect. By the time Jim split Cupcake’s lip, the thugs he called friends were wading in and things just got more hectic from there. He stumbled as someone snagged the back of his shirt, drawing an arm back as he got his feet under him. He let his fist drop when he realized it was Bones, reluctantly submitting to the sharp tug as Bones got a handful of his collar and dragged him clear.
“What the hell, Bones?” Jim complained as Bones hauled him out of the bar, twisting out of the unreasonably tight grip Bones had on his shirt. One eye was already swelling shut, there was a familiar wetness trickling down the side of his face and his mouth was full of the metallic taste of blood. “What’d you do that for? I was just getting ready to pound his face in.”
“Because I’ve got better things to do tonight than bail you out of jail for brawling,” Bones answered irritably. “And he wasn’t far off from returning the favour, you idiot.”
“You’d know,” Jim shot back sulkily, “what with how you were just standing there watching.”
And he had been, Jim realized belatedly. The fight itself was a bit of a blur but he’d taken the time to check on Bones’ position, make sure he was doing all right, only to find him lurking at the edges of the altercation, watching the fists fly. The following stab of disappointment was a surprise; when had Jim started counting on someone to watch his back?
Bones ignored the accusation, catching Jim’s chin in his hand as he ran a practiced eye over the results of the brawl.
“You’ll live,” Bones told him flatly as he released him. “We can clean you up after we get you home.”
“Great. That’s great. And thanks for all your help in there,” Jim said, spitting a mouthful of blood and trying not to sound too bitter. “Don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Bones smiled tightly as he watched Jim wipe his face on his sleeve. “Sorry, Jim. My mistake. I thought you wanted a wingman, not a bodyguard.”
Jim went still at that innocuously light reply, taking a deep breath before letting it out slowly.
Fair point, he acknowledged with a tip of his head.
Bones was his friend, sometimes his backup, often the voice of his common sense but never his personal attack dog. It wasn’t Bones’ job to clean up Jim’s messes. Especially not when Bones could have taken down everyone in that bar without breaking a sweat, Jim was reminded as the door slammed open behind them and startled Bones into an automatic defensive stance. The drunks stumbling out of the bar didn’t notice Bones’ inhumanly quick reaction but Jim couldn’t miss it.
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He’d promised himself, almost immediately after meeting Bones, that he’d never trade on the man’s history. Damn it, that was a promise Jim had wanted to keep.
Jim opened his eyes and caught Bones’ eyes as he nodded once, sharp and solemn, before pasting on a smirk. “As if I’d need any help dealing with those assholes.”
Bones had relaxed slightly, tension easing out of his shoulders as Jim got his temper back under control, though there was still some wariness in the way he scoffed at Jim’s bravado. “Sure, and that’s why you’re bleeding all over yourself again.”
“Yeah, well,” Jim sighed and rubbed a hand carefully over his face. “Come on. You said something about getting cleaned up?”
“Yeah, Jim,” Bones agreed with a sigh of his own. “Let’s go home.”
Jim was more relieved than he cared to admit when Bones failed to hold a grudge. He was maybe just a bit nervous, the next time he invited Bones out but Bones didn’t hesitate before accepting. Well, he did but no more than his usual protests of better things to do and that didn’t count. And if playing things a bit safe kept Bones happy, well, it kept Jim from getting punched up every few days and that was probably a good thing.
It took a few months before Jim realized he’d gotten it a bit wrong.
It was another night in another bar with yet another belligerent drinker. For once, Jim hadn’t actually done anything to warrant getting hit. In fact, he never even saw it coming. One minute, he was nursing a drink while he waited for Bones and the next minute someone was trying to bounce his face off of the bar to the tune of angry bellowing in his ear. Luckily, Jim had been leaning on his elbows and reflexively caught himself before his cheek was driven into the wood. He was just scrambling to get sufficient leverage to shake off the painfully tight grip of the hand latched around the nape of his neck when someone pulled the asshole off of him.
Jim put a hand on the bar to steady himself as he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. The alcohol-flushed man slurring curses into the surface of the bar answered the first part of the question; Bones standing at his back, twisting the drunk’s arm up and behind him as he easily held the man pinned against the wood explained the second.
“You okay, Jim?” Bones asked over the ineffective wriggling of the man he’d restrained.
“Yeah, Bones, Thanks, I’m fine,” Jim answered, lifting his free hand to rub away the lingering sensation of pressure at the base of his skull. “Good timing, by the way.”
“What are you,” Jim’s attacker protested muzzily, tugging at his arm, “some kind of motherfucking Vulcan wannabe?”
“Vulcans wouldn’t fuck their mothers,” Bones corrected mildly, maintaining his hold without visible effort. “It wouldn’t be logical.”
The guy snarled in drunken affront, trying to wrench his arm free to swing at him.
“And Vulcans wouldn’t break nearly as many of your bones as I’m going to if you don’t settle down, right fucking now.” Bones barely moved but Jim’s attacker howled in pain, struggles abruptly subsiding.
“Hey,” Bones called over to the watching bartender. “Should I cut him loose?”
“Hell no!” came the vehement response. “There’s a free drink in it for you if you go ahead and toss him out!”
“Sounds good to me,” Bones remarked. “Order for me, would you, Jim?”
“Sure thing, Bones!”
Jim clearly wasn’t the only one the guy had been bothering tonight; there was a smattering of applause as Bones hauled him upright and frog marched him out of the bar. By the time Bones made it back inside, apparently oblivious to the appreciative looks that followed him back to the bar, Jim had his payment waiting: a glass of an expensive bourbon that Bones didn’t usually allow himself to order. Jim figured he’d earned it tonight. From the generous measure she’d splashed into the glass, so did the bartender. Bones raised an eyebrow in pleased surprise when he recognized what he’d been served, lifting his glass in thanks before taking a sip.
“Thanks for the save,” Jim offered cautiously as Bones savoured his drink. He seemed awfully calm for having had to wade into a fight and pull some drunk jerk off of Jim’s back.
Bones shrugged off his gratitude. “I wasn’t going to let him break your nose just because he took exception to your face. It’s not your fault you’re pretty.”
“Is that what he - Aw, Bones! You think I’m pretty!” Jim cooed as he leaned into Bones’ shoulder, batting his eyelashes up at him.
He just laughed as Bones snorted and shoved him off, muttering darkly about breaking Jim’s nose himself, no matter how pretty it was. He knew he was grinning like an idiot but Bones was wearing that familiar look of long-suffering indulgence so he knew they were good. The words not your fault ran through his head again, shuffling Jim’s assumptions about Bones’ lack of involvement in Jim’s everyday scraps into a new, much more satisfying configuration. Jim didn’t need a protector. But, he thought as he propped his arm on Bones’ shoulder without questioning that he’d hold him up, he thought he could get to enjoy having a partner.
When Jim burst into their room during the last week of their first year finals, he was anything but in need of help.
“Bones!” he shouted gleefully, flinging himself to a stop and throwing his arms wide. “Guess who just aced Admiral Jennings’ equivalencies exam?”
It’d been just under a year and Jim wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the way Bones smiled at him: open, unashamed and totally sincere.
“That’s great, Jim! That’s your in for the advanced summer section, right?”
“Damn right it is. Three-year graduation, here I come,” Jim gloated.
Bones shook his head fondly at the show of ego but his pleased expression never wavered.
Jim wasn’t used to making people happy, either.
“I think this deserves a drink!” he announced abruptly, still bursting with far too much triumph and satisfaction for their room to contain. “Come on, get your shoes on and let’s go!”
“Sure, Jim,” Bones agreed easily. “Nice of you to offer to buy.”
“Oh, as if I’ll ever have enough credits to my name to get you drunk,” Jim scoffed. “Besides, did you just kick the ass of the worst test first year has to offer? No, you did not. Drinks are on you, old man.”
Bones rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath as he stood but there was a smile curving his lips as he pulled on his boots. “At least that summer course ought to keep you out of my hair for a while.”
The words had no bite, what with the proud smile Bones still wasn’t making any effort to hide or the congratulatory slap on the shoulder. Jim ducked his head to cover the ridiculous grin he couldn’t wipe off his face. “Aw, Bones. You know you’d miss me.”
“Like a fly in my ointment,” Bones replied solemnly, casually hooking an arm around Jim’s neck and dragging him out into the corridor. “A thorn in my side. A pain in my ass.”
“You should maybe consider seeing a doctor for that,” Jim told him earnestly. “I’ve got this friend, he’s always telling me about the miracles of modern medicine. They could probably fix that for you.”
“Smartass,” Bones growled at him, using the loose headlock he had on Jim to shake him gently.
Jim just laughed and let Bones haul him along as he grumbled about how no medicine in the universe could fix Jim’s ego.
“Hey,” Jim started, ducking out from under Bones’ arm and falling into step beside him as they hit the dormitory doors, “you’ve got some time off before that extra training rotation starts, right?”
Bones raised a questioning eyebrow. “Yeah. Why?”
“I’ve got some time before classes start and I feel like taking advantage of it.” Jim shrugged and tossed the idea out there. “There’s got to be some tourist traps out there that you’ve never seen. Want to go check a few of them out?”
When he slid a glance sideways to check Bones’ reaction, he found him looking thoughtful.
“I never did get a chance to spend much time out east,” Bones mused aloud.
“Atlantic coast east or Asia east?” Jim immediately asked.
“We only have a little better than a week, Jim,” Bones warned, unsuccessfully trying to smother a smile. “Don’t get too ambitious.”
As if there could be such a thing.
They split the difference and went to Europe and slept in a different country every night. Jim made a point of trying at least one food item he couldn’t pronounce at every meal. Bones kept a running tally of how many people Jim offended by trying to flirt in their native languages. By the time they headed back, Jim was wearing half a dozen hickeys, Bones was scruffier than Jim had ever seen him and they had two duffels of dirty clothes wrapped around cheap souvenirs and touristy holos. It took some effort for Jim to saunter, rather than stumble, into class the morning after their late night shuttle arrival but he still slipped a wink to the dubious looks the other cadets sent his way. He could guaran-damn-tee that they hadn’t made any better use of their down time than he had.
But the course of true friendship never did run smooth and Jim’s birthdays were enough to derail any routine, no matter how comfortable. Jim was never sure how long it had taken Bones to figure out the significance of Jim’s last name. He knew Bones had to know but to his vast relief, Bones had returned the favour Jim had done him on the day they met by never commenting or treating him any differently. Even if Bones hadn’t understood how little Jim wanted to talk about it, he’d always supposed that Bones’ perspective on loss had to be pretty unusual, what with the centuries-long lifespan he was facing. Whatever the reason, he’d shown remarkable restraint when Jim had disappeared on the first of his birthdays that passed after starting at the Academy.
Bones had been waiting up for him that night when he’d stumbled through the door, barely able to see straight for the volume of alcohol he’d poured down his throat. The layered bruises he’d earned throughout the night weren’t helping matters either. Bones assessed his condition without comment, lips tightening on some unhappy remark but he kept it to himself. Jim, still inclined towards belligerence despite his incapacitation, waited for some of Bones’ usual asperity to sneak out but it never did. Bones just got him cleaned up, medicated, and poured into his own bed. Jim stared up at him in drunken confusion and wondered when the disappointed, angry commentary was going to start right up until the alcohol and exhaustion dragged him under.
Bones held his silence the morning after as well, though he kept a close eye on Jim as he crept gingerly around their room the next day. Jim was feeling fragile enough that he couldn’t argue about the observation. He was just grateful for the absence of the tirade he’d half-expected after the mess he’d made of himself last night. By the time the effects of the night before had worn off, things between them seemed to have eased back into normal and Jim was too relieved to question it. Routine reestablished itself, life went on as normal and Jim put the incident out of his head.
But Bones hadn’t forgotten. He’d just been waiting until Jim’s next birthday came around.
Jim had slipped off early in the afternoon, intent on losing himself in some hole in the wall where the booze was cheap and the company was plentiful. He always started with the best of intentions on his birthdays. If everyone else was too busy crying over his father, Jim would just start his own party. And if he usually found himself in the centre of a knock-down, drag-out brawl before the night was over? Well, there were plenty of ways to remind the world that you were alive. Jim had always been good at making his own fun.
He’d already gotten tossed out of one dive for mouthing off to the regulars and was scouting around for a new place to slink into when a hand settled on his shoulder. He twisted out from underneath the loose grip, dropping automatically into a braced stance before he recognized the man who’d snuck up on him.
Oh goddamn it. Jim recognized that grimly determined expression and now was not a good time for Bones to stage some kind of intervention, or whatever he thought he was doing.
“Bones? What are you doing here?” Jim tried to keep his tone neutral and jerked a thumb over his shoulder as he began to back away. “Look, whatever you want - can it wait? I’m on my way somewhere.”
“I can see that,” Bones replied coolly. “Headed straight for a barroom floor, if I read your trajectory right.”
Jim bit back his temper with some effort, closing his eyes as he sucked in a deep breath. Bones deserved better than to have Jim’s shit dumped all over his head, Jim reminded himself. Even if he did have incredibly bad timing.
“Just - go home, Bones. I need to get out and I won’t be good company tonight.” Jim didn’t want good company tonight. He’d take a good fight or a hard fuck, whichever found him first.
“No.”
The simple refusal caught Jim flat-footed. “What?”
“I said no.”
Jim gave in to the urge to swear at the stubborn set of Bones’ jaw. He’d picked today of all days to turn busybody? Really?
Enough, Jim decided abruptly. Forget arguing about it. This was bullshit. Jim was getting the hell out of here; he’d do damage control tomorrow.
“You can’t stop me,” he said with a shrug, turning on one heel and making a beeline for the nearest bar. If Bones was obstinate enough to follow, he’d ditch him out the back before moving on. At least, that was the plan.
Jim only took two steps before he was seized from behind and manhandled into a nearby alley.
“Watch me,” Bones answered flatly, securing his grip into an immobilizing hold before Jim had even realized what he was doing.
“What - Let me go!” Jim demanded. What the fuck did Bones think he was doing?
“Not a chance,” Bones replied, almost pleasantly.
“Let me go,” Jim repeated furiously.
“Make me,” Bones invited.
All right, then. If that was the way Bones wanted to play it, Jim would.
Jim threw everything he had into breaking Bones’ hold on him. He fought as hard as he could, tried every trick he’d ever learned. Nothing worked. Bones’ grip was unyielding. Jim had always known that Bones was strong but this was the first time he’d experienced it for himself and every failed attempt to get free drove him to a more desperate attempt. It wasn’t until he heard a pained grunt from Bones that he accepted the inevitable. That hit would have broken anyone else’s nose and as pissed as he was, Jim wasn’t willing to go that far.
He went limp in Bones’ arms, letting him hold him up as he panted for breath.
“Okay,” he finally managed. “You win.”
“Damn it, Jim. It wasn’t a contest,” Bones grumbled in his ear.
“Yeah, whatever,” Jim sighed as he got his feet back under him. Despite the temptation to wrench himself out of Bones’ loosened grip, he stayed docilely still. Bones had proven his point. “What do you want?”
“Just come with me,” Bones instructed as he let Jim go and led the way out of the alley. As much as it grated, Jim didn’t have much choice but to follow.
He wasn’t entirely surprised when Bones brought them back to their room. He rolled his eyes as Bones steered him across the room and flung himself sulkily onto the couch under a gentle clap on the shoulder. Wasn’t this just turning into the best birthday ever?
Though things might be looking up, he mused as Bones put a glass full of something alcoholic in his hands.
“Didn’t think drinking was on the list of permissible activity tonight,” Jim complained sullenly, clutching the glass protectively in case Bones changed his mind.
“Getting yourself beat to hell in some shithole of a bar is not on the list of things to do,” Bones corrected, setting the bottle on the table in front of Jim. “You can go ahead and drink all that you can handle. That’s all that some days are good for.”
Jim squinted thoughtfully as he considered the hollowed-out expression Bones’ last comment had left on his face. What kind of anniversaries did a 250-year-old soldier celebrate when no one was watching? And what kind of days did he wish had never happened the first time? Poor bastard couldn’t even wash the memories away in a haze of alcohol.
“Guess I’m drinking for two, then,” Jim declared as he tipped up his glass.
Bones left him to it, reducing himself to a quiet presence on the edge of Jim’s admittedly blurry awareness. Jim was dully surprised to learn that not being alone or at sea in a crowd of strangers actually made a difference, even if it wasn’t enough to make things good. He just hoped Bones was willing to forgive or forget whatever torrents of crap were coming out of Jim’s mouth; he was way too far gone to track what he was saying tonight. He’d lost track of both the hours and the booze by the time Bones finally cut him off. Jim was in no fit state to protest as Bones peeled him off of the floor and dragged him off to bed.
“Your birthday’s over now, Jim,” Bones promised as he got him settled. “Wish it could have been happier.”
“Nah, don’t worry. Best I’ve had in years,” Jim mumbled into his pillow, “but you have some weird ideas about birthday presents, old man.”
Somewhere over his head, Bones chuckled sadly. “Don’t worry. You’ll get the rest of your present later, smartass.”
Jim managed a vaguely interrogative noise.
“Whatever else happened today, kid, some of us are glad you’re alive,” Bones told him softly. “So come tomorrow, I’m going to start teaching you how to stay that way.”
Jim’s breath hitched when a hand settled gently on his head and he squeezed his half-closed eyes tightly shut when a calloused thumb swept along his cheekbone. Stupid drinks. Making his eyes water like that.
If he’d been in any state to wonder, Jim would have questioned if Bones really meant that. He found out the next afternoon when Bones hauled him out of bed, hit him with some hypospray remedy for the hangover and dragged him out to one of the private training rooms.
“We’re going to start with something easy,” Bones told him as he prodded Jim out into the centre of the room, “like how to avoid a punch to the face, you reckless bastard.”
“Come on, Bones. Are we really going to - oof!” the rest of Jim’s question disappeared in a rush of displaced air when his back hit the mat, feet having been neatly swept out from under him.
“Lesson one,” Bones instructed as his face swam into view, hovering over Jim. “Your mouth isn’t going to get you out of most of the trouble you find.”
Jim’s eyes narrowed, then he grinned fiercely and held a hand up. “You are on, old man.”
Bones pulled him to his feet, answering grin spreading across his face.
Oh yeah. This was going to be fun.
Sparring with Bones quickly became a regular addition to Jim’s schedule and the practice was invaluable. Bones ran him through a wide array of defensive and offensive techniques (including an arsenal of dirty tricks) and Jim soaked up every lesson. He might have been annoyed at how easy it became to win the bar fights that had always been his favourite form of stress release but the private tutoring won him a teaching position in Advanced Hand-to-Hand in his final year which more than made up for it. Besides, Jim was hardly going to complain about increasing his chances of surviving active duty out in Starfleet. Propaganda aside, everyone knew it was a rough universe out there.
It didn’t hurt that for all of George Kirk’s achievements, he’d never made a name for himself as one of the best fighters in the Academy.
It was by far the best birthday present that Jim had ever received.
The rest of their final year rushed past in a blur of classwork and testing, the eyes of the Academy administration heavy on the graduating class. Even Bones, with his diminished need for sleep, was starting to look ragged in the last few months of classes. Then came the clusterfuck of the Kobayashi Maru. Then came the distress call from Vulcan and the mass slaughter that followed. By the time it was over, the Federation had been rocked to its foundations and there were far greater concerns than whether or not Cadet Kirk had cheated on his impossible test.
Instead of graduation ceremonies, the Academy was arranging mass funeral services and Command was scrambling to reassign personnel to cover the gaping holes that Nero’s mania had punched in the service fleet. Regardless of the trouble he’d brought on himself with the Kobayashi Maru test, there was no question now of tossing Jim out of the Academy, not after his part in saving the Earth. Not only was his three-year graduation approved, he walked out of his final briefing with the Admiralty wearing a captain’s stripes and carrying orders to take command of the Enterprise. It wasn’t how he’d have chosen to do it but he’d take the win. For the cocky asshole everyone had dismissed three years ago, for everyone that hadn’t made it home after Nero, he’d sit in that chair and show the whole damn Federation that he’d earned it.
Bones was waiting for him when he finally made it back to their room. (Still their room because who’d had time for minor administrative tasks like cadet room assignments?) Jim didn’t have to say a word; Bones’ eyes took in the gold of his uniform and dropped immediately to the stripes on his sleeve.
“Congratulations, you unbelievably lucky bastard,” Bones said but for all the dryness of his tone, his smile was pleased. There was no relief to be seen in his expression, but then Bones had been certain of the outcome even when Jim had privately worried.
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Jim told him, dropping to a seat on the mattress beside Bones. That wasn’t anything less than absolute truth, for all that Bones grimaced and brushed it off. Bones had refused to leave him behind when regulations and common sense ordered otherwise and Jim would never, ever forget that.
Jim sighed tiredly and leaned heavily into Bones’ side, appreciating the solid comfort of the arm that wrapped itself around his shoulders. “They’re giving me the Enterprise,” he muttered into Bones’ chest.
He could feel Bones nod. “Figured they would. Any other word on who else will be crewing her?”
Jim snorted. “In theory, I’ve got my pick. But really, there’s some pretty cutthroat competition to nab people from the surviving class. They’re shuffling crew assignments and it’s getting kind of crazy. I put in commendations for everyone and a request to keep whoever wanted to stay on board.” He shrugged without lifting his head. “It’ll be up to them if they want to stick around.”
Bones shook him lightly. “You’ll need to fill some positions before we go out again but I don’t think you’ll lose many. Enterprise is the flagship. She’s meant to carry the best and brightest and there’s not many of them that’ll settle for a lesser ship.”
The assessment confirmed Jim’s own take on his crew-in-the-making but he ignored that for the moment, latching on to one particular word. “We?” he checked. “You planning on coming out there with me, old man?”
Jim had exercised some of his new rank to check on his people (they were still his, damn it, right up until the transfer orders crossed his brand new desk) and had taken particular interest in a few key personnel. Unsurprisingly, there were opportunities pouring in for officers like Chekov, Sulu and Uhura. Even with that minor mutiny issue, there had been so many attempts to poach Spock that his Vulcan composure would have cracked again. And people were lining up to get a piece of the only man Jim wanted for his CMO. There was no reason that Bones had to stay with the Enterprise, not when he could write his own ticket to nearly anywhere in Starfleet.
Bones snorted. “Where else would I go? Someone’s got to stick around and keep an eye on you.”
“Good,” Jim told him fiercely, possessive relief blooming warm in his chest. He wanted to keep all of his crew but he’d fight to keep Bones.
Bones chuckled and tugged Jim over backwards, knocking them both flat to the mattress. Jim grumbled for show but went willingly enough. He was tired and he’d long since stopped trying to polish himself for Bones.
“Nowhere else I’d rather be, kid,” Bones told him as they rearranged their limbs to fit on the narrow bunk. “Now be a good little captain and pass out for a while, would you? Command seems to be labouring under the delusion that none of us need sleep.”
It wasn’t until much later that a fond whisper roused Jim from a comfortable doze.
“Been a long time since I’ve had someone worth following, Jim. I’m not in any hurry to walk away.”
Jim kept his eyes closed and tucked his smile into the side of Bones’ neck. The validation of Bones’ approval followed him into sleep.
On to Part 2
Back to the Masterpost
In Three Words - Part 1
Signing your life away to Starfleet turned out to be a surprisingly easy process. Suspiciously so, if the lines snaking through the Academy Admin block were any indication. Jim thought that probably meant that Pike had pulled some strings during the shuttle ride but he wasn’t complaining. If the guy was so convinced Jim ought to be here, the least he could do was cut through the bureaucratic BS of enrollment. And so it happened that Jim’s registration was concluded with a minimum of fuss, leaving him to contemplate the introductory packet they’d shoved into his hands, his already-full schedule, and his brand-new roommate.
Jim had recognized him as soon as the admin staff had shoved them together and sent them on their way; he’d been sitting next to Jim on the shuttle, remarkable for being the only other person not wearing a uniform. He’d kept mostly to himself on the ride over and Jim hadn’t paid him much mind, being rather more occupied with the lovely Uhura (he still hadn’t charmed that name out of her, damn it) and his bar brawling buddies from the night before. Between the lack of uniform and the fact that he was noticeably older than most of the other cadets, Jim had figured him for another last minute recruit. Looked like that impression had been correct, given their new room assignment.
Oh well. It could be worse. Jim hadn’t been thrilled about being busted back to dorm beds but the resigned tolerance with which his new roommate had been regarding the noisily enthusiastic cadets bustling around him lightened into something approaching amusement as he and Jim eyed each other.
Could definitely be worse, Jim decided as he got a good look at the other man. At least he’d have something nice to look at for the next few years.
“Looks like we’re stuck with each other,” Jim remarked as they stepped back to avoid the panicked rush of a baby-faced cadet who hurtled past them juggling an armful of PADDs. Jim inclined his head in a wordless suggestion, pleased when Tall, Dark and Self-Contained followed his lead with a shallow nod.
“Looks like,” he agreed as he fell into step beside Jim, who shrugged his intake paperwork into one arm to free up a hand.
“I’m Jim Kirk,” he said, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Welcome to the next three years of our lives.”
“Looking forward to it already, kid,” came the slightly sarcastic reply as he irritably twitched his shoulder out from under Jim’s hand.
The edged tone had Jim glancing back from the pretty blonde whose passage he’d been tracking. The swat on the shoulder had been a little familiar but Jim hadn’t expected the guy to get all touchy about it. Heaving a mental sigh and gearing up for a halfway sincere apology, Jim turned to find himself the focus of a considering hazel stare.
Okay, so maybe there was more going on here than offense over Jim taking liberties. He raised his eyebrows in response. Yeah, what?
“John Grimm,” the man beside him belatedly offered, carefully casual but for the wariness in his eyes.
Jim kept his stride even with some effort, downplaying his reaction as his mind worked over what he’d just heard. The name itself wasn’t unusual enough to ring alarm bells but Jim had always had eclectic study habits and a very good memory. He knew who John Grimm was.
The bare outline of John Grimm’s history was a matter of public record. A soldier in the early twenty-first century, he’d gotten caught up in someone’s genetics experiment and come out the other side with a few distinct changes. Superhuman speed, strength and near-instant healing might have been an improvement on the human condition but they weren’t safe traits to flaunt while the Eugenics Wars were raging across the planet so Grimm had quite sensibly pulled a disappearing act. He’d resurfaced from obscurity not long after the founding of the Federation and appealed for recognition as a citizen. He’d won it, along with the attendant rights and protection due all of its members. After more than a century and a half on the run, John Grimm was finally able to live out in the open as a free man. Apparently that included joining Starfleet.
More than all that, however, Jim knew all about having a name that drew the wrong kind of attention. And he knew how goddamn sick he was of having people start in on the Kelvin as soon as they found out who his father had been. From the way John was visibly bracing himself, Jim didn’t figure that being a 250-year-old supersoldier made for any more enjoyable a conversation starter.
“Huh,” he commented mildly. “Reaper John Grimm?” he asked in an undertone.
John shot him a sharp look at the barely audible question and nodded once. The simple fact that he’d heard it would have been answer enough.
“Huh,” Jim said again, strolling along in thoughtful silence for a few seconds. “No shit?”
That won him a snort of laughter and an easing of the guarded tension that had tightened John’s expression. “No shit,” he confirmed.
“Awesome,” Jim decided, keeping his tone light. “Guess I know who to go bother for help when they make us take that history prereq.”
John’s expression wavered between disbelief and amusement before settling on the latter. “I think you’ve got more pressing concerns,” he said dryly, prodding at the dried blood flaking off of Jim’s shirt. “You might want to look into getting a refresher on hand to hand before you worry about ancient history.”
“Hey, you could probably help with that, too!” Jim suggested brightly.
“I’m your roommate, kid. Not your personal trainer,” John told him.
“This could be the start of a beautiful friendship, I’m telling you!” Jim insisted, slinging an arm over John’s shoulders and steering them in the direction of their new dorm.
He couldn’t help the smug grin that spread across his face when John failed to shrug him off, allowing himself to be shepherded along with only a token sigh of protest.
Oh yeah. This Starfleet thing really was looking up for him. Jim was going to have to find a way to buy Pike a drink sometime.
Later that afternoon found the two of them finally arriving at their dorm room, dumping armfuls of Academy-issued supplies onto their beds. Well, Jim dumped his stuff in favour of poking around their new territory. John was busy neatly stowing his things in the storage drawers. Better accommodations than he’d expected, Jim noted approvingly, more like a sparsely furnished apartment than the bare-bones institutional barracks he’d been envisioning. John probably thought it was the height of luxury.
“Hey, when’s your first class tomorrow?” Jim called to John, still at work in their sleeping area. “Should probably make sure we’re not going to be conflicting with each other.”
“I don’t know. My PADD’s on the table - check it out,” John answered.
Given permission to snoop, Jim eagerly scooped up the PADD and keyed on the display. He figured they’d have at least a few classes in common. First year courses were more generalized than the higher-level specialization requirements. And since John was most likely enrolled in - wait, the medical track? Jim squinted in disbelief, refreshing the screen to see if it would correct itself.
“No way! You’re in med school?” Jim practically yelped when the information remained unchanged.
The PADD was plucked out of his hands and Jim tipped his head back to find John looming over him from behind his chair.
“Nope, already finished that,” John responded absently, scrolling through the class list. “That’s Doctor Grimm, to you.”
Jim gaped at him. “Seriously?” he demanded.
“Seriously. This,” he said, waggling the PADD at Jim, “is adding a XenoBio component to augment my degrees.”
Degrees? Jim mouthed to himself as he shook his head. He had more than one? Not what he’d expected from a man with a history like John Grimm’s. He’d figured he’d be somewhere on the Security or Command track, probably testing out of half the classes. “That’s a bit of a career switch, isn’t it?” he ventured.
“Exactly,” John said, mouth flattening into a hard, unamused line.
Oh. Yeah, now that Jim thought about it, a few hundred years of soldiering would probably be more than enough for anyone. Especially if even a fraction of the rumours recorded about Reaper were true. Jim grimaced a quick apology as John visibly shook off the dark turn of his mood before continuing.
“I know all there is to know about breaking people, thought I’d take a turn at putting them back together,” he explained with a shrug.
“Besides,” he added, “I once promised someone I’d give the view through a microscope a try. Seemed like as good a time as any.”
“Fair enough. There’s just one problem with that,” Jim commented, brow furrowing in thought.
“Yeah?” John asked warily. “What’s that?”
“You can’t go around calling yourself ‘Reaper’ if you’re a doctor!”
John blinked at that. “It’s not like that’s how I introduce myself,” he pointed out mildly.
Jim shook his head. “You still need a new handle,” he declared, drumming his fingers thoughtfully. Grimm, Reaper, Death... “I’ve got it! You can be Bones.”
“Can I? Wonderful.”
It was a good thing there weren’t any rules against doctors being sarcastic bastards, Jim reflected.
And the hell of it was that Bones actually made a really good doctor. He was calm, competent, knowledgeable and surprisingly gentle, despite his generally gruff attitude. Jim had cause to know, since it hadn’t taken more than a couple of days for him to find new bars in which to drink - and brawl. The first night he stumbled home drunk, bruised and bloody, he hadn’t expected much in the way of help. Bones hadn’t struck him as the type who had much sympathy to spare for self-inflicted misery.
True to expectations, Bones just raised an eyebrow when Jim sauntered into their room, proudly wearing the marks of his night on the town.
“Hey, Bones,” he greeted him breezily as he sailed through the room, already unbuttoning his ruined shirt. He hissed when shrugging the shirt off tugged painfully at his bruised ribs.
The sound of footsteps trailed him into their room and he suppressed a sigh, calculating the odds that Bones was going to bitch at him for getting hurt in such a stupid way versus Bones being annoyed at Jim for causing trouble.
“So I’m guessing that the night before the shuttle ride wasn’t an isolated incident?” Bones asked mildly from behind him.
Jim shot a careful look over his shoulder and found Bones propped in the doorway, clearly assessing his condition. He pasted on a grin and waved off the accusation.
“Eh, you know how it goes. Boy meets girl. Boy offers to buy girl a drink. Girl’s boyfriend takes offense. The usual,” Jim replied, elaborately casual.
“Looks like girl’s boyfriend nearly broke your nose,” Bones commented, coming a few steps closer and squinting at the bruising Jim could feel spreading across his face. He was sure it was turning spectacular colours by now.
“It’s not that bad,” Jim replied, poking gingerly at his nose and flinching at the wave of pain that rolled through his face. “Okay, so it’s not broken bad.”
“Oh for - stop that,” Bones ordered him and then there was a pair of hands on his shoulders, pushing him down to a seat on the edge of his bed.
Jim grumbled but complied, kicking off his boots now that he was safely seated.
Bones was back at his side a minute or two later, hypospray and medkit in hand. Jim’s protest that he didn’t need any help was briskly ignored and Jim’s bruises were scanned and mended before he’d rallied from the unexpected kindness. Bones’ touch was businesslike but he took care not to cause Jim further pain as he put him to rights.
“You know that it’s possible to go for a drink without getting yourself pounded to a pulp, right?” Bones asked idly, eyes fixed on Jim’s hand as he verified the integrity of Jim’s knuckles.
Jim paused, listening keenly for the reprimand that usually lurked under expressions of concern. The lack of it left him feeling wrong-footed. “Wasn’t looking for trouble,” he answered honestly. “If I’d known she wasn’t alone and he was a jealous prick, I’d have found another girl to chat up.”
Bones nodded to himself in satisfaction - Jim’s condition apparently passed muster - and repacked his equipment. “Be more careful next time, kid,” he chided as he stood up again. “‘Tenderized’ isn’t your best look.”
Jim blinked in bemusement as Bones stowed his equipment and headed back out to the main room. Jim heard the couch creak under his weight and found himself hoping he hadn’t interrupted anything too important. Medical track cadets tended to carry ridiculous workloads even if some of them apparently didn’t mind taking a study break to play doctor for their trouble-prone roommates.
Jim pushed himself to his feet and wandered out into the kitchen. “I’m hungry,” he called over his shoulder, aiming for offhanded. “You want anything?”
“Sure. We should have leftovers from that Chinese the other night,” Bones answered. “Toss them in the warmer? That’d be great. There’s more than enough for two.”
“Dibs on the spicy noodles!” Jim declared as he set the cartons to warm.
“You can have them but I’ll give you all new and exciting bruises if you eat all the sweet and sour whatever that was,” Bones threatened absently.
As it turned out, there was plenty to go around - of food and bickering both - and Jim didn’t even get smacked for stealing the last piece of chicken. Though he did make sure to complain loudly about the nearly invisible mark where Bones had jabbed him with a chopstick.
Jim wasn’t quite sure how it happened but friendship with Bones came surprisingly easily. He’d been cautiously hopeful they’d manage amicable cohabitation, since Bones seemed like a decent guy and he’d proven to be surprisingly tolerant of Jim’s antics. Being buddies with his roommate was convenient. It wasn’t until Jim caught himself having honest conversations with Bones, far beyond the easy interactions he used to cultivate useful acquaintances, that he realized that he actually liked him. Aside from being unexpectedly pleasant company, Bones had evidently decided somewhere along the way that he trusted Jim. The fact that he’d lowered his guard apparently snuck right in under Jim’s. It was kind of hard not to return the favour when a guy like Bones decided you were worth having as a friend.
They made one hell of an odd pair but Jim wasn’t complaining. Whatever other favours life hadn’t done them, it had apparently screwed them up in complementary ways. Of course, accepting that he’d gone ahead and actually become friends with Bones meant taking on certain responsibilities. Bones had demonstrated that he could handle the taking care part. Which left Jim in charge of entertainment.
As nice as Bones was, he tended to be kind of detached. He wasn’t unfriendly enough to be considered standoffish but he kept his distance. Two centuries of watching the world change around him could do that to a guy, Jim guessed. If most of the cadets at the Academy made Jim feel old, how much worse would it be for Bones? The thing that Bones seemed to have forgotten was that passive observation might be a lot less messy but it was also a hell of a lot less fun. Life was meant to be lived, not survived. The least Jim could do was make sure that Bones actually had a good time now and then.
There was always something going on in San Francisco, even for a pair of cadets with a limited amount of time on their hands. Sports, exhibitions, museums, restaurants... Jim could have dragged Bones out to examples of each. He considered it before deciding to start with baby steps. Bars first, culture later.
Thus began Jim’s campaign to pry Bones out of his self-imposed isolation. It never really progressed much past the drinking buddies stage but Jim deemed it good enough. It got Bones out of their room, gave Jim company on nights out and led to Bones actually getting on speaking terms with people outside of a professional context. When they were just Jim and John, two guys out for a good night on the town, Bones finally lost some of his iron reserve and starting sharing more of those slow, warm smiles that Jim liked. Who needed culture anyway?
It was on one of their early ventures that Jim learned about the downside of Bones’ enhancements. Turned out that super fast healing wasn’t always a good thing.
“You’re kidding!” Jim was appalled. “It doesn’t affect you at all?”
“Not a bit. Wish it did, to be honest,” Bones replied, staring down into his glass. “Would’ve made some years easier to get through,” he muttered.
“I bet. That kind of sucks, Bones,” Jim told him. Alcohol and Jim were old, dear friends.
“So why the glass?” he couldn’t help but ask. Bones always had a drink in his hand when they went out, though this did explain his tendency to nurse them.
Bones shrugged, taking a sip. “Can’t get drunk but I still like the taste. The burn of it.”
Jim nodded. There was comfort to be found in old habits, Jim knew. Even when they didn’t actually help.
“You know, there’s dozens of bars around here,” Jim said offhandedly.
“Yeah, and?” Bones raised an eyebrow. “You bored of this one already? You haven’t hit on all the waitresses yet.”
“No, and I’m not leaving until I do - the really hot one just came on shift - but I was thinking that you can’t have tried everything yet,” Jim pointed out.
Bones raised a finger. “I am not drinking that orange shit you got so sick on last week. That drunk would not be worth it, even if it did work.”
“You’ve got no sense of adventure, Bones,” Jim complained though privately he agreed. That orange stuff had been shit.
Bones just snorted at him. “I’ve had plenty of adventure, thanks. I prefer tamer leisure activities, these days.”
Naturally, Jim took that as a challenge and flagged down the hot waitress to order shots of the orange shit. The next day’s hangover was deadly but Jim had the waitress’ comm code and had the satisfaction of Bones bitching for days about the aftertaste.
Drinking games aside, Jim stayed on his best behaviour the first few times he was out with Bones. Bones had proved surprisingly amenable to Jim’s plans to socialize him but Jim didn’t think that would last if Jim started picking fights. Having Bones around made it easier to stay out of trouble anyhow, since Jim wasn’t at the kind of loose ends that left him likely to screw with people just for kicks. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop people from messing with Jim.
He’d had a few run-ins with his buddies from the Riverside bar since arriving at the Academy and relations hadn’t improved since then. If Cupcake and his crew had been there when Jim and Bones walked in that evening, Jim would have found some excuse to introduce Bones to another bar. Instead, Jim found himself face to face with his favourite bar bully on his way back to his table. Jim recognized the expression on Cupcake’s face from the last time he planted his fist there; the chances of this ending without some sort of violence were slim. Jim flicked a glance over at Bones, watching from their table and resolved to try.
He really wasn’t surprised when it didn’t work.
Jim lost track of the fight almost immediately after they stopped trading insults in favour of taking swings. He knew he didn’t throw the first punch but his was the first to connect. By the time Jim split Cupcake’s lip, the thugs he called friends were wading in and things just got more hectic from there. He stumbled as someone snagged the back of his shirt, drawing an arm back as he got his feet under him. He let his fist drop when he realized it was Bones, reluctantly submitting to the sharp tug as Bones got a handful of his collar and dragged him clear.
“What the hell, Bones?” Jim complained as Bones hauled him out of the bar, twisting out of the unreasonably tight grip Bones had on his shirt. One eye was already swelling shut, there was a familiar wetness trickling down the side of his face and his mouth was full of the metallic taste of blood. “What’d you do that for? I was just getting ready to pound his face in.”
“Because I’ve got better things to do tonight than bail you out of jail for brawling,” Bones answered irritably. “And he wasn’t far off from returning the favour, you idiot.”
“You’d know,” Jim shot back sulkily, “what with how you were just standing there watching.”
And he had been, Jim realized belatedly. The fight itself was a bit of a blur but he’d taken the time to check on Bones’ position, make sure he was doing all right, only to find him lurking at the edges of the altercation, watching the fists fly. The following stab of disappointment was a surprise; when had Jim started counting on someone to watch his back?
Bones ignored the accusation, catching Jim’s chin in his hand as he ran a practiced eye over the results of the brawl.
“You’ll live,” Bones told him flatly as he released him. “We can clean you up after we get you home.”
“Great. That’s great. And thanks for all your help in there,” Jim said, spitting a mouthful of blood and trying not to sound too bitter. “Don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Bones smiled tightly as he watched Jim wipe his face on his sleeve. “Sorry, Jim. My mistake. I thought you wanted a wingman, not a bodyguard.”
Jim went still at that innocuously light reply, taking a deep breath before letting it out slowly.
Fair point, he acknowledged with a tip of his head.
Bones was his friend, sometimes his backup, often the voice of his common sense but never his personal attack dog. It wasn’t Bones’ job to clean up Jim’s messes. Especially not when Bones could have taken down everyone in that bar without breaking a sweat, Jim was reminded as the door slammed open behind them and startled Bones into an automatic defensive stance. The drunks stumbling out of the bar didn’t notice Bones’ inhumanly quick reaction but Jim couldn’t miss it.
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He’d promised himself, almost immediately after meeting Bones, that he’d never trade on the man’s history. Damn it, that was a promise Jim had wanted to keep.
Jim opened his eyes and caught Bones’ eyes as he nodded once, sharp and solemn, before pasting on a smirk. “As if I’d need any help dealing with those assholes.”
Bones had relaxed slightly, tension easing out of his shoulders as Jim got his temper back under control, though there was still some wariness in the way he scoffed at Jim’s bravado. “Sure, and that’s why you’re bleeding all over yourself again.”
“Yeah, well,” Jim sighed and rubbed a hand carefully over his face. “Come on. You said something about getting cleaned up?”
“Yeah, Jim,” Bones agreed with a sigh of his own. “Let’s go home.”
Jim was more relieved than he cared to admit when Bones failed to hold a grudge. He was maybe just a bit nervous, the next time he invited Bones out but Bones didn’t hesitate before accepting. Well, he did but no more than his usual protests of better things to do and that didn’t count. And if playing things a bit safe kept Bones happy, well, it kept Jim from getting punched up every few days and that was probably a good thing.
It took a few months before Jim realized he’d gotten it a bit wrong.
It was another night in another bar with yet another belligerent drinker. For once, Jim hadn’t actually done anything to warrant getting hit. In fact, he never even saw it coming. One minute, he was nursing a drink while he waited for Bones and the next minute someone was trying to bounce his face off of the bar to the tune of angry bellowing in his ear. Luckily, Jim had been leaning on his elbows and reflexively caught himself before his cheek was driven into the wood. He was just scrambling to get sufficient leverage to shake off the painfully tight grip of the hand latched around the nape of his neck when someone pulled the asshole off of him.
Jim put a hand on the bar to steady himself as he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. The alcohol-flushed man slurring curses into the surface of the bar answered the first part of the question; Bones standing at his back, twisting the drunk’s arm up and behind him as he easily held the man pinned against the wood explained the second.
“You okay, Jim?” Bones asked over the ineffective wriggling of the man he’d restrained.
“Yeah, Bones, Thanks, I’m fine,” Jim answered, lifting his free hand to rub away the lingering sensation of pressure at the base of his skull. “Good timing, by the way.”
“What are you,” Jim’s attacker protested muzzily, tugging at his arm, “some kind of motherfucking Vulcan wannabe?”
“Vulcans wouldn’t fuck their mothers,” Bones corrected mildly, maintaining his hold without visible effort. “It wouldn’t be logical.”
The guy snarled in drunken affront, trying to wrench his arm free to swing at him.
“And Vulcans wouldn’t break nearly as many of your bones as I’m going to if you don’t settle down, right fucking now.” Bones barely moved but Jim’s attacker howled in pain, struggles abruptly subsiding.
“Hey,” Bones called over to the watching bartender. “Should I cut him loose?”
“Hell no!” came the vehement response. “There’s a free drink in it for you if you go ahead and toss him out!”
“Sounds good to me,” Bones remarked. “Order for me, would you, Jim?”
“Sure thing, Bones!”
Jim clearly wasn’t the only one the guy had been bothering tonight; there was a smattering of applause as Bones hauled him upright and frog marched him out of the bar. By the time Bones made it back inside, apparently oblivious to the appreciative looks that followed him back to the bar, Jim had his payment waiting: a glass of an expensive bourbon that Bones didn’t usually allow himself to order. Jim figured he’d earned it tonight. From the generous measure she’d splashed into the glass, so did the bartender. Bones raised an eyebrow in pleased surprise when he recognized what he’d been served, lifting his glass in thanks before taking a sip.
“Thanks for the save,” Jim offered cautiously as Bones savoured his drink. He seemed awfully calm for having had to wade into a fight and pull some drunk jerk off of Jim’s back.
Bones shrugged off his gratitude. “I wasn’t going to let him break your nose just because he took exception to your face. It’s not your fault you’re pretty.”
“Is that what he - Aw, Bones! You think I’m pretty!” Jim cooed as he leaned into Bones’ shoulder, batting his eyelashes up at him.
He just laughed as Bones snorted and shoved him off, muttering darkly about breaking Jim’s nose himself, no matter how pretty it was. He knew he was grinning like an idiot but Bones was wearing that familiar look of long-suffering indulgence so he knew they were good. The words not your fault ran through his head again, shuffling Jim’s assumptions about Bones’ lack of involvement in Jim’s everyday scraps into a new, much more satisfying configuration. Jim didn’t need a protector. But, he thought as he propped his arm on Bones’ shoulder without questioning that he’d hold him up, he thought he could get to enjoy having a partner.
When Jim burst into their room during the last week of their first year finals, he was anything but in need of help.
“Bones!” he shouted gleefully, flinging himself to a stop and throwing his arms wide. “Guess who just aced Admiral Jennings’ equivalencies exam?”
It’d been just under a year and Jim wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the way Bones smiled at him: open, unashamed and totally sincere.
“That’s great, Jim! That’s your in for the advanced summer section, right?”
“Damn right it is. Three-year graduation, here I come,” Jim gloated.
Bones shook his head fondly at the show of ego but his pleased expression never wavered.
Jim wasn’t used to making people happy, either.
“I think this deserves a drink!” he announced abruptly, still bursting with far too much triumph and satisfaction for their room to contain. “Come on, get your shoes on and let’s go!”
“Sure, Jim,” Bones agreed easily. “Nice of you to offer to buy.”
“Oh, as if I’ll ever have enough credits to my name to get you drunk,” Jim scoffed. “Besides, did you just kick the ass of the worst test first year has to offer? No, you did not. Drinks are on you, old man.”
Bones rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath as he stood but there was a smile curving his lips as he pulled on his boots. “At least that summer course ought to keep you out of my hair for a while.”
The words had no bite, what with the proud smile Bones still wasn’t making any effort to hide or the congratulatory slap on the shoulder. Jim ducked his head to cover the ridiculous grin he couldn’t wipe off his face. “Aw, Bones. You know you’d miss me.”
“Like a fly in my ointment,” Bones replied solemnly, casually hooking an arm around Jim’s neck and dragging him out into the corridor. “A thorn in my side. A pain in my ass.”
“You should maybe consider seeing a doctor for that,” Jim told him earnestly. “I’ve got this friend, he’s always telling me about the miracles of modern medicine. They could probably fix that for you.”
“Smartass,” Bones growled at him, using the loose headlock he had on Jim to shake him gently.
Jim just laughed and let Bones haul him along as he grumbled about how no medicine in the universe could fix Jim’s ego.
“Hey,” Jim started, ducking out from under Bones’ arm and falling into step beside him as they hit the dormitory doors, “you’ve got some time off before that extra training rotation starts, right?”
Bones raised a questioning eyebrow. “Yeah. Why?”
“I’ve got some time before classes start and I feel like taking advantage of it.” Jim shrugged and tossed the idea out there. “There’s got to be some tourist traps out there that you’ve never seen. Want to go check a few of them out?”
When he slid a glance sideways to check Bones’ reaction, he found him looking thoughtful.
“I never did get a chance to spend much time out east,” Bones mused aloud.
“Atlantic coast east or Asia east?” Jim immediately asked.
“We only have a little better than a week, Jim,” Bones warned, unsuccessfully trying to smother a smile. “Don’t get too ambitious.”
As if there could be such a thing.
They split the difference and went to Europe and slept in a different country every night. Jim made a point of trying at least one food item he couldn’t pronounce at every meal. Bones kept a running tally of how many people Jim offended by trying to flirt in their native languages. By the time they headed back, Jim was wearing half a dozen hickeys, Bones was scruffier than Jim had ever seen him and they had two duffels of dirty clothes wrapped around cheap souvenirs and touristy holos. It took some effort for Jim to saunter, rather than stumble, into class the morning after their late night shuttle arrival but he still slipped a wink to the dubious looks the other cadets sent his way. He could guaran-damn-tee that they hadn’t made any better use of their down time than he had.
But the course of true friendship never did run smooth and Jim’s birthdays were enough to derail any routine, no matter how comfortable. Jim was never sure how long it had taken Bones to figure out the significance of Jim’s last name. He knew Bones had to know but to his vast relief, Bones had returned the favour Jim had done him on the day they met by never commenting or treating him any differently. Even if Bones hadn’t understood how little Jim wanted to talk about it, he’d always supposed that Bones’ perspective on loss had to be pretty unusual, what with the centuries-long lifespan he was facing. Whatever the reason, he’d shown remarkable restraint when Jim had disappeared on the first of his birthdays that passed after starting at the Academy.
Bones had been waiting up for him that night when he’d stumbled through the door, barely able to see straight for the volume of alcohol he’d poured down his throat. The layered bruises he’d earned throughout the night weren’t helping matters either. Bones assessed his condition without comment, lips tightening on some unhappy remark but he kept it to himself. Jim, still inclined towards belligerence despite his incapacitation, waited for some of Bones’ usual asperity to sneak out but it never did. Bones just got him cleaned up, medicated, and poured into his own bed. Jim stared up at him in drunken confusion and wondered when the disappointed, angry commentary was going to start right up until the alcohol and exhaustion dragged him under.
Bones held his silence the morning after as well, though he kept a close eye on Jim as he crept gingerly around their room the next day. Jim was feeling fragile enough that he couldn’t argue about the observation. He was just grateful for the absence of the tirade he’d half-expected after the mess he’d made of himself last night. By the time the effects of the night before had worn off, things between them seemed to have eased back into normal and Jim was too relieved to question it. Routine reestablished itself, life went on as normal and Jim put the incident out of his head.
But Bones hadn’t forgotten. He’d just been waiting until Jim’s next birthday came around.
Jim had slipped off early in the afternoon, intent on losing himself in some hole in the wall where the booze was cheap and the company was plentiful. He always started with the best of intentions on his birthdays. If everyone else was too busy crying over his father, Jim would just start his own party. And if he usually found himself in the centre of a knock-down, drag-out brawl before the night was over? Well, there were plenty of ways to remind the world that you were alive. Jim had always been good at making his own fun.
He’d already gotten tossed out of one dive for mouthing off to the regulars and was scouting around for a new place to slink into when a hand settled on his shoulder. He twisted out from underneath the loose grip, dropping automatically into a braced stance before he recognized the man who’d snuck up on him.
Oh goddamn it. Jim recognized that grimly determined expression and now was not a good time for Bones to stage some kind of intervention, or whatever he thought he was doing.
“Bones? What are you doing here?” Jim tried to keep his tone neutral and jerked a thumb over his shoulder as he began to back away. “Look, whatever you want - can it wait? I’m on my way somewhere.”
“I can see that,” Bones replied coolly. “Headed straight for a barroom floor, if I read your trajectory right.”
Jim bit back his temper with some effort, closing his eyes as he sucked in a deep breath. Bones deserved better than to have Jim’s shit dumped all over his head, Jim reminded himself. Even if he did have incredibly bad timing.
“Just - go home, Bones. I need to get out and I won’t be good company tonight.” Jim didn’t want good company tonight. He’d take a good fight or a hard fuck, whichever found him first.
“No.”
The simple refusal caught Jim flat-footed. “What?”
“I said no.”
Jim gave in to the urge to swear at the stubborn set of Bones’ jaw. He’d picked today of all days to turn busybody? Really?
Enough, Jim decided abruptly. Forget arguing about it. This was bullshit. Jim was getting the hell out of here; he’d do damage control tomorrow.
“You can’t stop me,” he said with a shrug, turning on one heel and making a beeline for the nearest bar. If Bones was obstinate enough to follow, he’d ditch him out the back before moving on. At least, that was the plan.
Jim only took two steps before he was seized from behind and manhandled into a nearby alley.
“Watch me,” Bones answered flatly, securing his grip into an immobilizing hold before Jim had even realized what he was doing.
“What - Let me go!” Jim demanded. What the fuck did Bones think he was doing?
“Not a chance,” Bones replied, almost pleasantly.
“Let me go,” Jim repeated furiously.
“Make me,” Bones invited.
All right, then. If that was the way Bones wanted to play it, Jim would.
Jim threw everything he had into breaking Bones’ hold on him. He fought as hard as he could, tried every trick he’d ever learned. Nothing worked. Bones’ grip was unyielding. Jim had always known that Bones was strong but this was the first time he’d experienced it for himself and every failed attempt to get free drove him to a more desperate attempt. It wasn’t until he heard a pained grunt from Bones that he accepted the inevitable. That hit would have broken anyone else’s nose and as pissed as he was, Jim wasn’t willing to go that far.
He went limp in Bones’ arms, letting him hold him up as he panted for breath.
“Okay,” he finally managed. “You win.”
“Damn it, Jim. It wasn’t a contest,” Bones grumbled in his ear.
“Yeah, whatever,” Jim sighed as he got his feet back under him. Despite the temptation to wrench himself out of Bones’ loosened grip, he stayed docilely still. Bones had proven his point. “What do you want?”
“Just come with me,” Bones instructed as he let Jim go and led the way out of the alley. As much as it grated, Jim didn’t have much choice but to follow.
He wasn’t entirely surprised when Bones brought them back to their room. He rolled his eyes as Bones steered him across the room and flung himself sulkily onto the couch under a gentle clap on the shoulder. Wasn’t this just turning into the best birthday ever?
Though things might be looking up, he mused as Bones put a glass full of something alcoholic in his hands.
“Didn’t think drinking was on the list of permissible activity tonight,” Jim complained sullenly, clutching the glass protectively in case Bones changed his mind.
“Getting yourself beat to hell in some shithole of a bar is not on the list of things to do,” Bones corrected, setting the bottle on the table in front of Jim. “You can go ahead and drink all that you can handle. That’s all that some days are good for.”
Jim squinted thoughtfully as he considered the hollowed-out expression Bones’ last comment had left on his face. What kind of anniversaries did a 250-year-old soldier celebrate when no one was watching? And what kind of days did he wish had never happened the first time? Poor bastard couldn’t even wash the memories away in a haze of alcohol.
“Guess I’m drinking for two, then,” Jim declared as he tipped up his glass.
Bones left him to it, reducing himself to a quiet presence on the edge of Jim’s admittedly blurry awareness. Jim was dully surprised to learn that not being alone or at sea in a crowd of strangers actually made a difference, even if it wasn’t enough to make things good. He just hoped Bones was willing to forgive or forget whatever torrents of crap were coming out of Jim’s mouth; he was way too far gone to track what he was saying tonight. He’d lost track of both the hours and the booze by the time Bones finally cut him off. Jim was in no fit state to protest as Bones peeled him off of the floor and dragged him off to bed.
“Your birthday’s over now, Jim,” Bones promised as he got him settled. “Wish it could have been happier.”
“Nah, don’t worry. Best I’ve had in years,” Jim mumbled into his pillow, “but you have some weird ideas about birthday presents, old man.”
Somewhere over his head, Bones chuckled sadly. “Don’t worry. You’ll get the rest of your present later, smartass.”
Jim managed a vaguely interrogative noise.
“Whatever else happened today, kid, some of us are glad you’re alive,” Bones told him softly. “So come tomorrow, I’m going to start teaching you how to stay that way.”
Jim’s breath hitched when a hand settled gently on his head and he squeezed his half-closed eyes tightly shut when a calloused thumb swept along his cheekbone. Stupid drinks. Making his eyes water like that.
If he’d been in any state to wonder, Jim would have questioned if Bones really meant that. He found out the next afternoon when Bones hauled him out of bed, hit him with some hypospray remedy for the hangover and dragged him out to one of the private training rooms.
“We’re going to start with something easy,” Bones told him as he prodded Jim out into the centre of the room, “like how to avoid a punch to the face, you reckless bastard.”
“Come on, Bones. Are we really going to - oof!” the rest of Jim’s question disappeared in a rush of displaced air when his back hit the mat, feet having been neatly swept out from under him.
“Lesson one,” Bones instructed as his face swam into view, hovering over Jim. “Your mouth isn’t going to get you out of most of the trouble you find.”
Jim’s eyes narrowed, then he grinned fiercely and held a hand up. “You are on, old man.”
Bones pulled him to his feet, answering grin spreading across his face.
Oh yeah. This was going to be fun.
Sparring with Bones quickly became a regular addition to Jim’s schedule and the practice was invaluable. Bones ran him through a wide array of defensive and offensive techniques (including an arsenal of dirty tricks) and Jim soaked up every lesson. He might have been annoyed at how easy it became to win the bar fights that had always been his favourite form of stress release but the private tutoring won him a teaching position in Advanced Hand-to-Hand in his final year which more than made up for it. Besides, Jim was hardly going to complain about increasing his chances of surviving active duty out in Starfleet. Propaganda aside, everyone knew it was a rough universe out there.
It didn’t hurt that for all of George Kirk’s achievements, he’d never made a name for himself as one of the best fighters in the Academy.
It was by far the best birthday present that Jim had ever received.
The rest of their final year rushed past in a blur of classwork and testing, the eyes of the Academy administration heavy on the graduating class. Even Bones, with his diminished need for sleep, was starting to look ragged in the last few months of classes. Then came the clusterfuck of the Kobayashi Maru. Then came the distress call from Vulcan and the mass slaughter that followed. By the time it was over, the Federation had been rocked to its foundations and there were far greater concerns than whether or not Cadet Kirk had cheated on his impossible test.
Instead of graduation ceremonies, the Academy was arranging mass funeral services and Command was scrambling to reassign personnel to cover the gaping holes that Nero’s mania had punched in the service fleet. Regardless of the trouble he’d brought on himself with the Kobayashi Maru test, there was no question now of tossing Jim out of the Academy, not after his part in saving the Earth. Not only was his three-year graduation approved, he walked out of his final briefing with the Admiralty wearing a captain’s stripes and carrying orders to take command of the Enterprise. It wasn’t how he’d have chosen to do it but he’d take the win. For the cocky asshole everyone had dismissed three years ago, for everyone that hadn’t made it home after Nero, he’d sit in that chair and show the whole damn Federation that he’d earned it.
Bones was waiting for him when he finally made it back to their room. (Still their room because who’d had time for minor administrative tasks like cadet room assignments?) Jim didn’t have to say a word; Bones’ eyes took in the gold of his uniform and dropped immediately to the stripes on his sleeve.
“Congratulations, you unbelievably lucky bastard,” Bones said but for all the dryness of his tone, his smile was pleased. There was no relief to be seen in his expression, but then Bones had been certain of the outcome even when Jim had privately worried.
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Jim told him, dropping to a seat on the mattress beside Bones. That wasn’t anything less than absolute truth, for all that Bones grimaced and brushed it off. Bones had refused to leave him behind when regulations and common sense ordered otherwise and Jim would never, ever forget that.
Jim sighed tiredly and leaned heavily into Bones’ side, appreciating the solid comfort of the arm that wrapped itself around his shoulders. “They’re giving me the Enterprise,” he muttered into Bones’ chest.
He could feel Bones nod. “Figured they would. Any other word on who else will be crewing her?”
Jim snorted. “In theory, I’ve got my pick. But really, there’s some pretty cutthroat competition to nab people from the surviving class. They’re shuffling crew assignments and it’s getting kind of crazy. I put in commendations for everyone and a request to keep whoever wanted to stay on board.” He shrugged without lifting his head. “It’ll be up to them if they want to stick around.”
Bones shook him lightly. “You’ll need to fill some positions before we go out again but I don’t think you’ll lose many. Enterprise is the flagship. She’s meant to carry the best and brightest and there’s not many of them that’ll settle for a lesser ship.”
The assessment confirmed Jim’s own take on his crew-in-the-making but he ignored that for the moment, latching on to one particular word. “We?” he checked. “You planning on coming out there with me, old man?”
Jim had exercised some of his new rank to check on his people (they were still his, damn it, right up until the transfer orders crossed his brand new desk) and had taken particular interest in a few key personnel. Unsurprisingly, there were opportunities pouring in for officers like Chekov, Sulu and Uhura. Even with that minor mutiny issue, there had been so many attempts to poach Spock that his Vulcan composure would have cracked again. And people were lining up to get a piece of the only man Jim wanted for his CMO. There was no reason that Bones had to stay with the Enterprise, not when he could write his own ticket to nearly anywhere in Starfleet.
Bones snorted. “Where else would I go? Someone’s got to stick around and keep an eye on you.”
“Good,” Jim told him fiercely, possessive relief blooming warm in his chest. He wanted to keep all of his crew but he’d fight to keep Bones.
Bones chuckled and tugged Jim over backwards, knocking them both flat to the mattress. Jim grumbled for show but went willingly enough. He was tired and he’d long since stopped trying to polish himself for Bones.
“Nowhere else I’d rather be, kid,” Bones told him as they rearranged their limbs to fit on the narrow bunk. “Now be a good little captain and pass out for a while, would you? Command seems to be labouring under the delusion that none of us need sleep.”
It wasn’t until much later that a fond whisper roused Jim from a comfortable doze.
“Been a long time since I’ve had someone worth following, Jim. I’m not in any hurry to walk away.”
Jim kept his eyes closed and tucked his smile into the side of Bones’ neck. The validation of Bones’ approval followed him into sleep.
On to Part 2
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