When they arrived at Pike's house, the lieutenant announced that he had some reports to read so would be antisocial for the next hour or so.

'That's ok, I was going to go out for a few hours anyway,' Jim said.

'Stay safe,' Pike said seriously and earned a cocky grin from the teenager.

'You worry too much,' Jim called over his shoulder as he jogged into the next street.

Pike watched him go and sighed.

Jim slowed to a walk as soon as he was out of sight and deliberated over what Pike had told him in the car.

When he thought about it, Pike was probably right about Carol. She was the only other person who knew both the life he was living now and the life he lived then. Hence, she was the only teenager who he could really be friends with without having to worry about letting his past being exposed – without having to lie constantly. There were the other people at the hospital of course, but they didn't know who he really was and he wanted it to stay that way. If Jim Kirk and J.T were connected, the media would have a bloody buffet.

He slowed his walk as the buildings around him grew in familiarity. An unmarked door with peeling, yellow paint stuck out from it's earthen coloured neighbors like a smile amongst frowns. Jim grinned to himself as he spotted an oil-stained paper taped to the door. He walked towards the door, ripping the paper off its surface and stood still for the scanners to read him.

Click!

The door slid open and Jim walked inside, eager to put his long since used skills to work.

'Hey, Jim! Got my message?' a cheery voice was soon followed by its owner.

Torr walked into the room, wiping his greasy hands on a disheveled apron. Jim grinned and showed him the paper in his hand before placing it on top of an upturned rubbish bin at Torr's indication.

'Sure did, what'd you get that needs fixing?'

'A Yoshimitsu Computer,' Torr said, beckoning Jim to follow him as he made his way to workshop three, 'the owner hacked it to run on a duotronic system.'

Jim raised his eyebrow. Duotronic systems had only been released about four years ago. Yoshimitsu Computers on the other hand, were introduced a little over a century ago, although they were still an affordable choice.

'Seriously? How'd the computer manage to run it?' he asked incredulously.

'Sheer will power?' Torr suggested jokingly, 'in any case it didn't run it for long. It's practically fried on the inside. Think you're up to it?'

'Yep,' Jim replied, 'if he didn't store the system on a data card he'll loose it, though. Although even if he did I wouldn't be so sure that it'd be a good idea to try running a duotronic system again.'

The Denobulan laughed.

'I'll make sure I tell him that,' he laughed.

Torr showed him the damaged computer and soon Jim was using the resources of workshop number three to bring it back to life.

Jim rubbed his eyes, sore with the strain that comes from staring at the same spot for the half hour or so. He smiled to himself as he gazed upon the repaired computer and a feeling of accomplishment sparked within him.

He got up from the stool he had been seated upon and walked out of workshop three to notify Torr of the computer's status. He found the Denobulan in the main room, crouched over a stack of twisted metal. To his surprise he saw a man standing beside Torr, watching patiently as the Denobulan rummaged through the pile of assorted metal. The man's uniform indicated that he was attending Starfleet command school.

'Hey, Torr – the computer's fixed. It should work fine so long as it's owner sticks to a Yoshimitsu System,' Jim told the Denobulan's back.

Torr stood up and grinned as he turned to face Jim.

'Oh, hey Jim – didn't see you there. Nice work by the way. I'll go get you a credit wafer,' he turned to the other man, 'sorry, sir – be back in a sec.'

The Starfleet cadet nodded his consent and Torr disappeared down one of the hallways connected to the room.

'Hey, I'm Jim,' Jim told the man.

'Montgomery Scott,' he replied.

Jim suppressed a grin; Montgomery Scott had a Scottish accent that matched his last name.

'So… Command school, eh?' Jim asked.

Scott looked confused for a second before he remembered that he was wearing his uniform.

'Oh, yeah,' he said, 'well, ta tell the truth, I dinna choose this path for me'self. I graduated from Starfleet Academy a few years back and me' parents wanted me to become a command divisions officer… hence the uniform. My real passion's engineerin' though. I'll want ta be transferrin' to Starfleet Engineerin' School after I finish Command School.'

As Scott finished talking, Torr reappeared from the depths of a hallway waving a needle-shaped object in one of his hands.

'Mr. Scott! I found the Micro-optic drill you wanted. It wasn't in the tool pile after all, good thing I went to get Jim's wafer.'

'Ah! Lassie that is good news indeed!' Scott exclaimed.

Torr tossed Jim a credit wafer and exchanged the drill for the wafer Scott handed him.

'Thanks Torr,' Jim said.

'See you again when I stick the sheet on the door,' Torr answered, waving to Jim as the teenager walked for the front door.

'Will do!' Jim called over his shoulder.

As he left the shop, he hurried back to Pike's house before the lieutenant finished reading his reports.

Pike looked up from his PADD when Jim returned to the house. He had long since entrusted the teenager with the security code needed to unlock the front door.

'Hey, did you have fun?' he asked.

'First day of work,' Jim explained.

Pike's interest piped up.

'What did you do?' he asked.

'Fixed a computer,' Jim replied.

'Impressive,' Pike mused.

Jim gave him a grin before disappearing into the kitchen. Pike watched him leave and contemplated the kitchen thoughtfully. It wasn't use to having to provide for two people – especially a teenager who ate as much if not more than Pike. If it were not replenished soon, the fridge would most likely run out of food. Of course, Pike normally just used his replicator but Jim deserved real food or else he'd never put on weight. Pike made his decision and jumped up off the couch he had been lounging on. Tossing his PADD on the indent his backside had made in the cushion, he grabbed his coat and made for the door.

'Come on, Jim!' he yelled towards the kitchen.

The teenager appeared instantly.

'Something wrong?' he asked.

'Yep,' Pike replied, 'Synthetic food – that's what's wrong.'

'Tastes the same to me,' Jim shrugged, catching up to Pike at the door, 'we're we going?'

'Shopping – for real food,' Pike said, 'and you're coming with me or else I'll buy some protein food that'll taste like cardboard to you.'

Jim grinned and clambered into the car with Pike.

'Ahh,' Pike said appreciatively when he spotted a bottle of Dom Pérignon.

He picked it up and showed it to Jim.

'Now this, is a slice of heaven,' he told the teenager.

Jim grinned.

'Too bad I'm underage,' he said.

Pike chuckled and put the bottle back where he'd found it. It was too expensive for his liking and – underage or not – he had a feeling that Jim would disregard legal rules and take a swig of the champagne.

The two moved on to the section where the vegetables and fruit were kept and Jim recognized each one easily from the countless hours of farming he had done on Tarsus IV.

'Pavel! Stop!'

Jim swiveled his gaze around to the pitiful plea he had heard. After months on Tarsus his brain was hardwired to locate cries of help, which led him to a child that he took under his wing along with the others that he had found and would find.

The owner of the pleading voice was a young Russian woman. She chased a chubby two year old whom Jim presumed was her runaway son, Pavel.

Pavel waddled as fast as his tiny legs would carry him. His head was covered in a shock of brown curls and he giggled with the happiness of a child free from his parent.

Jim's heart melted at that sound – it was one that had vanished as soon as the massacre occurred. On Tarsus IV, Jim had managed to save occasional infants from death but they had always cried, sobbed and whimpered. Never once, had he ever heard them laugh with such happiness as the child before him. Even up to the day they died in his arms.

'Pavel! Pavel Chekov! Иди сюда сейчас же!' 'Come here this instant!'

The mother's voice had changed; it was no longer pleading but this time demanding. She must have been growing weary of her son's disobedience and was asserting the dominant role of a parent.

Little Pavel continued to ignore his mother and ran onwards, heading straight for Jim. When the toddler was close enough, Jim crouched down and gently stopped the boy by wrapping his arm around Pavel's chest.

'эй, парень, где ты думаешь, что ты собрался?' he asked softly. 'Hey kid, where do you think you're off to?'

Pavel Chekov looked up at the stranger with wide eyes and it was enough time for his mother to catch up.

'О слава богу!' she breathed. 'Oh thank goodness!'

She turned to Jim as she scooped her son up off the ground.

'Thankyou! Thankyou so much,' she told him.

'Нет проблем,' he replied. 'No problem.'

Pavel's mother smiled and he waved them goodbye. Pike raised his eyebrow in amusement as he watched scene before him. Jim stood unmoving for a while, watching little Pavel Chekov struggling in his mother's grip as they walked away.

'You miss them, don't you,' Pike said quietly.

Jim tore his eyes from the toddler and looked into Pike's. Pike didn't have to elaborate, Jim knew who he meant. He nodded and Pike could see the sorrow etched upon Jim's face. He smiled sympathetically and placed a hand on Jim's shoulder as he led him away.

'You'll see them again,' promised Pike, 'one day or another.'

Jim's mouth tugged upwards in a sad smile.

'I hope so,' he murmured.