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Jim is lying on a bed in sick bay, which is a far more common experience than he or Bones would like it to be. This time he’s not injured or dying, at least. Just waiting for Bones to take the fake Romulan points off his ears. He runs his hand over one of the points---carefully, they’re fully connected to his nervous system and still a bit sensitive from the first surgery to add them on. Does it again, just as carefully. Again, again, not sure exactly why.
Bones drawls from the doorway, having appeared and settled in, standing with a casual lean of his hip against the metal:
“They’re not hurting you, are they?”
Bones, always concerned with Jim’s comfort, except when it comes to jabbing him with his monthly hypospray. It’s how he shows his love, probably. That and saving Jim’s life over and over again---while complaining about it the whole time.
“No, not at all.”
Bones smiles then, his grin like honey whiskey, good for killing pain, good for cleansing things, good for making you feel at home.
“You ready to have them off, then?”
Jim traces the curve one more time, hesitates minutely. Bones, of course, notices, his sweet grin changing into something sharp, a shark on the trail of blood towards something more to tease Jim about. Leans in, asks in a voice made purposely, jokingly unbelieving:
“Don’t tell me you want to keep them?”
Kirk glares at him, drops the hand.
“No!”
Hesitates again, sighs, admits:
“I don’t want to keep them .”
An understanding flows into Bones’ eyes, his joking tone turned serious again, careful.
“But you liked getting the surgery.”
Kirk nods. Should have known Bones would understand, would have words for it, wouldn’t tease him about this. Not when it matters so much.
Jim, himself, can’t seem to find any more words. Bones waits a moment, then starts again, casually, seemingly on a different track:
“You ever seen my top surgery scar?”
Jim has, of course, when they’re on a beach, changing somewhere, sunning themselves in an alien desert. Lots of times, in passing. He nods.
Bones clarifies:
“Up close?”
Kirk hasn’t, not really, hadn’t thought to ask, shakes his head.
Bones curls his fingers under the hem of his uniform shirt, pauses, asking with a tilted eyebrow if he can raise it. Kirk gives the okay and he does, hitching it up around his shoulders so his scar is on full display. It’s a deep pink, rippling, huge. Like a healed gash over the flat skin where his breasts had been, looking almost like a wound, but at both ends the scar narrows and then curls into delicate, decorative spirals, engraved right over his armpits, making it clear the entire thing is purposeful. Kirk reaches out, with wonder, stops a moment to look up at Bones for permission. He gives it, still keeping his shirt high up and out of the way. Jim reaches out, carefully, to trace the biggest spiral on the right side.
“I thought they didn’t need to be this big anymore?”
McCoy hums in confirmation, explains further, with the clear patience and understanding of a doctor who’s good at his job:
“They don’t, if you don’t want them to be. You don’t even have to have scars if you don’t want to keep them. I wanted a scar, worked with an artist and my doctor before the surgery to design these. You can do pretty much anything you want, at this point, the technology has gotten that good.”
Kirk can’t look away from the scars, something turning over in his head.
He’s known he’s trans for a while, had bonded with Bones over it originally. He doesn’t mind his body, likes it even: the large breasts that pour over his plush stomach, the arc of his wide hips, the weight of his big ass. All beautiful: luscious, hedonism of the flesh, like a greek goddess in ancient paintings. He’d never considered body modification, since he liked it so much. He doesn’t think he’d want his chest flat like Bones, nor a scar, but maybe he wants…something. He doesn’t know what it is, right now.
Bones, bless him, seems to understand what he’s struggling with, and knows just what to say. He drops his shirt and gently pushes Jim back down against the sickbay bed.
“Look, right now, all I’ve got to do is take those ears off. But think about it, and if you have any questions, or decide you want something, you talk to me, okay?”
Jim is thinking about it. Thinks of his own body changing under his fingers, physically becoming what he wills it. Thinks of Bones’ careful, steady, loving hands doing it for him. Thinks of them, together, leaving a mark on his body that will heal but never fade. Making Jim’s body uniquely, beautifully his. There’s so much to think about, so much to consider, and he feels a wave of excitement at the possibility, as well as a hint of fear. But Bones is here, to talk, to help if needed. He's been a good friend today, and a good doctor, just like always. So Jim lets himself relax into the bed and smiles up at his doctor.
“Alright, Bones, get these damn things off me!”
Bones chuckles, and ducks into the other room as he prepares to go to work.
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