-Chapter Four: Right Place, Wrong Time-

Six Years Ago on Vulcan

"Mother, I am fully capable of seeing to my own health, thank you," Spock had insisted without really insisting it at all. Such was the art of all Vulcans; to express without ever expressing. The language was built for such a way of life; devoid of frivolous expression and passion. Every part of it concise and useful; direct and unswervingly clear. Standard, by comparison, was a messy language to learn; full of rules made to be broken, words than had three, sometimes four entirely different meanings and most common of all...idioms.

Amanda rolled her eyes good naturedly, patient as ever with her son's aloofness.

"You did not sleep well," she informed him for the third time. "You look very ill, Spock. You should not attend school today – truly, you look unwell."

She too was speaking in Vulcan – hence the straightforward approach.

"I slept well, Mother. Even if I did not, it would be unforgivable illogic to risk any small part of my education owing to lack of sleep."

She sighed and shrugged. Spock felt a small sense of achievement. As the years wore on, he found himself increasingly able to stand his ground in debates. He had only turned sixteen a few days ago, yet he already began to feel older – somehow separate from his childhood years.

True, he had slept extremely poorly the night before; he had not been able to shake a very unpleasant feeling that something was deeply, on a very basic level, not right at all. His skin had seemed to writhe over his bones and he had the beginnings of painful headache, but it did not remotely justify missing school, even for one day.

"Do not concern yourself, please," he added in a softer tone, because he knew how much Amanda sometimes enjoyed having him all to herself. "I am...I am..."

The words 'perfectly well' were poised and ready to fall off his tongue when his vision swayed dangerously and he felt as though he had been dropped headfirst into a dark, deep ocean. The wrongness that had been creeping through his blood all last night was rearing up like some monstrous tide, furious and wild.

Spock did not realise he had collapsed to the floor. He did not realise he was screaming. He would not remember such details. In fact, he would claim not to recall anything about the horrifying incident.

And Vulcans did not lie, did they?

Jim Kirk's feet and legs had started to seriously ache about three miles back, but he'd kept his mouth shut. Seeing the Vulcan stride along ahead forced him to attempt bravery. However, after another particularly painful twinge in the back of his thigh, he let out a soft groan.

"Fuck me," he breathed, stopping and flexing his leg. Spock, who had been mid stride, stumbled a little and spun around, eyes almost comically wide.

"Excuse me?" he asked, somewhat high pitched.

Jim realised the double entendre of his complaint and laughed, wincing when his jaw throbbed. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. My feet hurt, is all."

Eying Jim suspiciously, the Vulcan nodded slowly. "I see. We must continue to walk, James. There is no safe method of transportation available in our current situation. If you," he paused, hesitation pulling the words back in for a moment. "If have decided upon a different course of action, you must acknowledge it now. It would be wise of you to leave and seek assistance elsewhere."

Jim smirked. "Man, you just have this intimate relationship with language, huh? What a long winded way of saying, 'Speak up if you're gettin' cold feet!'"

Spock raised a slender eyebrow. "I understood only 16% of that entire statement."

"Whatever. Can we stop for a rest or something? I can't walk all night like this."

"Walking helps me think."

"Walking hurts my feet!"

"Then return to where you were before," Spock suggested, somewhat tightly, starting to walk briskly once more.

"Oh sure, just like that!" Jim exclaimed, jogging to catch up. "First you put me in this mess, then think you can just get rid of me!"

Spock stopped dead and Jim almost walked right into him, but stopped himself in time. The tall alien loomed over him, glaring through the darkness of the streets.

"I put you in this mess? I seem to recall you were the one who insisted upon using the facilities inside the shop. You were the one who repeatedly offered to administer first aid. I asked nothing of you, save to be left alone."

Though no-one would have ever believed Jim if he'd told them, the Vulcan's voice had been growing steadily louder the entire time. Again, Jim felt as though he should have been intimidated, and again...wasn't.

"Oh yeah, that's you!" he snapped, trying and failing to catch up as Spock strode off once again into the night. "Don't need anything, don't need anybody! Just got yourself and your stupid job selling Vulcan chips!"

Spock halted once more, turning and facing Jim with those eyes.

"I do not sell Ceulari's," Spock informed him sternly.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well I figured that out. I mean I'm stupid, but I'm not that fucking stupid!"

The Vulcan continued to eye him for a few moments before saying, "I am an agent of the High Vulcan Council."

"I'm Santa Claus," Jim deadpanned.

Spock stared blankly. "Who?"

"Oh never mind," Jim dismissed irritably. He winced, trying to shift the pain out of his leg and attempting to not fall over in the process. Spock reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a PADD, scrolling through a few pages.

Jim peered at it, seeing a map. "Where we goin'?" he asked, gingerly flexing his knee.

Without looking back up at him, Spock replied, "A hotel."

Annoyed at not being given a full answer, Jim peered even further, craning his neck to see the place Spock was zooming in upon. The name of the hotel came up in the right hand side of the PADD and the bottom of Jim's stomach dropped out.

"Wh...why do you want to go there?" he asked, stepping back a little.

Spock glanced up, frowning slightly at Jim's expression. "In my experience, when you lose your way, the best place to go is back to the beginning."

Jim swallowed; it echoed in his ears. Gary, the music, the Vulcans, screaming...

"The beginning of what?" he asked, mouth suddenly dry.

Eyes never leaving Jim's, Spock answered, "My assignment. Wednesday night."

No. No, no, no. How could this be happening? Jim thought all that was behind him.

"You...you were there that night?" he gasped. Spock's eyes were searching Jim's face for any indication of what was causing his reaction.

"Working in cooperation with the Admiral," he told Jim.

"Komack?" Jim breathed.

"You know him?" Now it was the Vulcan's turn to sound shocked.

Numbly, Jim nodded. "Yeah, I...I was there too."

Something resembling comprehension washed over Spock's face and for a moment he looked irritated. "The weak, ailing boy."

"Hey!" Jim managed. "I wasn't doing so great, OK? I don't usually look like such a sack of shit, thank you very much! Did you see me? I didn't see you."

"I have been unforgivably remiss," Spock ground out, ignoring Jim's question. "I can not fully comprehend my reasons for not recognising you, although I did not at any point see your face up close."

"I guess we all start to look alike after a while," Jim mused weakly.

Spock fixed his gaze even more intently upon Jim. "You must come with me."

"Hey, hold up! A minute ago, you couldn't wait to get rid of me!"

"You, James Kirk, are my proof," he declared. "I will take you to the Council and you will tell them everything. You can clear my name."

Horror welled up in Jim's stomach and he shook his head. "No," he whispered. "No, I can't do that. I'm in deep enough, I'm not gonna be a witness!"

"But you are the only person who can exonerate me of the false claims being made against me," he explained, as though this explained everything.

"Don't you get it?" Jim yelled. "Komack has my daughter! But you don't think about that, do you? You don't think about what's gonna happen to her, happen to me! Of course not! The only thing that matters to you is your job! 'Cos that's all you've got!"

Spock stared at Jim, lips parted slightly. He didn't seem to be breathing, so Jim continued.

"You take Komack down, so what? You'll leave an opening for another bent son of a bitch to take his place, one who we all hope will be less of a fucker than the last one and that's reality! Maybe," he shouted, poking Spock in the chest with his index finger. "It's not your reality, but it's my reality every day, 24/7 and there's nothing you or anyone else can do to change that!"

Furious with himself for allowing yet another outburst to own him so thoroughly, Jim turned away and began to walk, despite the pain in his leg. He heard footsteps behind him as Spock tried to catch up.

"Wait," Spock implored. Jim stopped, telling himself it was because of his calf muscles and nothing else. "If I get your daughter back, will you help me?"

Jim groaned softly, wishing he could believe what Spock was offering him. His weary heart ached to see her again, just being apart from her was horrific enough.

"No, I'm...I'm really screwed this time," he said, cracking on the last word.

He felt a warm hand close around his and a bolt of something strong and golden shot through him. "My people will give you sanctuary, they will keep you safe," he said.

"Where? On Vulcan? I mean, I like the chips, but no thanks."

The hand tightened. "I will keep you safe," Spock promised. "I know you have had some bad experiences trusting people, but if I gave you my word that you will be safe...you and your daughter...would you trust me, James?"

A long moment seemed to stretch endlessly. Jim was hyper aware of Spock's hand on his, of the chance he was being offered. The risks were obvious, largely in the forefront of his mind but for some reason Jim couldn't shake the feeling that trusting Spock was the right thing to do.

He took a deep breath and exhaled his reply, "Yes."

A look of intense relief cross Spock's face before it was chased away to be replaced instantly with controlled neutrality. "Thank you, James."

"I don't know why I'm trusting you," Jim warned. "I really don't, but I am. So...don't screw me over, OK?"

Managing to look entirely serious, Spock said, "I will most certainly not screw you over."

Jim sniggered, tried and failed to cover it with a cough. "Alright, so what do we do now? You have a plan, right?" When his question was met with silence, he blinked and said, "Tell me you have a plan!"

The Vulcan replied, "I do indeed have a plan. But I do not think you will like it."

As it turned out, Spock was correct. His plan – to locate Jim's daughter by sneaking into Komack's office and retrieving the data – had not gone down well at all. After a few more unpleasant exchanges, Jim finally agreed, wrenching his fear to one side and thinking of his daughter and how it would feel to hold her again.

Of all the things in Jim's life, his baby daughter was the best. The absolute greatest thing he'd ever done, ever had. There had been so much shit; pain, guilt, shame all muddled into potentially soul destroying darkness and then there had been his baby. She had come out of something so horrible, so devastating...

And he'd lost her.

That night was branded into his memory. Komack offering the first hypo, Gary kissing his neck, trailing hands everywhere and Jim wasn't even going to consider it. He just wanted a little help, just enough so they could get by. His daughter back at the tiny little apartment, babysat by the nice old lady next door and Jim knew he had to get back to her...that he wasn't going to do any of the things Komack was offering, because he wasn't that stupid.

And then without warning, the hypo slid into his neck with a gentle hiss and the world had exploded in velvet heat; unbearable waves of pleasure bolting through his system, making his eyes roll back in head and the last thing he remembered was Gary whispering in his ear how much fun they were going to have.

He had woken up the next day in his apartment, on the floor, face down. His head thundering, body trembling and stomach in agonising knots. Something was very, very wrong. It was too quiet, way too quiet.

"Lily?" he croaked, throat aching like it had been punched. His body was starting to register all sorts of pains and aches, cuts and abrasions but he ignored them. "Baby?"

She was gone. Gone. Taken, under the pretence of social care. There was a notification left on his PADD, that he would numbly read later when he realised it was beeping. She'd been taken away from him, and he hadn't even been there to stop them.

Jim stumbled, losing his footing as he made his way up the stairs. The pain of that still threatened to strangle to life out of him. The knowledge, deep down, that it was Komack behind the whole thing. Taken the one good thing he'd ever had.

Jim looked down at his trembling hands, trying to gather up the courage to go through with the stupid, very Un-Vulcan plan. If it meant he might get his daughter back, he could do it. Yeah, he could do this.

He didn't get another five feet before one of Komack's guys was aiming at gun Jim's face, demanding to know what he was doing there.

"I'm here to see Komack, you asshole," Jim spat. "I know where the Vulcan is."

Of all the temporary partnerships in his previously well executed career, Spock realised that this was the first time he had ever had to fully trust someone. The realisation was almost intimidating, but he knew there was no point in questioning it now. James Kirk was inside, speaking to Komack; he had only to mention that Spock was one street away, hiding in shadows and awaiting Jim's return.

And although all his extensive training had advised him against ever trusting another being or even involving one, he could not help but feel a small flicker of something resembling...hope. He couldn't bring himself to distrust this human, though it was obvious that he should.

James was a whore and an addict; property of Richard Komack, the man who's illicit career further depended upon Spock's death. There were a hundred reasons to turn and leave, seek refuge on Vulcan and not return to this vulgar, unpleasant planet ever again.

Yet...yet he could not tolerate that. No. He would wait and James would return with the location of his daughter. They would liberate her from wherever she was being held, James would then bear witness to Spock's innocence and Komack would be arrested and stopped.

Of course, Spock knew it would be vastly more complicated than that. Life and all its intricacies had taught him this, time and time again. Unpredictable aspects in an ever changing scenario meant that nothing was ever simple, even if it seemed so. The most worrying aspect of all this was James and his daughter would likely become bigger targets than even Spock once Komack realised what James was prepared to do.

But he would worry about that when the time came. If he didn't prioritise, then he would lose focus; without focus, nothing could be achieved.

Jim had been inside the building for thirty four minutes. Spock was becoming concerned; surely it should not have taken this length of time for James to send Komack off in the wrong direction, and then ascertain his child's whereabouts.

Seven minutes later, James came into view. He was sporting a fresh bruise to the face and his wrist was bleeding badly. Spock sprang into action, reaching to inspect the injured wrist at once. James shook him away irritably.

"It's nothing," he lied, cradling it away from Spock who raised an eyebrow until he relented. "He tied me to a fucking water pipe," he explained as Spock tenderly examined the wound; it was a deep slash, thankfully just missing a particularly thick vein. It was bleeding and would leave a scar if not regenerated.

"So you proceeded to liberate yourself by removing a large chunk of flesh from your wrist?"

James scowled and winced as Spock pulled the skin apart slightly. "I was in a bit of a Goddamned hurry! I wasn't exactly watching what I was cutting."

Suppressing a sigh, Spock tore a strip of material from the bottom of his shirt and wrapped it around James's wrist. "Did you procure the necessary information?"

"Kind of. I sent Komack to a guy who I really don't like; told him he was hiding you there," he sniggered. Spock didn't even bother to question the total lack of logic in that. "Lily's in an orphanage. Can you fucking believe that? I didn't even think they still existed, let alone in San Francisco! Anyway, there was no address, but there was the name of a social worker, Amber Sholan. I remember him mentioning her, he told me she was the one who took Lily away. She's probably on the take, gotta know where Lily is."

Still touching James's skin, Spock was helpless to keep out the barrage of thoughts and feelings emanating from the human. Fury, desperation, sorrow, guilt. He worked hard to maintain some defences against them, but it didn't seem to work. There was something powerfully familiar about this human's thoughts and feelings and trying to push them from his own subconscious felt...wrong.

"Hey! Hey! Wakey wakey!" Jim waved his hand in front of Spock's face and it was enough to bring him back to a satisfactory level of focus.

"I apologise. Your thoughts are...distracting," he commented, as neutrally as possible.

James blinked and then something behind his eyes flickered. "Touch telepathy," he muttered and nodded as though he understood completely. "Anyway, I got her home address, wrote it down." He reached for the inside of the flimsy jacket and gasped in pain. "OK, maybe I was being a little blasé earlier; that fucking hurts!"

"Will you allow me to relieve the pain?" Spock offered. James glanced up warily.

"Like how? I don't really want to you trying any hokey pokey Vulcan voodoo...ahhh!" He cut off with a yelp as Spock pinched a nerve in the crook of his arm, causing the flow of blood to slow and the muscles around the wounded area to relax considerably. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

Spock shrugged simply. "Hokey pokey Vulcan voodoo."

"Oh, hah hah! What did you do? I can't feel any pain."

"Do not concern yourself with such matters. We should proceed."

Five minutes worth of silent walking was broken when James seemed unable to resist anymore.

"Seriously, I know you're probably not allowed to tell me, but what was that thing you did to my arm?"

Spock sighed, barely even surprised that James was asking again.

"It is a simple medical procedure," he replied shortly, focusing on heading in the correct direction, while formulating a plan.

"Uh-huh," James said, disbelief in all his expression. "I'm sure it is a medical procedure. But that's not all it is, am I right?"

"You are far too astute for me, James Kirk," Spock answered distractedly. "I bow to your superior intellect and wisdom."

James stopped dead in his tracks. "Oh my God, did you just make a joke?"

Spock realised what he'd said and the tone in which he had said it. Sarcasm. That could not be good; clearly the human was a bad influence upon him.

"No," he denied; which was a lie. Another human vice.

James smiled and it did something strange to the bottom of Spock's spine.

"Yes, you totally did! You cracked a joke! You were sarcastic and rude and you made a joke!" he exclaimed, entirely too gleefully for Spock's liking.

"I did not 'crack a joke' as you so incorrectly phrase it," Spock tried to defend himself, turning back to a grinning James Kirk. "I simply stated facts as they may be interpreted by yourself and others."

"It's OK to be sarcastic sometimes," he pointed out softly, stepping a little closer to Spock, who froze. "It's OK to be human."

"A deeply racist ideology," Spock mumbled, his lips feeling oddly numb and he had absolutely no idea why. "We have very little time, Mr Kirk."

James's eyebrow rose a little. "So now it's Mr Kirk? I think maybe you're a little uncomfortable with being around humans, Mr Spock. Maybe even being around me."

'The complete opposite, actually,' he mused.

James' eyes lit up and his jaw dropped. "Really? I thought that was just me!"

Spock started. Had he said that out loud? "I did not..."

"Because we're not really talking about it, are we?" James went on, inching closer and closer. "Y'know, the whole insanity of this scenario kinda takes priority and that's as it should be but...I'm not imagining it, am I? This." He gestured between himself and Spock, waiting for some signal of agreement. When Spock couldn't open his mouth to answer, James took his silence as an answer. "I knew it," he breathed. "You can feel it too."

This was not happening. S'chn T'gai Spock was a highly trained agent of the Vulcan High Council. He was not being placed in an untenable position by this...this boy. He opened his mouth to deny it; to demand that James Kirk focus on the task at hand and maintain a more professional attitude.

But what came out was this.

"I have known you before."

The words were unfamiliar and shocking to his own ears. James gaped at him.

"You have?"

"There is a deeply ingrained sense of recognition that I cannot logically explain, but it is there nonetheless. I know you, James."

He expected a backlash; James denying it, telling him that they had never met before - because they definitely had not – and was more than shocked when it did not come.

"That makes sense, kinda," the human replied softly. "I can't explain it, but there's something here, isn't there? I'm not crazy. There's something between us."

"There is."

Spock wouldn't have know he was speaking, had he not recognised his own voice.

There was that sad little smile again and Spock violently suppressed the urge to caress the corners of James's mouth that curled up. "Pretty fucked up timing, right?"

"Agreed."

"Well," he sighed. "Guess we can always delve into this later. Gonna be plenty of time for that on Vulcan."

Spock paused and tried to be carefully with his phrasing. "You...you indicated previously that you would be adverse to retreating to Vulcan for asylum."

James smiled. "Things change."

They continued to make their way towards the social worker's domicile, a few miles away, and Spock could not help but smile inwardly with some fragile, wholly mysterious sense of hope.

There were definite downsides to being on the payroll of organised crime, Amber decided glumly to herself as she shut her PADD off with a flourish. The last two payments had yet to go into her account and she hadn't been able to get in contact with Komack. Something wasn't quite right, but what was she supposed to do? Go to her supervisor and complain that she wasn't being compensated accordingly for breaking the law?

She sighed and drank her tea, hoping it would soothe the building headache behind her eyes. Tomorrow she would go to Komack and demand payment; she wasn't risking her career and her life for nothing.

Finally giving up on the tea, she was about to retreat to bed when she heard a sound. A small soft sound; like a footfall perhaps. She paused mid-step towards the kitchen and strained her ears. Silence. She must have been imagining it. Maybe she needed to get more sleep, yes that would be it. She got another two yards closer to the kitchen when it happened.

Out of nowhere, a pair of hot hands grabbed her and clamped over her mouth, forcing her to swallow the scream before it could escape. There was a scuffle; she tried to yank herself free but the body behind her was strong and unmoving. It drove her to her knees and a blindfold was pulled over her eyes.

Panic was strangling her, deep and strong within her chest. She could think, couldn't move. The hands over her mouth were removed and a low, baritone voice growled in her ear, "It would be wise for you not to speak until spoken to."

Shakily, horribly thrown off by the blindness, Amber nodded.

Another voice, male and American, came from directly in front of her. The other man was still behind, restraining her tightly.

"Do you work for Komack?" the American, who sounded a lot younger than the other, asked.

"No," she lied breathlessly. "I work for CPS, my name is Amber Sholan!"

SMACK! A powerful slap right across her face took the remaining vestiges of breath she had, clean away.

"Allow me to rephrase," the boy asked. "We know you work for Richard Komack. What exactly is it you do for him? If you lie again, my friend behind you is going to snap your fingers clean off."

She felt her index finger drawn apart from the others and bent backwards in an obvious threat.

"I...I don't work for him, I do him favours!" she spat. "He pays me to do him favours!"

"Give us an example?"

When she didn't speak, the finger was bent until she screamed. "OK, OK! Jesus fucking Christ, I'm not dying for that asshole! He pays me to keep tabs on some of the kids, where they go, who has them, stuff like that. Sometimes I alter their destinations, put them where he wants them," she panted.

There was a heavy silence, broken only when the American boy spoke, voice tight enough to tune a piano.

"Where is Lily Kirk?"

"Wh-who? I don't know, I redirect a lot of kids!"

The finger snapped and broke clean in half. Amber tried to scream, but the hand was back over her mouth, clamping so hard she thought she might pass out.

"TELL ME!"

She nodded, tears streaming down her face. The hand moved away enough for her to speak.

"I remember her; toddler, pretty blonde thing! She's in the orphanage on Mesa Street, OK? Just let me go!"

There was a long breath of silence before the blow to her head and the world faded into unconsciousness.

Once they'd gotten far enough away to stop for a moment, Jim fell to his knees and felt bile rise up in his throat again. The adrenaline was fading, leaving his muscles burning and aching and the feeling of dread and horror was coming up with his remaining stomach acids.

There was a hand on his back, gently soothing him.

"Breathe, James," the beautiful, low voice instructed. "You did well."

Jim shook his head, wiping his mouth when the convulsions stopped. "It's not that," he croaked. "I just...I just realised that she's been alone this whole time and I..." he choked off the next words, as tears sprang to his eyes and he couldn't stop the sob erupting from his throat. Before he could even let his head fall down, Spock pulled him around to face him and into his arms.

The embrace was so unexpected, it almost stopped him from crying. Jim wasn't ignorant; Vulcans despised and abhorred close, intimate contact. This was not normal. Still, the sorrow in his chest could not be contained.

"You are not alone, James," Spock practically purred. "I am here, I will get you your daughter back...I swear."

Jim nodded numbly and drew back slowly, looking through tear glazed eyes at the Vulcan who was suddenly so close to his own face that he could have kissed him by moving on a fraction of an inch.

As it was, Jim didn't move at all.

But Spock did.

The kiss was soft, tentative and almost invisible. In sharp contrast, Jim felt all the breath pulled from him in one motion, like being punched with a velvet sledgehammer. Spock stared at him as though stunned by his own actions.

"I...I am so sorry, James. I cannot offer any explanation for my behav..."

Jim crushed his mouth to Spock's, letting his eyes fall shut. He half expected Spock to shove him away, but he didn't. Instead, the Vulcan's arms encircled him and pulled him flush against his body. They were both kneeling in a dark, poorly lit street and anyone could walk past but that really didn't seem to matter in the slightest. Spock's lips were soft and almost unbearably hot; they moved against Jim's with a yearning urgency and when that slip of a tongue ran over Jim's bottom lip, Jim let out a groan.

The kiss broke as suddenly as it had begun; Jim realised he was responsible for that.

"We can't," he breathed, realising his hands were tangled in Spock's silky smooth hair. "This is the worst time and as much as I..."

Spock recaptured his lips again and Jim's words were lost momentarily. Oh God, Oh holy Jesus Christ that Vulcan knew how to kiss and it was setting off some kind of chain reaction, trailing heat all the way down Jim's spine, into his skin, melting him despite the cold air all around them.

"No!" he insisted, pulling away more firmly. "Please, we have to get my daughter. That, and I kinda just threw up."

Spock looked like he could have cared less about Jim's throwing up, but the daughter issue seemed to hit him hard and some of the heat that was blazing in those dark eyes, dissipated.

"Of course," he said, pulling Jim up to his feet in one motion. "I apologise. I could not...tolerate seeing you cry."

Jim's heart was close to bursting with the unfamiliar and horribly timed emotions, but he shoved it aside.

"We get Lily and then we can...uh, discuss...this. In more, y'know. Detail," he gasped.

Spock nodded, smoothing his hair back and taking what looked suspiciously like a calming breath. "Agreed."

The building was dark and somewhat foreboding, or maybe it only seemed that way to Jim. He hated buildings; openly despised them. Things, places trapped and contained in one place forever. Tied to the earth; places to cry and sit alone until you sat and died one day.

Ever since he'd been young, Jim had dreamed of going into space. Of leaving this dirty planet behind, leaving all the innate claustrophobia and boredom behind and flying off into the enormity of space. He dreamed of places unknown, untouched by human hands. Of new species, untold dangers and adventures. He'd even dreamed of having someone by his side through all that; someone who would understand him beyond what he could ever hope for.

Those dreams weren't just vague ambitions and hopes. They were actual dreams. Real manifestations of his subconscious, playing out in a golden blur while he slept. When he was a child, he dreamt of another child; a strange, serious but somewhat shy child with jet black hair and dark, wide eyes. Then, when he hit thirteen the dreams had taken a less innocent swing in a much more interesting direction. It was the same dark haired boy, only taller now; much taller. Leaning over Jim with an intensity that shocked through him, always a hair's breadth away from touching his lips to Jim's...always able to feel the heat from that body without ever having come into contact with it.

Then it had changed again, after...after he'd got pregnant. Jim's dreams had been overtaken by a different figure; someone else entirely. And then, only a few days after giving birth, those dark eyes returned, only now belonging to a grown man. A man dressed in blue and black and Jim was wearing gold and they stood side by side, staring out at space. No kissing, no wild fits of passion because there were other people in this dream; family. But they shared something else, something that didn't require the spoken word. There was an overwhelming sense of belonging and it made Jim's heart ache to even think of it now.

Dreams. Only dreams. Not real.

Reality was that his daughter was in danger, he was a whore who had allowed her to be taken. A failure in all things; a failed human being who had given up everything for the hiss of a hypo and the sweet darkness that swallowed him whole each time. He had done terrible, soul destroying things; allowed people to do things to him for money he'd never see. To maintain a life of degradation and sadism.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew Spock and he knew exactly where from, only...only this Spock wasn't the one from his dreams. His eyes were hardened with something like too much experience of the universe's darker areas. He didn't wear the blue uniform, he wore all black and was obviously something of a trained killer.

But then again, Jim wasn't the Jim from his dreams either. Jim had never worn that gold uniform, never would at this rate. He didn't have any family; he wasn't Captain of a starship.

He was disgrace. A worthless whore who'd lost the only good thing he'd ever had.

"Ahem," Spock coughed pointedly. "James, please refrain from such self deprecation."

Jim shook himself and looked around, realising he was crouched down beside's Spock and that his bare arm was pressed against Spock's wrist.

"Sorry," he muttered and moved away, blushing furiously. "So, what's the plan?"

The Vulcan's eyes were fixed rigidly upon Jim. He waited for a very long moment before replying, in that low voice, "I will go inside and retrieve your daughter, bring her outside and take you both to safety."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh, not to interrupt your happily ever after, but nothing ever goes that smoothly. Y'know, do you have like...details? How are you going to get in? How are you going to know which one is Lily? What if there's security?"

"Your tactical foresight is impressive," Spock whispered evenly. "However, I have taken all factors into account and am well prepared for any occurrence or anomaly."

Jim waited for an explanation that was apparently never coming and then he realised why he wasn't being given crucial information.

"You think you're leaving me here?" he demanded incredulously. "Oh, man! That is seriously fucking funny."

Spock's eyes bored into him relentlessly. "I see no humour in that assumption."

Jim grabbed Spock by the collar and yanked him dangerously close to his own face, stopping short of actual contact.

"That is my daughter!" he snarled. "My baby in there and if you think for one second that I'm gonna sit here nice and safe while she's in danger then you're out of your fucking mind!"

He expected Spock to come up with some dry quip about not understanding the idiom, only he didn't. He swallowed once, so loudly that Jim could hear it, and then he nodded silently.

With shaking fingers, he let go of Spock and allowed him to regain some personal space.

"OK then. So fill me in on the plan."

S'chn T'gai Spock had only been afraid twice in his entire existence.

Certainly he had been cautious; used his instincts to avoid injury and trouble. He had utilised the sensation mistakenly referred to as fear and had successfully gained the advantage where others might have given in to the spiking adrenaline rush simulating terror through the nervous system.

But he had only ever genuinely been afraid, actually frightened twice.

The first time had been when he was younger.

This was the second time.

Somewhere, his perfect plan had contained a fatal flaw; in that he had underestimated his enemy. With the additional support of hindsight, it seemed painfully obvious that Komack would send his men to take Lily Kirk before James could get to her. It was evident that he would leave behind armed subordinates. Why he hadn't thought of it before was unclear and he didn't have the brain capacity at hand to give it any further thought.

Because he was terrified.

James was pale, bleeding out fast from a traditional stab wound to the chest, given to him by one half of the Klingon pair. Klingons were notorious for their love of older weapons; knives, daggers, cleaving objects...James could fight well, but not that well.

Lily Kirk was gone, taken by Komack. After the struggle, Spock had grabbed James, breathless and white and dragged him to the nearest window. He had pulled James close to him and fallen with purpose out of the window, landing on his back, breaking the fall for James.

Only when he yanked James upright did he notice the massive spreading stain over the boy's chest.

Dark and red...human blood. James was hurt, bleeding.

Dying, his logical brain informed him.

"No," someone was saying. "No, no, no, no." He only realised it was himself speaking when James looked up at him, slightly dazed and confused.

"Huh?" he asked softly. "What's...what is it?"

Then those strikingly blue eyes rolled back and Spock managed to catch him before he fell.

Komack stared calculatingly at the child. She was beautiful, really. Not in any definable way, just...like her father, there was something about her. Even at the young age she was, four or five, she had all the beginnings of genuine, real beauty. The kind people would pay to see on a screen. The kind people would trust and die to protect. Just like her father.

And Komack had been just like everyone else; desperate to touch that beauty. It had been that way from the start with Jim Kirk. Komack hadn't been able to stop looking at him, sitting in the interview chair like it was a Goddamned throne. Stunning, breathtakingly beautiful and Komack knew immediately that if he put him in a command track, he'd make Captain in record time at a record age. It wouldn't even be anything to do with his looks, not really. It would be that...something...about him. Contained within Jim Kirk, there was an endless well of strength and possibilities.

Which represented a direct threat to Komack.

So he'd lied, told Kirk that there were no positions, no help available for him and his beloved daughter. Sure, he could enlist but what about his child? He'd need money and he obviously had none. Komack had acted as though it was a tough decision to make, offering Jim a chance to make the money he'd need to support himself and his child during training. He'd made it seem as though he was going out of his way for Kirk, doing him a favour.

He'd made it clear that he expected gratitude too.

The first time he'd touched the boy in anything other than a friendly pat or a handshake, had felt like an electric shock. The excitement had built unbearably and it paid off. Kirk wasn't stupid; he knew instantly what Komack wanted and though he was utterly unenthused, almost numb, he certainly complied. He was experienced, too.

Watching that brightness about Jim Kirk start to fade was one of Komack's greatest achievements and pleasures. To beat that confidence right out of him without ever actually beating him. To see those beautiful blue eyes shutter and close the moment someone touched him. To feel his tight, hot body all around Komack and watch the flickers of emotion tear through that young face...

Addictive might have been the word.

There was something strange about the boy though. Despite the line of work Komack had got him into – and how successful he was within that line of work – Kirk hated to be touched. He adjusted, yes. He coped; he dealt with it and learned to smile quickly and react all the ways that would avoid making a client angry. But he was just one of those people, if others existed, who were not supposed to be touched like that. Not that Komack cared.

And now he was betraying him. That little bastard was actually betraying him, working with that fucking Vulcan who was out to ruin him. Jim Kirk who knew far too much, who Komack had whispered things to him the heat of stolen moments...was betraying him.

Well, that was all fine and good because Komack had his precious little daughter.

He smiled, the cold smile of a reptile and reached into his desk drawer. The child looked up at him with those piercing blue eyes as he handed her an old, outdated PADD to play with.

She didn't take it, only stared at him and asked, "Where's my Daddy?"

Komack smirked. "Your Daddy will be here soon, sweetheart. He'll be here very soon and then you can see him. Would you like that?"

When she smiled, it took Komack's breath away. Yup, Jim Kirk's daughter alright.

"Yes please," she said, and took the PADD with her small hands and began to expertly rifle through it for games. "I miss my Daddy."

"So do I," Komack muttered, looking out the window at the lightening planet. "So do I."

A/N – I can't even begin to sing the song of how much I suck. Basically, I've neglected this fic and I feel so bad for it but there have been a lot of RL crap-fests getting in the way of this. Until now.

So, this had 2-3 chapters left and WILL BE UPDATED SOONER. I promise. In the meantime, enjoy!

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Bex

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