I don't own. Enjoy.

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

The sounds Jim was making were highly disturbing and not at all helping with the meditation Spock was attempting. Not in the slightest. Finally, he stood, pacing his room a bit as he considered any possible way to stop hearing it.

Continuously, it came back to getting Jim to stop. However, he knew quite reasonably that it was his fault and any further action, especially without prior meditation, was likely to scare him further. He was frustrated and didn't know how to help and he just wanted the awful sounds to stop. As such, he wasn't thinking logically when he entered the study again.

Any logic he had been holding onto was completely lost by the look of utter devastation on Jim's face at his return. He had done this, put this fear into another living being.

He dropped to his knees, reaching slowly to Jim, who, though its eyes were wild with fear, made no motion. Spock pulled the alien to him, heart beating faster at the way he allowed it, limp and lifeless as a doll. Jim was doing what it could to mitigate the damage it feared it would receive, playing at dead so as to reduce the injury it would receive. Spock's heart felt as though it was swelling with pain. His lungs no longer seemed to function properly as he cradled the alien to him, attempting to offer something, anything that could ease the fear he put into it.

Jim's broken, choked sobs were still audible to him, though it was obvious there was an attempt to stifle them.

Spock acted out of instinct. Out of the intrinsic need to sooth the pain. He knew, if he could just make Jim understand...

Jim remained frozen in place as Spock's hand flew to the side of its face. If he could just make Jim understand, communicate, somehow.

Jim's mind was hot and freezing and so empty and vast that Spock felt insignificant and yet so full and quick to a tight embrace. He was lost, in a sea of foreign design, in a world where water was no longer wet and the air was unbreathable and stars didn't shine so much as exist on another plane entirely. There was no light, or darkness, no concept of time. Cities rose and fell in seconds and universes were created and died and there was no concept of time to say how long it took and there was no light to show it nor darkness to hide even an inch of its vastness. And water could still drown and the stars still did something that wasn't entirely unlike shining, yet the space there was so grand they couldn't pierce even the tiniest of the emptiness and fill it with something. Everything pulsed with something, the emptiness itself all consuming and surrounding, holding tight with an overwhelming strength and pressing the entire weight of it down on him.

Spock broke from the meld, eyes wide and utterly lost. Jim stared at him, far more situated than should be fair for the situation.

"Whoa." He whispered. "What did you do to me?"

"I do not know." Spock croaked out.

… .. . .. …

Jim scrambled back. "Holy shit. You're speaking standard. Are you speaking standard? You're a telepath. You fucked with my language center, man."

Spock furrowed his brow, and it occurred to Jim that he was definitely speaking standard. "I...do not fully understand you."

"Right." Jim nodded, breathing heavily and speaking much slower. "You're a telepath. You just aren't designed to actually jack language."

"Jack...no..." Spock shook his head minutely.

"So you have a rudimentary understanding at best, vague knowledge based on my understanding of the words." Jim continued. "I...did you have to touch me?"

Spock blinked, trying to keep up, before turning green. "Forgive me. I should not have touched your mind."

His slow pace was starting to frustrate Jim, but the magnitude of this was more important than a speedy discussion. "Okay. Touch telepath. That...yeah...that explains a lot."

"Telepath...you have telepaths on your planet?"

"Yeah there are like-" Jim froze, eyeing him. "Oh god. I can't be talking to you. This is a pre-warp civilization."

"Pre-warp..." He mulled on the phrase for a second before declaring something almost excitedly in his native tongue. "This is your travel?"

Jim groaned, placing his head in his hands and being surprised by the wetness he found there. Oh yeah. He had been crying. God that was embarrassing. Spock seemed to notice his distraction and watched as he hurriedly wiped at his eyes.

"What is being expelled from your eyes?"

Jim flushed. "They're tears, you know, water from the eyes."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Fascinating. Your body releases water freely?"

Jim scowled. "You're taking to this language thing awfully fast. And yes. Why is that weird?"

"Forgive me. Vulcans-" Spock paused, wondering at that translation, which was not inaccurate, just not in his language. "Vulcans do not exude water from their body. As you can see, we are native to a largely desert planet. As for my adaptation to your language...it is of benefit to Vulcans to hold no emotion and to quickly analyze their situation."

Jim scrunched up his face. "Ooooookay then."

"Jim." Spock reached for him.

Jim scrambled back, feeling instinctively afraid. He immediately felt bad for his knee-jerk reaction, when he saw a fleeting pass of horror in Spock's eyes. Spock withdrew, and Jim had to force himself back into his space.

"I am sorry." Spock wasn't looking at him. "I have harmed you."

"N-no. You're fine." Jim croaked out, gently reaching out to put the very tips of his fingers on his sleeve.

Spock straightened himself. "You are being deceitful. I have caused you emotional damage."

Jim furrowed his brow. "Okay. Something is really bothering me right now. I know I have a large vocabulary, but I never use those words. So why the heck are they coming so easily to you?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps it is my familiarity with the concepts behind them. You are diverting from the topic."

"I'm good at that." Jim growled. "Is everyone on you planet a telepath or is it rare?"

"It is not uncommon." Spock admitted. "However, it is considered unacceptable to meld with another on most occasions."

Jim rocked back on his heels, focusing on what he was finding out. It kept him from panicking. He felt quite a bit safer now that he could understand the other man. That didn't make him safe, but at least he could try reasoning with him if he could communicate. It also helped that, by the look on his face, it was new for him to attack someone. Perhaps Jim could get out of there before he started to like it.

"Did you get anything else?" Jim scowled. "You know, any other thoughts or memories or anything?"

Spock cocked his head in consideration. "I...do not believe so. No. It is very difficult..."

"I get that." Jim said sympathetically, because he did. It wasn't his first rodeo with telepaths, just the most...direct. "I need you to-"

Jim stopped mid sentence, eyes going wide. He groaned in pain and doubled over, wrapping his arms around his abdomen. Spock quickly moved to his side, hovering over him.

"You are injured. How may I assist you?"

Jim tried to chuckle, but it only made the pain worse. "Ah. My first-aid kit. The metal box with the vials in it. My painkiller wore off."

Jim's voice was raspy, faint. Spock hurried to the kitchen, from what Jim could hear. The subsequent banging implied that he was digging for something and the he was back in the room, though Jim hadn't even heard his footsteps. He presented the kit to Jim, who withdrew a hypospray and injected it, groaning in discomfort.

"This is...medicine?" Spock hesitated a moment, searching for the word.

"Yeah." Jim agreed when he felt well enough to sit up again. "Really great up until the end of the time it says. When they say eight hours, they mean eight hours and no damn seconds."

Spock raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. Jim grunted, acknowledging that the joke fell flat when your listener didn't really click with the language.

After a moment of highly awkward silence, Spock spoke again. "What did you need of me?"

"Ah..." Jim's mind supplied several possible answers for that, at least one involving a clown and several ferrets. "I need you to do two things. Remain calm, which yeah, you seem to be doing pretty well right now but eventually it's going to click that you're communicating with an alien that has lived on another planet and can travel through the distances between them rapidly and let me tell you, even when you grow up in that kind of situation it can be pretty mind blowing when you start thinking about it."

Spock gave him a dubious look, then nodded. "And your second requirement?"

"Can you please not actively pock around in my mind for information, or, you know, turn me over to someone who would?" Jim winced at the stern look in those eyes.

"I do not believe this will be a problem." Spock looked him over, eyes falling back to the first aid kit. "You are not prepared to treat serious injuries. If you are capable of informing me of the damage you have received, I may be able to assist you."

Jim flushed, because he really hadn't thought about that. "It isn't serious...really."

… .. . .. …

Debating the definition of serious was difficult for Spock seeing as the best definition he had for it was Jim's own. He could easily provide a lengthy definition for a similar word in his own language, however, and though he stumbled at a few points he eventually convinced Jim to allow him to offer medical assistance. This was somewhat hindered by the fact that, every time he had to search for a word in Jim's language, Jim muttered a word he couldn't seem to grasp the meaning for. When Spock admitted this and demanded a definition for the word lethologica, Jim proceeded to make the strange barking sound, a laugh his new diction told him.

He stopped though, groaning and wrapping his arms around his torso. Spock fixated his eyes on him, waiting for him to acknowledge that the painkiller was not doing as much as it could. Jim sneered at him, before finally nodding. He tensed, however, when Spock made to lift his shirt. After a long staring match, Jim let his hands fall to the side, no longer protecting his vital organs.

Spock gently lifted the fabric, careful not to touch his skin. The bruises had spread, lending a purplish-green color to his entire torso. Jim grimaced, perhaps self-conscious of the mix of old and new bruises that was somewhat horrific.

"I think I have some broken ribs." Jim admitted when Spock didn't speak for several minutes. "No. That's a lie. I know I do. A couple were almost healed when I crashed."

Spock cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, the most minimal of movements as he contemplated something. "You were injured previously?"

"Yeah." Jim grimaced. "It isn't too important."

Spock reached down, ghosting his fingers over the bruised flesh, instantly picking out the jagged edges of the broken bone. Jim's breathing hitched, perhaps from pain, or fear. Spock wasn't sure. What he was sure of were the firm knots in the bone, just below a layer of tight muscle. Jim had broken many bones before, most set incorrectly. Spock was not inclined to gamble, but he was willing to believe that those along his ribs were only a fraction of the breaks he had suffered, though he held out hope that perhaps they were the greater fraction.

"I do not believe the breaks are so..." Spock paused, searching for a word and coming up wanting. "They do not need to be set. However, your torso should be bound to prevent further damage from movement. Is this acceptable?"

Jim groaned a bit. "Yeah. Okay. I'm not very good at that kind of thing."

"I will assist you." Spock told him, rising to his feet and momentarily leaving the room.

He hesitated as he retrieved the necessary supplies for assisting Jim. He was being unnecessarily tactile with the alien. Though he made weak justifications that such measures were necessary to provide medical attention, that did not provide for his initial, aggressive touch, or the subsequent decision to meld with him.

Him. It seemed so odd, now that he felt so sure of things about this alien, yet, having been in his mind, he was almost disappointed that he did not know more. Disappointment, however was unbecoming of a Vulcan. What would his father say if he knew? Spock reeled momentarily at the thought, internally as it was. His father could never know of his transgressions. A feat easier said than done, when one took the general difficulty of hiding an alien into consideration.

He returned, pointedly not allowing himself to think on his unbecoming mannerisms. Jim would not judge him by Vulcan standards.

Jim was half-undressed and prodding his broken ribs. Spock felt a twitch of anger. Had he no self preservation? Jim glanced up at him and barred his teeth. Grinned. It was fascinating, these word being provided to him. Spock knelt next to him, watching as Jim struggled into a better sitting position. His actions no longer seemed tinged with pain, but he was stiff and slow.

Carefully, Spock moved into position to wrap his torso. Jim settled tersely in the ring of his arms, resting his forehead on Spock's shoulder. Jim's skin was so cool to the touch, so alien.

… .. . .. …

Jim shuddered with the pain of the tight binding. It wasn't the first time he'd had his chest bandaged up, but there was something about the way Spock did it that seemed more secure. His hands were warm, firm and steady. So warm, actually. Jim couldn't help but enjoy the warmth, easing over the aches. Even with the painkillers, he was sore. But he'd never had someone care for him. He couldn't hold onto the tension for long.

For perhaps the first time in quite a while, he found himself genuinely relaxing. He knew he shouldn't. Spock had just attacked him. But...he trusted him. It was a horrifying thought, and if he weren't currently turning into a pile of goo under those hands, he'd be panicking, but it was hard to panic.

Spock's hands smoothed down his sides, checking that the wrapping was neat and tight. "Are you well?"

Jim nodded. "Mm. 'M comfy."

He felt Spock shift ever so slightly. "You are tired?"

"Yes." Jim made a token effort to sit up, before slumping further against the space-elf.

"Do you wish to eat before you rest?" Spock seemed very tense against him, and Jim wondered if this was a taboo for a touch telepath.

"Whatever." Jim agreed.

Spock shifted them both, effortlessly dragging Jim to his feet as he stood. Jim leaned back, blinking at him in surprise. Spock's ears were green. Green blooded...not the weirdest color he had seen. Pepto-pink still took the cake for that. Yeah. He was getting the feeling this guy was not the touchy-feely type. Damn his knee jerk reactions, now he wanted to try and make him uncomfortable. This was why he got beaten up so often.

Spock didn't seem to notice, distancing himself immediately. Jim trudged after him, trying to work out just how he had actually started acting like an interesting pet.

… .. . .. …

In spite of their previous encounter, Jim seemed disinclined to hold reproach for his actions. He was strangely relaxed around him. Spock had marveled at his easy manner, behavior unlike anything one would exhibit on Vulcan. That was before his unbecoming behavior. Now he was positively stunned, floored by the trust he displayed.

Jim was speaking rapidly about something or another. Spock was missing the occasional word, especially with the speed he was using. It was curious that he could force his words out at such a speed without stumbling over them. Though he could not follow Jim's train of thought, he found himself enjoying listening. He had been fascinated, when he first heard Jim speaking his language. A better word, with his faint understanding of the words coming to him, would perhaps be entranced. Though the language was still so foreign, his understanding allowed him to better appreciate what he was hearing.

"So what do you think?" Jim stumbled to a stop, giving him a wide and curious smile.

"I did not follow your line of speech, Jim." Spock informed him.

Jim chuckled. "Oh. Yeah. You know you can tell me to slow down, right?"

"Indeed." Spock returned his attention to his meal. "You had led me to believe you were tired."

Jim's cheeks flushed a dusty red. "Are you telling me to shut up?"

Spock cocked his head to the side, contemplating the phrase. He was unsure if that was indeed what he was telling him. Jim blurted out a declaration of surprise, indicating there was something wrong with him thinking about it. In Spock's experience, silence indicated an unlikeable answer. So it was no surprise that, when he declined to indicate either way, Jim made a sound of outrage and folded his arms over his chest.

Throughout the remainder of dinner, Jim flashed him hurt looks, followed promptly by breaking out into laughter. Spock felt particularly...fond, if he were to attribute an emotion to the strange desire to induce such a look, of what he understood to be a pout. Jim's blue eyes seemed particularly large when he made such a look, and the exotic red color of his lower lip was accentuated by his jutting it out. The action itself was utterly alien and the part of Spock's brain attempting to rationalize his encounters here insisted he was observing.

Spock was in the middle of washing dishes when he heard a soft, grating sound. He turned to see Jim bent over the counter, head resting on his arms. The awkward position made his breathing uneven and rough. He momentarily wondered how two diametrically opposed words, such as soft and rough, could equally apply to different qualities of the sound he was making. His musing was cut short when Jim squirmed and nearly fell from his seat.

Deciding it was for the best, if he was to keep the man from injuring himself, Spock lifted Jim from his seat and carried him to the other room, where he could sleep. Jim curled closer to him, gripping the front of his shirt tightly and whimpering. Spock was unsure if it was an action born of pain, or if something else inclined him to do such. Jim released him easily enough, though, when he settled him into the pile of pillows.

He didn't lock the door behind him as he left the room.

… .. . .. …

Jim stared at Spock for a good minute. When the ever off balance space-elf once again offered the pile of clothing to him, he couldn't help but grin. Something that was promptly followed with a slap on the arm. Spock continued to stare as he snatched up the clothing and sequestered himself in the bathroom. Jim had a niggling suspicion that Spock knew exactly the best way to handle him. As it had only been a couple days, he knew that wasn't true. Objectively, it was more likely that he had Spock completely out of his depths, but that didn't change the fact that Spock was still doing a damn good job of handling him.

The first order of business being his clean jeans. Oh how he loved those jeans. And yes, there was still a hole in the thigh that he should probably repair, but it wasn't a huge, gaping thing and it could wait a damn day because he wanted to wear his jeans. The Starfleet shirt he could have done without, being such a charming reminder that he couldn't just stay there, but somehow he would survive it.

He leaned his head against the wall in the sonic shower, ignoring how he had been in too long and his skin was starting to turn red. He had to leave.

As soon as he was healed enough, which if he was being honest instead of putting it off, he had been alright at the time of the landing and after a good night's sleep, he was going to have to get the ship and try to repair it. He'd been telling himself that he needed to properly communicate before he could even think about that, but there was no helping it. They'd already solved that little problem...well, mostly. Spock still looked at him like he was speaking a different language most of the time...which he was. Though Jim had the sneaking suspicion that he understood better than he was claiming to, either through sheer disbelief or, more likely and more amusingly in Jim's opinion, he was doing so to ease their interactions with each other.

The only problem here, really, was that Jim had no idea where to start with the ship. How was he even going to get it somewhere safe? Because he certainly wasn't going to just work on it in the desert where anyone could see him.

As he exited the bathroom to the sounds and scents of Spock making breakfast, he couldn't help but feel morose. How was he going to convince Spock to help him? Especially if the thought of Jim leaving made him mad. He had no proof of it. Hell, the guy had even said his kind were supposed to not have emotions, or some such bull. But he'd already hauled him up once intent on bodily injury.

"Jim." Spock glanced up from whatever he was cooking. "Would you please retrieve flatware?"

Jim snickered at how very domestic that felt. "Sure. Want me to get anything else?"

"You may provide yourself with fluids if you need. However, I require nothing else from you." Spock returned his attention to the food, almost dismissively.

"Why did you attack me?" Jim slapped a hand over his mouth as soon as he said it, horrified that he was going to get himself hurt.

Spock tensed, before relaxing with a modicum of strain. "I was behaving illogically. It was...upsetting that you were dismissive of me in my own home."

Jim's heart sped up a bit, suddenly paranoid about what would be considered dismissive. "I'm sorry."

Spock turned, an eyebrow raised at the squeak in Jim's voice, and immediately regretted doing so. "Jim, the fault was my own. My actions were inexcusable. I have not lost control in such a manner in a long time."

Jim furrowed his brow at that, leaning his elbows on the counter to look at him. "What do you mean?"

Spock seemed like he wasn't going to answer for a moment before guiltily turning back to the food he was cooking. "I struck another in my youth. Repeatedly...until various bones in his face were broken."

Jim gaped at his back for a moment. "That constitutes a loss of control?"

Spock glanced back again, both eyebrows raised. "You do not believe this transgression to be egregious?"

Jim snorted, not entirely with humor. "Are you kidding? Regular beatings were a part of my childhood. A good portion of them from my peers."

Spock stared at him, eyes a little wide with surprise. "That is...unusual. Violence is not tolerated here. As such, acts of violence are uncommon and seen as serious breaches of control."

Jim scowled, playing with the almost-fork in his hands. "Sounds like heaven if you ask me."

"Jim..."

Jim looked up and smiled, before Spock could get around to making connections. He watched as once again the act disarmed Spock completely. When he returned to cooking, Jim let the smile fall. Since when did hiding with a pre-warp alien mean it was sharing time for all his drama? What was he doing, getting attached? Was that even what it was?

He pointedly avoided any more topics about his youth as they ate breakfast, but so did Spock so he didn't particularly feel guilty about it. Somehow, though they had a greater deal of words to communicate worth, their conversation was still basic in nature and lagging often. Much of the morning was filled with silence as neither seemed to know what to ask. Somehow, even in light of the immense awkwardness, Jim found himself enjoying the rare treat.

… .. . .. …

"Captain." The woman at communications swiveled around, concern obvious on her face. "They've found out who took the shuttle...You aren't going to like this."

… .. . .. …

Jim groaned, swatting at his hands. Spock yanked them back before he could touch him. For a tense moment they sat there staring at each other. Spock reached for Jim again and Jim hissed, twitching like he was going to slap at him again. It stung, immensely, and the feedback from the sudden sensation was highly distracting.

"You will cease this childish behavior at once." Spock ordered, still inching his hands closer.

"Hands off." Jim ordered, poising his hand to strike.

He swung down and missed, and Spock jerked forward, catching him by the wrist. He pinned both hands somewhere above Jim's head, using his momentum to push him onto his back. Jim made a vain attempt to kick, and was promptly pinned with a leg on either side. Spock allowed him to squirm for a few more minutes before he proceeded to remove Jim's shirt.

"You should have informed me that you removed your bandages at the time of your shower." Spock used the shirt to wrap up Jim's wrists and remove the problem of touching the skin of his hands. "You are bandaged for a reason, Jim."

"I'm fine." Jim declared, slumping against the floor in an effort to make it more difficult. "And I don't know what your showers do to fabric. How was I supposed to know I could leave it on?"

"Why would you be unable to leave your bandages on?" Spock asked, sliding his hand under Jim's spine and lifting him with absolutely no difficulty.

"Because it could damage it? I don't know. They don't stand up to water." Jim shrugged, worming his hands in an attempt to free them.

Spock shifted, jamming a knee between his legs and under him to keep his back up, ignoring the now freed leg flailing next to him. Spock at first used one hand, but had to switch to both to steady Jim and wrap him tight enough. Jim used his now free arms, though still bound together at the hands, in a vain attempt to club him. Spock caught his wrists and looped them over his neck in one swift motion before returning to wrapping his chest.

"This is an awkward position." Jim declared, attempting to lean up enough that he was no longer putting pressure on Spock's neck and could lift his hands back over his head.

Spock was keeping enough downward pressure on his torso, however, that he couldn't. "As this proves necessary only due to your lack of cooperation, the supposed awkwardness of such a position is entirely your doing."

Jim huffed, narrowing his eyes. Fine. If he was going to play that way...Jim arched into his hands, earning a stuttered pause in the bandage wrapping. Spock valiantly ignored him however, so he wrapped his leg around his torso and squeezed. Now he noticed a dusting of green on his cheeks. Grinning, Jim repeated the action, simultaneously pulling himself up as Spock was too distracted to force him to stay down. He was too distracted to realize he could free his hands, though, biting down forcefully on the ear of his space-elf.

Spock jolted to his feet, dropping Jim soundly on the floor. Jim blinked up at him, wondering for a moment when his hands became unhooked, before he started laughing wildly. Spock was wide eyed, eyebrows hidden in his hairline.

"For what purpose did you bite me?" Spock's voice was tinged with alarm, though he pointedly didn't fidget.

Jim shrugged, speaking around a mouthful of fabric as he used his teeth to untie his shirt. "Fuu het ho."

Spock stared at him unblinking and Jim repeated himself without a mouthful, offering his hands when he couldn't untie it himself. Spock hesitated to do so, but knelt down. He made no mention of Jim's tactics to get him to let go.

"You are bandaged now. Surely you will not attempt to remove them?" Spock raised a single eyebrow.

Jim huffed, crossing his arms now that they were free. "I might."

"That is highly illogical."

Jim grinned. "Yeah, well. I guess I'm just illogical."

"Indeed." Spock cocked his head to the side ever so slightly.

Spock eyed him as one would a dangerous animal for a moment until Jim cocked his head to the side and thrust his tongue out between his lips. Pink. Spock found himself caught once again by the oddness of that color. Jim re-situated his shirt and leapt to his feet, eager about something.

"So. Tell me all about your planet."

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

Fear not, their communication problems are not entirely solved. While I would have loved to make them learning each others language a long, drawn out process, I'm not that good a writer, not that familiar with the growth of language and how one would actually go about doing that, and I needed them to have melded. I've got quite a bit more to go here, though.

As for the questions I've gotten about their age, patience. I know you want to know but it's actually important.