13. Mysteries and Solutions.

For the rest of the school day, McCoy watched Spock with his trained physician's eye, noticing the paler than normal complexion, the slight tremors as they went anywhere near fresh air, even if it was just an open window. Dark circles were beginning to form under the Vulcan's eyes, a testament to how hard he was working to gain enough knowledge for survival in this world.

McCoy suddenly felt very guilty for not doing more to improve his own understanding of magic. Instead, he had complained and blundered his way through classes, only sporadically remembering important information or finishing homework, while Spock had silently been denying himself rest in a desperate yet annoyingly logical attempt to get them back to the Enterprise.

Now, as they climbed up the stairs to the Room of Requirement, he resolved to do what more he could to help, and to encourage Kirk to do the same. Of course, it didn't help that both officers were now on the Quidditch team and likely to get themselves killed somehow. Knowing their luck they would, and just before they got to the Enterprise. He would beam up, clutching two splintered broomsticks, and be given the ominous task of trying to explain to Command just how two of their top officers had managed to nose dive into the ground on a broomstick which, by all rights, should not be able to fly in the first place. And Kirk, McCoy resolved grimly, would be laughing at him. Spock, he presumed, would be floating beside him and smirking, with that damned raised eyebrow of his. Or perhaps he would be too busy working out the logistics of being a ghost.

McCoy grimly entered the Room of Requirement, watching the aforementioned Vulcan carefully as he sat down in a squashy arm chair near the fire in abnormal weariness. Kirk, equally concerned, sat nearby, stretching out on the sofa. McCoy took the last remaining armchair between the two of them.

"I wish I had my medkit," McCoy complained as Spock settled himself more comfortable in the chair, leaning almost imperceptibly closer to the fire. "Do you feel cold, Mister Spock?"

The Vulcan froze, as though he hadn't realised what he was doing. Finally, perhaps realising that a denial of something so obviously come to light would be illogical, he nodded slowly. "Affirmative. It is manageable, however."

"Spock," Kirk said gently, getting up to fetch a blanket from one of the beds, "you don't have to manage anything." He held out the blanket, but Spock did not take it.

"Jim's right," McCoy added forcefully. "There's no use staying uncomfortable when you can prevent it, Spock. You'll just make it worse for yourself."

Spock sighed in slight resignation, finally accepting the blanket from Kirk with a small but grateful incline of the head and wrapping it around his slight frame. He seemed to relax marginally, although his posture was still slightly stiffer than it should have been.

"Now," McCoy said with as soft a voice as he could muster after his anger on Spock's Quidditch tryout, "what did you want to tell us?"

When Spock hesitated, Kirk leaned forward. "Remember what we said earlier? We're your friends Spock. We can help you, but you have to let us in."

The corner of Spock's mouth twitched. "Logical." He seemed to gather himself for a moment. "Cast your minds back, if you will, to Nero."

"I'll never forget that green-blooded son of a-"

"Bones," Kirk interrupted gently, cutting McCoy off mid flow, "not right now."

"Sorry," McCoy muttered sheepishly, lifting his gaze to meet Spock's. "Carry on."

The Vulcan took a deep breath and appeared to mentally steady himself; his eyes closing for a moment and his lips pressing into a thin line. "This...is an unusual experience for me."

"There's no need to apologise, Spock," Kirk assured him, giving him a small smile. "Take your time."

It was several, uncomfortable minutes later that Spock spoke once more. "He..." He paused uncharacteristically, and McCoy suddenly realised how much this was costing Spock, how much even his very silence had cost him. "He...destroyed Vulcan, because of me."

McCoy, when Spock bowed his head momentarily, shared a significant look with Kirk. He had been told about the contents of the shared mind meld, and knew to what Spock was referring. At this moment, he didn't think it would help for him to mention that he did. Spock needed to say this for himself; clearly, his silence had been costing him worse than this admission.

Spock lifted his head once more. "He committed genocide, because I failed."

There was silence, and McCoy felt that he should say something, although he did not know what effect it would have at this early stage of the conversation. "Spock...Nero was-"

"Do not," Spock interrupted sharply, his piercing eyes on the surgeon, "try to placate me, Doctor. I failed, nothing can change that fact. It was my duty to save Romulus, but I was too late. The planet was destroyed, because of me."

"Spock," Kirk said gently, shifting slightly on the sofa as though to go over to the Vulcan but deciding the better of it for now, "it wasn't your fault."

Spock shook his head in bleak humour and Kirk and McCoy exchanged worried looks. They had expected him to break down like this straight after Nero, but it had never happened. Months had gone by, and they had dared to hope, foolishly, that he had managed to work through it in his own Vulcan way, with the help of his father. They never regretted that decision more than now.

"Nevertheless," the Vulcan muttered, "it happened. I cannot prevent it."

"Of course not," McCoy said. "It was an alternate timeline, an alternate reality. It was not you who made the mistake."

Spock gazed into McCoy's eyes, his eyes haunted. "Doctor, you do not understand. If Nero had not altered the timeline, I would have made the mistake. I would have failed."

"But you can't anymore Spock," Kirk emphasised. "This is a different reality. It wasn't you. You haven't done anything."

"I understand the logic in your statement, Captain, but...it is difficult," he admitted. "There are...numerous possibilities, future occasions where a similar event may happen. Perhaps," he continued, looking into the fire, "with Romulus."

"Spock," McCoy said, almost desperately, seeing where this was going, "this is a different universe. It doesn't have to happen that way."

"Now that you know about it," Kirk added, "you can stop it from happening. I've heard that Romulus is already preparing."

"The odds of the success of their plans are not overly optimistic." He continued to gaze into the fire. "The odds that I will be once again summoned, only to fail..."

Kirk got up off the sofa at that, shuffling over to crouch in front of Spock. "Listen to me, Spock," he said firmly as McCoy joined him, "you don't know that for sure. You can't beat yourself up over what hasn't happened yet."

"Jim's right," McCoy added. "It isn't helping anybody, least of all you."

"It is not I who needs helping, but those affected, yet... I cannot give the lives back to those who died."

"No one's asking you to, Spock," Kirk said gently, placing a hand on the Vulcan's arm, keeping it there resolutely when Spock jumped slightly, unnoticeable to those who did not know him well. "You can't change the past, Spock, but you can change the future."

Spock nodded, although he did not look convinced. "That would seem to concur with the advice given to me."

McCoy and Kirk exchanged another look, which also went unseen by Spock. Finally, McCoy spoke, "What advice?"

"You wished to know, Doctor, why I did not sleep last night," Spock stated neutrally. "I experienced what you might call...a 'nightmare'."

"What about?" McCoy asked, before he could stop himself.

"I was given advice by Nero," Spock hedged, "dictating that I should...ask for assistance."

"That's why you came to us?" Kirk deduced.

Spock nodded. "I surmised, through my understanding of human psychology, that my subconscious was attempting to convey a message."

"You finally figured out that the Vulcan way wasn't working..." McCoy said gently.

"Precisely, Doctor."

"Looks like you can't bury your human half, Mister Spock." McCoy had intended it as his usual light hearted barb in an attempt to add humour to a morbid situation, but saw the moment that it left his mouth that this wasn't the right moment. Kirk had turned to give him an incredulous look, and Spock had immediately closed off.

"Despite the common misconception, Doctor, I am not divided into two sections," Spock said stonily. "My genetic makeup is comprised of two species, each co-existing with the other. I am hardly two separate entities inhabiting the same body."

"I...didn't mean it like that, Spock," McCoy said hastily, hardly believing that he had allowed something that inane out of his mouth at this moment.

Spock was beginning to struggle out of the armchair, finding the task difficult wrapped as he was in a large blanket and suffering from what appeared to be the Vulcan version of the flu. "I believe that I shall finish my homework assignments," he said stiffly, shuffling over to his bed where the school bag lay beside it.

McCoy scurried after him when Kirk gave him a small glare. "Spock...you know that I would never mean that. I was only trying to lighten the conversation a bit."

Spock did not turn to face him. "Your efforts were misguided and ineffectual."

McCoy sighed and laid a hand on the Vulcan's arm, twirling him around, trying to ignore the burning feel of a body temperature which was too high. "Look, I know I'm not exactly the best person to try to cheer others up," he said, giving the man before him a self-deprecating smile, "but that was all I was trying to do. Believe me, Spock, I meant nothing else."

"I am not entirely convinced," Spock said slowly, turning his eyes up reluctantly to meet the physician's, "but in this case I must defer to your judgment." He nodded his head and allowed a small corner of his mouth to quirk upwards, for only the barest minimum of seconds. "It appears that I overreacted."

"Hell Spock," McCoy snorted, "if I were you I would have punched me in the mouth. As it was, I think you under-reacted."

"It was a tempting course of action," Spock admitted, but there was no animosity in his voice.

"Better than getting strangled, Bones," Kirk groused as he joined them, grinning at McCoy's expression.

McCoy grinned back but could feel Spock's muscles beginning to slacken in his grip. Glancing back at the man belonging to the arm which he was still gripping, he noticed with some concern that Spock's inner eyelids were half covering his eyeballs; a sign of exhaustion or illness in Vulcans.

Kirk gave a startled exclamation and moved over to grab Spock's other elbow, helping McCoy to slowly steer the Vulcan over to his bed. Spock briefly protested but then appeared to surrender himself to his fate; allowing the two humans to carefully lower him onto the soft mattress.

"Bones?"

"He's just worn out, Jim," McCoy answered, not missing the worried note in the other man's voice. He gave a glare at the Vulcan lying on the bed, but his heart was not really in the expression. "That's what happens when you combine being in the rain for hours with not enough rest."

"Will he be all right?"

McCoy nodded, but as he placed a hand on the Vulcan's burning forehead and noticed the glassy eyed stare which was half covered by the protective film of the inner eyelid, he didn't feel certain. "He should be...I don't know how Vulcans react to water."

A weary eyebrow climbed up the forehead. "Doctor, I hardly enjoy being compared to a chemical reaction between elements."

"Well," McCoy shot back, "you never enjoy anything..."

The other eyebrow joined its partner. "That is an untrue statement."

Kirk, despite his worry, grinned broadly. "Really?"

"Indeed. The sight of the Captain sexually stimulating a rather large squid was fascinating."

The two humans gaped.

Finally, McCoy managed to splutter, "Y'know Spock, I expected you to say something along the lines of 'occasionally a puzzle in logic is intellectually stimulating' or 'the variety of life forms which we have discovered are fascinating'...but nothing like that."

"You...enjoyed watching me turn on the giant squid?" Kirk finally managed to squawk in utter amazement, a large grin plastering itself under his nose.

"That is not what I said, Captain. I mentioned that it was a fascinating scientific observation, nothing more."

"Which is your own way for saying you like it," Kirk pushed.

"I have no opinion on the matter."

"Maybe he's delirious," McCoy muttered hopefully.

"I assure you Doctor that I am in full possession of my faculties."

"Shut up!" McCoy suddenly snapped. "Don't make this any worse than it actually is!"

At this, Spock's expression turned into a confused frown and he raised himself onto one elbow to stare intently at the disgruntled human. "Have I offended you, Doctor?"

"Of course you have, you green blooded hobgoblin!" McCoy was unsure whether to laugh at the entire conversation, or run away screaming. "If I thought you were delirious, then the comment about the giant squid wouldn't have disturbed me nearly as much as it is now!"

"I apologise for your discomfort, Doctor, however I was merely stating the truth."

"You don't have to tell the truth all the time, Spock, especially if it involves Jim turning on giant squid."

"I shall attempt to remember that advice," Spock said seriously, lowering himself back onto the soft pillow, "in the event that the situation should arise at a later date."

"Good God man, don't do this to me!" McCoy wailed, already suffering from the mental images that this had conjured.

Kirk guffawed and slapped his Vulcan friend on the shoulder. "You've really done it this time Spock."

"Indeed."

"How in blue blazes," McCoy moaned, massaging his temples, "am I supposed to get this out of my head?"

"That's easy Bones," Kirk said cheerfully, "just picture Spock pole dancing."

"Good God Jim that is not helping," McCoy snarled.

Spock was regarding the Captain with an expression closely resembling insult. "Captain, I assure you that I would not engage in such an activity."

Kirk shrugged. "I can dream, can't I?"

"DAMN IT JIM!"

Kirk ducked as McCoy threw a pillow at him. "Alright," he said loudly, holding his hands up in the air in a placating gesture, "I'll stop."

"You damn well better," McCoy hissed, coming back to the Vulcan's side. "Well Jim," he announced, trying to get his voice as much back to normal as he could currently muster, given his recent shock, "since he's antagonising me," he shot a glare at Spock who gazed innocently back, "I think it's a safe bet to say he'll be absolutely fine."

"A fortunate outcome," Spock said, "as a medicinal remedy would not be found in this castle at any rate."

"That's true," Kirk muttered.

"Has this happened to you before?" McCoy asked.

Spock nodded. "Occasionally, during my training as a cadet. Fortunately, I adapted quickly to the compulsory water based training programs." He began to lever himself off the bed, but McCoy's hands stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I must finish my homework assignments."

"Spock, you need to just stay put," McCoy said, his voice filled with authority. "You'll recover quicker that way."

"I have sufficiently rested."

"Oh really?" McCoy asked sceptically. "Tell me; are you a doctor, Mister Spock?"

Spock gave him a look that clearly screamed the words 'illogical'. "Judging from the fact that I am currently Science Officer, I would assume not."

McCoy resisted the urge to shake him. "I'll be the judge of your health then, thank you very much."

"Doctor, I assure you that I have received much experience in this area. My metabolism is therefore well versed in an efficient recovery and I believe that my time will be better spent completing my homework assignments."

"Not on my watch," McCoy said. "You're staying put, Mister Spock, even if I have to sit on you!"

The Vulcan appeared to consider for a moment before leaning back in resignation. "Since I have no desire to suffer those consequences, I will submit to your judgement."

McCoy nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Now try and get some sleep."

Spock carried on staring at him, and made no move to even attempt to sleep. Kirk sighed gently. "Spock-"

"How long have these nightmares lasted?" McCoy interrupted, the psychologist in him kicking in immediately.

The dreaded eyebrow rose once more. "I am uncertain of their duration, Doctor, since I am unfortunately not in a state of consciousness when they occur. Therefore, I cannot give you an exact statistic."

"That's not what I meant, Spock, and you know it," McCoy snapped.

The Vulcan sighed, looking defeated. "The nightmares have been occurring since the destruction of Vulcan."

"How often?" McCoy pressed.

"They are infrequent."

"Infrequent enough for you to decide that they weren't a problem?" McCoy asked. "You should have told me; I'm your Doctor, damn it! How do you expect me to help if you don't even trust me enough to ask?"

"It was not a question of trust, Doctor. I had believed that they were sufficiently under control."

"Sufficient control my ass!"

Spock's mouth twitched. "I would rather not."

McCoy stared at him. "Are you trying," he said with slow menace, "to keep these images in my head?"

Kirk chortled. "You have to admit that you have really funny reactions though. No wonder he tries to give you weird mental pictures."

"I am most certainly not endeavouring to give the Doctor permanent mental issues," Spock said, though he did not sound entirely convincing to their ears.

Kirk grinned at him. "You really are full of surprises, Spock."

"Don't encourage him," McCoy half snapped half groaned, clearly having given up this battle.

Kirk's smile never wavered. "Maybe we should just get on with our own homework, Bones, before we keep Spock up much longer with all this arguing."

McCoy glanced at the Vulcan, who was regarding them sleepily. "Good idea," he said finally, nodding his agreement in Kirk's general direction. "Good night, Spock."

"Good night." The customary reply sounded slightly stilted coming from Spock's lips, which clearly were still not used to such pleasantries, having grown up on a planet where these phrases were rarely used since they had no practical use.

They shuffled over quietly to a small table, bringing their schoolbags and homework with them. As they spread the parchment out over the smooth, wooden surface, McCoy couldn't help but feel apprehensive as he got out the first textbook of the evening and squinted at the hastily jotted down notes on a crumpled piece of parchment, detailing what they had to do.

"We should have homework planners," McCoy grumbled.

Kirk, giving him a funny look, placed a small book on the table and flicked it open to the appropriate page, reading the carefully written instructions. "We do," he said, gesturing his planner.

McCoy stared at him. "Where did you get that from?"

"This room," Kirk replied casually.

"Where?"

"That drawer over there," Kirk muttered vaguely as he opened his textbook and began reading through the jumble of words.

"Jim, could you be any vaguer?"

"I could," Kirk said mischievously, "but I thought that my more helpful speech patterns would be better."

"You call that more helpful?"

"Of course." He rolled his eyes at the physician's expression. "The planner was only in the drawer yesterday, Bones, after lessons."

"You asked the room for it, didn't you?"

"What else would I do?" Kirk asked, giving McCoy a slightly funny look but smirking.

"Damn it, why didn't I think of that?" McCoy grumbled, getting up and pawing through the drawer that Kirk had indicated earlier. "Since when have you been so organised?"

"I've always been this organised."

McCoy snorted, flopping back into the chair empty handed. "Jim, this is me you're talking to. You used to leave pieces of paper strewn across our quarters back at the Academy. I still remember you hoovering the whole place just so you could pick them up and organise them faster the night before the test."

"Which," Kirk insisted playfully, "was a pretty inspired and organised idea. No one else would have thought of that."

"No one else would have left it until the night before the test," McCoy added.

"I'm unique in my approach," Kirk said dramatically.

"You can say that again."

"Well...I passed, didn't I?"

"With flying colours," McCoy grouched. "That's what I don't understand Jim. You never revised until the night before and you were hardly ever on top of your work. How did you manage to remember everything?"

"A good magician never reveals his secrets," Kirk said enigmatically. He tapped his head lightly with the end of his quill. "Although maybe it was due to a photographic memory."

McCoy snorted again and grimaced. "Trust you to come up with something like that."

"I'm just gifted in that way," Kirk teased. He frowned at his textbook and then back at his instructions. "Bones, do you know what the "colloshoo" spell is?"

"Doesn't it mention it in the text book?"

Kirk nodded. "It does, but it doesn't really fit in with what we were doing in the lesson."

"Well? What is it?"

Kirk was staring at the paper. "It glues shoes to the ground...well, that explains the name."

McCoy stared at him. "Don't they have more important things to ask us to do for homework?"

Kirk shrugged. "It could be useful in a battle. I know a few times where it could have saved me from injuries."

"So do I," McCoy agreed sardonically. "If only I could use that magic in our universe, I'd finally be able to keep you in sickbay."

"There's a reason I run out of sickbay," Kirk said.

"You're scared of my hypos."

"...Not just that."

"You're scared of my hypos, Jim, so don't try to deny it," McCoy grinned. "What do we have to do for this Collyshee thing anyway?"

"Colloshoo," Kirk corrected absently. "We have to list its advantages and then practice it for next lesson."

"We can't do that without wands."

"I'm really tempted to try it anyway..."

McCoy's eyebrows climbed skyward. "With what? A stick?"

"What else?" Kirk grinned. Standing up, he moved over to another drawer and began rummaging around in it, finally producing a stick with a triumphant expression and sinking back into his chair.

McCoy shook his head in amusement at his friend's half baked scheme. "Jim, this isn't going to work. Wands probably have something inside them that sticks don't, otherwise anybody could perform magic."

"Where there's a will there's a way," Kirk said, grinning, though he was clearly doing this for his own amusement.

For the next five minutes, the room was punctuated by McCoy's snorts as Kirk put on an elaborate show in his futile efforts to perform magic with a simple stick.

"Where did you find that, anyway?" McCoy asked when Kirk had finished flicking the stick around randomly.

"Outside, obviously."

McCoy sighed as Kirk pointed the stick at his feet and muttered "Colloshoo."

"Stop being an idiot Jim, we need to finish these essays..." He looked up when silence met his remark, and was astounded to see that Kirk was staring at him with wide eyes. "What?"

"It worked..." Kirk whispered in awe, trying to move his feet but failing spectacularly.

"What?" McCoy asked incredulously, peering at the ordinary look of feet.

"No," Kirk sighed, flopping down at the table in defeat. "I just thought that your reaction would have been funny..." He eyed the doctor, "though you're too used to weird things happening in this universe now to care about anything else."

"Damn right," McCoy asserted, glad that the Captain had only been performing the 'magic' to try to get a reaction from him, and not because he had finally gone round the twist and believed that he could actually perform it. "You outdid yourself this time, Jim, but it would have helped you if I hadn't known that it was impossible for us to do magic without a proper wand."

"Damn...how did you remember that?"

"Two things," McCoy chuckled. "One; common sense. Two; it says so right here on this page."

Kirk scowled and rolled his eyes. "This is what I get for trying to make April Fool's Day come early..."

McCoy shook his head in amusement and slid Kirk's abandoned book across the table. "Just finish the essays, Jim, before Spock decides to wake up and try to help us."

oOo

Sighing, Scott stepped out of the classroom and quietly hoped that he would be able to remember all that had been taught. He was no expert on culture or language, but this course was mandatory for those who wanted to serve in deep space, so that they could better communicate with other life forms. Needless to say, he was struggling with some of the pronunciation, particularly Tellarite. There were some in the class who were more than competent; who could simply remember the given phrases with seemingly no effort on their part, reciting them back to their delighted professor with a perfect accent.

Glancing at one of those people as he walked back to his quarters, Scott wished not for the first time that he could do the same. Then his life would be so much easier. He smiled wryly as he reflected on the fact that technically, he could ask Nyota Uhura for her help...but she'd be unlikely to give it to him.

Especially because he had laughed when she had been attempting to fend off an excitable young cadet by the name of Kirk. In fact he was certain, one hundred per cent sure, that that was why she hated him. Why else would she glare at him every time he walked past?

He grinned at himself and ducked into his quarters, chuckling slightly in good humour as he remembered all of the times that he had witnessed yet another of Kirk's failed pick up attempts. It certainly hadn't helped the young cadet's case that he seemed to have a Vulcan instructor out to get him. If Scott didn't know better, he'd say that the Vulcan was in love with Uhura.

Of course, he knew better.

Throwing his school bag onto his bed, he noticed with a frown that Tohn was not yet back from his Advanced Physics class, which usually finished before his. Shrugging, Scott picked up a pen and text book, then silently headed for the library to revise the new machinery that they had been shown in his mechanics class.

If there was such thing as a tailor made subject, this was his. He always understood the new blueprints of technology and explanations that went with it perfectly, while several others in his class visibly struggled with the occasionally complicated makeup of the machines. While the professor explained it to them quietly, Scott was always one of the few who sat in his seat sedately, flicking through the text book until he found an invention that particularly interested him before immersing himself in it completely, surfacing only when the professor began actively teaching the class again. He was always one step ahead and had already decided that he was going to be Chief Engineer, if he could help it. He just didn't know where yet. That would depend upon his exam results at the end of the Academy.

He weaved through the cluttered corridors expertly, avoiding large groups of mingling students and waggling his eyebrows at a few female cadets. Winking at one, he swiped the sandwich of an old friend from high school, munching on it happily as the aforementioned friend yelled after him in amusement.

Well, he should know by now that eating a sandwich anywhere near Scott's quarters was just asking for trouble. How could he deny expectations by leaving the food in the hands of his friend?

He was just about to enter the large library when two cadets whom he recognised stepped in front of him, the burlier one, "Cupcake" – according to the rumour mill which seemed to hover consistently around Jim Kirk – looking him in the eyes.

"Can I help ye, Cupcake?" Scott asked cheerfully, swallowing the last mouthful of cheese and tomato sandwich.

"I told you to stop calling me that," the cadet snarled in annoyance.

Scott shrugged. "Ye just suit it so well; I thought it would be a shame to deny you such a good nickname."

Cupcake snorted but didn't press the point, since they had already gone over it several times before. "Are you still talking to that...Tohn?"

Scott stiffened at the way that Cupcake said the name; as though the very syllables would kill him and he wanted to hide it in as much disgust as possible. While his tone was belligerent, there was a hint of fear lying beneath it. "Yes. What of it?"

"You shouldn't," the other cadet piped up. He was called Thomas Harrison; a muscled, short young man with a spiky hair do. Scotty had always privately thought of him as an over grown hedgehog, though for health and safety reasons had never actually told the man that. "He's a nasty piece of work."

"Tohn?" Scott chuckled in disbelief. "He would nae hurt a fly!"

"And how long have you known him, exactly?" Cupcake asked pointedly.

"Just over two months," he replied, not really seeing how this was relevant in any way.

"You better stop talking to him before you reach five," Harrison warned.

Scott's eyes narrowed. "And how would I do that? He's in the same quarters as me."

Cupcake rolled his eyes. "Don't ask stupid questions, just do it!"

"Why?"

"Because," Cupcake explained with exaggerated patience, "he'll get you."

Scott blinked. He hadn't figured that Cupcake was the paranoid type. "Get me?"

"Jesus!" Harrison suddenly swore, looking exasperated, "don't you ever listen in Cultural Studies?"

"No..." Not for the first time after those lessons, he felt like he'd missed something.

"Five months is when a Gaaran opens his mind to a person that they know. Sort of like...Vulcan telepathic voodoo."

"What are ye talking about?"

Cupcake sighed and started over. "You share quarters with Tohn. Would you say that you two are close?"

"Of course."

"Then you're in trouble," the burly man continued, matter of fact, "because Gaarans form a telepathic link with people they consider to be friends."

Scott shrugged. "So? It's just a telepathic link; it is nae going to kill me, is it?"

"Actually," Harrison said sharply, "it might."

"You see," Cupcake jumped in before Scott could protest, "some minds are incompatible, and when that happens...poof!" He made a sprinkling gesture with his hands. Scott didn't know whether to laugh or be intimidated by the look of pure fear on his face. "The minds both break down and the two involved are left insane."

"Oh come on," Scott scoffed. "The Vulcans are telepaths and they don't go insane."

"Gaarans are not Vulcans," Harrison said as if this was obvious which, Scott had to admit, it was, but he wasn't going to say that. "Vulcans have more control over their abilities, from what we know, and Gaarans don't have any rules on mental contact. He could have been in telepathic contact with you already; a light touch."

"I would have felt it."

"If you're psi nul, that would be impossible."

Scott stared at them both. "How do ye know so much about this?" He peered at them. "Are ye making this up?"

"Of course we're not bloody making it up!" Harrison snarled.

"You have to get out," Cupcake insisted.

"Why do ye care about what I do?" Scott questioned in sudden suspicion. "Ye do nae know me."

Cupcake's eyes gained a suddenly haunted quality. "I've seen what telepathy can do in the wrong hands," he suddenly whispered, as though he didn't want the corridor to hear, "and I wouldn't wish it on anybody, even you."

"Well that's flattering."

"I'm serious. I've seen it, Scott, and trust me, you won't like it. You won't remember anything, won't recognise anybody," he swallowed, almost imperceptible but Scott saw it, "even your family. Get out," he advised. Giving the dumbstruck Scotsman a knowing nod, he ambled away as casually as he could, trying not to draw suspicion to their conversation.

Numbly, textbook in his hand forgotten, Scott drifted through the crowds, almost like a wraith, until he was standing once more outside the door to his quarters. He blinked, not having remembered getting there, but then shrugged and walked in.

Tohn was sitting calmly on his bed, long hair framing his face as he leaned forward, bent over what looked like his physics text book. His brow was furrowed in a slight frown as he mulled over the complicated equations strewn across the page, his hand darting out to the side every now and then to jot something down.

He looked up and smiled when he heard the door open, but did not set aside his book. He was capable of both holding a conversation and finishing high standard work. At the same time. Personally, Scott could not understand how he managed, but apparently it was a trait that all Gaarans shared.

"Nice of you to show up," Tohn teased, not looking up as Scott sat numbly down on the bed parallel to his.

"I ran into Cupcake and Harrison," Scott said vaguely, still mulling over what they had said and trying to imagine the cadet next to him knowingly violating someone's mind as they suggested that he had.

Tohn snorted. "Those two. They think they rule the roost. They didn't hurt you did they?"

"No."

"That's lucky," Tohn said lightly. "You want to watch out for Harrison's right hooks. They smart."

Scott whipped his head around to stare at the other man on the bed, who was flipping unconcernedly through his notes. "They've attacked ye before?"

Tohn shrugged. "Of course. I'm a different species, aren't I? When people are scared of the unknown, they lash out." He finally looked up and smiled reassuringly at Scott. "Don't worry, I can defend myself."

That was anything but reassuring, as Cupcake's anguished expression reverberated in Scott's mind.

Tohn, appearing to notice, finally put down his work and fixed the other cadet with his full attention. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a poltergeist."

"Ghost," Scott corrected absently.

Tohn blinked. "I didn't know they existed."

"No," Scott chuckled despite himself, but it was half hearted. "The phrase is 'ye look like ye've seen a ghost'."

Tohn rolled his eyes and waved his hand vaguely. "Give me a chance! I can't learn ALL of your idioms at once!" He sobered abruptly, fixing Scott with a worried stare. Scott, slightly unnerved by this, could only stare back, not saying anything. "Seriously; are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

Tohn sighed and moved onto Scott's bed. The human tried desperately to stifle his flinch, but only partially succeeded. "Is it me?" Tohn asked suddenly. "They told you." It was not a question.

"Yeah..." Scott admitted, knowing that it was impossible to lie to Tohn.

Tohn sighed and placed his hands on both of Scott's shoulders, ignoring the human as he blinked in surprise. "Believe me, I would never do that to you."

"So...it is possible?"

The cadet looked a bizarre mixture of embarrassed and terrified. "I shouldn't have said that..." he coughed slightly but then re-made eye contact. "But yes, it's possible. Don't worry, I've checked. Our minds are compatible."

Scott blinked at him, but surprisingly felt no anger or terror, only mild surprise. "Ye looked into my mind without asking me?"

"I had to," Tohn shrugged, "otherwise your natural defences would have stopped me. I've tried that one before. Your mind, by the way, is a very nice place to be."

"How deep did you go?"

"Not very. Only far enough to find out that your passions are sandwiches and engineering, but anyone knows that," he smirked. "If I ever did form a link with you though, Scotty, I'd ask you. You know that."

"Yeah..." he replied dubiously, not entirely convinced that it was a good idea.

"I know that it seems terrifying, because it's new. Even the Vulcans find it strange," Tohn said wryly, "because we don't have any telepathic code like they do, but you'll get used to it. I can always stop doing it if you want."

"How much have ye been doing it?"

"Only when I want to see if you're alright, or telling the truth."

"Of course I tell the truth, Tohn."

Tohn grinned. "I know that, but it's a custom of my people. There used to be a huge problem with deceit and civil war before we gained a telepathic ability. I guess you could say our paranoia helped us to evolve...so, do you want me to stop?"

Scott thought about it for a moment and then nodded. "Yes. But," he added, looking up at Tohn's slightly disappointed shift in posture, "maybe one day..."

"Gotcha," Tohn said cheerfully. "From now on, I'll give you warning if I need to look into your mind, and you can refuse if you want. Deal?"

"Yeah..." Scott said, wondering if he actually would be able to refuse if he didn't know that Tohn was there in the first place, "deal."