Hello, everyone!

I know it has been quite a while since I last uploaded a story. I've been having a lot of personal issues, and it severely hindered my ability to write. Encoded will be rewritten, since it's been over a year and I no longer like the story's overall premise! So, fear not, Encoded has not been abandoned!

Now, without further ado, enjoy!

Threaded

Chapter 1:

The estimated chance for a successful planet-to-planet beaming had been a mere 1.3 percent.

Considering the success rate for his own conception had been just as low, if not lower, Spock concluded the universe sometimes ceased to operate on logic, and instead opted for a more whimsical approach. Hence the unconscious humanoid curled up on the transporter pad Spock had constructed to test his theory on interplanetary beaming. For whatever reason, the coordinates Spock had fed into the machine had not been those of a remote location as he believed them to be.

Or, perhaps, the inhabitants of Terra were simply prone to wander where they should not.

Abandoning the PADD Spock had been using to document the transporter's data feed in favor of moving closer to the prone tfi'kien. Golden hair, matted down by sweat along the forehead, caught Spock's eye. It was a shade rarely seen on Vulcan, for it did not provide as much protection against the harsh light of Vulcan's sun and occurred so seldom, it was seen as a sign of divinity in ancient times.

With careful hands, Spock clasped the Terran's shoulders and maneuvered them onto their back. Head lolling, the Terran did not utter even a sound at being moved, their new position revealing a torn jacket and a deep cut just above their left eyebrow. Crimson blood oozed from the wound, clotting into an almost black crust along the tfi'kien's temple. Medical attention was clearly needed, Spock concluded.

The next realization sent an unwanted sensation of numbness rushing into the tips of Spock's fingers. He could not request assistance from a doctor. If the faculty was made aware of Spock's mistake, there was no doubt they would grasp the opportunity presented to remove him from the VSA research program. A devastating outcome, after Spock had worked so hard to be allowed into the academy and worked hard to be at the very top in every single one of his classes to prove himself.

Uncertainty tightened its grip on Spock's mind.

Keeping a tight clamp on the unpleasant emotions threatening to swash from his mind throughout his body, Spock shifted until he was able to lift the Terran off the ground and against his chest. They were much lighter than expected. A last glance was cast upon the transporter pad before Spock carried his burden from the laboratory into the small back office.

Once Spock had settled the unresponsive Terran into the bowl-shaped chair located behind the broad desk, he moved away with a contemplative hum. How was he supposed to bring the Terran out of the VSA without being noticed by whoever else remained within the building? Glancing about the office, Spock's eyes landed on the spare robe he had left on a hook by the door a week ago.

Fifteen minutes later, Spock found himself carrying the still very much unconscious tfi'kien through the vacant hallways of the VSA. To hide the Terran's features, Spock had bundled him into the grey robe and pulled the large hood over the stranger's golden hair. If he was quick enough, Spock would be able to exit the VSA without being questioned. If not, then the robe would at least be enough to hide the stranger's origins. After all, every citizen who did not originate from Vulcan needed to be approved of and registered. The Terran in his arms was neither of those things.

Head held high, Spock marched towards the double doors leading out of the facility. Twelve point six feet away from their salvific vicinity, Spock's name was called out. Schooling his features into the most expressionless of masks, Spock turned to meet the inquiring gaze of one of his former instructors. Tightening his grip on the unconscious Terran, Spock raised an eyebrow, "Elder Voris?"

The elderly Vulcan leaned a bit heavier upon his cane, eyes dark and despite Voris' age, still gleaming with a piercing clarity. "I was informed of your rather unusual behavior by one of the guards in corridor A. Who is it you are carrying, Spock?"

Spock did not hesitate. "My bondmate. He came to see how my work was progressing and fell asleep while doing so. His health has not been the best as of recent. I thus found it logical to carry him to the car, instead of forcing him to walk and cause additional strain upon his immune system."

Spock hoped his assumption regarding the Terran's gender was correct. Otherwise, Spock might have added another problem to his growing list just now.

The Elder did not reply for a breathless 34.2 seconds. Unable to allow even a hint of tension to overtake his facial features, Spock kept his gaze steady and his shoulders squared. If he failed to convince Voris now, all of Spock's hard work would be for naught. Not again could Spock be the reason for his mother's tears and his father's disappointment. Twenty-three years Spock had spent trying to prove his worth. Giving up was not an option now.

"I see," Voris inclined his head. "I was not aware you were bonded, Spock."

"The bonding took place two point three months ago. I requested a leave of three days, if you recall, Elder Voris. I did not think it necessary to state my reasoning why, seeing as whether I am bonded or not is of no impact to my work." The requested leave had taken place, but for another, entirely mundane reason.

"Logical," Elder Voris agreed and lifted his hand in the traditional ta'al. "I wish you and your bondmate a safe travel, Spock. May their health improve soon."

Spock adjusted his grip on the Terran's limp body and dipped his head. "I will see to it, Elder Voris."

As soon as the Elder had turned, Spock continued his journey, eager to leave the VSA and its implied dangers behind. Through the double door Spock stepped into the cold night, the sand unable to store the blazing heat of alam'ak to keep the temperatures within an acceptable range. To avoid meeting another curious VSA attendant, Spock made his way towards his car.

The drive home was overshadowed by an onerous silence. As the minutes ticked by, the sheer magnitude of Spock's actions began to sink in. His machine had malfunctioned, and Spock was certain it was due to a miscalculation by none other than himself. He had lied to one of the most well-known and respected professors employed at the VSA. And, worst of all, an innocent stranger had been pulled into Spock's net of lies to ensure it would not be torn apart and reveal Spock's failure.

It was now, Spock realized he did not think this through in any logical way. How would he explain the situation to the tfi'kien beside him? To his parents? Would Elder Voris contact Spock's father to request confirmation regarding his son's apparent bonding?

Grasping the steering wheel just a midge tighter, Spock gave a firm shake of the head. No. It would not be logical for Voris to do so, for there was no logic in doubting Spock's words in a society where lying was never assumed. Still, Spock's hybrid status had often enough caused his peers and professors to question his mental health, stating the differing attitudes of Terrans and Vulcans towards emotions might be enough to leave his mind in a constant state of self-destructive chaos.

Right now, Spock wondered if, perhaps, some truth had rung alongside their hurtful statements. After all, it had not been the logic Vulcans were known for which spurred Spock's actions back at the VSA. No. Simple, primal fear had guided his hand and made Spock another fine example as to why the people of Vulcan had abandoned the emotional path so many centuries ago.

Where fear ruled, there was no place for rationality.

The car came to a halt just outside the perimeter of Spock's home. It was a small, rounded house, nestled against a jagged boulder. The building's southern wall flowed seamlessly into the steep drop of the adjacent cliff, providing an unobstructed view of the desert stretching out towards the horizon, towards the sea glittering in the distance. Located outside the city limits, the house was meant to be a refuge for Spock. Now, he realized, it proved to be the perfect hiding place for Spock's unexpected guest.

Climbing out of the vehicle, Spock rounded the black car to retrieve the Terran from the passenger seat. Once again, Spock was baffled by how light the stranger was. Had his control been any less than perfect, Spock was certain he would have catapulted the Terran straight through the roof of his car by over-anticipating the amount of strength needed to lift the stranger.

Nudging the car door shut with his elbow, Spock locked the vehicle and proceeded towards the entrance of his home.

The air inside was somewhat stale and for the first time, Spock understood his mother's unwillingness to return to an empty home by herself. There was a strange sense of something left abandoned, cold and close unwelcoming. Shaking off the discomfort, Spock quietly ordered the lights to activate themselves at fifty percent and for the air conditioning to bring the temperature to a comfortable twenty degrees Celsius.

Toeing off his boots, Spock padded down the hallway into the living room to place his guest down onto the couch. With slow and cautious movements, Spock began to pull the grey cloak off the Terran's battered body and tugged the worn boots of his feet. Now, in the soft light, the Terran's injuries seemed just a tad more severe, the golden glow causing the wounds to appear darker and deeper than they were.

Setting aside the cloak, Spock stood to retrieve the dermal regenerator. It would not be enough to heal the cut upon the Terran's head, but the device should be able to remove most of the bruising littering the stranger's skin. Twenty minutes were spent on treating the various wounds and, by the end of it, the Terran was left with nothing but a gauze pad to cover the half-healed head injury and a few band aids where the regenerator had proven too weak a healing device.

Clearing away the mess of bloodied wipes and empty band aid wrappers, Spock contemplated how he would go about explaining the situation to his guest. The Terran would no doubt be shocked, perhaps even scared. After all, only a miniscule percentage of Terra's population was aware of Vulcan's existence, each individual handpicked by those responsible for initiating First Contact.

Spock's mother had been one of these individuals.

As a former aerospace engineer at NASA, Amanda Grayson had created a crude WARP engine and caught the attention of the Vulcan Council. The decision to send Spock's father, Sarek, down to observe Amanda's progress was made a mere week after. Of course, back then, no one had anticipated the outcome of said monitoring to be an interspecies relationship and a child.

A soft, pained groan drew Spock's attention back to the present.

The Terran's face was contorted in obvious discomfort, eyes squeezed shut and mouth drawn into a tight line. Patiently, Spock waited for the Terran to regain his bearings. It took 3.4 minutes before the stranger opened his eyes. A blue so rich and bright, Spock had only ever seen it portrayed in the pictures of the Maldivian beaches his mother had shown him, was revealed.

Intrigued, Spock found himself stepping a bit closer to the sofa. The second Spock moved, the Terran sat up and raised his arms in a defensive gesture, barking out an unintelligible string of words. Startled, Spock froze. Aggression had been the last thing Spock had expected the Terran to react with.

"There is no need for defense," Spock assured. "You are not in danger."

A rough, incredulous laugh fell from the Terran's quivering lips. "Oh, really?"

"Yes."

Ever so slowly, the Terran lowered his arms, meeting Spock's gaze with a distrustful glare of his own. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"My name is S'chn T'Gai Spock and you are in my home." Spock settled down in the basket chair close by, hoping his diminished height would ease the Terran further. "You are-"

"Sh…T… what? What kind of name is that?" the Terran blurted. "Are you trying to be funny? Is that why you're wearing elf ears?"

"You may call me by my first name Spock. As for my ears, I do not understand your query, they are perfectly normal for Vulcan standards."

"Vulcan standards? What's that supposed to mean? Are you one of those crazy LARP guys who don't know when to stop?" With a grunt, the Terran swung his legs off the couch, socked feet landing on the plush rug.

"I do not understand." Spock felt a small headache form right between his eyebrows. "If you would cease your illogical questions for a moment, I would be able to explain the situation and you will no longer feel the need to question my appearance."

The stranger scoffed. "Fine. Go ahead, then."

"Very well. I was working on a project in regards to planet-to-planet beaming, but miscalculated. My mistake lead to your person being plucked from the location I deemed empty and transported onto the experimental beaming pad located in laboratory 3 at the Vulcan Science Academy. I decided to take you to my home and treat your wounds, seeing as alerting a doctor would have… lead to unpleasant consequences for us both."

For a moment, the Terran did not seem to even breathe. Then, "What the fuck?"

Taken aback, Spock watched as the Terran began to laugh. The sound was jarring and loud, so alien within a home where silence reigned most days. Spock did not think his mother had ever laughed like this in his presence. Laughter was not a sound often heard upon Vulcan, with most instances being uttered by an untrained child or someone not native to the planet.

"Why are you laughing?" Spock inquired.

"Why am I-? Because you're hilarious! Are you trying to tell me we're on another planet right now?"

"Indeed. In addition, you have yet to tell me your name," Spock replied, confused when more laughter pearled from the Terran's open mouth.

"Jim," the Terran gasped. "Name's Jim. You're fucking hilarious, man. You had me going there for a second, what with the ears and the weird interior design. I'm impressed. Anyway, thanks for patching me up, not a fan of hospitals, to be honest, so I guess I can forgive the weird ass kidnapping. Are we still in Riverside? I ought to get home."

Had he underestimated Jim's head injury? Had Sarek struggled just the same when Spock's father revealed his identity to Amanda? Spock felt the sudden, illogical desire to tear his own hair out. "Jim, I do not think you understand. You are no longer on Terra. Why would I lie to you? I do not know you and have nothing to gain from deceiving you."

Jim's laughter ceased, a pensive expression overtaking his features. "Look, Spock, I… appreciate your dedication and you sound very convincing. But… there's absolutely no way we're on another planet right now. That's just… not a thing. So, unless you can prove to me you're a little green alien guy by showing me a third eye or a set of overly sexual tentacles, I think it's safe to say, you're just a very good actor, or I'm talking to a concussion induced hallucination. Actually, that last part seems pretty likely right about now."

"I can assure you, I am not a hallucination," Spock muttered. "However, I do have green blood. Would a demonstration of said fact convince you to believe my word?"

"Green blood? A demonstration? What do you- oh fuck! Did you just bite through your bottom lip? What the fuck is wrong with- holy shit your blood is green!"

"As I have said." Spock pressed the sleeve of his cardigan against the swelling flesh, stemming the blood flow he had caused. Were Terrans always so fond of using excessive amounts of profanity? "Though, I must agree, this was not my most thought-out plan."

Jim snorted. "I'll say. You going to be okay? That looks really painful."

"It is of no consequence, I am in possession of a dermal regenerator," Spock assured, leaning forward to retrieve the small, handheld device from the wooden table it was resting on. "Do you believe me now?"

"I guess? This being a hallucination still sounds more plausible to me, though." Jim shrugged.

Spock gave an inaudible sigh and activated the regenerator. In an instant, the throbbing wound was soothed and the torn flesh knit itself together over the course of several seconds. Left behind was a patch of new, raw skin, still tender to the touch. Upon setting down the dermal regenerator, Spock noted the baffled expression which had overtaken Jim's face. "Are you alright, Jim?"

"Ah… yeah? I mean, apart from the fact that I just watched you wave a magic wand over your face to heal a split lip, I'm totally fine!" Jim declared before slumping back against the thick pillows stacked against the armrest of the couch. "This is insane. I'm dreaming. In two hours, I'm going to wake up in my bed and this'll all have been a really weird, crazy nightmare."

"Jim, I assure you, you are not having a nightmare. I am very much a real person, just as you are." Spock could not believe Jim was still holding onto denial.

Was this large an amount of self-delusion considered healthy among the Earthen population? Perhaps it was a kind of protection mechanism of their brain to avoid excessive damage due to an overload of information, or traumatic experiences. Being beamed upon a strange planet could be considered traumatic, Spock concluded. Unknown environments were, after all, a proven stress factor for many species. Even Vulcans were prone to suffer from diminished control when placed in unfamiliar scenery.

Maybe, tomorrow, after a night of rest, Jim would be a little easier to reason with.

"Whatever you say, Mr Alien Spock," Jim slurred, the odd tone of his voice a cause of mild alarm. "Gonna sleep now. Night night."

Spock blinked, watching as, from one second to the next, Jim seemed to nod off, the air soon filling with soft, barely audible snores. "…Goodnight, Jim."

Estimation of next update: July 25th