It's the first time in five weeks he's seen sunlight, and he weeps, screaming and tearing at dusty ground that sends up eddying swirls of purple ash- and his hands are coated in it and the world is too, so it doesn't matter. There are other kids around him, kids he used to know, kids who had escaped, kids who stare ahead with opaque determination.

He stands tall beside them, because he has no choice, and because the look in their eyes is one he shares. The taste of death on his tongue and memories that already feel years old, memories of agony and just wanting it all to stop. They're all the same, these kids, and Jim finds he hates them for being weak. He hates them for not being better than him.

The man is here, and he inspects each of them lewdly, but none of them are particularly disturbed. This has been their lives for the past five weeks, after all. They don't even seem to realize they're in sunlight now, weak sunlight that feels like frost ghosting over his skin, but sunlight all the same. Jim wonders why they don't notice. It bothers him, and he wants them to notice.

He wonders if they remember why they're here. Sometimes he doesn't, so he really can't expect it of them, but then he'll see Mara being sliced through by a phaser blast and yes, he expects them to remember and to be doubled over with the pain of it. But he can't remember their names. They can't remember who they are. And he hates them for it.

When finally the man stops in front of Jim, tilting his chin up to inspect his face, making sure there is no lingering evidence of his torture, he seems perturbed. "So much anger in so small a boy," the man tuts disapprovingly, dropping his chin dismissively. "I knew it would survive, even if you didn't." He taps his head, as though bragging about his intelligence, even though his statement hadn't made any sense. Jim doesn't reply.

He leans forward, and Jim feels the lingering shadow of disgust over his skin when he feels the man's breath against his ear. "You're different, Jim," he whispered. "You stare like them and you listen like them, but they don't cry like you do. Are you angry, Jim?"

No, he wants to scream. No, I'm not angry. I'm scared. I'm so goddamn scared and I just want to go home. But everyone at home is dead, so he's not sure what to do. He shakes his head, because the man is expecting an answer, and because Jim is, too.

"You're going to find your friends," the man says to all of them now, his voice loud, like it was in the cell. "Find them, tell them you know where to get food, and lead them back here. If you do it quickly, you'll get to die with them."

Okay, Jim thinks. That sounds easy, and very generous of him.

"If you don't do it quickly, they will be tied up beside you, and this time, you won't be coming outside any time soon."

So there's the catch. Jim doesn't waste any more time, and he is the first to leave the orderly line, nodding his understanding in the man's direction. He remembers these friends like he remembers everything else, crystal-clear and chaotically stacked in his head, and he cares about them, at least he did. So he'll do them a favor and get them killed now, before- before-

Funny. Hunger seems like such a terrible way to die now.

Jim awakened to Zlinzee's fingers softly tracing the curve of his lips. Her eyes were warm and deep and half-lidded, a little bit sad as they followed the trace of his jawline through the growing stubble. "I am sorry my world hurts you so," she whispered, her black hair falling like a curtain over the ashen grass. "Tell me, Jim, why do you make these sounds? What are you seeing?"

He watched her sparse brows furrow as she turned on to her side to face him. Jamie squirmed in the crook of his shoulder before settling again with a soft, contented sigh. Rare, watery sunlight danced over the three of them, illuminating their little spot on the grassy hill above the river. If he listened closely, he could pick out Ruhn's voice amongst the children playing in the water, a constant, steady timbre.

The corner of his mouth quirked upward instinctually, even as his heart was still roaring in his ears, a pounding rhythm of pain fear get away don't remember never remember. "You remind me of someone," he said sleepily, closing his eyes again.

"What was her name?" Jim's eyes snapped open, and Zlinzee smiled at him cheekily, delighted as usual by his reaction to her astuteness.

"That's not funny," he murmured, a prickle of grieved irritation making itself known. Jamie shifted restlessly, all her kind's empathy already manifesting itself in her young mind.

The yijuuf hummed thoughtfully, her hand trailing upwards to rest against his cheek. She was still smiling, but it was softer now, not apologetic, but gentle. "No, I suppose not," her long fingers slid back to card through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "Death isn't a funny thing. But then, neither is suffering, is it?" Those golden eyes watched him, studied him, understood him. "And yet so many try to make light of it."

Jim saw what she was doing- she had a deep dislike for his habit of deflection- so he answered her. Partially, as much as he could. "Her name was Gaila," he closed his eyes again, feeling Zlinzee's fingers gently massaging his scalp. "You would have liked her."

"Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Jim," she answered easily.

"She was an Orion," Jim went on. He wasn't sure why, when moments before he had been so reluctant to speak. "She, uh… she had a rough past. I never got the full story, but I know… I know she was part of the trade." The very thought of it made him sick.

"You are angry."

"I'm always angry."

"No. You are always afraid. Rarely are you angry."

"Shut up."

Several moments passed before both collapsed into uncontrollable giggles, warm and relaxed and frighteningly intimate. Three days was all it took, and they were entwined, steady with the other near, barriers collapsed and turned to dust. Zlinzee was right, as usual. Jim was very, very afraid- because this had happened before.

"You're thinking about the legend now," Zlinzee observed when finally their laughter subsided after sufficiently disturbing Jamie out of her light doze. The infant was staring at Jim now, as curious as the woman whose skin she shared.

"It's happening again," he answered with some amount of hesitation. "Just like before."

She hummed again, thoughtfully plucking at the ashen grass and sprinkling it in Jamie's hair, who squealed in delight and tried to bat her hands away. "You enchant me, Jim," her honesty was beautiful and terrible as always, and it stole his breath away. "Three days, and I very much love you. My grandfather- it was the same for him, and for the good woman." Her hands stilled, and she watched him. "I will not allow for the story to repeat itself, Jim."

Because he was Jim Kirk and he learned damn fast, he knew the love Zlinzee spoke of. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. She breathed out, her breath a soft puff against his face. Deeply, truly, intimately- entwined so cruelly. This love was not the love between Spock and Uhura or Sulu and Chekov- it was the love of the good woman and the wise king, not romantic- never romantic, but all-eclipsing and all-consuming. They were one and the same.

"The Orion girl, Gaila," Zlinzee's whisper brushed his nose. "She saw the good in you."

Jamie's tiny fist squeezed his finger, and he smiled into the space between his and Zlinzee's mouths. "And I see the king in you."

"I can feel something coming, when the air is like this," Ruhn told him as the world's meager light began to dim and the moss began to glow. They sat side-by-side on the cliff, facing out towards the woods with the meandering stream gurgling below them and the slight wind buffeting their skin. The boy was eating one of the strange blue-violet fruits, a Shar'k'yui, and staring unfocusedly at some point in the distance.

Kress and a smaller, yellow-skinned boy sat behind Jim, playing with his hair in all the fascination of childhood. All the Frooliins had long black hair, sleek and shiny down their backs, so Jim's short golden strands were a source of endless entertainment for the little ones.

Kress was Zlinzee's younger sister, but the two bore little resemblance. She was a serious and uncompromising little girl, her face ugly without mirth if she wasn't with the yellow-skinned boy, whose name was Canfir. She had taken it upon herself to educate Jim on many of the Frooliin's cultural and biological factors. He had learned, for example, that she and Canfir were betrothed, and happily so.

The reproductive system of the species was rather remarkable; children, once they reached the age of eighteen, stopped growing. They would remain that physical age, practically immortal, until they found a mate, and only when pregnant or nursing young children would a woman develop the human-like build. A pair were only able to mate if their skins were of complementary colors, so a yellow-skinned could only breed with a purple-skinned, a blue with an orange, or a red with a green.

Any offspring produced by one of such pairs would be any of the other four colors on the spectrum, but never did they share a coloration with either parent. Bonds between compatible pairs were often formed during childhood, as the two children showed, or one would abstain from forming any sort of bond- as Zlinzee had, nearly twenty years prior.

Jim turned his head slightly to look at Ruhn, making Canfir huff in irritation when his extremely unsuccessful braid came undone. Jim had taught both the children how to braid hair, but they didn't seem to understand that the process would only work on long hair. "What're you thinking, Ruhn?"

The boy twirled the remains of the fruit in his hand. Just the other day, Jim had touched one of them that had been bruised by a fall, with beads of blue juice forming in the resulting indent. The pain had been instantaneous and intense, shooting through his nerves and numbing his entire arm for a good hour. Apparently the juice contained a powerful toxin that bound itself to pain receptors in humans. It would have been nice to know ahead of time.

Ruhn frowned, a soft breeze ruffling the frills of his ears. "I'm not sure. There is- tension. In the air, in the woods, running through blood. It's electricity, and when the air is like this, it's everywhere. Like something is building."

Jim sighed and thought of Jamie, wrapped in Chenla's arms in her hut as she nursed. Whatever was going to happen was to happen soon, if Ruhn's word was anything to go by, which it always was. He should probably be more afraid, but at this point, he was just waiting for the inevitable.

"I've felt it recently, as well," Kress spoke up. One of her sharp teeth was out of line, and it protruded permanently over her bottom lip. "I do not have Ruhn's gift, but even I know…" she looked at Canfir, and he nodded to her, like some unspoken conversation had passed between them. "Our world is kindling, Jim. We are waiting for the spark."

"Zlinzee wants us to leave," Ruhn said. Jim looked at him, surprise and hurt dancing over his face. Zlinzee hadn't said anything of the sort to him. Ruhn hastily explained, "she did not tell me, Jim. I could tell. The village is no longer safe for us. She thinks the tribe should leave, live in the woods, wait for the storm to pass."

"She wouldn't ask that of us," Kress interjected heatedly, her violet skin bleached across her tightly clenched knuckles. "My sister knows we will fight, should we need to."

"Against what?" Ruhn replied, softer than the girl. "We have theories, Kress. We have ideas and half-thought-out plans should anything arise. What are we fighting against? What are we fighting for? Are our lives in danger? There are too many variables, too little information, too much to sort through."

Restlessness pulsed underneath Jim's skin like static. These were children, worrying about something they should not have to, responsibility resting on their shoulders when they should be careless. It was familiar and Jim cast it from his mind. "I'm with Kress on this one, kid," he said. "Running away would be pretty spectacularly uncool."

"I am not sure what temperature has to do with this situation, but I accept your opinion as valid," Ruhn replied snippily in that 'shut-the-fuck-up-Jim-you're-not-helping' way of his. "Even if it is horrendously premature and impulsive."

"What can I say? I'm a child." Jim grinned, looking out at the forest and wondering why the silver didn't dull with the night.

Then it was gold and red and he didn't realize what it meant until he felt the heat across his back.

Then he heard the explosion.

Then he heard the screams, and he wasn't entirely sure if they were real or not.

Super short chapter, because everything is about to pick up.

Sorry about not updating forever! APUSH test got me supah stressed.

Also, my headcanon is that Jim can braid. Because it's adorable.

Please, please review, and you'll get a complementary piece of my soul.