Author's Note: Hello! Beyond pleasantly surprised me with the inspiration to do something I've wanted to do for years but never have - write a de-aged Jim. :) I have several story ideas floating around regarding the new movie, but this is the one that will be written first. The idea of writing a small Jim is just too enticing. :) I confess this will be my "brain break" story from my heavier WIPs because of the h/c and interactions Jim will have with the crew.

Please note there is a pre-slash (eventual slash) element to this story involving Jim and Bones. For VERY OBVIOUS REASONS, however, that will be mainly referenced in the first portion of this fic and then only occurring in the latter portion of the story when JIM IS AN ADULT (and ALL content will be appropriate and fitting to this story's T rating, more on the light side of things). Sorry to shout. I just want to be perfectly clear about this so there is no reason to misinterpret this particular plot point and misconstrue the element entirely. Have questions? Please just message me privately.

There will be mentions/references to Jim's past and the abuse he suffered as a child in Riverside, but I will use appropriate warnings at the beginning of those chapters.

The events that occurred in Into Darkness will not be ignored in this fic. :D

This story, for the most part, takes place at the very end of Beyond and continues on after that. However, a few chapters will be out of order chronologically. I will be very clear about those when I post those. I'm trying to stay within the movie context, but if it veers slightly into "AU" territory, that will be an honest mistake. :)

Thank you Diamondblue4 and Junker5 for kindly betaing, for being willing to listen and share ideas regarding these beloved characters. *hugs*

I hope you enjoy this first installment. I have three chapters written so far, and will be posting those in the next few days, too. :)

oOo

Chapter One

Things That I Remember

oOo

Jim wakes up to a massive headache and the memory of watching Jaylah do the impossible—drink Scotty under the table. He'd never seen anything like it, even though he'd come close to doing the same thing once or twice for the sole purpose of eliminating boredom on the ship. But he'd never managed to do so with the same flair that Jaylah had possessed. It had been the same way with her traps. She'd gone above and beyond, guaranteeing that she'd come out on top and make it out alive every time.

Jaylah is clearly meant to do more. He'd bet a million credits that she'll find a new place to use her skills whether or not she graduates from the Academy. He secretly hopes that if she does decide to continue along the path to become a Starfleet officer, that he'll still be captain of the Enterprise.

She fit with his crew, could fight with the best of them, had a sensitive but strong spirit, and continued to call him James T. Not James. Not Jim. Not even Captain. To his chagrin, Bones has already developed the annoying habit of smirking at Jim whenever she says his name.

For those reasons, he's damn sure he'll pull even more strings than he has already to make sure she succeeds at the Academy, and, once graduated, have a guaranteed spot on his ship.

Keeping his eyes closed, he turns his head with effort, then squints to read the chronometer. He's shocked that it's well past noon. Sighing, Jim struggles to roll onto his side, his limbs tangled in the sheets.

"Dammit," he breathes, freeing his left leg with a jerk.

Once he does settle on his side, he curls back into a ball. If he were smart, making the most of the time they had left at Yorktown, he'd comm Bones now. Ask for one of his hangover-curing cocktails, see if they could take a walk. Not languish in bed. But he doesn't think he can wrestle the mound of pillows and rumpled blankets that are between him and his comm. He groans into his pillow, immediately wishing he hadn't. His morning breath smells more rotten than usual.

He can't deny that he'd loved the surprise party Bones had thrown him, but he hates himself for drinking so damn much. He'd thought he'd toned it down a notch, predicting the way he'd feel the next morning. Also wanting to spend the time with Bones with his head at least partly on straight.

He might have gotten carried away when Bones had stayed by his side, unable to stop simply because his best friend had held onto his elbow, guiding him as they'd walked around the room, mingling. At the time, it'd seemed logical to believe that he'd been supporting Jim, still concerned about the small but brutal list of injuries he'd sustained in the last fight he'd had with Edison. Several cracked ribs, the bruising covering his torso, some internal bleeding, and even a few, hairline fractured bones of his face and hands. And Bones is nothing if not a mother-hen when it comes to his injuries.

But now he wants to believe it had been...something more.

"Well, well, well. Sleeping Beauty is finally awake."

The voice is far too loud this morning, and a shade on the intimidating and grumpy side. Jim shoots up in bed. The merciless pounding in his head momentarily takes his breath away.

"Gah." He puts both of his hands to his head to steady himself, groaning. Is he imagining things? Bones is here? "You're here?"

His own words echo like heavy beats of a drum, each one attacking his skull like those fucking bots of Krall's.

Bones snorts from the bedroom doorway. "Obviously," he says in a dry tone, walking towards him. "You about jumped out of your own skin."

"Mr. Sensitive wouldn't have scared me like that," he argues in a whisper, hunching over. From the corner of his eye, he watches as Bones rolls his eyes. "You should've warned me," he adds accusingly.

Bones sighs. "I did. Jim…"

Jim glances sideways at him, grimacing. "You're using that voice you use when you reprimand your staff—or me. What did I do this time?"

"This. You want to explain this to me?" Bones asks in monotone, holding up Jim's PADD.

Though surprised that he actually had done something to upset him, he doesn't feel up to explaining anything. "Maybe later? When I can think?"

He falls ungracefully back onto his pillow and closes his eyes.

"I'd like to talk now," Bones says. "Since I'm here, and you don't have activities for three hours."

"Right." He frowns. What activities? "Well, while you're here, can I have that hypo…" His frown deepens. Did Bones bring him to his door last night? "Did you stay the entire night?"

He's an idiot if Bones had and he can't even remember, because that means he's an ungrateful, drunken friend. Bones had had a hard day, too, recently and probably shouldn't have sacrificed his good night's rest for Jim.

"Yeah, Jim," Bones says quietly. "I did, because you asked me to."

He always asks Bones to come back with him after drinks, but he hardly ever takes him up on it, unless they were both off duty the next day. Figures that the night he had agreed, Jim can't even remember.

"I did?" he asks doubtfully.

The bed dips beside him. He opens his eyes to find Bones sitting on the edge.

Bones's brow arches high. "I was going to stay with you, anyway. Towards the end of the party, you weren't yourself."

"I was drunk," Jim states the obvious, wincing from the pain as the bots shoot into his head again.

"Actually, you weren't drunk. Someone mixed up the drinks, accidentally giving you the wrong one," Bones says, voice so low he strains to hear him.

"What do you mean wrong one?" Jim asks, confused.

Bones looks absolutely miserable. "It was meant for someone else, of another species, a species we are still trying to pinpoint. It was essentially poisonous for you, Jim."

Jim stares at him in disbelief. "Come again?"

"Someone poisoned you with the wrong drink," Bones repeats patiently.

"No, no," he murmurs, kneading his aching forehead. "That didn't happen."

He'd remember that, wouldn't he?

"Yes, Jim, it did happen," Bones says matter-of-factly. "You were poisoned. On your birthday. At the party…." He clenches his teeth. "That I threw you."

He blinks at him. Was this some joke? "Are you fucking with me?"

"I'm not, Jim," Bones said, expression wounded.

"That's impossible," Jim says confusedly. "I don't...I don't remember any of it."

Bones won't look at him. "I know ya don't. You can read my medical logs if you want confirmation, Jim."

"You're serious, then?" he asks incredulously. "Poisoned?"

"At this point, the authorities can't prove it was premeditated, but in light of recent circumstances they assigned a guard to you. They would like to talk with you but I've used my authority to give you time to recuperate first," Bones says, still averting his eyes. "After you'd ingested the drink, you kept trying to tell me something about the meeting you'd had. You also kept trying to dance with me—"

"That doesn't sound too bad," Jim says, imagining holding hands with Bones in the process, somewhere other than sickbay where he was always injured, needing comfort.

"—and Keenser, at the same time," Bones says flatly, now glancing up. "Without your pants on. Wouldn't be so bad, but Jaylah witnessed the entire thing."

Oh. Shit.

"That's just great," Jim mutters under his breath.

"Only you, Jim. Only you," Bones breathes out. He cocks his head. "That's when I realized something was wrong, because you hadn't had much to drink at all. We took you to sickbay, where Spock helped me formulate an antidote and we gave you the first dosage, also making sure you didn't puke your guts out and your fever didn't get any higher. Once you were stabilized, I brought you here to your room so you'd be more comfortable to just wait it out. But don't worry about Jaylah, Jim. She thinks you're a little off your rocker, anyway, especially since you handled her bike as well as you did. Though I did explain to her what happened with the poison."

He's speechless. "I…" His brow twitches as he frowns and tries to figure out how, exactly, to say thank you. "Uh…"

"Back to the meeting," Bones continues as if they weren't just talking about yet another near-death experience of his.

In fact, he's acting strangely calm about everything.

Jim decides he'll go along with it. He really doesn't want to make a big deal about the poisoning incident he doesn't remember, anyway. Or the dancing.

He sighs, shaking his head. "Not now, Bones. It's the day after my birthday. It's practically still my birthday, if you count the...uh...poison hangover. No talks about meetings."

"Today you do talk about meetings," Bones says simply. "Want to explain this?"

Jim rubs his hands over his face. "Explain what?"

He squints again, barely making out Bones's face and the screen.

Bones sighs, putting the PADD and its offensive, bright screen away. "Here, let me spell it out for you. V. I. C. E. A. D. M. I. R—"

His heart drops. "Shit," he whispers.

When he'd been accepted, they'd sent a complimentary, congratulatory message to him. Had he pulled that message up last night? Had he mentioned it to Bones? Anyone? Had he talked in his sleep about it?

"The poison got to your head more than I thought," Bones mutters. "Figured you'd get it by the time I got to the 'c,' at least, Jim."

"So I'm a little slow this morning—"

"—afternoon," Bones interjects without missing a beat.

"—but I changed my mind about the promotion, Bones," Jim replies, looking down at his hands. "It's not...what you think."

"But it is," Bones stresses, his drawl long gone from his voice. "You had to have thought about this for a long time, Jim, had to put a lot of time into your application."

The vanishing drawl makes Jim want to ask him about his mother, just to hear that warm, honeyed voice again. But he holds both his breath and his tongue. It's obvious he's in some serious shit with Bones.

"This is what was bothering you? Before you forced me to fly that damn spaceship?" Bones continues.

"Spock is the one who suggested you fly it in the first place, Bones," Jim says pointedly. "Not me."

"A technicality."

"You flew the ship spectacularly, Bones, just like I always knew you could fly a ship," he adds. "You overcame your aviophobia. And then saved me. Again."

Silence hits the room as Bones glowers at him.

It was the wrong thing to say, and he should've known better. He can't take it back, but maybe he can make it better.

He stares back at Bones apologetically. "I'm...guessing you don't want me to call you my knight-in-shining-armor, though that's exactly what you are," he says honestly, putting all jokes aside.

Is he flirting with Bones again? He presses his palm to his forehead, willing his mouth to stop. Halfway through their mission, two and half years, and he is still a coward. Unable to confess his feelings—or anything—to Bones.

It's getting harder and harder to live with him on the ship, knowing that Bones won't swing his way, not for all their camaraderie and friendship. He'd never given Jim the indication that he wanted more, and he'd never shown overt interest in men before, either. Jim is too afraid of ruining their friendship by trying for more with him. He needs Bones like he needs air, and as co-dependent as they are on each other, he doesn't want to take the wrong step.

Backing away had seemed like a better option than destroying a friendship that could actually last if he'd do the right thing, more or less grounding himself on a starbase.

Bones draws a long breath. "Don't, Jim…"

Jim quickly steers the conversation away in a different direction. "And, anyway, you know what they say, 'always do sober what you said you'd do drunk.'"

Bones blinks. "Huh?"

"'Always do sober what you—"

"I know what you said, just where did you hear that? And why bring it up now?"

"My grandmother always quoted my grandfather as saying it, and he stole it from Ernest Hemingway," he says, pulling himself up again. "You know, the twentieth century wri—"

"I know who he is. I'm just surprised you can coherently quote a famous writer in the state you're in." He pauses. "I took readings of your vitals several more times this morning and gave you a sedative, in addition to the second round of the antidote. That's why it's so late."

"Thank you," he says quietly. He winces, feeling a flash of guilt for being so much trouble. "I'm sorry...that happened. You have better things to do than—"

"Caring for my captain? Which is my job?" Bones asks, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

"Well…" He scratches his head. "Yes."

Bones sighs heavily. "Not your fault, but you're welcome."

Jim scoots back on the bed, the sheet falling off his shoulders. Bones's expression softens for a split second, his eyes following the sheet, the lines and curves of Jim's body. His heart skips a beat, the attention causing that spark of hope to burn in his belly. What he wouldn't give to see those eyes burn a hole through his own...

He swallows nervously and stops his wayward thoughts, gathering the sheet so it pools at his waist. For some odd reason that he can't explain, he's strangely self-conscious about his nakedness. And it isn't the first time that the feeling has prevented him from getting out of bed, and dressed, when Bones is present. At first, he'd chalked it up to maturity. Then to the fact they have absolutely no privacy on the Enterprise and he needs some semblance of it, even it front of his best friend. But now, he's certain it's something else.

"That quote, why I bring it up now?" Jim begins nervously. "The last shore leave, when we hit that bar, you said you'd fly a ship. And you were drunk," he rambles on. "But a couple of day ago, you weren't, and you flew and so…."

His voice trails off at the stricken look on Bones's face. On second thought, maybe he isn't steering the conversation away from Bones's heroic moment after all. He's leading him like one leads a thirsty horse to a river to drink. He's giving him mammoth-sized breadcrumbs, straight to it. He has no tact, whatsoever.

He kneads the ache at his temple. "I...I think I need that hangover cocktail of yours, too," he says hoarsely. "If you have it."

The hypospray appears out of nowhere.

"Gah, dammit, Bones," Jim hisses, slapping the offended spot on his neck. "You're evil this morning."

"That's actually for your headache. When were you going to tell me about the promotion?" Bones asks, ignoring the indignant look on Jim's face. "Drinking loosens your tongue more than most people, Jim, but so did this poison. That said, I don't think you'd actually planned to say a single word to me last night about this."

Jim sighs, biting his tongue so he doesn't screw this up more than he obviously already has. "I...don't know."

It's an honest answer, but by the glint in Bones's eyes, not the right one.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Bones asks exasperatedly.

"I mean I don't know."

"How could you not know, Jim? Were you planning to tell me the day you were leaving? Or the day after you left?" Bones asks, his voice low and, for all the tension in the room, as controlled as he's ever heard the doctor speak. "Were you even going to give me a chance to find a position here at the starbase, too?"

Jim's heart races. Bones would've stayed with him if he'd taken the desk job? That's the exact reason why he'd never told him. He doesn't want to make Bones do anything. He doesn't want to be the reason that Bones leaves a ship and crew that he's become a part of, too. He's the soul, the life that keeps it together.

He'd thought it'd be better to make this decision on his own. They weren't together romantically, anyway, as much as Jim had begun to obsess about it.

"I don't know," he repeats slowly. "I...was still working through things, Bones. My...plan."

A plan that had no substance at all, save for this feeling of being lost he'd had for some time. The irony is that he'd be lost even more without Bones, and that is why he'd even considered running to something he had hoped would fill that void in the first place.

Bones's face turns to stone. "I see. And did you tell Spock? I'm pretty sure you didn't."

"No." Jim says, his anxiety rising. "But I did recommend to Commodore Paris that Spock take my place as captain of the Enterprise."

Bones flinches.

Jim can't bear the hurt on his friend's face.

Without thinking, he slips off the bed. "Like I said," he says hoarsely. "I was still working through things, Bones. I didn't want to leave, but I felt...lost. I wasn't sure if this—being a captain—was what I wanted to keep doing. Please believe me."

The moment he stands, he realizes his next mistake—he's wearing nothing but very tight, skimpy briefs. Most likely, his near-nakedness is a result of him sweating off a fever last night. But how would he know? He can't be sure since he doesn't remember a thing about being poisoned in the first place. He stands practically in his birthday suit, which seems fitting enough, expecting Bones to roll his eyes. Order him to get his clothes on. Something. He doesn't. He doesn't even look at Jim.

If standing here like this hasn't shocked him, Bones really is upset.

He stands up straighter, still waiting for Bones to grumble about his state of undress—but he doesn't. It's like there's a wall between them.

Bones rises to his feet and tosses the PADD onto the bed. "I think I'll find Sulu and his family, see how much Demora has grown," he says in monotone. "If you happen to need me…you know where to find me."

Jim's breath catches in his throat. "Bones, please don't leave mad."

"I'm not mad, Jim," Bones says quietly. "I've watched you struggle, I've endured it with you all these years. I've struggled, and you've endured it with me all these years. Because that's what we do. We drink to your father every Kelvin Day, we do nothing on the day my father died, as is my wish, save for the look you give me on the bridge when our shift begins. I've laughed with you, cried with you, hit you over the head with common sense once or twice, and you've pulled my head out of my own ass, as well. And for the record, you've saved my life more than I've saved yours. We know each other Jim. Or, we did."

Bones looks ups, a guarded expression on his face that Jim longs to wipe away, replacing it with the warmth he'd shown to him last night.

"But this…" Bones says, voice dark and hushed, Jim willing to do anything to make it light again. "This shows me that we don't know each other at all."

Jim has to fight down the emotion swelling in his chest in order to sound like an adult who's not panicking. "But we do, Bones," he whispers. "Please."

Bones shakes his head. "And I don't know if it's my fault—or yours. Maybe it's both. But I have figured out one thing."

"Yeah?" Jim's hands are sweating by his side. "What...what is that?"

Bones backs away, his gaze sweeping Jim up and down as if he's noticing for the first time that he's almost naked. He blinks, hand cupping his chin, his gaze softening like it had before.

"Bones?" Jim whispers.

Bones's hand drops, his expression now cold like the biting, unforgivable winters in Iowa. It's such an abrupt shift on his face that Jim takes a step back, unnerved that his best friend could appear hot one minute and then cold, the next. Everything Jim says is like a switch, turning Bones off and on.

"I'll tell you what," Bones says evenly. "Once you take some time to figure out the same thing, a day or ten, or even five hundred, then we can talk, friend-to-friend. Until then, I am still your doctor who cares about your health."

Jim furrows his brow, frustrated that Bones is now dropping the subject but more worried that he really wants a break...from him. Despite the fact that Bones appears confident that he'll come to the same conclusion.

He scratches his head, embarrassed that he's still confused. "But…how am I..."

Bones's eyes narrow on him.

"Right," Jim says breathlessly after a moment. "We'll talk...when...I figure something out?"

Bones silently grabs a blanket off the bed and shoves it at him, eyes averted. "Before you catch a chill. Sorry about the briefs—inventory was low around here. I'll send Christine up with the third and final dose of the antidote before your meeting with Commodore Paris later this afternoon. She'll draw another blood sample and I will make sure all trace of the poison has been eliminated. You should be fine to meet with the Commodore and the authorities as planned at 1600 hours. If you take it easy." He turns to leave but pauses. "And that means saying here in your quarters, Jim, until they come and get you," he adds, without looking back.

"I understand," Jim says hesitantly, hearing the warning and concern in his voice. "Stay put."

His back to Jim, Bones merely nods. Jim thinks that one of them should fill the thickening silence, but neither of them do.

Bones walks out the door without saying another word.

Jim thinks he stands staring after him, at the closed door for hours, wondering if it had been his fault, after all, getting himself poisoned for the way he'd just been treated. Yet when he looks at the chronometer, only a few minutes have passed.

He avoids his bed, because now it seems too big and lonely, just like his existence.

He feels like he had before Yorktown.

Lost.

He'd made the decision to remain captain of the Enterprise, realizing that they—Spock, Bones, his crew—are his family and he belongs with them. He'd made the decision after all of their lives had been endangered and they'd worked together to save themselves and thousands—possibly millions—of others. Never realizing for one minute that it'd been his heart, and now Bones's, that had been endangered long before that mess and right before his very eyes.

The room is suddenly stifling, Jim reaches for his comm.

"Kirk to Commander Spock," he says into it, wiping the sweat off his neck with the back of his hand.

"Captain, are you well?"

"I'm fine now, Spock. Mostly. Feel up to a visitor?" he asks.

"Captain, I have been told that you are not to leave your quarters. We must take precautions."

"Yeah, Bones told me about the guard," he says. He feels like an idiot again for not even recalling what had happened to him and why he needs security at his door in the first place. "I'll wait for you to come to me. Just give few minutes to get dressed. I need…"

"Captain?

Jim sits carefully on the edge of his desk chair.

"What is it that 'you need'?"

He breathes in slowly. He doesn't need a thing, not in the normal sense. But Spock might, grieving the loss of the Ambassador. In fact, so might Jim. His own connection with the Ambassador had been one he isn't sure he could truly explain to anyone. Maybe together they could find peace with his death. He won't talk about Bones. He'll leave that for another day. Right now, he wants to be a friend because Bones—he won't let him be one to him, and it's already left a hole in his heart.

"To be a friend," he decides to say. "To say...thank you."

The pause that follows is comfortable, as if Spock knows that he needs this silence to clear his head. It continues for another minute and, already feeling better, he sighs into the comm. "But if you'd rather not—"

"I will come to your quarters in twenty minutes," Spock interjects swiftly.

"Thank you, Spock. The door's open. Kirk out."

He showers and, after spying the pile of neatly folded clothes at the foot of his bed, dresses as quickly as he can. As he fixes himself a cup of coffee, he can't resist.

.

.

..

Message sent to Leonard H. McCoy from James T. Kirk. Timestamp 1328.

Bones?

I am sorry.

For whatever it is that I've done to hurt you.

Give me another chance?

-Jim

.

.

.

His comm beeps when he's pacing, while he waits for Spock. Headed for his table, Jim barely has enough time to read Bones's reply, and his heart to sink to the floor, before he sags against the wall to prevent himself from falling. Completely disoriented, he doesn't know where he is or why—but remembers he was close. Close to something.

Sweat pouring off his face, his bones feel as if they were being shoved into a mini replicator. He sees a bed in the corner of his eye and, forcing one foot in front of the other another, walks towards the softer landing.

But he has to stop. There is no beginning, no ending, to the pain.

His comm falls from his fingers, forgotten. His coffee drops from his hand, forgotten. Nothing is familiar to him. His thoughts jumbling in his panic, his body sways.

His body is hot. So very hot. He's suffocating. He's burning. He's dying. He's reckless. He's living. He's still reckless. He's running. He's barely living. He's starving. He's running again. He's living but he's absolutely terrified. He's rebellious. He's hurting. He's alone. He's hiding. He's scared and very, very small.

He crumples to the floor, weightless.

Staring up at the dangerously, high ceiling above him, he can't make sense of it or of the heat spreading through his body...

He whimpers.

...or the strange place he's in without his mother.

Tears slide down his tiny cheeks.

He's...lost.

.

.

.

Message sent to James T. Kirk from Leonard H. McCoy. Timestamp 1331.

Jim,

I need time apart.

And so do you.

I just can't talk to you right now, Jim.

I'm sorry.

-Leonard

.

.

.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I'll post the next chapter in a day or two. Please, review? :)