A/N: This chapter marks the beginning of Arc 1. I anticipate a total of 4 or 5 Arcs, so this story is slow building and long. Kirk probably won't come into the equation until half-way through arc 2 perhaps and the two won't get any major interactions until arc 3. The majority if the relationship stuff (with Kirk) will end up in arc 4/5. So, you're going to have to be patient if that's all you're interested in reading this story for. I can't guarantee it will be worth reading up to that point, but I think I have a fairly good idea and if you stick with it, well, hopefully it will be worth it. So, this arc is predominately Spock's childhood on earth. I figured I'd definitely need to go into depth with this because it's going to be slightly different,, yet similar, and I want to portray how he becomes who he is. Alright, long-winded Author's note out of the way, let's get on with the story. Oh, and from this point on the story will be in Spock's POV although there will be little to no first person stuff since I'm not particularly fond of the style. Apparently, the typical age for an American child to enter preschool is around 5, is that right? So Spock's in preschool and is now around 5ish.

Okay, I'm having soooo much trouble writing this chapter. Seriously, who knew writing kids could be so hard? Please let me know if you think I've got it all wrong, things like they shouldn't know those words at this age etc. Keep in mind though that Spock is half-vulcan (even if he's not growing up there) and so with his eidetic memory and all would be way, way, above normal.

"Don't leave me here, please?" A young boy begged his mother somewhat shamelessly, hugging tight to her leg and refuting all her attempts to get him to let go.

"Spock," she smiled warmly, "I can't take you to work with me."

"I'll be good," the little boy promised solemnly, "You won't know I'm there."

"I'm sorry," she sighed, "I don't want to leave you either, but I have to. So make this easier on me, alright?"

He frowned slightly and let go, "okay."

She pulled him in again for another hug, "don't worry," she smiled, "I'll see you in a few hours anyway."

"Okay," he said, still frowning, looking down at his feet.

"And we'll have whatever you want for dinner, sound good?" Amanda slipped her fingers under his chin and lifted it up.

"Yeah," he managed a tiny smile.

Amanda pushed him slightly towards the teacher, "that's my boy, now off you go with Miss Lorrie."

"Three pm pick up," the grey-haired teacher informed her sternly before placing a hand on Spock's heavily clothed shoulder and shepherding him into the building. Spock shot one last glance at his mother, dark eyes almost, but not quite, pleading underneath his medium length black hair, before sighing and meekly following the teacher. It was his first day of what his mother called 'preschool' and, frankly, he wasn't all that excited about it. There was nothing particularly fascinating about colouring in pre-drawn pictures, playing in a sandpit or taking collective naps; all things his mother had insisted he would enjoy. He wasn't so sure. The fact that there were other children presented some interest – he hadn't had the chance to interact with many other kids in the three years he'd been on earth, and his memories of the other planet (he still didn't really know what it was called as his mother didn't talk about it) were vague. But he was slightly hesitant about meeting other kids, especially since the few he'd met already seemed...somewhat different from him. There were the physical attributes; his very slight green tinge and pointy ears. His mother told him he had a rare genetic disease that caused these changes. He'd asked her if his father had died from this disease, since obviously she didn't have it and he wasn't around, but she'd never answer him. She did say that his father had passed it onto him. He supposed he probably had died from something, but his mother said his disease wasn't ever fatal. Then there were the other things that were different about him. Like his vocabulary and, quite clearly, his intelligence. He hadn't yet met a child that was his mental equal – even though he'd met one or two kids at least three years older than him. His mother just said he was a genius and had a high IQ, and not to worry about it – they'd probably 'catch up' eventually. He hoped so as the few kids he'd met seemed to dislike him for it. That, among other things.

"Take a seat somewhere," the teacher instructed him, grabbing a box of colouring pencils off of the shelf and shoving them into his gloved hands – another effect of the disease, it could be transferred through touch so he had to cover up most of his skin (apparently though, his mother was immune) – and then grabbing him a sheet of paper and pointing him towards a table with an empty seat.

"Oh and take that hat off," she said sternly, "you don't wear them inside."

Sighing Spock removed his beanie revealing his shoulder-length black hair which just barely covered the tips of his pointed ears. Spock cautiously slid into the red plastic chair, placed his paper and pencils on the table, and had a look around the table. There were three other kids seated, scribbling furiously on their respective sheets. One, a boy, was fair skinned and had the lightest hair Spock had ever seen, with light blue eyes. He was busy drawing numerous circle-like objects although, honestly, none of them really resembled circles so much as amorphous blobs. Another, a boy also, was darker with brown hair and seemed to favour squares. The third, a girl with black hair, was happily colouring in the many flowers she'd drawn on her page. The latter looked up as Spock settled into his place and smiled brightly at him.

"Hi," she said, "I'm Amy."

"I'm Spock," he replied shyly, aware that his name was slightly odd.

"That's a funny name," the little girl laughed, "I like it."

Spock, surprised and slightly embarrassed, flushed slightly and looked down at the desk.

"You're green!" Amy giggled, drawing the attention of the other two.

"Haha, he's green," the blonde one laughed and pointed at Spock with his yellow crayon.

Spock flushed further and sunk down into his chair, trying desperately – while knowing it was physically impossible – to become invisible.

"That's so cool!" The brown-haired one announced, "are you an alien?"

"Why are you wearing gloves?" The blonde asked, "do you have weird alien hands? Can I see them?"

"No," Spock muttered, "I'm human."

"But you're green," The blonde pointed out, "that's not normal."

"I," Spock hesitated, "I have a disease."

"Ewww," the brown-haired boy wrinkled his nose, "is it, you know, can I get it?"

"No," he shook his head slowly, "that's why I have gloves."

"Ohhh," the boy leant forward slightly, "weird."

"I think it's cute," the little girl spoke up, smiling at Spock, "green's my favourite colour."

He flushed a brilliant shade of green and looked away, cursing at his inability to control the reaction. As he did so his hair moved slightly, revealing a tiny pointed ear.

"Your ear's all pointy!" She exclaimed, "are you an elf?"

"No," he looked at her curiously, "what's an elf?"

"They're Santa's helpers," she informed him solemnly, "they help make the presents and stuff."

Spock looked at her, confused, "who is this 'santa'?"

She gasped, "you don't know Santa?"

Spock shook his head, his mother had never mentioned a 'santa'.

"He gives all the good boys and girls presents at Christmas," the blonde boy put in helpfully.

"Yeah," the brown-haired one agreed, "and he's like fat and happy with a beard."

"I have never seen him."

"Are you bad?" the little girl looked slightly worried "only the bad kids don't get stuff from santa."

"Spock frowned, "I do not believe so," he looked curiously at them, "you have all seen him?"

"Well no," the girl doodled absentmindedly with a crayon, "no one's seen him, we just get presents under the tree at Christmas."

"What is this Christmas?" Spock asked, fascinated by the concept, "and when is it?"

"It's a day," the brown haired boy informed him sagely, "like at the end of the year."

"And you get presents, like on your birthday!" The blonde grinned and high-fived the brown-haired boy.

"Fascinating," Spock smiled slightly and then frowned, why hadn't his mother ever mentioned this to him?

"I don't think you're bad," the little girl said quietly, handing him a drawing of a pink flower, "you're too nice."

"Thanks," Spock accepted the picture and cuddled it to his chest – no one had ever given him anything like this before – "you draw well," he complimented her; her drawing was very clearly a flower, although a wide interpretation of one.

"You haven't drawn anything," she noticed, sliding her chair closer to his, "draw me something?"

"What would you like?" Spock placed the drawing under his hat and picked up the box of colouring pencils, selecting a black one.

"An elf," she giggled, "make him look like you."

Spock nodded and began to work on the picture. He hadn't done a large amount of drawing, but he'd certainly done enough to develop a slight knack for the details. He was, even at his young age, a perfectionist to the core. Once introduced to a skill, he practiced it until he had mastered it to the utmost of his ability – which was considerable. With his eidetic memory and said attention to detail, he was actually quite good at drawing – especially for his age.

"Ohhh," Amy gasped, "you're good!" She clapped her hands together as he put the final touches on the hair and face of the drawing.

"Thanks," he muttered, flushing again, as he handed the finished picture to Amy.

"You have to colour it green," she announced, grabbing a green pencil and handing it to him. Spock obliged and before long there was a little miniature, and very, very green, version of himself on the paper.

"Thanks," Amy lent over and hugged him suddenly; Spock froze. Only his mother had ever hugged him, he had no idea what to do in this situation. He gingerly put his arms around the little girl and reciprocated the gesture.

"You're the bestest ever," Amy informed him as she sat back and surveyed the drawing, "I'm gonna keep this forever."

"And I, yours." Spock looked fondly at his flower and sighed happily, he was glad his mother had made him come.

"Okay children," the teacher clapped her hands loudly to get their attention, "it's time for lunch, everyone outside." She began to usher them out a door and into the fenced playground at the back of the building. Amy grabbed Spock's gloved hand and dragged him along, "let's go play!"

Spock was too shocked to reply, having some trouble getting over the fact that she'd just grabbed his hand and was bodily dragging him out the door. Thank goodness he had his gloves on! Amy had just dragged him over to the swing set when a loud voice called out to them.

"Amy and Spock!" The teacher yelled, "you have to have lunch first."

"Don't wanna," Amy grumbled, letting go of Spock's hand and trudging over to the lunch area. Spock followed her towards a small table, taking a seat beside her and another little girl. The teacher set a few plates of sandwiches down on the table and told them to eat up.

"These have to all be gone before you can play," she said sternly, "oh and Spock," she handed him a smaller plate with a sandwich on it, "here's your vegetarian one."

"Thank you," he accepted the plate and set it down on the table, turning to look at Amy as she poked him in the arm.

"What's vega-ter-an?" She asked, regarding his sandwich with blatant curiosity.

"It means I don't eat meat," Spock informed her.

"Why?" she picked a chicken sandwich off of the big plate and took a large bite.

"My mother says it's wrong," he shrugged slightly; "she says all life is equally important."

"Oh," Amy dropped her sandwich, "so I shouldn't eat it?"

"I guess not," he looked at her crestfallen face, "you can share mine if you want," he offered, taking off his gloves so he could eat.

"You're the best!" She smiled brightly at him and took a triangular-cut sandwich off of the little plate. He smiled shyly and grabbed one himself. After they'd cleared all the plates on the table of sandwiches, the teacher let them play on the playground.

"Let's go on the swing," Amy grabbed Spock's arm as he put his gloves back on, "race you!" She giggled and ran off in the direction of the swings. Spock ran after her, easily catching up and then passing her and finally beating her to the swings. His face flushed slightly from the run, he turned around and was met with an unhappy face.

"You beat me," Amy frowned, crossing her arms and scuffing her foot in the sand.

"I'm faster," Spock said simply, merely stating a fact.

"Not fair," she grumbled, "you're better at everything."

"We've only done two things," Spock pointed out, "so you can't know that."

"Do to." She scowled, hopping on the swing.

"No you don't," Spock said, confused, it was obvious that she couldn't possibly know that so why did she argue?

"Do. To." Amy said angrily, banging her fist against the chains.

"You cannot," Spock insisted, "we have not compared ourselves in every single activity."

"Do to!" She started to cry.

Spock was shocked. Why was she crying? For that matter, why was she arguing when she was so obviously wrong. It made no sense.

"Why are you crying?" He asked, slightly fascinated.

Amy said nothing, continuing to wail loudly. The teacher, having heard the commotion, came over to find out what was going on.

"Amy," she hoisted the girl off the swing and onto her hip, "what's the matter?"

"Spock was mean to me," the little girl mumbled, "he said mean things."

"Spock," the teacher admonished, "that's no way to act; now you come with me young man."

Spock, astonished and completely and utterly confused at the bizarre turn of events, meekly followed the teacher into the building.

"Now you go sit in that corner," the teacher pointed towards a small chair in the corner of the room, "until I say you can leave."

Still utterly bamboozled, Spock followed her directions and seated himself on the chair. It was facing the wall, which seemed somewhat pointless to him. He sighed, children were so...random, would be the best word to describe them. Complex, maybe, although needlessly so. Actually, there was a word that fit them perfectly – illogical. He had done absolutely nothing to upset Amy – he was sure – he'd only agreed to her request for a race. Which he had won, fair and square, because he was faster. So why was she so upset? He resolved to ask his mother, she had a certain unfathomable insight into these things.

"Now Spock," the teacher came back over to the corner and placed a wrinkled hand on his shoulder, "have you thought about what you did? Are you ready to say sorry?"

Spock fixed her with a steady gaze, dark eyes solemn, "I don't understand," he admitted, "what did I do?"

"You said mean things to Amy," the teacher informed him sternly, "and you have to say you're sorry for them."

"But I did not," Spock said earnestly

"Well young man," the teacher frowned, "if you're not going to apologise then you can sit there until home time." She marched away, giving him no chance to respond. He sighed and resumed staring aimlessly at the wall. For the next hour he amused himself by running through one of the stories his mother had read to him when he was younger, 'Robin Hood' it was called. It was his favourite so far, and whenever he found himself bored he simply ran the words through his head as he imagined it. Two chapters before the end, he was interrupted by the teacher telling him his mother was here to pick him up. He followed her out the door and was met by his smiling mother's face.

"Not so fast," the teacher reprimanded him as she grabbed him by the shoulder and held him back, "I need to have a word with your mother, you wait here." She then motioned to his mother to come inside with her. Spock watched them go curiously; almost certain she was going to tell his mother about the bizarre Amy incident. He still had no idea what he'd done wrong but obviously it had been serious. A few minutes later his mother came back out, a slight frown on her face.

"We'll see you tomorrow," she was saying, "and I know he'll be a good boy."

"Good," the teacher replied, before heading back inside.

"Spock," his mother knelt down and looked him in the eyes, "do you want to tell me what happened today?"

Spock sighed and recounted the day's events down to the exact words of every sentence. His mother started smiling half-way through and actually – and Spock was a pit put out by this – began laughing when he told her how Amy had just started crying.

"It's not funny," he told her, crossing his arms and fixing her with a stern gaze. He was even more offended (not to mention astounded) when she just started laughing harder.

"Oh Spock," she drew him close and hugged him tightly, "only five and you're already a ladykiller."

"I don't understand," he frowned and drew back from the hug.

"Oh honey, she wanted you to let her win 'cause she likes you."

Spock just blinked, uncomprehending.

"I know it makes no sense," Amanda chuckled, "but little girls rarely do."

Putting it to the back of his mind for further consideration, Spock suddenly remembered what he'd wanted to ask his mother.

"What is 'santa'?" He asked as she began to walk towards their transport vehicle, "and why have you never told me about him?"

"He's a myth," Amanda answered as she opened the door and ushered Spock in, "created to make kids behave."

"A myth?" Spock was shocked, "but all those kids think it's real."

"They're supposed to," she reassured him, "it keeps them in line."

"Oh," he said quietly, "they'll be sad to find out he is a lie."

"You can't tell them," Amanda told him sternly, risking a glace away from the road, "promise me you won't."

"But why?" He raised a tiny eyebrow, "shouldn't they know the truth?"

"Not in this case," his mother said sternly, "promise me."

"I promise," he sighed, and then, "thanks."

"For what, honey?"

"Not lying to me," he fixed his gaze on the road ahead.

"Always," she smiled slightly but Spock detected a heavy bitterness and guilt lacing her tone. He decided not to ask, aware that there were things his mother just didn't talk about – his father and the strange alien planet he could just barely remember. An all-encompassing, overwhelming, comforting heat that seemed a stark contrast to the irritating temperature fluctuations that were the norm here, and a deep masculine tone tinged with disappointment were his only memories of that period of his life. Sometimes, he thought he had only dreamed or imagined them. His mother refused to talk about it, to even hear about his dreams, saying some things were better left in the past. He'd come to the conclusion that his father had hurt his mother somehow, and it was too painful for her to talk about it. The hypothesis certainly seemed to fit the tidal wave of emotions he sensed boiling under her skin every time she kissed him, or even hugged him close. Some of them he couldn't even come close to recognising, but he felt hurt, anger, regret and – most perplexingly – guilt. Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

"Am I an alien?" He asked curiously, watching his mother for her reaction. He saw her tense; fingers white from clenching the wheel too hard, and then slowly start to relax.

"Now what gave you that idea?" She hedged, taking the turn into their street.

"The others thought I was."

"Spock," his mother sighed, "we've been through this before; the disease causes all your physical differences."

"So I am not an alien?" He needed to hear his mother say it out loud.

"No," she sighed, "you aren't."

"And I am not an elf?"

"No," she almost chuckled, "not as far as I'm aware."

A/N: Ok, I'm going to end here, on this note, because I want to update and I think that's about all that needs to be covered in the pre-school chapter. Again, please let me know if my kids are too advanced or even the opposite – I have little to no knowledge of them. Next chapter's Grade 1 (and no, I'm not going to do every single grade...well, nah, it'll probably just be some important ones like maybe 3 or 4, then 7, 8 perhaps, 11 then 12...actually, is there even a 12 in America? I'd actually appreciate some insight here, I have researched somewhat but the best info comes from people who're in the system. Thanks for reading, hope it was worth it.