Jim kind of wished that he had in fact been smashed in the back of the head during a Klingon mating ritual. At least then he would have gotten some sex and a great story out of the deal. As it was, he had the pain, and nothing else.
Jim pinched the bridge of his nose again- for all the good it did him- and snuck a look at the chronometer. Just another half hour to go. He could do this.
He wasn't going to log his first incomplete shift because of a fucking headache.
Jim looked straight ahead at the warp field showing on the viewscreen, and tried not to squint noticeably. The bridge crew were having quiet conversations as was their wont when they weren't doing anything but traveling. Normally he would join in, but he made an exception for today. That was all he'd allow himself, though: the crew had probably already pegged that there was something off, but he could probably play it off as something he wasn't allowed to share.
He not-squinted into the warp field, wished once again that he was allowed to do classified paperwork on the bridge, and when he next checked the time he could justifiably start logged all the non-events that had happened during the shift in preparation for the changeover. He was also able to get out all the formalities for changing the conn over to Lt. Alexander, and not run towards the turbolift.
It was a bit more of a struggle to keep the distance between the turbolift and his quarters transvered at a brisk walk, but he managed it. He likewise managed to lock the doors and turn off the lights that had come on automatically when he entered. After that, all he had to manage was kicking off his shoes and curling up on the bed.
He wasn't quite able to fall asleep, but he didn't feel like moving either, which was why he didn't so much as turn over when the door swished open with a "Dammit Jim."
He wasn't going to answer. Bones knew him well enough by now to know as well as he did that there wasn't a medication he could take to get rid of the pain. And if he so much as tried to stick something in his neck anyway, he would throw up on him. No 'might' about it.
The bed dipped slightly as Bones settled along the edge. "Sit up for me, Jim."
Jim bit down on the childish I don't wanna and you can't make me that wanted to come out and mustered out a "No" in a fair imitation of a commanding tone.
"Unless my alternative is death through some strange space disease you've just discovered, I'm not moving," Jim bit out.
He heard Bones sigh. Then the bed dipped even more and he felt a warm weight settle along the length of the bed.
He groaned as he turned around. "What are you-"
Bones reached out and cradled his head, fingers rubbing gently at his temples.
"Oh," Jim breathed, as the pain receded to something that might be called a throb, rather than agony.
"You always have to do things the hard way," Bones grumbled, half-lament and half-affection. Jim hummed slightly, and shifted a bit closer. The pain dulled a bit more, and he closed his eyes again, concentrating on the feel of the fingers in his hair.
Just before he drifted off, he thought he felt Bones press a kiss to his forehead.