[STAR TREK] A little broken, a little new (chapter 1)

[picavasnormandy]

Fandom: Star Trek
Personaggi: Kirk, Spock, Bones
Warning: kid!fic, AU (read the notes for specifics)
Wordcount: 3363
Summary: Jim and Spock meet on a colony that's invaded by klingons. They'll have to learn how to work together if they want to survive.
Notes: this is set in an alternative universe/timeline where Jim and Spock meet when they are kid on a colony they both live in. They are not specifically AOS or TOS Jim and Spock, just alternative versions of them. I tried to keep them as IC as I could.
(scritto per il COW-T, prompt opposti "fortuna-sfortuna")

Jim has never considered himself a particularly unlucky boy, until he found himself running for his life.

He's had his bad days, of course, but all in all he can say he's lived an happy and easy life until now: his father is a First Officer in the Fleet and his mother is a scientist, and although they've frequently been away from home because of their respective jobs, he's always admired their passion and hoped one day he could make them proud by proving himself worthy of their legacy. Back on Earth, before he moved to the colony, he enjoyed camping with dad and learned how to cook watching his grandma while she was still alive, and he played with toy guns and fake swords with his brother Sam until the sun went down behind the hill near their farm, and he was loved and cared for and had the luxury of never missing anything a kid his age shouldn't miss. He thought he could never be happier than this.

Of course, being eleven and carefree, Jim has never thought about trivial and adult matters such as the caducity of life and the idea of being in immediate danger of death, but right now he's starting to learn there's a first time for everything – and apparently fate already decided that he has to learn it the hard way: the first time in question is now, and he's never run so fast and with such anguish filling his stomach and tearing his lungs apart before. There are tears in his eyes and five fingers desperately clung into his fist, and he's starting to feel like the oxygen might not be enough to carry him another step forward – and yet none of these matters is the real problem right now.

The real problem is that he's terrified he might not live to see another day – he's terrified his mother is gone, and he misses Iowa, he misses dad, he misses Sam, he misses his house and the quite, never changing routine he was so bored of back at home.

The problem is, he doesn't want to die. But there's an alien warrior at his heels wielding a curved, gigantic, frightful blade and growling words he can't understand, and if he and the kid by his side don't run any faster, this first time getting unlucky will also be his last.

****

A few hours before

Jim has been studying the new vulcan kid for a while. He arrived to the colony five days ago together with his mother, a charming human lady wearing traditional vulcan clothes that make her look like a queen. Since then, Jim has not been able to hear the boy's voice even once, and that's why he's starting to wonder if he might not be able to talk at all. Bones told him he's stupid for worrying about that green-blooded hobgoblin pup – those were his exact words, to which Jim frowned, not at all pleased by the epithet, but then again it's Bones, and he's known him long enough to understand he doesn’t really mean every insult that comes out of his mouth.

Nevertheless, Jim doesn't think it's stupid to worry about the vulcan. The kid must be around his age, maybe one or two years older, and considering he was the only eleven-years-old living in the colony until five days ago, Jim felt quite the urge to bond with the new entry, but was left a bit disappointed when he discovered that the only other child – the only hope for friend he has, beside Bones, who's actually six years older than him and sometimes can get annoyingly grumpy as only adults can be – is probably a mute, or even worse, he's is just not inclined to conversation. Either way, Jim is not one to give up this easily: if the kid can't talk, they can surely find other ways to communicate, besides he's always been great at improvisation; and if he's not interested, well... he'll discover he's quite talented in the art of persuasion, too.

The only problem is, the kid is way too meticulous in trying to avoid any kind of social interaction with any kind of sentient being – and that, of course, includes Jim.

At first, when there was only the mild curiosity towards what's new and alien, he tried with totally incidental encounters any time he casually spotted the kid alone – too bad, Jim realized soon, he was never really alone, spending all his time in public with his mother and then just disappearing somewhere Jim had no idea. After that, when the initial, harmless interest shifted towards latent concern, he ended up secretly following the young vulcan whenever he left his mother's side – and discovered, much to his disappointment, that every evening he would just escape briefly and silently to the central library, borrow a couple of books and then disappear inside his and his mother's quarters until the next morning. Of course he never tried to intercept him – well, just once he was maybe about to, and Bones had to stop him before he passed for a creepy stalker – but in the meantime five whole days have passed and it has now become a simple matter of principle: Jim wants to know the kid's name, and he wants to hear it from the kid's own voice.

He told Leonard, of course, well aware that the fact would not please him – and, in fact, it did not. Leonard just scoffed in his usual cynical manner, and that's when he used the epithet – he called the kid a green-blooded hobgoblin pup, and Jim got offended for reasons unknown to both. Maybe Bones thought he was kidding because he couldn't stop making fun of him and his little obsession, as he jokingly called it, to which remark Jim really lost his patience and decided he'd had enough of Bones for at least one whole day.

He left without saying a word, hearing Leonard grumble his complains behind his back as he walked away, stubborn and silent. After all, this is what they do, he and Bones: they get along most of the times, laughing and playing like best friends even though they've known each other for barely eight months, but there are times when they just can't bring themselves to agree on the stupidest things – those little matters that are always soon forgotten, just not before a little, innocent quarrel. The truth is, Bones is the closest thing to a real friend he's had since his brother Sam, and without him these past eight months on the colony would have been a total disaster, so it's only natural he's become more and more inclined to ignore all the little brat and damn it, Jim! he's yelled at him, even though he loves the grumpy face he makes whenever he ignores everything he tells him – which doesn't happen rarely, this much at least he has to admit.

He walks an walks until Leonard’s voice becomes just an echo in the distance, and he doesn’t have to worry about him following, because he knows they will make peace, eventually.

He ends up, without much surprise, outside the limits of the residential and working districts, where the buildings are just small dots disappearing on the horizon and the land is rough and irregular, covered in colours he's never seen on Earth – still safely inside the colony borders, but far from  civilization enough that he can actually feel like he's on alien land, somewhere in the depth of space, so far away from home that the plants are blue and the trees are soft and round and the dirt is so thin and red that during the storms, when the alarm sounds and he locks himself in his room, the sky outside his windows turns crimson like a hurricane made of blood and rocks dancing through the streams – at first it was terrifying, but now that he's used to it, now that he's learned you have to pay attention to the rules and routines to survive on a foreign planet, it just feels like he's never come back from one of those camping trips his father would always take him on – except dad is not here and he's supposed to look after mom now, being the only man in the house.

There's a spot in particular he considers his favourite, hidden amongst big and fluffy bushes coloured in blue, green and purple, with rocks round and flat and as comfortable as couches, and a reassuring and calm silence he was only able to find in the woods surrounding their farm in Iowa. Here, he can pretend he's the only one living on this planet – he can imagine the world is his to command, and he can read his books and skip homework and forget mom's and Bones' lectures for a while, still knowing he'll always find them when he gets back home.

He loves it here, and there's an empowering feeling of importance in the realization that no one has ever set foot amongst these trees that he considers his own – and that's probably the reason why, when he finds out that today he's not going to be the only one hiding amongst these colourful leaves, he stops and stares for a moment, a sense of raw and unexpected disbelief definitely catching him off guard.

And the best – or worse, he's not sure – part is, the trespasser is someone he's come to know quite well in the past few days – someone whose deep, dark eyes are greedily locked on a small PADD laid on his legs, and who's arranged himself comfortably on one of the flat rocks in the shadow of a big blue bush, covered in his long, black tunic. Jim can't help but at his little pointy ears standing at attention, as confident and collected as the focused look in his eyes, but the vulcan doesn't seem to notice him, and that's probably why, when Jim steps forward and mutters a surprised: "Oh, hello," suddenly breaking the silence, the kid jumps on his sit, staring at him confused for a moment, before calmly finding his composure again.

"You are here," the kid says, voice flat and soft, almost a whisper and hardly a question. This is the first time Jim has heard his voice since he landed on the colony, and it's so different from all the possibilities he had come up with in his head that, for a moment, he feels disappointed. It's no doubt the voice of a child, and yet it sounds almost... mechanical.

The thought, however, doesn't seem to discourage Jim.

"Yeah, this is my favourite spot," he claims, forcing a friendly look on his face. "What are you doing here?"

The kid looks down on the book , silent, just to raise his gaze back at Jim only a moment later – not a trace of emotion on his pale, greenish face. "I am reading," he states. Nothing more than that.

Jim shrugs. "I can see that. I thought you only liked reading at your house."

The boy raises an eyebrow, pausing for a moment, and it's the closest expression Jim has witnessed resembling any kind of emotional response from him. "I know you did," he hears him say, calmly. Jim can't help but blink his eyes at the subtle revelation, the slight initial surprise quickly giving way to raw, guilty embarrassment.

"What?" He stutters, feeling his cheeks already getting hotter – this is totally not how he imagined their first conversation would unfold at all, and it doesn't help that the kid keeps staring at him like he's not just admitted he knew Jim was aware of his every movement – like he's just a robot stating cold, unimportant truths while only managing to make him feel even more uncomfortable.

But then, the boy speaks again.

"I was perfectly aware of you trying to follow me every time I was left alone. I have no idea why you did such a thing, but it is quite obvious that you thought your attempts at chasing me went unnoticed."

Jim finds himself only able to stare, petrified – not by what he said, but by the way he said it: he's never heard a kid their age talk with such confident eloquence, and all of a sudden he feels strangely drawn to this voice he's been chasing after for so many days – he likes it, he likes how it sounds, steady and sharp but not obstinate, like the voice of an adult trapped in the mind and body of a child. It's still kind of frightening, but somehow, coming from him, it makes him smile and he has no idea why.

"Well, I sure hoped they did,” he’s only able to reply.

The kid gives him a firm, almost doubting look. "Why?" He asks then.

Jim tightens his lips and gives him a little, innocent pout.

"I tried to talk to you... for days."

The other child raises a eyebrow, seemingly unaffected by the sulk, and admits: "I'm not aware of any such attempt." There's a small pause, then: "Surely, if you had asked, I would have talked to you."

He sounds just like a machine giving instructions, and Jim can't help but wonder if all vulcans are born like that. "I don't know..." He shrugs. "You just didn't seemed up for conversation, and I didn't want to force it out of you..."

"So you decided to follow me instead."

"Sorry for that," he lets out an apologetic sigh, and when the kid doesn't respond – only a small nod that goes almost unnoticed – Jim decides to close the distance. He feels observed for a moment, and the obstinate look the kid gives him makes him slightly uncomfortable. He tries to smile, awkward, unreciprocated. "Well," he begins – it's a habit he's had since he learned how to talk, that of filling the nervousness with his own voice. "Since I might have troubled you by following you around, I'll just pretend you didn't sneak in my own favourite secret place. Just for today."

The kid doesn't stop staring, which doesn't help easing Jim's awkwardness.

"It's hardly secret," he says instead. "And I didn't see any indication that this place belonged to someone else."

Jim sighs, defeated. He sure hopes he's not being played, but if that's the case, well... he'd have to give the kid credit: he'd be a great pretender and a wonderful prankster.

Jim, however, has more urgent matters in mind, the most pressing being: he still doesn't know his name.

"Hey, listen," he begins, determined to earn what he's been fighting for all this time – but the kid stops him. He doesn't really say anything, but the moment Jim moves a step closer, an anticipating smile curled on his lips, the child's gaze suddenly shifts away for a long moment, as if alerted by something, and his body freezes, all tense for just an instant.

Jim stills, almost startled, and for a second he forgets what he was going to ask.

Then, the kid looks back at him. "Have you heard that?" There's a feeling of gravity infusing the tone of his voice.

Jim doesn’t understand.

"Heard what?"

For a moment the kid looks away again, as if pondering – pondering on what?, Jim can't help but wonder.

He doesn't really have to ask.

"There was a blast just now," he hears him explain. "Coming from the colony."

Jim silences, trying to listen for a moment, but he still can't hear a thing beside the soft sound of their breathing and the leaves quietly swaying in the breeze. "I didn't hear anything, maybe you just imagined it."

"I didn’t," there's no hesitation in his voice, but after a moment he looks at Jim, lips pressed together. "Vulcans have a more refined hearing than humans. I'm sure of what I heard."

Jim returns a suspended looks, somehow confused by the sudden shift in attitude, now really wondering if the boy might be making fun of him after all.

And yet he looks so serious... Jim can't help but start to feel slightly uneasy.

"Ok, then..." He bites his lip, not sure about what to say. "Let's go take a look, something might have happened."

The kid, however, doesn't seem to hear him. Instead he jumps on his feet, alert and startled like an animal who's just sensed a predator approaching. "No," he says, eyes still away. "Stop for a moment."

It sounds like an order, so Jim obeys.

The kid takes a deep breathes and then closes his eyes, slowly, as if shifting into some kind of auto-induced trance. He's heard vulcans possess similar abilities, and yet he's never met one before now – he's not even sure half vulcans work the same way.

He stares in silence for what feels like eternity, but eventually the kid comes back, eyes gently opening to uncover an urgent look on his face. He turns, and Jim can immediately says that's something's not right.

"We have to go," the kid's voice, firm and grave, interrupts the silence.

"What? Where?"

"Away from here – now."

He doesn’t give Jim time to ask – to think, to even process what's going on. He just turns and walks away, his legs quickly taking him towards the direction where Jim came – the only way to exit the bushes without remaining trapped in the thick, dense mass of leaves.

"Hey, wait – where are you going?" Jim shouts behind his back, but he follows.

"Shut up, lower your voice," the kid says, not stopping.

"What does this mean –"

The voice gets cut from his lungs before he can reach the kid.

It all happens in an instant: at first it just looks like the wind blowing through the leaves, and the next moment a thick, sharpen blade cuts the air in the space between Jim and the vulcan – just precious centimetres away from his arm trying to reach the other kid. Jim yelps, his heart racing like the beats of a war drum, and he finds himself loosing his balance and falling to the ground, hands in the dirt and eyes locked on the big, frightening alien approaching with a greedy smirk on his face.

He's so scared his body won't move. He's going to die like this, far from home, alone, with a blade planted in his stomach – oh god he doesn't want to die, but the fear is so great and so annihilating that all he can seem to do is feel the tears streaming on his face, boiling hot – and the close his eyes, breath caught in his throat, the last image printed on his mind being the one of the huge alien raising his blade, ready to kill – ready to end him –

But he doesn't die.

There's a growl, made of surprise and hurt, and Jim opens his eyes wide and can't quite believe his eyes. The alien's bent over with a grimace of pain and anger crossing his face, and the kid's right beside him, with heavy breath and eyes that frantically look for Jim's.

"Move!"

He shouts, and Jim sees him run towards himself – worried, scared, just as him.

Jim manages to stand up, helped, legs still trembling but somehow again able to move – he feels a hand tightly clutch his own, and when he raises his head he find big, dark eyes staring at him, anguished, probably seeking security just as he's struggling to do.

They don't have time for words; a growl thunders behind their back, and when they turn, they see the alien standing back up, ready to come at them.

They don't even have to look at each other to know: if they don't start running, they are dead.

And they do, both realizing, with crude terror, they've never truly experienced fear in their life before now.