Physically, Jim returned home in one piece. The rest of him came back a little at a time.

However, while it was true that he'd regained valuable muscle mass over the past couple weeks, the rate at which his mind recovered was frustratingly slow. Sleep eluded him more often than not. Spock could often hear him tossing and turning restlessly at night, though he began to suspect that Jim was staying awake on purpose, as he'd once caught him brewing coffee in the kitchen after their parents had gone to bed.

There was also the issue of Jim leaving the house. He flat-out refused to continue his primary education at the Vulcan Learning Center, scowling fiercely at anyone who so much as mentioned it. When coupled with hollowed out cheeks and dark, half-moon bruises under sunken eyes, the expression lent him a singularly ghoulish appearance. Sometimes, it was almost as though Jim had died on Tarsus, and any moment Jim's body would collapse, giving out at last to leave behind an empty husk and a ghost.

Even though Jim was home safe, they'd come so close to losing him. They were still so close to losing him. Though he fought to hold on, the truth was that Spock could feel him slipping through their fingers.

When the funerals and memorial services for the victims of Tarsus IV were broadcast on the news, no amount of persuasion from their mother could convince him to change the channel or turn off the television. Instead, he'd remained glued to the screen, taking in every word with rapt attention. These were people he'd known, after all. People he'd waved to every day, who'd laughed and joked and played with him. His features morphed into one of deep self-loathing, Jim muttered under his breath as the pallbearers carried the small, thin, empty coffin to the grave, "I should have been there."

And he gripped the edges of the television, squeezing until his knuckles turned white. Sighing, he rested his head against the screen.

Starfleet had made him swear not to attend any of the services held for the Tarsus IV colonists. No one could know that he was a survivor, or those who agreed with Governor Kodos' methods would try to silence him.

Jim knew this, but even so… these were his friends.

As he'd told it during his talks with Starfleet, none of them had known what was happening. They'd all been starving for months. Kodos told them help was coming, that they just had to hold on a little while longer and the colony would be saved. Then they were herded into the chamber to be slaughtered without warning.

There wasn't time to fight. There wasn't a chance to run. Most of the victims would be receiving empty casket funerals, if only because there was nothing left of them to bury. This included children he'd befriended, adults who weren't lucky enough to get away before the guards turned on the anti-matter chamber, obliterating their bodies down to the molecule. Knowing that, Spock could not even begin to comprehend what he was going through. All he knew for certain was that Jim could not allow the actions of a mad man to destroy his will to live. There was so much his brother had to offer, so many dreams he would make into reality, so long as he kept fighting.

And it was for that exact reason that no matter how much Jim wanted to stay holed up in his room, Spock wasn't going to let it happen.

After school, he hurried home to find Jim lying on the couch, one of his arms hanging off the side as he flipped mindlessly through the television channels. His listless gaze flicked up to Spock when he entered. "Hey." He greeted Spock with a half-hearted wave. "How was school?"

It was a rote exchange by now. This time, Spock changed the script. "It would be far more beneficial to the both of us if you attended." Jim shifted to grab a blanket off the armrest and threw it over his legs.

Fixing Spock with a sullen glare, he crossed his arms over his chest with a huff, "I'm not going back."

"Even so, the reality is you cannot live out the rest of your days here." There were expectations that came with being the son of Ambassador Sarek, and whether or not the relation stemmed through blood or choice did not matter. "The Council hold expectations for all who dwell on this planet. Perhaps more so for us than for others." And while they would never force their father to abandon his human child, there were ways of making their lives very difficult, indeed. Those with access to the innumerable resources Vulcan provided its people must constantly prove their worth, or else be deprived of them. It was a simple, unspoken truth.

Though Spock had intended to warn him further, the grief that fractured Jim's features startled him into silence. "What?" Jim snapped, rubbing furiously at his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve. "Are you saying you want to get rid of me, too?" His eyes growing wide in surprise, Spock shook his head. The gesture didn't seem to have an impact. "It makes sense, I guess. It's not like you guys ever wanted me in the first place." His face went slack, becoming ashen. "Do you know what they were going to do to me on Tarsus?"

"Jim, you do not have to-"

"They were going to roast me in the antimatter chamber, Spock!" Yanking the blanket around him, he climbed unsteadily to his feet and strode to the fireplace, where he watched the flames flicker and dance, their shadows darkening the hollows of his cheeks. "Guess I just wasn't smart enough to bother keeping alive. Mr. Expendable, right? Frank didn't want me. My own mother left me." With each statement his volume began to rise until he was screaming into the fire, "But who's the smart one now, huh, Kodos? Which one of us is still breathing you psychopathic son of a bitch?"

Being careful not to make any aggressive movements, Spock slowly approached him. "Jim."

The boy spun, a feral twist to his lips, his eyes dark with memory and pain, "What?!"

Then he registered the arms around him. Spock's uniform sleeves, stiff with ironing and starch, gave off a vaguely chemical smell that must have come from working in the lab. Over the years he'd spent living with Mrs. Grayson and Ambassador Sarek, Jim had learned enough to know that physical affection was frowned upon by Vulcans. "What's this?" Jim asked wryly with a sniffle. "Is it my birthday or something?"

And though Jim would have preferred it otherwise, Spock released him, letting his arms return to his sides. There was a flush in his cheeks that betrayed how uncomfortable the action had made him, which only made Jim appreciate it all the more. "I am sure I do not need to tell you this, but… there is little point to judging your worth based on the esteem of a mad man."

Unable to keep a few stray tears from falling, Jim forced a chuckle. "You really do have a way with words."

As he was making his way to the couch, thinking that would be the end of it, Spock surprised him yet again. "Would you like me to make some hot chocolate for you?"

Already beginning to feel a bit better, Jim teased, "Aren't you too young to drink that kind of thing, young man? What would Mother say?" Spock stared at him blankly for several seconds before turning on his heel and heading towards the kitchen. He found a chair, pulled it under the cabinet, then climbed up to reach the cocoa container on the top shelf. In awe, Jim watched him scoop out the brown powder into a pair of plain white mugs, and if his eyes didn't deceive him, Spock was giving him an extra scoop. Since the water from the kitchen faucet was purified, adding hot water to the mix was as simple as turning on the sink.

"There is no need for concern," Spock replied in answer to his earlier question, passing Jim a steaming mug of cocoa, complete with marshmallows. "I will, after all, only be partaking in a small portion."

When Amanda came home later that afternoon, her hands full of groceries, it was to find Jim sitting quietly on the couch while Spock lay curled up in the armchair, snoring softly with an arm thrown over his face.

Placing that night's dinner on the kitchen counter, she asked Jim incredulously, "Spock fell asleep? He never falls asleep so early."

Jim shrugged, "Yeah, weird," then quickly made a go for the pair of mugs on the coffee table to hide them behind his back. Unfortunately, Amanda had the eyes of an eagle, or perhaps was one in another life, and caught him redhanded.

She quirked a single brow, silently demanding an explanation.

"He drank hot chocolate with me to try and cheer me up," Jim hastily confessed, his gaze downcast and sheepish.

Affecting a stern demeanor, Amanda stuck her hands on her hips. "And did it work?"

At first, Jim could only blink in surprise. Then an impish smirk began to curve his mouth. "He's pretty fun when he's sleepy."

Amanda laughed under her breath, reaching out to give his messy unkempt hair a fond ruffle. "Let's just keep that a secret between you and me, huh? No need to embarrass him."

"Why, Mother," Jim's eyes went round with mock-innocence, "I have no idea what you're talking about." She gave him a light flick on the forehead, a knowing look on her face, though on the inside she was delighted beyond words that Jim was finally beginning to act like himself again.

"What do you say I whip up another batch of hot chocolate and we watch one of those movies about that cool archeologist you like?" Shucking off the blanket from his shoulders, Jim nodded vehemently, already rising to his feet to follow her into the kitchen with the mugs in his hands. In his eyes, she could see that spark of life again, burning so brightly it was like staring into a star. They fixed up their beverage with extra whipped cream and then ordered the first part of Jim's favorite adventure series, the pair of them singing along with the theme song whenever it played.

A/N: Apparently, drinking hot chocolate is a little like drinking alcohol for Vulcans. Who knew?