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Chris woke up suddenly, blinking owlishly in the darkness. A pounding sound could be heard, and he realized with a start that someone was at the door. Beside him, Shay also stirred. Chris sat up slowly, shaking his head to clear the sleep away. "Go back to bed, I'll see who it is," he told her, before standing up and making his way through the house to the front door.

Opening the door, he was startled, to say the least, to be confronted by a young boy –a young man, really – staring at him nervously.

His confusion only grew as the silence stretched. The boy at his door couldn't be more than fourteen or fifteen, and was sporting a rather impressive black eye. The look in his startlingly blue eyes was haunted, and there was a hesitation in his stance that told the Commander that the kid wasn't sure he should even be here. He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out why this kid seemed so familiar. Suddenly, his eyes widened. Over the last five months, he had thought so much about Jim Kirk. The young leader who had saved so many innocent children from certain death. The son of his best friend, the kid he had grown to love as his own, and hadn't stopped loving just because Winona had forbidden him from visiting.

"Jim," he whispered, almost reverently. It shouldn't have taken so long for him to recognize the teenager, but he looked different. His hair was shorter, and he had filled out a lot, but the stance was still the same. It said he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and wasn't sure how much longer he could continue to hold it up.

Jim flinched slightly, looking down. "I'm sorry," he said, feeling like he shouldn't have come. "I know it's late, but I didn't know where else to go."

Chris nodded, stepping back and ushering the young teenager inside. "How did you know where I live?" he asked curiously. "For that matter, how did you know I'd even be here, rather than on assignment?"

Jim just gave him an 'are you serious?' look, and Chris nodded, understanding. He had come to realize that the boy was a certified genius, and nothing should be put passed him. It really hadn't taken that much research for him to uncover Jim's history. Figuring out the Commander's home address and learning his current assignment shouldn't have been too much of a problem.

He guided Jim over to the sofa, sitting down next to him and studying the impressive black eye on the boy. His heart clenched as he considered what might have happened, and he wondered how to ask. "I'll be right back," he said, getting up and heading to the kitchen to get his first aid kit, returning as quickly as possible. Thankfully, Jim was still sitting there, looking around the Commander's house with interest.

Chris once more settled down next to Jim, and began to dab at the bruise with a damp cloth, cleaning away some dried blood from a cut above the boy's eyebrow. "What happened?" he asked quietly. The resulting flinch did nothing to quell his fears, but Chris decided not to push. "How did you get here?" he asked instead.

Jim met his gaze, a fire burning behind his eyes. "A lot of the guys at the shipyard are friends," he admitted. "They'd let me hang out there when I didn't want to go home, and they taught me a lot about engines and stuff." He shrugged with one shoulder. "When I showed up last night, Commander Peterson knew what had happened," he bit his lip, "and he got me on board the last shuttle heading to San Francisco. He knew I wouldn't be back."

Chris pulled the cloth away from the boy's face, studying him intently. "What are you going to do?"

Jim shrugged again. "I've got a plan… sort of. I just couldn't stay there any longer."

Chris nodded. "Because of Frank?" he asked tentatively, worried that the question would cause the young man to close up. Jim's eyes indeed shuttered closed and he jerked back, flinching slightly. Chris spoke quickly to keep the kid from leaving. "I don't need to know any details," he assured Jim. "You don't have to tell me anything, and I won't make you go back."

Jim nodded hesitantly, as if he didn't quite believe the Commander, but he settled back and let Chris continue to administer aid.

"Chris?"

Both men turned to face the hallway leading into the house, and Jim flushed guiltily. "Sorry, I didn't know you had company." He made to stand up again, but a gentle and firm hand on his shoulder stayed the action.

Chris shook his head. "You don't have to leave," he implored.

A moment later, Shay entered the sitting room, drawing her bathrobe around her lithe frame as she studied the scene in front of her. She was somewhat surprised to see that their nighttime caller was a child, but there was something familiar about him. Her brow furrowed, trying to figure it out.

Of course, Jim got there first. "I remember you," he said, tilting his head to the side, before Chris tapped his chin to get him to hold still so that he could continue wiping the blood away.

Shay blinked. "As I remember you," she replied, voice steady as she once more had to force the memories of that hellish mission back down. "I believe your group referred to you as 'JT'."

Jim flinched, and then winced. He hoped no one had caught it, but of course, Chris was a very observant man. He pulled back slightly and studied the kid sitting on his couch. His frame was hunched ever so slightly, which contrasted with the boy he had gotten to know on Tarsus – Jim had been confident and proud then, even as he glared up from a biobed, refusing to cooperate with some officers who definitely needed to work on their bedside manner.

He frowned. "Take off your shirt," he commanded. Jim looked up startled, and a little afraid. Chris' heart clenched once more, but he didn't waver. "Clearly there's more wrong than just the eye. Let me see what I'm working with."

Looking a little betrayed, Jim obeyed, reluctantly. Both Starfleet officers were hard-pressed to hide their anger, as the tapestry of bruises hiding under the kid's shirt were displayed. The colors ranged from the bright purplish red of a recent injury, to the sickly yellow-green of several-week-old bruises.

Chris reached into his first aid kit and pulled out a tricorder. Damn it, he was a Tactical Officer, not a Doctor. He knew enough to get by, but he really wasn't qualified to do this. However, he was certain that any suggestion to head over to Starfleet Medical would be met by opposition, followed by Jim promptly disappearing. He scanned the kid, and was relieved to see that nothing was actually broken. His collarbone was fractured, as were a few of his ribs, and a few more were bruised; several organs were bruised, but there wouldn't be any severe consequences of skipping the doctor's visit, other than the prolonged amount of time Jim would spend in pain.

Shay sat down on the chair by the couch, and crossed her legs as she watched her boyfriend interact with the child they had both met in the midst of tragedy. She wondered what Chris had done to get the boy to come to him for help, and she wondered what had happened, but knew better than to ask. Instead, she smiled. "I don't think we were properly introduced on board the Seymour. I am Number One."

Jim almost smiled. "That's a strange name," he observed.

Shay did smile. "Yes, I suppose it is, to those not enlisted. The truth is, as a half Argelian, not many can pronounce my full name. However, since you are not in Starfleet, you may call me Shay."

Jim nodded. "So what's your full name?" he asked curiously.

Shay gave it to him, a long series of syllables strung together that very few would ever be able to repeat.

Of course, Jim wasn't just anyone, and he immediately threw the name back at her, with a decided smirk.

Chris and Shay both stared. "That's impressive," the Lieutenant Commander commended.

Jim's smirk widened. "I've been told I have a talented tongue," he replied.

Chris shifted in his seat, turning to face the kid full on. "Who told you that?" he asked curiously.

Jim's smirk disappeared and he looked down. "Hoshi Sato," he admitted quietly, after a short pause.

Both officers were speechless. It was common knowledge amongst Starfleet personnel that Lieutenant Commander Sato had retired to Tarsus IV, and had been among the casualties of Kodos' insanity.

Shay leaned forward. "I was not aware that you knew Lieutenant Commander Sato personally. You are very fortunate."

Jim nodded, looking like he regretted bringing it up. "She taught me, for a while. She said I was 'promising'."

Chris couldn't help but remember the formidable woman he had had the good fortune of meeting, before she had left Earth; he had been a barely graduated Cadet at the time. From what he knew of her, she did not take on students lightly, and would only teach those she deemed worthy.

"What did you learn?" he asked curiously.

Jim bit his lip. "Vulcan, Cardassian, Orion, Andorian, Klingon, and we were in the middle of the second Romulan dialect when things got… bad."

Both of their eyes widened. Learning all that in the roughly eighteen months between his arrival on planet and when Kodos had lost his mind was… impressive, to say the least.

"Are you interested in xenolinguistics?" Shay asked curiously.

Jim smiled reminiscently. "Xenolinguistics. Study of alien languages, morphology, phonology, syntax." He was clearly quoting someone else. He looked back up, eyes focusing once more. "Not really. I just like languages."

Both officers nodded, a little dazed.

After a few moments, Chris snapped himself out of it and packed up his first aid kit. "I'll give you some ice for the eye, but you should be fine, if not a little sore. I've got a spare bedroom –"

He cut off as Jim stood up quickly, shaking his head and ignoring the flash of pain that accompanied the movement. "I don't need charity," he refused.

Chris also stood up, his own defiance clear in his eyes. "It's not," he refuted. "It's late, and you could probably use some sleep. If you want to leave in the morning, I won't stop you, but for tonight, you have a warm place to stay."

Jim still looked mutinous, but he agreed reluctantly with a simple incline of his head, and allowed himself to be shown to the guest bedroom, a simple room consisting of only a bed, desk, and dresser.

Chris watched him sit down on the bed hesitantly, from his spot in the doorway. After a moment, he entered, and handed Jim a large shirt that he could use to sleep in.

Jim took it hesitantly and looked up at the Commander. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" Chris raised an eyebrow and Jim grimaced. "I know your Captain questioned you, he practically ordered you to tell him. Why didn't you give him my name?"

Chris sighed. "You asked me not to," he replied simply.

Jim looked confused. "But you could have gotten in trouble."

Chris shrugged. "Sometimes you have to take chances for the things you care about."

He left Jim with that thought, and returned to his own bedroom, and Shay, who was now waiting for him beneath the covers. She waited until he was lying down, before she asked the question that had been burning inside of her, ever since she had seen the boy in their living room.

"Who is he?"

Chris knew what she was really asking. He sighed. "James Kirk," he admitted quietly.

Shay inhaled sharply. She knew the history, of course. She, George, and Winona hadn't been good friends, but they had been acquainted with each other, at the Academy and later. She also knew that Chris and George had been very close.

Chris sighed, rubbing a hand wearily over his face. "I couldn't believe it when I saw him, five months ago. I just felt so guilty. George was my best friend, and I hadn't been there for his sons."

Shay shifted, turning on her side so that she could observe her boyfriend. "Did he tell you his name?" she asked curiously, knowing that the boy 'JT' had not been very cooperative, according to the CMO, First Officer, and Captain of the USS Seymour.

Chris grimaced. "He didn't have to," he replied. "I recognized him. His eyes, mostly. They were the same as the last time I saw him. And his attitude was so George, that I just knew."

Shay reached out, comforting him with a gentle hand on his arm.

The two stayed silent for a few more minutes, before Chris resettled himself. "Winona all but ordered me away, after she got remarried. I shouldn't have let her force me out. Those boys were all I had left of my best friend, my brother. George and I were so close; I was going to be the cool, fun uncle for his kids. I got to do it a little with Sam, but I barely got to spend time with Jim before Winona remarried."

Shay didn't know how to help her boyfriend come out of this depressive state, so she simply held him and passed on her support.

Chris sighed. "I looked them up after we got back from Tarsus. Sam ran away a couple years ago. I don't know where he is, or if he's all right. Jim almost drove a car off a cliff right around the same time, though; I think there might be a correlation, but I'm a little afraid to ask him."

Shay just tightened her hold. "You'll do what you think is best, Chris. I can see how much you care about him."

Chris nodded, feeling a few tears build up in the corners of his eyes. "I just hate to think about what those two had to live with in that house for so long. What did Winona turn into? The woman George married…" He grimaced and shook his head. "The woman George introduced me to was nothing like the woman who screamed at me to get the hell off her property when I showed up for the wedding."

Shay's heart hurt, hearing the obvious pain her boyfriend was in, remembering the incident. "I'm so sorry, Chris."

Chris looked over, and smiled slightly, seeing the compassion in his girlfriend's wide brown eyes. He shook his head. "I can't imagine what kind of parent would do that to their own kid. No matter what happens… Jim and Sam are a part of her. A part of George. And she's just throwing that away. No. She already threw it away. How can she not care?"

Shay leaned in and pressed a light kiss to Chris' temple. "You're an amazing person, Chris. And I love you so much. I can't understand it either, but when George died, I believe a part of Winona did as well. And she took to the stars to escape that. She married the first man she came across to have someone to take her children off her hands because she couldn't deal with looking at them and seeing her husband anymore. It makes no sense to you or me, and that can only be a good thing. Let's just get some rest for now, and deal with everything else as it comes, all right?"

Chris agreed, and the two settled down, neither one relinquishing their grasp on the other.

Neither one got much sleep that night.

When Chris got up the next morning, the first thing he did was go check on Jim. Somehow, he wasn't completely surprised to find his guest bedroom empty, the bed made up and the large shirt he had loaned to the kid to sleep in folded neatly on the pillow.

Shay looked up as Chris entered the kitchen, holding out a cup of coffee. Chris shrugged as he accepted the drink. "He's gone," he informed her.

Shay nodded, picking up her own coffee and taking a sip. "He'll be all right," she set the cup down on the counter.

Chris nodded his agreement. "I know he will be," he replied absentmindedly. "I'm just… worried."

Shay smiled. "You care about him. It's only natural to worry."

The comm. chimed at that moment, and Chris set his cup down to go over and check it out. There was a message waiting for him. It was a simple note, just one word, but it made Chris smile, feeling suddenly much more relaxed.

Thanks.

Chris put the comm. away, and joined his girlfriend for breakfast.

XXX

The first thing Jim did when he left Chris' house was make his way to the shuttle depot. He had glanced at the schedule on his way back to Riverside five months earlier, so he remembered now when the next shuttle to Europe left. That eidetic memory of his definitely came in handy at times.

Sure enough, there was a shuttle leaving for Moscow twenty minutes after he arrived. The money he had saved up paid for the ticket, with a little left over, so he was able to get a seat. He figured he could get a bus or something to St. Petersburg, and from there, he'd come up with something. Anya had said that her family lived in the middle of nowhere, but St. Petersburg was the closest city. A little digging had given him the location of the town the Chekov family lived in, and it was indeed a little over an hour away from the city.

He wished he had more time to think, but the shuttle trip was only a few hours. He remembered reading about airplanes from the twenty first century, and how it would take twice as long to get anywhere. He was grateful for the shortened trip, but he did wish he had more time to plan on how to approach Anya's family. What if they didn't want to speak with him? He had promised to find her younger brother and tell him that she loved him. He couldn't break that promise.

When the shuttle docked in Moscow, Jim got off, and once he got his bearings, made his way out of the depot. A quick conversation with an employee pointed him in the direction of the bus station, a cheaper way of travel than shuttles, which he needed since he was running out of money. There, he determined that there was an overnight transport headed to St. Petersburg leaving in an hour. The trip would take almost eight hours, and would use up most of his remaining money. He spent some time studying a map on one of the walls, searching for the small town where the Chekov's resided. Finally, after twenty minutes of looking, he found it. Based on the distance on the map, it was a good hour west of St. Petersburg. He wondered if he could hitchhike there, or if there was a bus that went out that way.

XXX

One long night later, and Jim was standing in the city center of St. Petersburg, looking around and wondering if he could afford to buy something to eat for breakfast. After walking around for a little while, he finally approached one of the smaller café's on one of the side streets off of the city center. It wasn't too crowded, and an older couple appeared to be working behind the counter. He approached the woman cautiously. "Excuse me?" he asked in Russian.

The woman looked at him questioningly, with just a hint of suspicion in her gaze. "Yes?" she replied.

Jim bit his lip. "I'm… new here. I don't have a lot of money, and I was wondering if there was some way I could work for you for a couple of hours in exchange for a meal." The woman appeared to be thinking about it, so Jim continued. "I could sweep floors or clear tables. I'm good at cleaning." He had had to be, given the mess that Frank made.

The woman studied the teenager for a few minutes. She could clearly tell that he wasn't Russian, and yet, he spoke their language fluently, and with a barely noticeable accent. He had a rather impressive black eye, but his expression appeared to be earnest, just a kid who needed a meal and was willing to work for it. He couldn't be more than fifteen, and she wondered where his parents were. Finally, she smiled and nodded. "That sounds like a deal young man. There is a broom and dustpan in the cleaning closet. Anton will show you where it is."

Jim grinned and nodded. "Thank you very much, ma'am."

The woman's smile widened. "My name is Sarah. My husband and I own this café."

Jim nodded again. "I'm Jim."

Sarah handed him a soft roll to eat for breakfast, before gesturing for him to follow her husband, Anton, who had been watching the exchange. He did so willingly, and spent the next few hours sweeping the floor, and cleaning dishes in the kitchen. Finally, Sarah pointed him to a table and sat him down, presenting him with a plate full of food. Jim fell on the meal quickly, trying to remember his manners, but he was hungry.

Sarah and Anton joined him with their own meals. While they ate, the elderly couple questioned their young worker. "Where are you from, Jim?" Anton asked curiously.

Jim's mouth twisted downwards. "Iowa, in the United States," he replied.

Sarah observed him carefully. Clearly there was a story there, but she suspected he wouldn't be willing to share. "And how did you learn Russian?" she asked.

Jim was still frowning, but there was a small light in his eyes as he responded, "A friend taught me."

"What are you doing in St. Petersburg?" Anton asked.

Jim bit his lip. "I'm looking for someone. He lives in a small town west of here. Are there buses that run between the towns?"

Sarah and Anton shared a look. "Some of them," Sarah replied. "Which town are you headed to?"

"Syurye," was the response.

The two looked at each other again. "That's a very small town," Sarah said. "I don't believe any buses run there, but if you want, we could give you a ride this evening."

Jim shook his head. "I don't want to impose," he argued, but Sarah cut him off, smiling.

"You're a hard worker, Jim. If you're willing to spend the rest of the afternoon working here, when we close up, we'll take you out to Syurye."

Jim deliberated, before nodding hesitantly. "Thank you," he said softly.

Sarah just smiled and rested a hand on his shoulder. "We're more than happy to help you, Jim. Now," she stood up, gesturing for the other two to do the same, "There is still work to be done, so let us get back to it, yes?"

Jim nodded, and followed Anton back to the kitchen. Over the next few hours, he washed dishes and cleaned counter tops. When it got slow mid afternoon, Anton showed him how to cook some of their special recipes. Jim had never really learned how to cook before – Frank never really bothered with anything that didn't come out of a replicator, and Winona had never been home long enough to teach him anything. Marie had shown him a few tricks, but the best he could really hope to do was make toast.

But Anton was patient and encouraging, and under his tutelage, Jim managed to make some Pirozhki that the elderly Russian man said was as good as he could have made himself.

XXX

Jim took a deep breath as Anton slowed the car to a stop in the center of the small town of Syurye, Russia. He reached over and opened the door, grasping his bag tightly.

Looking up at Anton and Sarah in the front of the car, he smiled tightly. "Thank you for the ride," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Anton nodded, looking at the teenager in the rear view mirror, while Sarah turned around in her seat. "You take care of yourself, Jim. And if you find yourself back in St. Petersburg, please do come say hello."

Jim nodded. "I will. Thank you again, for everything."

With that, he exited the vehicle, and watched as the car drove off, the taillights disappearing quickly as it turned down a side street.

When he was alone, he looked around. The town square could barely be classified as such. Even Riverside had been bigger. A few shops lined the main street – a couple of café's, a grocer, and a clothing store. There was a small church on the far side of the square. It was late evening, so the square was deserted.

Jim wished he had thought this through a little better. He didn't know where the Chekov's lived, and he was now in an empty town square with no money and nowhere to spend the night. He sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Frowning in confusion, he pulled out his right hand. He was sure his pocket had been empty, and yet he could feel something there now. His eyes widened in surprise as he pulled out a credit chip. He smiled lightly. Apparently, Sarah had been looking after him. He looked around the square; after a minute of searching, his eyes lit on a hotel sign.

He made his way over to the old looking building, and walked inside hesitantly.

A man was sitting at the front desk, reading a magazine. "Excuse me?" Jim asked, walking up to the desk. The man looked up, and Jim continued, "I'd like a room for the night."

The man looked doubtful of his ability to pay, so Jim pushed the credit chip across the desk.

Soon enough, he was set up in a simple bedroom, ready to crash for the night.

The room was indeed sparse – a twin sized bed, a desk, and a dresser. The single window overlooked the town square. Jim was too tired to do much more than fall onto the bed, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

XXX

Jim was up and ready to go by midmorning. He took his bag and left the hotel, heading out into the square.

He walked around for a while, ignoring the small hunger pains, used to the feeling after Tarsus, trying to come up with some sort of plan. This wasn't a large town. Maybe if he just asked someone, they would be able to tell him. He didn't know Anya's parents' names, but she had told him about her brother.

He was about to just head into the nearest shop to ask, when a small but forceful object ran into him, causing him to back up several steps.

He grunted and looked down several feet, to see a young boy looking up at him; he had large, bright green eyes, and a full head of blond curls. "Sorry," the boy whispered, suddenly appearing shy.

Jim smiled reassuringly. "That's all right," he replied, holding the kid's shoulders and helping him get steady on his feet once more. Studying the boy, he looked to be about seven or eight. Jim looked around, but didn't see any parents or guardians looking for their kid. He looked back at the child. "Are you OK?"

The boy bit his lip. "I can't find my mommy and daddy." His voice was still soft.

Jim furrowed his brow. "Do you know where you last saw them?"

The boy shrugged. "They were buying bread. I didn't mean to run off, I promise," he suddenly sounded pleading. "The bird was pretty, I just wanted a closer look."

Jim bent down slightly so that he could look the kid in the eye. "You're not in trouble with me, kid, it's all right. Why don't we head back to the baker, ok? We'll see if we can find your parents."

The boy nodded eagerly, and Jim reached out with his hand for him to grasp. "What's your name?" he asked as they headed through the square.

"Pavel Chekov," the boy answered, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Jim blinked, surprised. How about that. Sometimes, the stars did apparently align. He smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Pavel. My name is Jim." He cleared his throat, deliberating. Up ahead, there was a wooden bench. He guided Pavel to it, and gestured for him to take a seat. "Pavel, I'm glad I found you. I actually came here to look for you."

Pavel suddenly looked afraid. Jim shook his head, smiling. "I promise I'm not a stalker." Pavel didn't seem to know what that meant, so Jim just kept talking. "I knew your sister. Anya."

Pavel leaned forward, looking at him with eager eyes. "You did? I don't really remember her much. Mama and daddy don't talk about her at all. It makes them sad."

Jim looked down. He remembered Anya's bright gaze. Her brother looked so much like her when he looked at Jim like that. "Do you know where she was, and how she… how she died?" he asked softly.

Pavel bit his lip and nodded. "She went to live with cousin Tanya, on Tarsus IV. Mama said there was a famine, and she died. She started crying before she could say any more though."

Jim sighed, and took one of Pavel's hands in his. "Do you want to know what really happened?" he asked softly. This kid was eight years old, and most would probably frown at him for talking about genocide with him, but if Anya was to be believed, the kid was a genius, and probably understood more than most realized. He remembered growing up and being treated like an idiot, so he wouldn't do that to anyone else.

Pavel nodded hesitantly. "I want to know how my sister died." His voice wavered slightly, but there was a conviction behind the words that reassured Jim that Pavel knew what he was asking for.

Jim squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I met Anya shortly after I arrived on the planet. She needed help with her Physics homework, and I happened to come across her. I helped her out, and we became friends almost instantly." He coughed, clearing his throat and trying to get rid of the threat of tears. "She taught me Russian and German, and I helped her pass Physics and Math. When the famine struck, Kodos decided to kill half the colony to let the other half live." Pavel gasped at that. "Anya and I hid out in a cave with a bunch of other kids. We kept each other going. Anya…" Jim had to clear his throat again, and a few tears leaked out despite his best efforts. "Anya was amazing. She could make me laugh, no matter what. Even when things were horrible, she made it feel like it wasn't so bad." Jim sighed. "A few weeks before Starfleet arrived, Anya got sick. It was pneumonia, do you know what that is?" Pavel shook his head, so Jim explained, "It's an illness. She got a high fever, and there was fluid in her lungs. We didn't have the right kind of medication, so there was nothing we could do. I'm so sorry, Pavel."

Pavel reached out and gave Jim a hug. "You came here to tell me?" he asked, pulling back.

Jim nodded slightly. "I promised Anya that I would find her brother and tell him how much she loved him. Believe me, Pavel, she did. She spoke so much about you. She was so proud of you."

Pavel sniffed. "Really?" he asked.

Jim smiled, and hugged the younger boy. "So much," he assured the kid.

Pavel returned the smile. His head whipped around as he heard his name being called. "That's my mama," he said, jumping up.

Jim stood as well. "Should I come with you?" he asked, unsure.

Pavel looked back at the teenager, and tilted his head to the side, considering. "I don't think you should tell them. They just want to forget they had a daughter." His voice hitched and he sniffled.

Jim sighed. He knew what that was like. His mother had been trying to forget she had kids since he had been born. "Do you have a comm.?" he asked.

Pavel nodded eagerly, pulling it out. "Mama and daddy got it for me for my birthday!"

Jim smiled, and held out a hand, and took the comm. He typed in a few numbers, and handed it back. "That's my comm. number. If you need anything, or if you just want to talk, I'm here. Anya was like an older sister to me, so the best I can do is be there for her brother. She would want me to be there for you."

Pavel looked excited. "Thank you!" he looked down at the comm. "Jim Kirk." He looked back up. "Thank you for telling me about Anya." He heard his name called again, and looked back over his shoulder.

Jim nodded to indicate that he go find his parents, and watched as the hyperactive kid ran off, bounding into the arms of a worried looking middle aged woman.

He sighed as he turned around and headed in the opposite direction. Now what? He had no money, and he was in a small town in Russia. He was glad he had come, but he hadn't really thought about what would happen after he found Pavel.

He shifted his bag slightly so that it didn't pull so much on his injured ribs, and made his way to a small café. It had worked in St. Petersburg, so he figured he might as well try again.

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