A/N: The title is from Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird.

"You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it."

Jim doesn't hear from Bones for a week. When he does, it's just a routine notification of a follow-up appointment with the doctor three days from then at Starfleet Medical.

His dorm is mostly empty, since most summer placements are just now winding down, and there'll be a week off before classes restart in the fall. There's only one other cadet on his floor, a third-year biosciences major who's working on some kind of research in the cryogenics lab. Jim's not even sure what his name is. He's been prohibited from strenuous exercise until he's medically cleared, so he can't work out. Aside from two neural regen treatments at the Academy clinic, he basically has nothing much to do.

So he reads. Takes walks on the quiet campus, even though it's unseasonably warm. Eats alone in the cafeteria, where instead of the usual discord of hundreds of cadets chowing down and talking animatedly, he's surrounded by empty tables and the loudest sound is the clink of his utensils on the plate.

He doesn't mind the isolation. It gives him more room to think.

He's not really surprised that Bones hasn't contacted him. Why would he? Jim avoided him all summer, ignored his advice and then lied to him. If there's a more efficient way to stomp on a burgeoning friendship, Jim doesn't know what it is. He knew it was a shitty thing to do, but at the time, all he could think about was getting out of Riverside.

He doesn't have much experience with actual friends, but he's read enough classic literature (ironically, Kodos has given him a taste for it) to know that real friendship entails loyalty and devotion. Huck and Jim, D'Artagnan and the three Musketeers, Frodo and Sam… they valued each other and weren't ashamed to admit it. They'd do anything for one another. Harry Potter, who certainly has his fair share of threats on his life and secrets, confides in Hermione and Ron and lets them help. He doesn't toss them to the winds and run off on his own when Voldemort comes for him. He protects them and relies on them.

The very idea of confiding in someone (like Bones) makes him nervous. Deflecting and denying are his go-to moves. And if they don't work, he hides, hunkering down and lying low.

If he's being honest with himself, he's just not cut out for an epic friendship. It's too far-fetched, too far from his experience to be real. The whole concept is a little juvenile.

Maybe that kind of connection can only happen in ancient novels for children, where the characters aren't ashamed to talk openly about their love for one another. But this is real life, not fiction.

Maybe he's just too damaged.

He should aim lower. He wants to be respected by his shipmates, a team player, maybe even a leader. He can do all that and still keep his distance.

Even so. He should apologize. He owes Bones that, at least.

It's a slow three days.

Bones is sitting behind his desk in the small exam room as he enters, and he sweeps his eyes over Jim's body from head to toe as he walks in. "Well, you're looking a lot better."

Jim gives him a wry smile. Bones' tone is mild, and he obviously wants to play this as a medical visit, nothing more. Fine. It'll help Jim keep things casual. Just a routine follow-up appointment, no need for awkward apologies on his part.

"All this resting up is killing me," he responds, putting a touch of a whine into his voice, guaranteed to irritate Bones. "I've got nothing to do but read and play 3D chess sims. Tell me at least you're going to clear me to get back to the gym."

Bones snorts, then comes out from behind the desk, tricorder in hand. "Let's see about that. Take off your boots and socks and hop up on the biobed."

The examination is quick but thorough. Bones runs a circulatory scan on his feet and hands, has Jim flex and extend his fingers and toes, and asks about his range of movement and pain. He's so goddam professional Jim would've preferred a robotech, like he's used for the regen therapy. At least the AI algorithm would include niceties like "That's good, cadet," and "This might be a little uncomfortable."

"You're cleared to go back to regular activity," Bones tells him at last. The side of his mouth quirks up a little. "Just stay away from extreme cold, hotshot. No quick trips to the Arctic."

"I'll try to restrain myself," Jim says.

Bones sits back down behind his desk, gesturing for Jim to take the chair in front of it.

Jim takes a seat, shoulders squared defensively. Here it comes. As soon as this is over, he promises himself, he's going to head off campus and get drunk.

Bones is looking down at his hands, his expression grim. Two fingers tap out an agitated rhythm on the desktop. He's clearly gearing up to say something, but the pause lengthens between them.

Whatever he has to say, Jim's pretty sure he already knows. He's spent the last three days mapping out options for the conversation between them, preparing himself mentally. He has a variety of pre-planned responses, depending on what Bones decides to say.

Option 1: Bones takes the high road. Likelihood: less than 10%. Look Jim, turns out I barely knew you at all. Good luck with your Starfleet career and all that.

(The response: handshake, averted eyes, tight smile. Sure, Bones, see you around. Thanks for the medical treatment. Good luck to you too.)

He's hoping Bones will choose something along those lines, because the other options are worse.

Option 2: Bones blames him and makes him feel like shit. Likelihood: 30%, because he knows the doctor has no patience for idiocy, especially when it results in injury. For my own damn sanity, I need to keep my distance from whatever this is you've got going on.

(Response: Pressed lips, attempted smile. I get it. I don't blame you. Thanks for the, uh, rewarming and all. Slink out the door, head down.)

Option 3: Bones tells Jim exactly what kind of emotional cripple he is. This option has a few variations, depending on which devastating diagnosis Bones comes up with. Highly likely, over 40%. You know what, Jim? I've spent my whole career patching people up, but I'm not equipped to deal with someone who deliberately sabotages every relationship in his life. That's beyond my medical expertise.

(Response: tight nod, mumbled thanks. Walk of shame out the door.)

He's considered a few other options. Maybe (Option 4) Bones won't even come to the appointment; he'll send another doctor in his place. Or (Option 5) he'll ask Jim quietly what happened to make him run. This scenario doesn't end well, since Jim will lie and it'll just make Bones more disgusted with him. None of the options has him arguing back and defending his actions, because he can't think of a better excuse than the one he's already given, that his delinquent past was catching up to him. And telling him the truth isn't going to happen.

The main problem with the first five options is that he has to wait for Bones to make his move and open the conversation, but as the seconds tick by, he loses his nerve. So on the fly he creates Option 6: the preemptive apology. He doesn't expect it to lead to a different end result. But at least Bones won't think he's been raised in a barn.

(Come to think of it, maybe he has been. A cowshed, anyway.)

"Look, Bones, I was a jerk," Jim blurts before Bones can speak.

Bones gives him a surprised look, clearly taken aback. His brow furrows and he opens his mouth to speak, but Jim rushes on. "You don't have to say it. Trust me, I know. I ran off, didn't tell you and didn't think about how you would react. It was selfish. Stupid. I should have told you where I was, at least. It wasn't fair to you…"

"No, it wasn't. But hang on, Jim…" Bones is shaking his head.

"I knew you'd think I was just overreacting, and you're probably right. I just… didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to argue with you, just wanted to be somewhere else, as fast as I could. I get that I was being immature. I didn't care where Pike would send me as long as it wasn't Riverside. I don't blame you for being so angry, and you really don't deserve to be treated that way."

"That's not–"

"Let me get this out, and then I'll listen to whatever you want to tell me. Uh…"

Thanks for the rewarming and everything, he's about to say. It's on the tip of his tongue. He's planned this out. Tight smile. Handshake. I'll be seeing you around.

But here in Bones' office, outside the sterile environment of his mind, he realizes how inadequate, how petty, the words are going to sound. He hasn't actually taken the doctor's feelings into consideration (which is exactly what got him into this situation in the first place).

Bones' eyes are hooded, his forehead creased and his mouth set in a hard line. Bones looks like he's upset but trying to mask it.

It strikes him that there's something else he should say. Has to say, before Bones lays into him.

His heart is suddenly hammering, and the back of his neck breaks out in a sweat. He looks up, meeting the doctor's frowning gaze full on. He takes a breath, reaching for more control over his voice.

"I want to thank you. I mean it. You were a good friend to me this past year… I won't forget that, even if we don't see much of each other from here on out."

Bones' eyes narrow. "Even if we don't… " he repeats. "Jim. Is that why you think I called you here? To tell you what a jackass you were?" He looks appalled.

"You don't need to tell me, believe me," he says glumly. "I'm aware."

Bones sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I've really made a mess of this. Listen to me," he says firmly. "I didn't call you here just to check up on you physically. I need to apologize."

"You don't need to apologize," he says, confused, wondering what he's missed. Bones has gone off script. This is an option Jim's never considered and it leaves him floundering.

"The hell I don't. The way I behaved… it was unforgivable. Borderline unethical." A muscle in his jaw twitches. "Look, I was half out of my mind worrying about you. And yeah, you're right, you were a jackass. You should've responded to my comms, just to say that you were okay. But… I knew that something pretty bad must have happened to make you take off like that."

How could Bones possibly know that? "No," he denies. "It's like I told you, I couldn't handle being back in Riverside."

Bones holds up a hand in a not-yet gesture. "We'll get to that later. Let me get this out."

Jim sits back, nonplussed.

"When they brought you in, I probably should have insisted another doctor take your case. But we were short-handed on that shift, and frankly, treatment of frostbite can be tricky. It's pretty rare, and not too many doctors have seen a real case of it. I wanted to make sure you got the best treatment and I didn't trust anyone else on shift that night to do it."

Jim gives him a quizzical look. "You get a lot of frostbite in Atlanta?"

Bones gives a little laugh, then shrugs nonchalantly, "You're not the only one who's been to the southern hemisphere, kid. I did a short rotation on McMurdo Station in Antarctica in my third year of residency. Emergency medicine in cold-weather environments. I saw my fair share of hypothermia and frostbite. So I've run the rewarming protocol a few times. I knew what the treatment would involve."

JIm nods, not a little impressed - Bones obviously has skills and probably a couple of sub-specialties in areas Jim's never heard of - then thinks again about what he just said.

And just like that, it hits him. A pool of anger blooms in his gut.

"You knew," he says slowly, bitterly. "You've done this before. That fucking rewarming. You knew exactly what I was going to be feeling. You knew how much it would hurt!"

Bones nods. "The nerve pain that comes with rewarming is extreme. It's on a par with third degree burns. I was aware of that, but… "

"You could have warned me, for God's sake!"

"I didn't want to warn you in too much detail. I know how you are, Jim. I'm not blaming you, but you'd be all over my explanations, wanting details and specifics, trying to get control of the situation with more and more information. It's a common way of dealing with anxiety."

Jim flushes. He can't sit there passively anymore. He stumbles out of the chair, turning his back to Bones and pressing his hand against his eyes. It's too much. He feels doubly betrayed: first finding out Bones led him into the treatment like a lamb to the slaughter, and then listening to him rationalizing it. The doctor's clinical description of one of his best defense mechanisms hits him like a slap to the face. How the hell did Bones pick up on that? It's like he's flayed him open.

What else does he know about me?

"You know what? Screw you, Bones," he snarls, turning around to face him. Where the hell does Bones get off dissecting his psyche so damn accurately? "What kind of fucking bedside manner did they teach you?"

"Come back and sit down. I'm just trying to be honest."

Jim slumps back into the chair, fuming inwardly.

Two can play at this game. He tries out a few comebacks in his head.

You must get a kick out of withholding crucial information from your patients so they'll be defenseless and dependent on you.

Or even better: You're a sadistic control freak who gets off on the power.

But Bones is still talking, and the moment is lost. "Knowing too much in advance of painful procedures can make them even harder to deal with. I needed you to focus on getting through it, not dreading what was coming or panicking."

Jim bristles. "I wouldn't have panicked."

Bones gives him a skeptical look. "People do. It's natural."

"I've got a pretty high pain tolerance," Jim insists.

Bones is still looking at him doubtfully, but then he shrugs. "Maybe so. But I had to make a judgment call. I did what I thought was the best thing for you as my patient."

"You could have asked me what I wanted!"

"That's not how it works, not in a situation like this," Bones says evenly. "It was hard but you got through it with no complications. And for what it's worth, you're right." One side of his mouth quirks up in a half smile. "You do have a high pain tolerance. I was impressed."

Jim blows out a harsh breath. It's over, and what's the point of rehashing it? And Bones has apologized. "It's okay, I guess. It's not what I would have wanted, but… don't beat yourself up about it. I, uh…" He's not sure what people say in these situations. "I accept your apology." It feels a little formal and weird, but Bones just nods.

"Thanks, but that's not why I was apologizing."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a reason doctors usually avoid treating their relatives or close friends." Despite himself, Jim perks up a bit at close friends. "It can compromise our clinical judgment. It's hard to stay objective. So when you came in and I saw the condition of your hands and feet, I was determined to treat you because of my medical experience. And I knew exactly how difficult the treatment was going to be." He pauses, looking embarrassed. "I'd been so worried about what might have happened to you, but when I heard where you'd been, coupled with the fact that you'd gotten injured in some reckless way–"

"Hey!" Jim protests. "I was trying to rescue my partner!"

"Well, all I could think about was how irresponsible you were. How inconsiderate, how foolhardy, how selfish…"

Jim rolls his eyes. "I get the picture."

"I'm just trying to explain. I was furious with you, Jim. And I wanted some kind of explanation for the way you treated me. So…" He sighs. "Instead of helping you through the procedure, like a doctor, a healer, I pushed you for answers. You were asking for a break, for me to stop, and instead of listening to you, I pushed harder. I made things worse for you."

He's right. Jim nods, mouth pinched in a tight line. He can feel the resentment and anger welling up in him, the memories he's been trying to push away edging into his consciousness.

Bones and his incessant questions and accusations. He remembers telling Bones to shut up already. To talk another time. Gasping and sweating and tearing up from the pain, trying to make Bones understand it was burning him up from the inside. Asking, over and over, for a break and being told… no.

He's been busy blaming himself for screwing up his friendship with Bones that he hasn't really acknowledged how angry he is.

"Yeah," he says now. "I trusted you and you made it worse."

"I know I did." Two bright spots have appeared high on Bones' cheeks and Jim can see the tension in his set of his jaw.

Good.

After that, neither of them seems to be able to think of anything to say. The silence hangs heavy and awkward between them.

Jim's trying to process what Bones has told him, but it's not easy. He wants to recreate the hospital scene in his mind and run through it again, and maybe come to a different understanding this time. But he's spent the past week or so shoving the experience into a dark compartment in his mind. Traumatic memories, it turns out, don't like to be brought back into the light.

Each time Jim nudges his thoughts back to the rewarming procedure, his mind skitters away. But more details are coming back to him. He remembers the nurses, with their gentle touches and sympathetic looks, contrasting so sharply with Bones' cold manner. The jolt of horror when he first got a look at his waxy pale, frozen feet. The antiseptic smell, the angry back-and-forth. The way the drink of water soothed his throat but couldn't quench the fire in his limbs.

He frowns, straining to recall. It's a blur of angry words, infused with fear and helplessness and agonizing pain. Just letting his thoughts wander back to that horrific scene makes him clench his fists reflexively and curl his toes inside his boots.

What the hell's the matter with you? You just decided to ignore me?

God, he hates that word, ignore. It always wrenches an involuntary shudder from him.

He remembers getting confused, losing track of where he was and who he was talking to. He was half out of his mind.

I have to get away. Those words, somehow, are crystal clear in his memory. His voice is small and pitched higher than usual, and he sounds… hopeless.

He feels a brief stab of worry. Did he really say that? Did Bones hear him?

With an effort, he pulls himself back into the present and turns his gaze to Bones, whose eyes are downcast and his shoulders slightly slumped. Jim can practically hear him berating himself up one side and down the other. Jim's not happy to see him so upset with himself.

But beneath his concern, part of him is humming in relief. Bones isn't telling him to lose his comm contact and find another drinking buddy. He's not giving him an annotated list of character flaws and telling him not to come back until he's fixed them all.

Apparently, they're still friends. It's a surprise outcome and Jim counts it as a win.

He doesn't want to look too closely at what he's learned about Bones. In his own way, the doctor is as flawed (as damaged) as he is. He's arrogant and controlling and he's got a vindictive streak. It actually makes Jim like him better.

Bones looks like he could keep on castigating himself for another hour or two, but Jim's getting restless. He prods himself into action.

"Okay. I think this makes us even," he announces, getting to his feet. "Let's just agree that I was a jackass, and you were a dipshit. As far as I'm concerned, we don't need to keep talking about this. Let's move on." He reaches across the desk, extending his hand. Bones looks surprised… and relieved.

They shake on it.

"I've got to get back to work, but come by for a drink tomorrow night after my shift," Bones tells him. "I've got something I want to talk to you about."

"Sure," Jim agrees quickly. After all, his schedule is wide open.

Bones claps him on the shoulder as they walk out the door, heading in different directions. The casual gesture reassures him.