Chapter Text
Jim has never mentioned it to anyone – hell, he’d spent the first years of his life believing everyone was like him. To be fair - in some places, people were. ESP is a semi-well documented phenomena, but in all the accounts Jim’s ever read (and, of course, Jim devoured them the moment he realised that maybe not all the other kids could do what he could), there’s no one who’s quite like him.
Most of the time, it’s just a surface feeling, just a little inkling of emotion and colour flashing through his brain from a stranger. It’s not hard to tune out, and it helps him out of a sticky situation a couple more times than he’d care to admit.
Then – Tarsus happens.
Jim doesn’t like saying more than that, but when he gets rescued, he’s angry. He’s volatile. There are suddenly too many people around him, all the time, inesacpable on the big, clean, well-fed rescue ship, and their thoughts are loud and clear and he knows, he just knows that it would only take a bit of effort on his part to start rooting about in their heads. That ensign is worrying about her girlfriend's birthday present. This doctor is trying desperately hard not to forget to re-order trinoquiline from the quartermaster. That commander is wondering how they’ve ripped six uniforms in as many weeks and what kind of example they’re setting to the ensigns.
Jim tries Vulcan meditation at the recommendation of the Starfleet therapist, and tries to go on with his life.
It gets better.
Mainly.
Bones’s brain is a wild place. Jim would say he had ADHD, but Jim has ADHD, and even he can’t keep up with the constant grumbling, medical bullshittery and re-organisation going on in Bones’s head.
Jim loves it.
It’s a constant background noise that keeps Jim on his toes, keeps life moving, and less than four months into their friendship, Jim can’t imagine life without it.
They’re drunk one night, and laughing uncontrollably about something stupid, both of them slumped against Jim’s bed in their cramped apartment. Jim rolls his head to look at Bones.
“Fuck. I’m fucking telepathic.” he says, not particularly annoyed about it.
Bones has a wide stupid grin on his face. “Alright then. What am I thinking about then?”
“You’re thinking about the paper you have due in next Thursday that you planned to start writing tonight.” Jim squints. “And that cute Andorian girl in your cardiology course. And you want toast. I dunno Bonesy, you think about a lot of stuff.”
Bones’s grin has disappeared, and he’s now staring at Jim. Jim laughs at the sudden flood of; Okay now try not thinking about anything – nope, now we’re thinking about not thinking about anything okay, how about WHITE-
“Does thinking about just a white wall count as not thinking about anything?” wonders Jim, out loud.
Bones sighs, deeply, and reaches for the bottle again.
“You’re welcome.” says Jim, in response to the unspoken sentiment. Bones smacks his head lightly.
“Get out of my head, asshole.” He doesn’t mean it.
Life continues.
And then – Spock gets kidnapped. By Romulans.
For two weeks.
Jim thinks he goes a little crazy in that time because by the end of it, with Spock beaten and unconscious and far far too thin but safe – he can’t for the life of him think of how he managed that.
He sinks slowly into the chair by Spock’s bed. The familiar whirring of Bones’s mind provides him with white noise as he slums forward, eyes tracing the pointed ears and the stern features he hasn’t seen in too long.
He feels Bones’s mind come closer, rather than hearing him. He turns his head slowly.
“Is he going to be alright?” he asks, and can’t work up the energy to sound less vulnerable than he is.
Bones puts his hand on his shoulder. “He’s gonna be alright, kiddo. Those fuckers did a number on him alright – his telepathy's gonna be whack for a while, for one thing, but we can have him up and bossing everyone about in a week, don’t you worry.”
“His telepathy?”
“Mmhm. They injected him with some drug, took away a lot of his controls. We don’t know anything about it, so we need to just wait it out, I think.” Jim is still staring at him, confused. “Just go to bed, kid.”
“But-” Jim turns his gaze back to Spock, and Bones lets out a long-suffering sigh.
“I’ll get you a blanket.”
And life would have continued – If only Spock wasn’t such a horny bastard.