Title: Tactile Understanding

Author: Terri Oneiroi

Warnings: implied past child abuse, slight cursing

Pairings: established S/U, because J.J. just had to make that canon, though I took care of that.

Disclaimer: Author owns none of the ideas in this story, and is making no profit from the use of aforementioned ideas.

A/N: I'd like to say thank you for the reviews I got, quite suddenly after posting, and would like to point out something which bothered me greatly. My posting this story under the incorrect Star Trek subcategory was simply an accident, involving clicking on the wrong "Star Trek" in my saved fandoms. It was a simple error, something anyone could have done when publishing late at night, and it wasn't entirely necessary to be so vicious in pointing my innocent mistake out. Thank you to the reader who so very nicely brought it to my attention, conveniently forgetting to log in, so that I could not thank them in person. Also: A very sincere thank you to the reader who calmly, politely pointed out my mistake, and gave a wonderfully well-reasoned point for correcting it. I truly do appreciate your tact. It was a very soothing balm after being textually shouted at.

On with the show, then.

Len couldn't count the number of times in the last three weeks he'd walked onto the Bridge, Jim in his chair, Spock in his, and every other member of the Alpha crew trying desperately to keep the concern out of their expressions. It didn't take a genius to realize that something must have happened to put the best command team in the fleet at odds with one another. Oh, it wasn't that either man was being negligent in their official duties; if anything, Jim's efficiency ratings were as high as they'd ever been. The Vulcan was operating as he always did, but who expected anything else from the green-blooded computer?

The changes, however they had occurred, were quite obviously affecting the captain much more than his First Officer, and so Bones considered it his duty, as CMO and friend, to get to the bottom of it.

He looked around the circular room again. Sulu was intentionally not gazing at either man, a certain uncharacteristic nervousness falling over the man's deceptively skilled hands. The poor Russian kid looked like a little boy whose parents are fighting. While the two up front were helpful for figuring out what the hell was going on, the person whose reaction he wanted to gauge the most also happened to be the most unusually perceptive to minute change, as she should be, what with being the ship's Communications Officer and all.

Uhura wasn't even trying to hide her own brand of worry, which consisted of frowning while looking between her commanding officers. He couldn't tell at the moment who she was more concerned for, her captain and recent friend, or her boyfriend (though the word made the Vulcan's eyebrow twitch). She had swiveled her chair all the way around, and not even Jim called her out for it. Nobody could say that the woman was ever slow on the board.

Instead of coming all the way into the room, and standing beside Jim like normal, Leonard hung back. After all, the key to any successful diagnosis was, first and foremost, observation.

"Report, Commander."

Jim's voice was flat and authoritative. There wasn't the normal hint of Kirk-ian warmth lying underneath the command. There had always been talk amongst the Admiralty that Jim's style of command was too lax, too friendly and personal for the captaincy of a starship. If they could see him now, sitting ramrod straight, for the first time looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else.

The only person who didn't seem to mind the drastic change in Jim was Spock, who rattled off his readings in a monotone that would bore a Centaurian slug. As usual, he couldn't read much in the Vulcan's posture, which made the severe man look like he had an extremely long stick shoved up his… Well, it was all completely normal for Spock, who turned back to his viewer immediately, and never noticed Jim press his lips together until they turned white.

It was that entire pointy-eared bastard's fault, he knew it. Uhura shot him a pleading look as he turned to go, but he wasn't as sure of his ability to fix this mess as she apparently was.

He was a doctor, not a miracle worker.

When the Diplomatic team finally rematerialized on the transporter pad, Jim walked away stiffly, Uhura glared at Spock in front of all and sundry, and Bones groaned.

Of all the times for Jim to try being a by-the-book Federation diplomat…

As it turned out, the Lyrian people took great offense at such blatant materialism like trade, commerce, and economic development. They didn't give a flip about mineral deposits or the import of new foods, textiles, and credits. They only applied for the Federation to participate in history, to travel the unexplored reaches of space, and to experience first-hand all that other cultures offered. Even Spock had been surprised when Jim quoted the odds of the Lyrians developing their warp drive technology that much in the next 100 Lyral years.

What they'd needed was Jim and his bullshitting glory, spouting tales and fantasies, to put stars in the Lyrian President's eyes and blind him to reality. What they got was Spock in the Captain's body, without the Vulcan's concept of lying, as miniscule as it was.

Which meant that what they didn't get was a new member of the Federation, and they certainly didn't get access to the planet's abundant dilithium deposits.

Whatever was actually going on had to end, and soon.

Bones interrupted Uhura's glaring, and Spock almost seemed relieved.

"Spock, would you accompany me to Sickbay. There's a matter I need to speak with you about."

For a moment, the Science officer looked as if he might refuse, but once again, the woman standing with them was enough of an encouragement to be anywhere but in the same room, leaving Spock no choice. The resulting walk to the Med Bay was silent as Bones thought about what he needed to say.

When the doors to his office slid shut behind him, the doctor walked around Spock and collapsed into his chair. It took a huff, and an irritated 'for God's sake, man, sit down' to get the taller man to follow suit. Once there, staring at one another across the expanse of this cluttered desk, Bones's spectacular plans crumbled, leaving behind a sad cloud of "well, what now?".

"Spock, have you noticed the rapidly falling crew morale lately?"

As predicted, the Vulcan was full of statistics, but no answers.

"All departments are functioning at normal efficiency, Doctor."

Bones rubbed his eyes.

"I'm sure you're well aware that correlation does not imply causation," earned him a raised eyebrow and a haughty reply.

"I am, though I was not cognizant that any such tool of logic would be useful to such an 'old country doctor' as yourself."

There were still times, though not so many as before, when he practically itched to punch the bastard.

"Just because crew efficiency rises when morale is high doesn't make it a rule. Sometimes efficiency is an indicator of low morale, like now. The crew, especially Alpha shift, doesn't want to disappoint the captain with lackluster performance."

Spock folded his fingers together, except for the first two of each hand, which formed a steeple.

"It is a normal human desire, I'm told, to earn respect and pay loyalty."

Leonard leaned forward.

"Well, sure, but it's really more that the crew doesn't want to add anything else to Jim's plate, when he's clearly not himself."

The Vulcan tilted his head like a damned cat.

"Who else would Captain Kirk be, Doctor?"

The irritation was rising, not surprisingly. Spock was enough to raise a saint's blood pressure sky-high.

"Do you mean to say that you haven't noticed the complete 180* turn in Jim's attitude? He hasn't talked weapons with Sulu in weeks; he left Chekov half-way through the Romantic Russian authors, and Uhura insists that if he stops practicing his Vulcan now, he'll lose the progress he's made with it. Jim's never around for a game of poker, or a spar with the boys in Security. He hasn't hidden in a Jeffries tube in a month! It's not normal!"

Leonard wasn't sure why he thought such an impassioned speech would crack through that thick green hide. It was hard to kick certain habits, and shouting was just one of many.

"On the contrary, Doctor McCoy; all of the activities you have listed are considered much too informal for the Captain to participate in. A captain must be authoritative and detached, and therefore uncompromised."

He shoved his chair back and threw his hands up in the air violently, causing Chapel to stop in her tracks, turn around, and walk back the way she had come. She knew her CO alarmingly well.

"Who decided that? Was it those stuffed-shirt Admirals who've forgotten what it's like to live out here in the silence of space? Easy for them to make rules and point fingers from their lofty little offices, safe on Earth! While up here, the whole crew, over four hundred people, are supposed to put their lives in the hands of a man who can't be bothered to get to know them beyond rank and serial number? Bureaucrats!"

The doctor took a deep breath, trying to remember that the man in front of him was in full approval of these types of rules, being a Vulcan. Hell, he could probably teach Archer a thing or two about military discipline.

"Alright, fine. Starfleet is delusional, but that's nothing new. Why would Jim, the Jim who cheated on your damn test to prove that the Academy only thinks within a set parameter of rules, that Jim, why would he change his mind so suddenly about the proper way to command this vessel? What brought this on, after two years out here on our own?"

Spock stood as well, reacting to being talked down to like an errant cadet. It was easy to forget that he'd been one of the Academy's top instructors previously.

"I cannot speak for the other members of the Alpha crew, but the Captain and I had a discussion five ship's weeks ago on some behaviors that were inappropriate for bridge duty."

Somehow, he wasn't surprised.

"Oh? Like what?"

Spock listed the items off one by one, to McCoy's ever-growing horror.

"Unwarranted sexual comments towards Lieutenant Uhura, stylus jousts with Lieutenant Sulu, attempts to have Ensign Chekov recite Caesar's famous "Veni, Vidi, Vici" speech, and the item that effected myself, lack of personal space and uninvited touch."

He gaped, quite literally. There was the answer right in front of him, unapologetic. Everything that made Jim more than just a 'Fleet puppet Captain, and his First Officer had duly informed him that he should purge those very practices. Leonard held up a hand, giving himself a minute to process the words.

"You told Jim not to flirt with Uhura, not to reminisce with Sulu, not to tease Pavel, and most unbelievably, not to stand next to you and not to touch you. No wonder we've suddenly got the Golden Boy instead of Jim Kirk!"

A blank look met his exasperated realization. Bones began pacing as he worked out how to tell the man it was all his fault, without actually saying so.

"Spock. Think about it. Starfleet has been telling Jim to be a "proper Captain" for two years now, and he couldn't care less what those Stripes say. This time, however, it wasn't Komack telling Jim he wasn't good enough to be Captain, it was you! You, whom he trusts more than anyone, because you'll never lie to him. You, Spock, his command partner, his second, his friend. If anyone else had said half of that to him, he would have laughed in their face, but not you. He believed you, for crying out loud, and you couldn't be more wrong if you tried!"

Another pathetically blank look was shot across the room, and he didn't believe it a lick. There was a hint of offense lingering in the alien's eyes, even he could see it.

"Let's list them one by one, shall we?"

A casual wave of the hand entreated him to continue.

"First off, I'm sure you know that Jim and Nyota have worked that animosity off, so his blatant advances are now just a brash way of paying a compliment to a beautiful woman. She surely doesn't care, because if any woman can take care of herself against men like Jim, it's Uhura, but you should have asked her in any case before you took up the mantle like a white knight protecting her dignity. I thought you two were apart, anyway."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Next off, Pike dropped Jim and Hikaru on that blasted drill, and told them to destroy it with their bare hands. They bonded. If they joke about it, or reenact the scene with pencils, so be it. Hand-eye coordination is pivotal for a top class pilot, you know that."

He steamed on.

"Finally, Pavel looks up to Jim like a little brother, but Jim doesn't want the kid nervous all the time. Hero worship to that extent is never healthy, for either party. If joking about the kid's thick accent makes Chekov see Jim as just another human, that's going to boost the kid's confidence. It puts them on the same level, you see. It's unfortunate that he's so young, even if he is absolutely brilliant, because he's got a way to go, emotionally, and space can be a harsh reality to live in."

The Vulcan appeared to be thinking, which Len figured was a good sign, so he picked up a data chip, preparing to make his official report on the Lyrian Disaster.

"I believe you missed a list item."

McCoy looked up, surprised to see some unnamable emotion in the dark eyes, and sighed. The one thing that probably hurt Jim most and he couldn't even talk about it with the thick-headed alien.

"I won't tell you that, Spock. I could, but Jim does trust me with some things, and I can't betray that. I'll tell you something, though. Jim has exactly two friends he will go out of his way to touch, and let touch him, and they are both in this room. It's an honor you can't comprehend right now, but you will one day."

He didn't need to be watching the door to know when Spock retreated from the office. The silence in the room wasn't heavy anymore, thankfully, and in the post-confrontation lurch, he sincerely hoped that he hadn't just screwed things up even worse.

Leonard H. McCoy, CMO aboard the USS Enterprise, sealed the old man's body into stasis before he could cave in to the highly illogical desire to kill a dead man. To think, right there under his hands was a murderer, a genocidal maniac, Kodos the Executioner. He'd dreamt about running into the man for many, many years, if only to give back a little of the pain Jim Kirk had been holding for so long.

Now the man, the monster, was dead, a teenage girl not even a woman yet was hysterically insane, and their Captain (and Riley) was pumped full of sedatives in his quarters under the CMO's lock code. At the risk of sounding ironic, it was all terribly anticlimactic.

It hadn't been easy lying to Spock. He couldn't tell the Vulcan that he knew exactly how Jim was connected to Kodos, to Tarsus IV, and to the utter devastation of the colony there. He wasn't supposed to know nearly as much as he did, though that was nothing short of a miracle.

Somehow, a few days after the whole incident was swept under a rug, every single report with James Tiberius Kirk's name on it was erased. Every file, every video, every recording got attacked, wiped clean, and was systematically destroyed, even when an eager attendant attempted to re-record them. Eventually, Starfleet relented. Len could have told Spock that his test had probably only been too easy to hack, compared to the entirety of Fleet Medical Services.

The very week that Leonard H. McCoy was officially assigned Primary Physician to Jim, a thick, traditional paper package was delivered to him late at the lab.

Inside that package was every single record of Jim's time on and after Tarsus IV. Physical, Psychic, Psychological, and, unfortunately, Psychiatric forms poured out of the manila envelope. Where Jim Kirk hadn't existed to Fleet Medical before, Len had every original report, every vaccine, and every therapy session. It was one of his prized possessions.

There had been a small note inside that he'd burned in the flame of a Bunsen the moment he'd read it, almost five years ago.

"Take care of him better than I did. -WK"

Pulling himself back to the present, Bones fingered the small folder in his hands. It was only a part of that original transcript, but it was enough to get his point across. The label on the side read: "Witness #1- J. Kirk". Inside were reports from psychiatrists, psychotherapists, and psychologists alike. It was messy, and hard for him to read.

He was about to break a promise he'd made to himself that night.

"Doctor?"

Len looked up at the noise.

"Spock. Come in."

He made sure the doors were firmly shut, before looking down at the innocuous paper.

"Remember that conversation we had months ago, where you asked me to explain something, and I refused?"

The dark head tilted in affirmation. Len looked the Vulcan straight in the eye, being as calmly serious as he ever was, to try and project just a little bit of the solemnity of this situation.

"You have three hours to read this, assimilate it, and then burn it. I've had it in my possession for years, but we don't need it any more. Not me, not Kodos, and certainly not Jim. This will answer your question."

As Spock turned and left the room, Bones sank into the chair, exhausted. Maybe he could pull a few strings and get them a shore leave somewhere nice. Jim and Riley deserved it.

Subject: reacts violently to physical touch. Will not initiate physical contact with faculty or immediate family. Never responds audibly, but with violence. Panic attacks last until subject becomes either exhausted, or unconscious.

Observations: We may never know what, exactly, James has seen on Tarsus IV, because he refuses to tell any of it, and nobody else was found in the burned remains of Kodos's mansion. We are all aware that the fire started somewhere in the largest bed chamber, but it is unclear how, and Kirk will not speak of it. There is obviously some trauma associated with physical touch, even though the subject's wounds have long since healed. At this point, it appears entirely psychological.

Recommendations: It is recommended that private schooling or home tutoring be available for Kirk. We recommend W. Kirk be given a ground assignment to accomplish this. J. Kirk will have a hard time maintaining control in large crowds. Also: Recommend referral to Psychiatrist for anti-anxiety and anti-depressant medication. Subject suffers night terrors of the violent sort. Recommend keeping an oxygen mask near the bed as precaution, as subject has been noted to occasionally stop breathing in throes of panic. Kirk also appears to be claustrophobic.

Note: James Kirk is extremely intelligent. His experiences on Tarsus IV, and with Kodos, may turn that considerable mind towards delinquency. We have started an advanced computer programming course, and his aptitude is unparalleled for his age. An interest does seem to allow Jim to function more easily day to day. Unfortunately, there isn't much more we can do for James Kirk.

Two weeks after the final inquiry into Kodos's death saw the Alpha crew laughing in relief at a shore-party exploration gone well, and Jim was throwing witty jokes out like all was well with the world.

It didn't take long for Spock to chime in with some comment about illogical humans, fueling another burst of smiles as officers turned to face their boards. Leonard was just turning away from the center seat to speak with Pavel when he saw Spock lay a hand on Jim's shoulder, for just a moment, and move away, like it was nothing uncommon.

This time, when Uhura caught his eye, Bones winked.

So maybe Leonard H. McCoy was a doctor and a miracle worker.

This is not my first Star Trek piece, but it is the first I've ever posted, so: "Gently, Watson! Be gentle with me!"

Also: Not a good idea to give a Pyromaniac flames... they tend to excite us.