Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek.

WARNING. ....Torture. Genocide....Also, language. You read the first chapter, right. It's more of the same. Very dark. The fic will get lighter eventually, but for the next couple chapters, it's a way dark piece of fiction. If this is going to bother you, please don't read it.

This chapter is unbeta-ed

Pike held the boy carefully. He was nervous about harming the kid. Jimmy had a most impressive grip. His hands were strong for someone his age. Especially for someone in his condition. Pike thought that if he were Jimmy Kirk, he'd be near fainting now. But evidently Jimmy Kirk was made of sterner stuff than most.

Pike wasn't surprised.

God, what had happened to Winona? What was Jimmy doing here?

And what was Jimmy doing in there?

Pike really wanted to ask.

But he wasn't sure if he could. So he just carried the kid. Silent for the moment.

In the hallway, Pike met up with a two of the men from his team. The informed him that they'd as yet found no one else in the jail.

Jail. Right. Pike had other words for it.

He fought the urge to spit.

He felt Jimmy shift behind him and he half turned to see what was the matter. Jimmy had turned his head away from the crewmen, who were both obviously trying not to stare at the kid's back.

Right. That was going to be hard for everyone to deal with. Especially Jimmy. But that kind of thing was hard to see.

He wondered about giving the kid a shirt.

Pike didn't want to make the situation worse. It would stop the staring, but ….

Pike hadn't really had time to examine the welts and cuts up close but Pike was willing to bet they were infected. And he didn't want the shirt to stick to the lacerations or make them worse somehow.

But he wanted to safeguard Jimmy's dignity as well.

Pike decided to just ask the kid. He pulled away from his two crewmen, and drew into an alcove. After checking to make sure the floor was relatively clean, he set the boy down. "Jimmy, do you want a shirt?" Pike asked it softly, not wanting to be overheard.

Jimmy stared back at him, the vast blue eyes expressionless. No emotion showed on the boy's face.

Pike cursed himself for even bringing it up. He hated seeing that expression on the kid's face. Pike sighed.

Dammit. He was getting attached.

Jimmy stared at him a long time. The gaze was assessing, and methodical. This boy was used to weighing adults and finding them wanting. Pike could see it the too blue eyes.

Finally, after what felt like lifetimes or decades, Jimmy nodded.

Pike nodded back. "Ok." He stripped off his outer gold shirt. It was going to fit the kid like a circus tent. But it would provide the boy with some privacy as well. Pike handed it over. "Here."

Jimmy stared at him a few moments longer. Those eyes were older than George's ever had been. Pike fought not to shake his head in disgust.

If he ever got his hands on Kodos…. Someone was going to pay.

Pike pushed the thought away.

He held Jimmy's gaze, letting the kid look as long as liked. He wouldn't trust people if he were in the kid's situation, that was for sure. Pike just hoped that Jimmy found whatever it was that he was looking for.

Evidently, he must have, because after a few long moments, the boy put on the gold sweater. It fell well past Jimmy's hips; the sleeves covered the kid's hands.

Pike smiled. "Suits you. You look good in gold. Better than I do, at least."

Jimmy gave him a half smile, that didn't really reach his eyes. But still better than nothing, Pike supposed.

Better than nothing. It was rapidly becoming Pike's motto.

Pike noticed that Jimmy had not eaten any more of the bread than the original piece Pike had torn off. He wondered why. The kid had to be hungry. When he asked, the boy replied, "Saving it. Might need it later."

Pike closed his eyes. "Jimmy, I promise you there will be more food. You don't have to save that."

Jimmy's expression closed. "It's not for me."

Pike cocked his head to one side. "Then who are you saving it for?"

"Somebody else," he said, not meeting Pike's eyes. Jimmy's expression was hard and defiant when he looked at Pike. The thin shoulders were set, and prepared to spar. Pike could see that he wasn't going to get anything else out of the boy on this. The boy wasn't going to retreat a single inch.

Pike held up his hands. "Okay…okay." He said, softly. "I wasn't trying to push. It's just if you have friends or something, and you know where they are…. It's just…." Pike trailed off, not sure how to get his point across. "I'd like to help you…"

Pike didn't say "we're here to help" and he didn't say, "Starfleet is here to help," because he knew, and he didn't now how he knew, that Jimmy wouldn't respond to either of those statements.

Pike was pretty damn sure that Jimmy Kirk had learned not to trust the word of bureaucracies or organizations or even adults who were supposed to be caregivers.

Too many people had betrayed him for that.

But Pike was hoping that Jimmy Kirk might come to trust Christopher Pike.

So all he said was, "Let me help. Please," looking deep into the familiar, yet foreign sapphire eyes.

Jimmy searched his gaze again, and if Pike thought that the child's gaze had been assessing before, well, none of those looks began to compare to this one. This was the not the gaze of a child. It was the gaze of a leader, a champion, of someone who knew that the lives of others depended upon his choices. Pike had seen that look from others himself, had in fact given it to others on occasion, but never before had Pike endured it with so much intensity behind it. There were depths upon depths to this kid. Pike tried very hard not to be awestruck.

He wondered, not for the first time, about what this child had endured. Where had he learned such a sense of responsibility?

A long while later, Jimmy nodded.

Pike dropped his head as he sighed in relief. "Okay. Okay. Thanks."

Jimmy nodded. "You'll have to come with me. They won't trust you." Ten words. It was the longest phrase the boy had uttered. Pike could tell the boy still didn't entirely trust him. Pike didn't fault the kid for that.

"Just tell me what to do," he said.

Jimmy nodded again. "I'll take you."

So had the day from hell. I think I'm writing this story to deal with the stress of listening to too many stories about abuse. It's kind of cathartic. The chapters will remain small, which makes it easier to write them, and therefore I can write them quicker.

Please review.