I don't own Star Trek.

Funny thing...I'd just written the very first few paragraphs of this chapter before I broke my hand...

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"Ow. Ow. Ow." Jim whimpered, cradling his hand to his chest.

"Allow me to inspect the damage." Spock ordered.

Jim blew on his hand, keeping it cradled to his chest. He'd crushed it when a panel decided it was still functioning automatically in spite of the ship being turned off. There was blood, which Jim really didn't want Spock to see. He needed a dermal regenerator and to set the bones, but he needed Spock not to freak out at the copious amounts of red blood.

"Please go get my dermal regenerator." Jim hissed through gritted teeth.

"Let me inspect the damage, Jim."

"I know the damage." Jim ground out. "Get the regenerator."

"I can-"

"Trust me." Jim ordered.

Spock's nostrils flared. "Very well."

Jim watched until he left before clenching his teeth and setting the bones. He whimpered ever so slightly, but he couldn't cry out, or Spock would realize something was wrong. He'd been careless, forgetting to turn off the auxiliary power. He was lucky he'd been the one to be hurt. If something had happened to Spock...well, the thought made him nauseous.

Spock returned shortly with more than just the dermal regenerator. Jim grinned sheepishly upon seeing the med-kit. He was still bleeding, though, so he was trying to decide how to take the regenerator without exposing all that blood.

"Will you allow me to assist you, Jim?" Spock asked patiently, coming to kneel in front of him.

Jim shook his head. "There is a lot of blood." The 'And I don't want you freaking out' was not said out loud.

"I am aware of this." Spock told him patiently. "You are losing a considerable amount of blood. It would be more beneficial if you allowed me to assist."

Jim bit his lip, glancing furtively down at his hand. "I don't want you to see all the blood. It isn't that bad. I can do it myself."

"You do not need to." Spock paused only a moment. "Jim, if your hesitation is due to concern over my reaction to the color of your blood, you have no need. I am well aware that you are an alien creature."

Jim blushed, offering his hand hesitantly. It was awfully mangled, with a great swath of skin loose and clearly ripped muscle. There were a few bone shards from where it broke. The problem, really had been not just leaving his hand there to remove the panel. He'd panicked, having seen those things crush straight through, and jerked his hand. So he ended up with a broken bone, a few loose shards, and a considerable amount of ripping of the skin to get it free.

Spock didn't react in the slightest to seeing this, or the red blood pouring onto the gray pants he had lent Jim. He simply turned the regenerator on and pushed the edges of Jim's wound together. Jim assisted where he could, but his hand mostly got in the way. He wasn't sure how long it took, but judging by the damage it was probably a good twenty minutes before it was passable.

"Too much more and it'll do more damage than good." Jim told him, cradling the now significantly better hand to his chest. "But I'll need to wrap it to keep anything out of it."

"I see." Spock quickly retrieved bandaging material. "Your regenerator is not capable of healing bones?"

Jim smirked. "There are some, but they aren't hand-held. They take a considerable amount of effort and can do a lot of damage if they are used improperly. Besides, the bones are easy enough to set."

"Have they remained set through the healing process?"

Jim swore softly, squeezing his eyes shut. "Was it that obvious?"

"Jim, your hand was crushed by a swiftly moving mechanical device." Spock raised an eyebrow. "It is highly likely that a fracture occurred. Further, you removed bone debris from your hand before I repaired it."

Jim sighed. "Yeah. I guess I was pretty obvious about it."

"That should suffice." Spock withdrew his hand, looking at the bandage work. "I am capable of alleviating the pain you are feeling if you desire my assistance."

Jim narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "How?"

"It is similar to a technique healers show students who are still learning to control their telepathy." Spock said, falling into something Jim recognized as lecture mode from all of the instructors he'd had ever. "As you are not a telepath, you would not learn from it, but I would be capable of temporarily blocking the pain receptors associated with your hand."

Jim scowled. "So you'd have to go in my head again?"

Spock seemed taken aback a moment, before directing his gaze towards Jim's ear. "Yes. However, you would be directing the interaction. If you were to focus on the damage to your hand, I would be able to initiate the most superficial of melds to relieve you of your pain."

Jim pursed his lips, considering that. It hurt. A lot. The only reason he wasn't in a little ball crying was because there was too much adrenaline in his system just yet. He knew for a fact that a wound like that would leave an adrenaline high for about ten more minutes before utter agony set in. His hand was also probably going to have a long and unsightly scar, but you worked with what you got.

And at the moment he had a friendly telepath offering to block some of his pain. There was a risk that he would use the opportunity to dig through his brain, but if he wanted to do that, he didn't need to ask permission. If he was willing to use false pretense, he was probably willing to just force himself in there. Not that Jim's brain was a pleasant place to be. No, he was well aware of how screwed up his head was.

"Okay." Jim agreed. "But don't wander. It's a scary place up there."

"Indeed."

Jim wasn't sure just what he meant by that, but there was a bit too much inflection for it to be a sarcastic agreement. Spock said he had not gathered anything else from their brief mental affair, but at the time he had been having difficulty with his situation. Maybe he went back and looked into the info download and found more than he'd thought.

"It is advisable that you concentrate on your wound." Spock told him, hand hovering in front of his face.

Jim nodded, and struck his hand hard on the floor. He gasped with pain, and saw Spock's eyes widen before he was plunged into something not dissimilar to the first time Spock had touched his mind, though nowhere near as intense. There was direction to this. The pain seemed to go on forever, each second worse than the last, and time was non-linear, compounding in a strange crescendo that threatened to break any awareness he had of anything but pain. And then it stopped. Or rather, he stopped caring about the pain, though it was still there. It seemed, abstract, inconsequential. And then, with that, it dulled and dissipated.

For a second longer he was left with the feeling of being embraced, and he had never really known the feel of someone's arms around him, nor in his arms, yet that feeling was all he had imagined and more. He politely neglected to recall the instances where Spock had had his arms around him, though it was distinctly different.

Spock withdrew quickly, leaving Jim momentarily lost somewhere between the feeling in the meld and the awareness outside of it. Jim inspected his hand, acting as though he were not still a little high from the contact. Spock was staring at his hand.

"Something wrong?" Jim asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No." Spock answered somewhat distractedly. "I am contemplating the unusual telepathic ease in accessing your mind."

… .. . .. …

Perhaps it was not Jim's mind, in and of itself. Spock had only ever melded with his father and it was a strictly uncomfortable and incredibly resistant. Jim, however, seemed fully receptive to his telepathy. There was the possibility that, as Jim was not a telepath, he lacked mental shielding. There was also the possibility that his father intentionally made their melds as difficult as possible.

Jim narrowed his eyes. "What did we say about poking around?"

"I have not accessed any parts of your mind you did not give me permission to." Spock informed him in a clipped tone. "It simply takes less time than I had perceived to be normal. As I have not experienced telepathic contact with a significant sample size, I am unable to speculate on as to why this is."

"Oh." Jim shrugged, his nose scrunching awkwardly. "Uh...thanks. We should get back to work."

"Very well."

Jim kept his hand close to him as he worked, though it hardly slowed him down. Spock found it commendable that he did not allow his injury to impede him. They worked with minimal interruptions, taking lunch with the ship. Jim made considerable efforts to keep track of where the pieces came from and keep them together. Slowly, but surely, the floor of Spock's garden was being covered with little pieces of amazing technology.

"Jim, you should shower and retire for the night." Spock instructed as Jim continued pouring over his notes.

"Just a second." Jim insisted.

"It is considerably late, Jim." Spock scolded. "We will continue in the morning."

Jim groaned, pushing himself up and inspecting the general filth he was covered in. "Yeah. Okay."

If Jim was experiencing pain from his hand, he didn't show many signs of it. Spock found this highly strange, but didn't know where to begin approaching the matter. Further observation was in order.

… .. . .. …

The days started to blend together as they fell into something of a routine. The ship came apart under their hands, laying bare all the damage it sustained. Some days, they recuperated. Spock made an effort to teach Jim Vulcan. Jim made an effort not to talk about Earth.

At some point, Spock offered Jim the use of his computer. With some effort, considerable translations, and numerous tries, Jim succeeded in connecting to the ship computer. He was stunned, to see just how well the little home computer kept up. A few more mistakes, and he has an Earth OS operating on the computer. He hesitated to think he might have to destroy the computer in light of that.

Spock took considerable interest in the program and Jim eventually relented, allowing him to assist in riffling through the programing to find out what went wrong. Spock was amazed at how easily he ran through computer programs, how his fingers flew over the unfamiliar computer. He was a natural in a way Spock found difficult to describe.

It was during one such session, having found a way to repair a few of the wires that Jim was scouring through the program again. Until Spock could go into Shi'Kahr to get the items he needed, they would have to wait. However, with the possibility of the computer working, Jim wanted to see if he could retrieve any of the control program.

Spock was looking over Jim's blueprints, sitting approximately an arms length away. He had not considered how incredibly late it was until Jim slumped over. Specifically, he slumped against him. Spock stiffened, staring at him with little clue as to what to do.

His heart was racing, a strange aching in the pit of his stomach. He felt the uncontrollable and pervasive need to do something with his lips. He pursed them together tightly and, when he found that was not enough, whetted them. It was a thing he had seen Jim do often and now he understood why. It alleviated some of the need to take action, which was fortuitous considering he did not know what action he wished to take.

Jim was heavy against his side.

Spock carefully removed his laptop, placing it on the table and half-shutting it. Jim nearly slipped from the action, and Spock wrapped an arm around him to prevent just that occurrence. Jim nestled comfortably against his side. That feeling, like he desperately wanted to hide, or pace uncomfortably, or something returned and Spock took three deep breaths through his nose to calm himself.

He shifted his position, rocking Jim against him as he tucked his hand under Jim's knees so that his head rested on his shoulder. Jim groaned and squirmed in his sleep, not enough to compromise Spock's hold on him, but considerably all the same.

It was inevitable that Jim would be up again soon. However, it would be preferable for Jim to spend what little time he had for rest in a comfortable place. They could resume their work when he woke. This led to a moment of consideration, as Spock was aware from previous occurrences that Jim would not leave his room when he woke if he though Spock had retired for the night.

With some discomfort, Spock entered his room and placed Jim on his bed. He considered moving the covers over him, before deciding the room was warm enough to accommodate Jim. He disappeared momentarily into the bathroom to change into his pants for meditation. He had, after that first occurrence, been somewhat reluctant to be in any state of undress in front of Jim.

This discomfort lessened over time as Jim seemed not to display censure at such a state. He had, on numerous occasion, removed pieces of his own attire to facilitate his work on the ship. Spock did not mention his illogical displeasure with the exposure Jim enjoyed. It was apparently an acceptable practice in Jim's culture, one Spock wished to show acceptance of.

If he could not do such, then Jim would believe he was incapable of interacting with other such aliens. Jim had on occasion let slip the fact that normally one was not to have discourse with an alien species not capable of interstellar flight. It was hinted that this was because they were not capable of handling such a revelation, nor to be allowed to stumble upon less than friendly travelers. If Spock was to convince him he was capable of such interactions, then perhaps...

Jim was still sleeping when he returned, though kicking up a considerable fuss. Spock estimated approximately fifteen minutes of meditation before Jim woke and another five before he made any attempt to rouse him.

His meditation often turned to Jim, now. He found it difficult to think of much else. Objectively, he was aware he was falling behind in his studies, though the knowledge Jim provided seemed to far outweigh any lessons he might gain from the Vulcan science academy.

Vulcan. Suddenly that word seemed so much more indicative than before. It was an idea, a frame of mind, a narrowed existence that seemed too constricting for him. Rather suddenly, it seemed to expose to him more. More that he could be. More that he could see. More that he was. Deep, in the same place that pulled when Jim gave him a halting, shy smile and laid his hand gently over his covered forearm for the slightest, something more pulled at him. Something urging him to explore.

He though about Jim's manners, the little things that seemed strangely familiar. Spock attributed it to his oft-considered encounter with Jim's mind. There were moments, flashes or recognition and an understanding not born of his mind. And yet still others seemed unlike this alien information, but rather a recollection made before his memories could be more than a vague impression.

That was significantly more interesting to research than the flashes, as curious as they were. He found it difficult, however, to remain focused on any such inquiries into his mind whenever they required any lengthy consideration on Jim's behavior or anything that might provide a reminder there of.

He could just barely register, on the edge of his conscious, the sensation of Jim waking.

… .. . .. …

Jim was aware, as he regained conscious, that Spock had moved him. It had happened a couple of times. He'd even come to terms with the general smell he'd come to associate with Spock permeating everything. He'd had another dream.

It seemed like a stupid statement, considering most people dream, even if they can't remember them.

But there was something to these dreams. He was used to running in his dreams. All he ever did was run. And yet somehow it seemed different this time. It seemed like he was trying to get somewhere. Like he wasn't just running away anymore, but he had a destination. Like somewhere, something was waiting for him, reaching out to draw him forward. Like if he could get there he could stop running, maybe even turn around and face down his demons.

And he'd always get this sense of dread, as he ran, like he was going to be too late, or whatever was chasing him would catch up before he could reach his destination. And his stomach would sink and his feet would feel heavy and he'd feel tears well up in his eyes and blind him and he could barely breath and this time he didn't turn, he just ran to the edge. He'd always leap from the precipice, and would wake, still feeling stuck there.

He wanted to know, if he would fall or fly, but the fear was immense. What if he did fall? Would the running stop? Would anyone catch him, or even care? And what was at the bottom? What would he see looking up? What was the edge he was jumping off, anyway?

He couldn't figure it out, why he felt like he was about to do something huge. He'd done something huge when he ran away from home and stole a prototype starship. He'd done something huge when he decided, at ten, that he was done being good and just letting things happen to him. So what was so important about trying to put a ship back together? Why did it feel like his dreams were telling him something.

There was a thought, Jim kept at the very back of his mind, trying not to entertain. It was a sick thought, put there by too much reading, too much knowledge. He firmly told it that it was wrong, and refused to revisit it. But wasn't that a part of it?

Fantasy coping. Was it possible that he'd finally snapped? Had too much and was hiding permanently in a disassociated world of his own creation? He'd heard about it, about kids who came up with crazy reasons for their injuries and who fantasized vividly about escaping their reality, to the point where they couldn't always tell when their episodes weren't real.

No. He firmly reminded himself that he had never had the early stages of that. Physical avoidance, yes. He got the hell out of there. And he was quick to ask people if he had angered them, quick to apologize and to get away when the warning signs were there. So what if that branded him as weird, to all the others, he was alive because of those instincts. But he never day dreamed.

Fully awake now, Jim sat up, rubbing at his head. He didn't want to think about that.

Spock was sitting cross legged on the floor, focused on his meditation. Jim wondered what he meditated about. He'd been incredibly unhelpful, the few times they had discussed it, growing frustrated, though he denied any such emotion, when Jim didn't understand. He knew Spock needed a considerable amount of meditation, and a fair amount of sleep, for that matter, but was pushing it aside to help Jim. Jim had never really had someone he could rely on like that.

That was probably what scared him most. He honestly trusted Spock. Beyond all other arguments, that was the best proof that this was all in his head. It wasn't like there was really anyone out there, who had his best interests in mind. Jim knew, this wasn't about him, this was about his ship. This was about how he could use Jim to get what he wanted. It always was.

He waited a while longer, watching Spock meditate and just generally observing his surroundings. It never ceased to amaze him that Spock could live with virtually no personal items. It was less like a place to live in, and more like a placed he had to live.

He was a captive, rather than a tenant.

Jim got that feeling, occasionally, when Spock discussed the little bits of his personal life Jim could draw out. More and more he felt guilty for effectively forcing Spock into the same life he'd been living. Do as I ask, with no questions. Jim was beginning to realize he was no better for it than the scientists that contributed DNA to Spock. And wasn't that the interesting little revelation.

It had taken quite a bit of work, but Jim wormed out of him the fact that Spock had been a genetic experiment. Spock wouldn't explain what they were trying to do, or even what they accomplished, but that did explain why people apparently didn't like him, even going so far as to fear him. Jim sort-of wished that Vulcan had been found before Spock was born. Genetic testing like that was banned in the Federation.

But then, Spock wouldn't exist, and for some reason Jim found himself feeling very selfish and believing it was okay Spock had a sucky childhood, because so did Jim. And always, that thought was followed with the little, trickling inclination that they could have a not-so-sucky time together now.

That was another thought Jim wouldn't entertain, because he knew exactly where he would go with that thought if he let it rove around his head. And it wasn't so simple of a thing, as an Earth boy running away to Risa. No, this was an alien to the universe, something that wasn't known and like most occurrences of sudden introduction, people tended to react poorly when they are roughly introduced to something new.

And explaining that he had a refugee from a pre-warp planet would put them on the run for the rest of their lives and Jim wasn't that stupid...damn it.

With poorly contained anger, Jim stalked off to find Spock's computer. He'd snap him out of it when he was less likely to start making promises he couldn't keep. He may have been a jerk and a coward and a lot of other things, but he wasn't going to turn himself into a liar. He wasn't going to be like those people he had to deal with.

… .. . .. …

If he were prone to enjoying humor, Spock might find the situation funny. Jim had allowed him to meditate for a longer period of time as his assistance was not immediately necessary. Roused from his meditation, he found Jim asleep in his bed again, bowed over the half-open computer. It seemed that he was to have no luck with that program.

Spock once again removed the computer before changing back into working clothes. He gave Jim one last inquisitive look before leaving the room. The gardens were still charming, though the ship made it difficult to navigate them. Inevitably, Spock found himself staring at the ship.

It was an exquisite piece of technology, and a key element in understanding Jim. Though he had been advised against it, he climbed into the ship without supervision. Jim would likely forgive him of his curiosity. Stripped down, the ship appeared so much more...tangible. It seemed real, for lack of a better concept. It was no longer larger than life, but something made up of concepts and ideas that he could easily wrap his mind around.

Something caught his eye and Spock moved to the back of the cockpit. A panel had been disturbed in a singularly peculiar way, though he could not quite identify just what it was that caught his attention.

Curious, he began removing the bolts, with care not to lose anything that may prove necessary to replace it. He held the peculiar sensation that, at this time, he was engaging in behavior that he should not.

Brushing aside the illogical though, Spock removed the panel. Inside was a bag, not particularly large, though considerable enough. Spock had to work slowly to remove it from the small space without damaging it or the surrounding components. It did come free, however, and he sat as best he could in the space to inspect what was inside.

There was a strange bottle that, upon closer inspection, contained some for of scented liquid. There was a jacket of some sort, bunched up and stuffed into the bottom, smelling strongly of the same liquid, though not so much as to imply it leaked. Also inside was numerous small items with the same strange insignia as the ship, a strange vacuum-sealed product that he correctly assumed to be nutrient supplements, and a collection of bright, strange plastic cards with apparent data stored on them, if they were indeed able to connect to a computer as it appeared.

Looking again, the bag clearly held the symbol of the ship, along with the same cryptic words 'Starfleet'. Jim had told him it was the manufacturer of the ship. Not it appeared they had more to do with Jim's space travel than he had previously implied. It was curious, though, that Jim would keep these things hidden, rather than remove them during repairs.

Spock could not begin to assume what the items stood for, but the package seemed intimately familiar in one way to Spock. Though he was clearly attributing meaning before all data was collected, he couldn't help but draw his suspicious parallels. This bag was not unlike one Spock had packed before traveling through the Vulcan forge for three days. Except, in that case, he was not sent on the mission as others his age was. Similarly as this bag seemed to imply some aspect of this flight that was not quite according to plan.

Had Jim run away?

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My hand hurts...but anyway, things are developing. I know this probably seems a bit rushed, but a few jumps of ill-defined time won't hurt the story. It's supposed to space it out without actually making you sit through detailed descriptions of each day. If you don't like it, let me know. If you do...well...carry on then. So yeah. Next week's update might be a couple days late...sorry in advance if it is.