Chapter Six:

Love At First Punch.

James T. Kirk's P.O.V

James Tiberius Kirk stood on the grand steps of Starfleet Academy, tugging on the hem of his duty uniform shirt for, what felt like, the hundredth time. To say he was less than pleased to be up at the crack of dawn, standing next to an equally disgruntled and put out Leonard McCoy, shuffling on the spot like a twitchy fourth grader caught ditching school again, would be an understatement. Of course, none of this was his fault…

Not entirely.

It wasn't Jim who had designed the Kobayashimaru test. It wasn't James, who with every chance they had, marked him down every single point they could on essays, exams and practicals. It wasn't James T. Kirk who stood in front of the interactive projection in the lecture auditorium each god-damned morning with that pretentious, holier-than-thou attitude. Nope. That was his applied Science professor, Spock.

That pointy-eared bastard.

This, all this, was his fault.

Jim didn't know how the Vulcan had done it, why he had done it, or when he had done it, but Professor Spock had somehow messed with the Kobayashimaru test, rigged it to fail him, and after Jim's third attempt at the exam, he was coming close to losing his temper. Furthermore, Jim was sure that green blooded dandy found some perverse satisfaction in his continual failure. No matter what Jim did, who he stationed where, the ship's core breached, and in so, Jim notched another failure to his belt.

Contrariwise to popular belief, Jim wasn't used to failing. His scores were near perfect, his attendance stellar, and every physical, practical and applied test and exam, excluding the damned Kobayashimaru, Jim had aced beyond any expectation. He worked hard for his grades, studied, had sleepless nights like many cadets, and he earned his place as one of the top Starfleet students in final year.

Professor Spock, however, continually disagreed.

He marked him down on the slightest mistakes, a missed apostrophe, a wonky label on a specimen, a crinkled blue-print of an engine. Anything and everything, Professor Spock spotted, homed in on and berated in that cold, logical voice of his. Additionally, the Kobayashimaru test, ran and created by Professor Spock, was the only practical exam Jim had ever failed. It couldn't be coincidence. It just couldn't be.

That hobgoblin…

So, how could Jim come to any other conclusion but that Professor Spock, whatever his reason being, was trying to get him held back a year? Excluded from the Academy? To Jim, it made perfect sense. Since his first year, when he walked into the lecture for basic warp core theory, when Jim had perhaps… maybe, called who he had originally believed to be a classmate, but who later turned out to be the Professor of all things, a lanky elf when he wouldn't move out of his way so Jim could sit, Spock had it out for him. Even when, in second year, Jim had discovered what Starfleet track he had wanted to take, and began to focus his classes on the Command sector, it seemed even here, a whole year later, Spock could still bloody reach him.

Now, of course, the question begged would be how did any of that, Jim's failing, lead him here this sunny morning, mumbling under his breath? Simple.

Captain Pike.

Obviously, the man had not ordered Jim here and told him it was because of his third failure of the Kobayashimaru test, but Jim could put two and two together. He wasn't an idiot, yet again, against popular belief.

Captain Pike saw something, god knows what, in Jim that the older, wiser man was grooming for the big chair. For that faith, the continued advice and guidance, Jim tried to walk the winding path without stumbling. This Kobayashimaru fiasco wasn't just a stumble, it was a huge nosedive off a thirty-foot building.

Even worse, Jim couldn't let it go. At least he was honest enough to admit it was because of his pride, and perhaps a dash of resentment, of hope at seeing that elf's face crumble when, and Jim really did mean when, he beat Spock's 'unbeatable' exam.

It was just last afternoon Jim had signed up for his fourth attempt, against Captain Pike's advise of leaving it until next year, when Jim had more solid grounding in practical command. As if he was omniscient, low and behold, that very night, Captain Pike had called Jim to his office and told him of his little duties on the morrow.

Spock must have seen the application list and gone squalling to Pike.

James T. Kirk was to play babysitter to a baby Vulcan student who would soon be joining Starfleet Academy. Just when he was having trouble enough with one of them, along came another…

Reasonably, Jim thought, he had abundant explanations to shirk this responsibility off to another, more fit, student. From what Captain Pike had told Jim, this student would be fast-tracked into the Navigation and Piloting path of the Academy, with an emphasis on tactical applications.

Jim was a Command student, his own career path leading him to the Captain's chair, not the piloting station. For one; what could Jim tell this student of how their life at the Academy would go when they were completely separate? How could he show them the lecturers, classes and buildings they would frequent, when none were, or had been, major points in his own timetable?

Two; the student was younger, seventeen, eighteen perhaps, and surely a first year could give them the runabout and lowdown. Three, and perhaps most importantly, the student was Vulcan.

A Vulcan!

Now, don't get Jim wrong. He wasn't Xenophobic. He had nothing against Vulcans in general. They kept to themselves, they got on with it, and really, Jim hadn't been exposed to many in his life, and he had never thought to rectify that little fact.

Especially after his acquaintance with Professor Spock. They often flooded the Science divisions, they didn't party, from what he knew, and they preferred silence and solitude. They even huddled into their own clusters in the mess hall, sequestered around the vegetarian replicator.

Too much science gave Jim a headache, bars were his favourite places, he had to have hot dogs at least once a week, and no one, ever, in his life had ever even remotely called him anything close to quiet. Even on earth, it seemed, Jim and Vulcans had walked different worlds.

Never for the two to meet…

Until today.

Despite Jim's rather reasoned arguments against being the student to play minder to this Vulcan, he had three exams to prep for in the upcoming fortnight after all, it had all fallen on deaf ears. Captain Pike had been adamant. Jim would wake up early, Jim would put on his uniform and Jim would be as nice, polite and amicable to this new student or else. Not liking this 'or else' ambiguity, Jim had folded and here he stood, once again, cursing Professor Spock and his test.

The only ray of sunshine in this mess, to Jim, was the man standing next to him. Leonard McCoy, or as Jim liked to call him, Bones. Captain Pike had been equally stubborn on the matter that a doctor be present for this Vulcan student's orientation, something or other about an injury, Jim had lost attention on the conversation when he realised he wasn't talking his way out of this one, and after Jim had said he had a good friend in medical, already licensed and practicing, the rest had wrote itself.

If Jim had to suffer, so would Bones.

"Cadet Kirk, Cadet McCoy."

Hearing his name, Jim straightened, painted on the best damned smile anybody could ask out of someone dragged out of bed at sunrise, clasped his hands behind his back and promptly turned to face Captain Pike. His smile immediately faltered. Oh, Captain Pike looked as Jim had expected, decked out in his Captain's pressed uniform, Starfleet badge polished and shiny on his chest, hair smoothly combed. The girl at his side, however, was something… Else.

And it had nothing to do with the hover chair she was currently sitting in.

Jim had seen his fair share of Vulcans, even if he had not interacted with them. Male and female. They were a tall people, lithe, cold looking, like moons of a far-off planet, distant but bright in their presence. Soft.

Their hair was straight, in the usual traditional Vulcan style of a severe fringe over slanted brows, and their features were harsh, carven, void of emotion as if they were continually wearing masks of sculpted marble. Yes. Jim knew what Vulcans looked like as well as anybody.

So, it was no wonder, really, why this one shocked him so much.

Oh, she had all the Vulcan trademarks, the sweep of thick brows going unnaturally high. The points of ears curving up and out. The nimble and limber figure. Yet, there was something utterly not Vulcan about her that almost horrendously clashed with the obvious visible signs that she was, in fact, of the green blood variety.

The smile could have been it. It was a large thing, full of teeth, dimples and laughter and, by Zefram Cochrane himself, Jim had never seen a Vulcan smile before, and, idly, he wondered why they didn't if they could smile as defiantly lovely as this one.

It could have also been her eyes, hewn from a green even Jade or grass bathed in sunset couldn't quite match, large and bright, so very bright, that seemingly looked to take in everything around her with an almost wild thirst.

She was also small, barely topping five-foot-four if upright Jim would guess, sitting next to Captain Pike, a large man with a larger presence, she almost looked like a fairy, those playful creatures from old Earth tales, off to cause mischief.

And her hair… It was a beast all on its own. Gone was the sleek waterfall Jim had been expecting, replaced with curls and coils springing every which way, an explosion of ebony hardly contained into a top bun.

And, of course, the thing that had knocked him off balance could be the very human clothes she was wearing. White T-shirt, Jeans, boots, topped with a leather jacket, and, apart from the very Vulcan looking leg braces strapped over jeans, Sehlat gloves and a bronze necklace with the emblem of some sort of Vulcan symbol, she looked so very much at home on Earth.

"This is T'Harauk. I hope you have a full day planned?"

Jim, obviously, startled. When he spoke, with a wince, he noticed his voice had gone, perhaps, an octave too high.

"All scheduled, sir."

Grimacing still, Jim ignored the pointed look shot at him by a bemused Bones and coughed into a tight fist, hoping beyond all hope the momentary lapse in his vocal cords could be played off as a congested chest.

He had the horribly feeling no one had bought it.

"Good, I'll leave it to you. If you need anything T'Harauk, anything at all, do not hesitate to Comm through or ask me when I see you at the end of the day."

T'Harauk nodded politely, all smiles and dimples, as she watched Captain Pike nod to the two cadets before swiftly leaving up the grand stairs to, Jim knew, his own office.

And she watched.

And she watched.

And she watched.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, when, surely, Captain Pike was already halfway to his office and Kirk was floundering for something, anything, to say, did she turn to face her new companions. Leaning towards them, she whispered.

"Is he gone?"

Her voice was husky, like smoke glided on velvet, and all Jim could do, witty-clever-chatty-Jim, Jim who could, normally, talk his way out of anything, was blink owlishly. Oddly, the Vulcan had a clean, bright English accent. Bones, thankfully, was still in control of all his senses as he cocked a brow at the Vulcan.

"Uh, yes?"

The smile turned keen and slick. Without prelude, before Bones could ask her what the hell she was doing, T'Harauk was fiddling with the belt of her exo-skeletal braces, the light on the corner flashing blue as it turned on. When the light stabilized, she…

Well, she heaved herself right out of the chair.

Jim could only stumble back a step as she unceremoniously rolled the hover chair straight into the bushes lining the stairs columns.

"Remember where I parked that."

Bones spluttered.

"Excuse me?"

Nonetheless, she was already gone, ambling across the courtyard, the wrong way, zeroing in on an information and map tower that wasn't too far away from the Starfleet Academy entrance.

Jim Blinked.

Blinked some more.

Blinked for good luck.

And gave chase.

By the time he, and subsequently Bones, caught up with this walking, talking pile of pretty paradoxes, she was already navigating the holographic map, gloved hands pinching and sweeping, searching.

"How else am I going to get my father to believe I've stayed in that bloody thing all day if I lose it in a bush? And, no offense, all these fuckin' plants look the same. When did Earth become so… Monotonous? Therefore, you remember where I parked it, I'll get it back at the end of the day, and everyone will look like saints with no one the wiser. How about that for some logic?"

Jim, still lacking all elegance it seemed, and a bit distracted by the sudden realisation he was right, she was tiny, barely reaching his chin in a puff of black curl, he may have came off a bit too irritated and exasperated, rather than the honestly curious edge he was aiming for.

Who could blame him?

Even the almighty Spock, with all his cool crisp logic, Jim thought, would be confounded by this Vulcan before Jim.

"Don't you need it?"

She… She actually scoffed at him.

"Not if I'm not walking all day."

T'Harauk glanced to him from over her shoulder, nose crinkling just so, confused, as if, surely, he was the one being obtuse and bewildering and, quite clearly, not quite getting the obvious.

"We're… I'm meant to be showing you around, giving you a tour, answering your questions. There's going to be walking-"

"You can do that. However, I'm after a good ol' pint of beer… Bingo. Tell you what, you go about your day, have a little rest or… Whatever it is humans do now for fun, I'll just nip to the pub, and we'll all meet back here at the end of the day to go greet Captain Pike and tell him what a wonderful, informative time I've had with you two showing me around. Three o'clock sound good to you?"

There it was, a little building just on the outskirts of the Academy campus, a hole-in-the-wall watering hole that many cadets visited. Jim included, when he had the rare free time that was, lately, becoming scarcer. She tapped it once, the directions popped up in a bubble of text, and off she went.

Jim did the only thing he could think of.

He stumbled after the whirlwind arguing.

"I'm meant to be giving you an orientation. If Captain Pike finds out I let you wander off on your own-"

Once again, she cut him off, even going as far as giving friendly pat on the back of his shoulder with her gloved hand. There was a moment there, after the action, where she looked to her own hand as if, oddly, it had betrayed her, before she shook it off and marched on.

"And I'll tell him you were simply fantastic. The best tour guide this side of the galaxy. However, I'm going to the pub."

No.

Absolutely not.

Jim could not fail this too. Failing the Kobayashimaru was enough, but what would Captain Pike think if he went back empty handed, unable to even command a would be first year student? He was supposed to be training to become Captain one day. A Captain who could have eighty men or more under his care. How could that be if he couldn't even get a tiny Vulcan into the building quickly shrinking behind them?

A tiny Vulcan with fucking leg braces!

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around delicate bicep. He realized his mistake immediately as the girl came to a staggering halt, arm tensing, muscle flexing underneath his fingertips. She may be small and thin, but she was strong.

Steel swathed in silk.

And yet…

Jim held on. Kept her there. Trapped. Why? Because, quite evidently, Jim didn't know when to give in.

"I'm giving you a tour."

Apparently, neither did T'Harauk as she looked up to him, eyes suddenly cold and clear and cutting. Jim tried not to flinch.

"If I were you, I'd let me go right now."

He didn't let go right now, and before he could blink, the bicep was yanking away, tugging him closer in the movement and he was-

Spinning.

Crooked.

A small hand grabbed his wrist, twisted, bent the arm up his back. The tendon in his elbow and shoulder tugged tight, stinging, aching at the unnatural angle, and he was spluttering.

"If you bend his arm just a little bit more to the right, you'll break it in three places."

Bone's sounded like he was trying, and failing, at holding in a laugh. Jim darted a glance his way, off to the side as he watched the pair with, for once, a smile on his normally grumpy face. Of course Bones was having the time of his life while some tiny Vulcan assaulted him…

Jim tried to wiggle left, squirm right, perhaps slip underneath to untangle his arm, but each movement caused his arm to lock and pull. Languidly, a little part of him was impressed, and an even smaller part wanted to ask T'Harauk if, possibly, she could teach him the hold.

The rowdier voice in his head was damning this odd, strange day straight to hell.

The Vulcans he knew along with it.

"Bones! Okay, okay, okay! We'll go to the bar! But you're not going alone. I will not lie to Captain Pike for some stranger and a jug of beer. That's the deal! Take it or leave it."

The hold held tight for a heartbeat as, undoubtedly, the tiny Vulcan was thinking over his proposal. Finally, for the love of Christopher Pike, the small hand let go.

Jim stumbled away, rolling his shoulder, as he turned to glare at T'Harauk.

She glared right back before, anew, she smiled.

Hot.

Blinding.

All voice and reason and rhyme abandoned Jim all over again.

"Perfect. Come on then, what are you waiting for? Let's go. Oh, you might want to shut your mouth. Merlin knows what you'll catch with it flopping about like that. Is he always like this?"

Jim's jaw snapped shut.

Bone's chucked and began to walk alongside T'Harauk.

"You've actually caught him on a good day. He normally drools too, and has trouble forming words larger than two syllables."

"Bones!"

"See? Just one."

T'Harauk's P.O.V

The first real important thing to know was Harry, in all her wisdom, had not planned for it to turn out like this. You see, she was going to be a good daughter. She was going to go along with this orientation, step for step, word for word, all pretty smiles and quaint nods and be the perfect possible student, if only to tell and show her mother, who had done so much for her, that she had, honestly, tried.

But then she had a thought sitting in the back of her father's hover car.

A thought that, evidently, lead to another thought, as they often did.

And nothing ever good came when Harry plotted.

You see, Harry knew two things from her time at Hogwarts. Two universal truths that transferred between muggle and wizard, human and alien. One; around every school of an appropriate age group, there would be a pub of some kind. Students, in all colours, species and sexes, loved a good drink. It took the edge of the constant cramming. Two; the best way to get a human talking, and Harry knew this one personally, was to ply them with as much alcohol as you possibly could without killing them.

The rest simply fell into place.

She could do all she was initially planning on doing. She could play at being a good student, explore the Academy, listen in on lectures and timetables she was likely not going to understand, or she could leave all that to if she joined the Academy, wing it like she had winged Hogwarts, for she had not needed a tour for that and had, in some opinions, done just fucking fine thank you, and do something productive.

Productive like swindling information out of drunk humans about the data locked files regarding Hermione and these Augments.

It all made perfect sense, really.

Starfleet Academy was the founding institution for Starfleet. If there was anywhere she was going to discover what a level nine security code was, where to get one, apart from trying to hack a bloody admiral, it would be right here. And would you just look at that, there was a pub right around the corner…

Evidently, there had been a… Temporary hiccup in her plan. Harry had thought to ditch the people, this James Tiberius Kirk, as soon as she arrived and it was safe to do so. She highly doubted whoever had been chosen to give her orientation, who had been picked out of a sea of cadets, likely on their high merit and achievements, because of course Starfleet would only choose the best to show a new potential student to try and hook her in, would, no matter the beer she poured down his throat, give away much information.

Useful information, at any rate.

Plus, it would have been easier to find an already intoxicated student to haggle. However, she couldn't have told him no, piss off, without seeming like she was hiding, or more aptly, up to something.

Even if that was true.

Merlin, the plan had started out simple enough. Get 'em drunk enough, wiggle in a question about this Eugenics war, maybe lead into the ranks of Starfleet, act interested in admirals, question how one became one exactly, perhaps end with a honest question about security files, and, bobs your uncle, Harry had lift off.

Yet, plans don't, when Harry was involved, go according to plan.

She should have known that by now.

Instead, she was sitting at a wonky table in a very noisy bar, filled with… With… Well, she didn't know half these species milling about the place, with the one called Bones refusing to drink because he had 'clinic' in the afternoon, and-

Of course, of bloody course, the one student Harry gets tagged onto her is the one fucking student who, on all of earth, appeared to be able to hold his liquor as well as she could. Seventeen beers, two shots of something called Trill Vodka, and a bomb of Andorian ale, she rather enjoyed that last one, and he wasn't even fucking tipsy!

Worst of all, she found herself getting distracted from the very important mission she had placed herself on. She liked this Bones man. He was dry, sardonic, pessimistic to a fault, but quite refreshingly hilarious.

A bit like if Snape had a sense of humour.

He pulled her in with sharp anecdotes of patients, ostensibly he was a Doctor, and always had a quip for just the right moment. And this Kirk? He was a little-

Okay, very, charming. So much so it nearly made her sick, like eating a packet of sugar quills in one sitting. He had a… Air about him. Sunshine and summer draped in skin. He smiled a lot, and it was nothing like the smiles Harry was used to. Smiles of pity, smiles of ridicule, those nasty smirks of contempt. There was no ulterior motive to Kirk's smiles. They were just as they were.

Boundless.

Unrestrained.

Limitless.

He smiled with everything he had, everything he was, and it showed.

It was… Real.

As real as they way he unconsciously ran his hand through his short blonde hair when Bones said something he found embarrassing. As real his excitement when he slapped the table with his palm when an idea came flashing across his mind, and he talked a mile-a-minute to get it out before it floated away. As real as his laugh, which was too loud, went on for too long, and was, more often than not, too great for the moment.

For the first time since she had found herself in this time, Harry thought she had found something imperfectly real.

Because it was not flawless. Because he was arrogant, she thought, with the way he spoke about his grades and how he never said if I become a Captain but when. Because underneath that carefully constructed care-free attitude he diligently wore, Harry thought she peeked a deep need for control at all times. Because his grin was lopsided, and his laugh too loud, and because-

He seemed the most real thing Harry had come across.

Spock, her mother, her father…

They seemed too good to be true, in a way. Something she would have dreamt up back in her cupboard. Hazy perfection that fed the hunger that little orphan had. Something that would horrendously fade away if she were to reach out and touch it, and she couldn't stand the thought of waking up back in that pod, alone, and-

James Tiberius Kirk was real.

Everything here was… Real.

Spock.

Mother.

Father.

Bones.

This pub full of aliens.

It was all… Real.

Harry had a family. Harry had a chance at a second life. A good life. A life filled with love, and hope, and joy and-

A real life.

She had not known, deep, deep down, buried away, she still thought, right up until this moment where she met this summer sky'd eyed man, that she had been dreaming. Nothing had been really real. A little voice in the back of her mind telling her she had conjured all this up because that was the only way she, little orphan Harry, would ever get what she really wanted.

No one could love her but those she imagined.

But it was real, as real as the man in front of her, and suddenly, she wondered what in Morgana's name she was doing. Here she was, wasting a day she could have used to feel out Starfleet Academy, to what?

Play spy?

What a flimsy excuse.

Of course she needed to find out about those records, but she didn't need to self-sabotage, because, let's face it, this is what this was. Deep down, she felt…

She felt as if she deserved none of this. No family. No good future. No further education. And so, as she was susceptible to do, Harry did the one thing she was good at.

Ruining everything for herself in a desperate bid to prove herself right.

That she didn't deserve it.

Harry… Harry was her own self fulfilling prophecy and that… That bloody hurt.

Dammit, if Hermione was here herself, right here right now, seeing Harry throw a day away at a prestigious school to go sniffing for clues in a dingy bar, clues she knew she wasn't going to find here, she would have slapped Harry up the back of the head.

Harry would deserve it-

T'Harauk.

Her name was T'Harauk.

Her name was T'Harauk, she was a Vulcan, she was in the future, and she was going to do what she should have done when she first awoke in that stasis-pod.

Move on.

Never forget. No. She couldn't, never in a million years, but moving on was not about forgetting. It was accepting what had been, and through it, growing. She could accept what was here, right in front of her. She could look for the records, wonder about Hermione, her friends, search for the truth of what happened, but still live in the moment and not be sucked in and devoured by the past she could not change.

What had been, had been.

Hermione, Ron, Neville, Luna… They were all gone.

They were gone, she was here, and she couldn't keep letting her survivors guilt consume her until there was nothing left of her but a great ball of knotted regret.

Self-hatred was something Harry had excelled in.

T'Harauk would not be the same.

T'Harauk would be somebody who tried, who would perhaps end up in Starfleet, perhaps be a damned good pilot, make friends, like the men in front of her, who would explore her heritage, see what it means to be a Vulcan, who would figure out who she was outside war and death and loss.

The girl who used to be Harry would die, but T'Harauk would live and that…

That sounded pretty damn nice.

Downing the last dregs of her final beer, T'Harauk placed her glass down and cut across Bones who was, currently, gossiping about a patient who kept getting oddly shaped fruit trapped somewhere fruit should never be trapped.

"I think I want my tour now, if you don't mind. And Kirk…"

His own glass paused halfway to his mouth, one brow gracefully cocking in question as she faced him.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He seemed puzzled and T'Harauk didn't blame him. She just wanted him to know, even if he didn't understand, on some level or shape or form, she was thankful. Without him, and his delightful lopsided smiles, she didn't think she would ever have come to this. He took a swig and lowered his own glass as he and Bones came to a stand.

"Well, if we're going on the tour, I wouldn't be thankful just yet. Knowing my luck, we'll run into the hobgoblin as soon as we step foot on campus. He's always skulking in corners."

T'Harauk frowned.

"The hobgoblin?"

…And everything went south.

Bones scoffed.

"Professor Spock. Jim has him for applied science. The elf has it out for him."

Something hot sparked in her chest. Hot and heavy and blazing.

"You know Professor Spock?"

Jim grinned at her and T'Harauk hated it.

"Know him? Everyone knows him, and everyone's the worse for it. If you do join Starfleet, pray you don't have the misfortune of having his class. He's a pretentious, self-righteous gremlin who-"

T'Harauk heard it, as she had heard it a thousand times before. Elf. Hobgoblin. Gremlin. Green-blooded freak. Fairy. She heard Jim's voice in Dudley. In Vernon. In Petunia and Umbridge and Voldemort and-

Anew, she was thankful to Jim.

Harry had been protective of those she loved.

Now she knew, whatever her name, wherever she was, whenever she was, T'Harauk was no different.

She stood from her chair.

"I'm going to hit you."

"Wha-"

T'Harauk's fist swung, clocked Jim square on the jaw, as Bones lurched back to miss being caught in the crossfire. Jim flailed backwards, stumbled into, what Bones had called, a nausicaan, who spilled a pitcher of blue drink across a group of Andorians walking by him and-

Well, hell broke loose.

James T. Kirk's P.O.V

Slumped in Captain Pike's office, with Professor Spock standing vigil at his side, nursing a quickly swelling and bruising jaw, after being wrangled in from, perhaps, the worst bar brawl to have broken out near campus in the last half a century by a group of tactical officers who had been, unfortunately, on break from duty in the very same bar he was in, was not exactly how Jim had planned on ending his day.

And it had all been going so well…

They had been getting along. More so than Jim had first thought they could have that morning. Laughing. Joking. Drinking. For a Vulcan, T'Harauk had a sharp sense of humour, wry and sneaky, jibes slipping past notice if you didn't pay attention to her word choice enough. She laughed a lot. Husky. Pleasingly high like the jingling of bells through fog.

And her smile-

Then she went and lost her mind and decked him.

"It was my fault. I threw the first punch."

T'Harauk said from his side, opposite Captain Pike and the Vulcan who had caused all this, because if he couldn't somehow blame Spock, who was he to blame?

Himself?

Unlikely.

"I very much doubt my sister would resort to physical violence without the right provocation on… Someone's part."

Spock piped up for the first time since the trio had been ushered into Pike's office to face the consequences of their actions, or so the tactical officer reasoned for dobbing them in. Finally, his gaze left T'Harauk to fall on Jim. For a long while, it didn't make sense.

Sister?

Spock had a sister?

Furthermore, that very pointed glance to him on 'someone', showed that he believed Jim was going around winding up Vulcans left right and centre and-

He glanced to the girl beside him.

The sharp brows.

The inky hair.

The keen and clean features…

Oh.

Oh.

Well, in her shoes, Jim would have hit himself too.

What a mess…

"Be that as it may, violence, especially so needless, is not and will never be tolerated in Starfleet. I would urge you, T'Harauk, to remember that. In the meantime, I would head home. Your offer is under reconsideration."

Pike stated calmly. From the corner of Jim's eye, he saw her fist ball at her hip, a twitch in her jaw… So open for a Vulcan, before she nodded, expecting nothing less.

"Captain, may I have the rest of the afternoon off to see T'Harauk home? My lecture's are finished for the day."

Pike nodded at Spock's question.

"Granted. Cadet McCoy, I have informed your own medical superior of your… Part in this, and they wish to speak to you immediately. Dismissed Cadet."

The Professor marched around the desk, strolling to T'Harauk, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder as he led her out of the room. She stalled by the door.

"It really was my fault. I'm sorry."

She didn't wait for an answer before she and Spock left in the whoosh of the automatic door. Bones leaving not far behind the pair.

And then there was two.

"Sir, it was me who-"

"Do you know why I assigned you to this today, cadet?"

Cadet. Not Kirk, or James, or Jim. Cadet. That stung. Jim shook his head.

"This wasn't a punishment, unlike what you obviously thought it was. It was an honour. I wanted the best student, top of their class, to show an obviously injured person, one who is unfamiliar with this world, one who has been through things you cannot imagine, what it would be like in Starfleet. To make a home here. To be safe here. I thought that was you Jim. Was I really so wrong to put that faith in you?"

His shoulder's sagged. Perhaps he deserved this dressing down, perhaps it had been coming a long while, but… T'Harauk didn't. Not because Jim had run his mouth and she, rightfully, had got offended.

He may be sinking, but he didn't need to drag anyone else with him.

"You shouldn't kick her out before she even get's a chance to join, sir. She's.. T'Harauk is smart. Quick. Intelligent. She would do well in Starfleet."

Pike cocked a brow at him.

"That almost sounds like a compliment."

Jim scoffed.

"She's also bewilderingly confusing, argumentative on even the littlest detail, contradictory to the point of paradoxical levels and stupidly reckless. I mean, she gave me a heads up that she was going to hit me before her fist was flying. Who does that? Is it a Vulcan thing? And how did she manage to roll over those Nausicaans to-"

Jim shook his head to gather his thoughts.

"What I mean to say is, well, if someone as equally stupid, reckless and unpredictable as me can make some sort of home here, in Starfleet, she can too. To deny her the chance would be a great disservice to Starfleet, I think. She can go far here."

Pike finally relaxed in his chair, sitting back, and-

Smiled.

"Oh, I'm not really thinking of reviewing her offer. I've already arranged for Mr. Sulu to visit her home and begin tutoring her tomorrow afternoon."

"But you told her that her offer was-"

"Yes, to get her to realize that fighting, of any kind, between cadets will not be tolerated in his institution."

Silence drifted between them as easy as a spring breeze.

"You bluffed."

The legs on Pike's chair squeaked on the polished floor as he pushed his chair back, coming around the table to stroll to Jim.

"You're damn right I did. T'Harauk is talented, Jim. The highest ranking outside applicant in the last century. When it comes to flying, I have never seen someone with such raw aptitude before. You don't let people like that just walk away. However…"

Pausing before him, Pike braced a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

"You do teach them. Like I am trying to teach you that one failed exam will not make anyone think any less of you. You belong here, despite what you think of yourself, just like T'Harauk does. One exam will not change my mind on that. There is more to being a Captain than perfect scores and a clean record. So much more."

Was he really so transparent?

James had always danced with the ghost of his father. There was no denying that. Struggled and laboured to reach him. George Samual Kirk had left Starfleet Academy with not a single blip on his transcript. Flawless and golden. Everyone had believed in his father. Everyone had thought he would be going places. George, they said, would be the best of the best.

The best of the best who had died long before his time.

And perhaps this Kobayashimaru test had struck a deeper nerve than James had thought. His father had died in a no-win situation. Gone down, like many before him, and many after him, in a blaze of glory with his ship.

If Jim figured out a way to beat the Kobayashimaru, perhaps he could find the reason why his father was not there with him. Perhaps he could understand it better. Discover the truth of why he grew up without him there and, maybe, just maybe, not make the same mistake.

George's death wouldn't seem so hopelessly tragic if there was a reason, a simple mistake, just a slip of a button, the wrong placing of an officer, that had caused it.

Yet, sometimes death was just that, death. Sometimes, it just happened, like a tiny Vulcan punching you in the face. Sometimes, there was no reason to avoid or blame. Sometimes, there was to be no understanding. Sometimes, all it was was ruin and pain and loss and sorrow.

Sometimes, if you were lucky, that would, in time, be okay.

Maybe it was time Jim was his own man, and not seeking to be the shadow of his father. Maybe, just this once, it was acceptable to fail. Maybe he should take his name off the next Kobayashimaru test application.

However, as his own man, the first order of business was to get out while he still could.

"Well, now that this is all sorted and swept under the rug, I'll just-"

Jim went to turn around, leave, but the hand on his shoulder tightened.

"Oh, no you don't. T'Harauk has the excuse of being new, off world, in a strange environment, and displaced. You have none of these excuses. This is the behaviour I expect out of new cadets, Kirk, not third years. Tomorrow, you will visit T'Harauk's home, give a sincere apology and offer to tutor her in any subjects she may find confusing."

Jim flustered.

"But I have an exam in Xenolanguistics coming up and Bones-"

The deadpanned look Pike shot him was enough to still his tongue. To be fair, he was getting off lightly. He may not have thrown the first punch, but he was the first to pick up a bottle and smash it over-

Well, T'Harauk had tried to take the brunt of Pike's anger, and even after being told her offer might be taken away, she hadn't backed down and started pointing fingers. God knew Jim could have been in serious trouble if she told of how he spoke about a serving, senior officer…

At least he wouldn't be on cleaning duty, like Bones possibly was.

"I'll be there at 8 am sharp, sir."

Pike's hand fell from his shoulder as he gestured to his office door, dismissing Jim.

"Good."

Jim went to leave, but as the door began to open, Pike got one last poke in.

"And Kirk?"

"Yes?"

"You're on cleaning duty for the lab disposal units on floor twelve for the next week."

Spoke too soon.

Jim groaned as he left.

Dammit.

He needed another drink.

T'Harauk's P.O.V

T'Harauk sat in the cool open air of San Francisco, on her parents balcony, resting in her hover chair. Her legs and spine were truly hurting, knotted and sore and throbbing, bent and broken as they were. She'd spent too long on her feet, too long out of her chair too soon, and that pub fight had not helped.

The cityscape was pretty from up here, in their new apartment for the Vulcan embassy delegation on earth. A little hill quarantined off, heated for the Vulcan inhabitants by shielding and terraforming fans. It was still chilly, nothing compared to the heat of Vulcan's sun which seemed to kiss skin even when huddled inside, which T'Harauk was quickly missing terribly, but, she supposed, it was the thought that counted.

Her fingers laced through the tassels of the lilac blanket laid across her lap and legs, tugging at the loose thread she wrapped around her finger. Earth looked so alien. Towering buildings of chrome, hover cars zipping in the air from busy commutes, and plants she had never seen before dotted in clusters across the horizon. Yet, up here, so far away from the hustle and bustle, she could almost pretend she was detached from it all.

Alice peering through the looking glass.

The sun was setting now, casting everything in amber and gilded hues, glittering in the dying light. Soon, the stars would come, she knew. She wondered if Pisces would be out this time of year, or if the constellation was a few weeks away.

The door to the balcony behind her whizzed open.

She knew too, somehow, it was Sarek behind her before he started speaking.

"Mr. Sulu will be arriving tomorrow to give you your first piloting lesson."

T'Harauk snorted. Undignified and unladylike, and completely self-derisively.

"You mean they haven't kicked me out before they even let me in? That seems like a foolish mistake on their part. I'm sure they'll rectify it soon enough."

What had she been thinking?

Punching a student.

She had bloody punched a student!

Of course, she had told no one why she had hit him, for there really wasn't any point.

She had done what she had, and she would take responsibility for it.

T'Harauk was not one normally prone to violence. Sure, she had a temper, a bad temper some days, but she never really hit anyone unless it was needed in a die-or-live scenario. Punching when angered had been more Hermione's forte.

Ask Malfoy.

Yet, she had heard those names. Names so commonly thrown at herself. Hobgoblin and elf and-

If it was her, she could brush it off. Walk it out. Turn a blind eye. She was used to it. She had grown up with it. Morgana, before the age of six, she had truly thought her name was freak.

And that had been just fine. Sometimes, she even mentally called herself those names. They had lost their sting years ago.

Or she thought they had.

But to Spock?

To her brother?

Spock who was always so patient? Spock who brought her favourite breakfast in the morning, without fail, Plomeek soup with pomegranate sprinkled in? Spock who helped her in the middle of the night, when she had nightmares of the Romulans breaking in and panicked, and found herself hiding in the bloody closet? Who would spend hours outside the slatted doors, speaking, just speaking, calmly, softly, coaxing her out? Spock who taught her maths and science and all these muggle things she had missed? Who no matter how slow she was, how many times she got the answer wrong, still sat there, unwearyingly guiding her through it.

That Spock, her brother Spock, deserved better respect, and T'Harauk wouldn't stand for nothing less.

Hobgoblin…

How would the humans feel if she went around calling them fuckin' hairless apes?

Oh no, that would be xenophobic.

Yet, calling her kind knife ears or bloated fairies was acceptable?

Not to Spock.

Not on her watch.

She wasn't sorry for reacting heatedly to that prick James Tiberius Kirk, she was only sorry she had lowered herself to reacting violently, and in so, perhaps disappointed her parents and, of course, the very person who would have never done what she just had.

Spock.

Sarek took the empty seat next to her on the bench, right by her hover chair, shoulder's brushing.

"It would be foolish to deny a student entry over one incident. You have shown no previous predilections towards violence or physical assault and from the reports, the company you kept had their own history of such occasions. To lay blame on you, in entirety, would be imprudent."

T'Harauk's jaw clenched.

"I keep messing up, don't I?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw Sarek's head cock, the only outward sign of interest. Despite not wanting to, really not wanting to, T'Harauk found herself rambling.

"First the whole sucking you into my memories and crippling myself. Now this fight… This morning, I flood the bathroom because I didn't understand how the showers work anymore. I broke the replicator when I jammed a fork into it's materialization beam because I thought you had to check the temperature. I shouldered a hole into Spock's bedroom door-frame because I forgot the doors open themselves around here… I just can't stop getting it wrong."

And I keep letting you all down.

That was what she was doing. Every mistake she made, no matter how small, was another disappointment. It was another blaring sign that she, no matter how hard she was trying, didn't belong here. That maybe, perchance, they were better off without her…

"T'Harauk, you are from the 1990's, correct?"

She hesitated, unsure where the sudden diversion in topic was going.

"Yes."

"If I am not mistaken, and I do not believe I am, there was no such things as portable communication devices, the internet was in its infancy, and molecular engineering was a product of fiction. The world you knew is exceedingly dissimilar to this world, and that is not considering your insulated history with the atomic manipulators, who, by your own accounts, were even more behind than their human counterparts. Patience. It will take time to learn and adapt accordingly. You should be pleased that you are trying, for that is what is important, and I know I am proud of you."

Proud… of her?

No one had ever said they were proud of her before.

No one, she had thought, had much reason too.

Nonetheless, here he was, her father, sitting tall, staring down at her with eyes so alike her own, telling her he was proud, even with all the mistakes she was making.

That hurt in a sweet, sweet, sweet way.

"I shouldn't have hit him."

Her father joined her in gazing out to the skyline, watching the amber fade to purple, wither to black.

"No, you shouldn't have."

His tone was clear cut, leaving no room for arguments or excuses. Not that T'Harauk would give any.

"But you know this, and that is what is key. If you see this cadet again, you will apologize, move on and learn from this experience as we do with everything in life."

The first star was beginning to flicker in the distance.

"Did you know when I and your mother were in the beginning stages of our courtship, I believed there was a human male also vying for her hand? He walked her to my office every morning, and I could not stand it though I gave no mention to my discomfort. One day, his hand slipped from her waist downwards. I thought I saw his fingers squeeze. I was out of my desk, and he was on the floor before your mother could tell me he was fixing her belt loop and he was happily married to her male cousin, Fredrick."

T'Harauk choked on her laughter.

"You didn't…"

She couldn't picture Sarek slamming a door or snapping a pencil, let alone striking someone in misguided rage.

"I did. It was inappropriate and I apologized at a later date, but it was still my responsibility. As Vulcans, we learn to temper our more volatile emotions as we age. It is needed. We are a… Tumultuous species. Anger comes swift to us, more so than any other emotion. It is important we learn how to adequately relieve that feeling without hurting those around us."

Wasn't that the truth. Ever since she was eleven, and hormones began to become a thing, T'Harauk didn't think there was not a day that went passed that she wasn't angry, absolutely livid, at least once.

"How?"

She asked quietly, almost afraid for reasons she didn't think she could name. Conceivably, she was just scared of getting it wrong again and making everything worse.

"Close your eyes."

She focused on the horizon, the lush deep purple seeping outwards, blinked, and slowly, slid her gaze shut.

"Picture something that fills you with peace. Love. Enjoyment. Hold it tight in your mind. Sense it. Smell it. Wrap it around you and let it wash everything else away. All the anger. All the fear. All the sadness. Feel it seeping it our skin. Let it go and feel the memories."

She thought of the stack of papers on Sarek's desk, how neatly he piled them, and the smell of evergreen trees that clung to his robes. She thought of her mother, Amanda, standing in the kitchen, knife raised over the chopped Nekrar root, glancing over her shoulder, morning sun bathing her yellow, never as bright as her smile when she saw T'Harauk coming in. She thought of Spock's harsh, blocky writing, sprawling across a white screen, felt the indentation of it as she skimmed a finger over the loops, as he taught her Vulcan.

She felt the heat of a mug of the peppermint tea Amanda made her at bedtime clasped in her hand. She felt the brush of Denobulan silk on her skin from another blanket Sarek had brought her home to make sure she kept warm. She tasted the caramel sugar of the spicy cinnamon candy Spock snuck her under the table before dinner, even when mother had told him to stop with a warm grin on her face.

She sniffed the cloying scent her mother's lavender perfume, a cloud that trailed her presence. She listened to the soft, jazz-like music Spock played from his own set of rooms when he was grading papers, the gentle lullaby singing her to sleep. She savoured the jellied flowers her father brought back from work, as they sat on the balcony and shared the bag before they watched the stars come out to play.

The flavour of her mother's berry tarts. The sight of the tiniest twitches at the corner of her father's mouth. The way Spock's ears flushed green when mother patted him on the head on her way out for the day.

She opened her eyes.

The sun was rising.

A new day dawning.

"What the hell was that?"

Sarek, still sitting beside her, ducked to face her.

"We call it the V'ehreik. The Grounding. A Vulcan meditation technique to ease anxiety, anger and depression."

It felt like she had the single most proper sleep she had had in years. Fresh. New. Awake.

"How long was I meditating?"

His answer was instantaneous.

"For seven hours and thirty-two minutes."

That was less worrying than she thought it should have been.

"Does it always take so long?"

"No. The more you practice; the easier and quicker results are found. However, once again T'Harauk, this is not a quick fix. The Vulcan way of life, as I said previously, requires strong patience."

She took a deep breath in, easy, air coming quick and gentle. She could breathe.

"Did you stay out here with me all night? I thought you had work? I don't want to-"

"There is nothing more vital to me than sitting beside you when you need me to. Work can wait. Let us enjoy this splendid morning. It appears to be bright on earth today."

Yes. Not a cloud in the sky. A bird, two houses down, was tweeting its morning songs. She could see him through the branches. A little redbreast of some kind. His nest full of chicks. The mother came flying in, rustling leaves.

"Anirih… Taluhk nash-veh k'dular."

Father, I cherish thee.

There was no direct translation for the word love in Vulcan, Spock had told her when she got curious. Love, he had said, was an emotion of infinite expression, and it would be foolish to try and encapsulate all of that into something as redundant as vocal communication. Cherish was as close as a Vulcan got to vocally saying love.

Nevertheless, she thought Sarek knew the true sentimentality lurking underneath it.

It appeared crucial, to T'Harauk at least, to say it in Vulcan. At least for the first time. It made it genuine, in a way. More than a declaration. Acceptance too.

She was T'Harauk. She was a Vulcan. She was different. And, for once, that didn't mean she was alone. For once, that was good.

Sarek pressed closer to her, across her hover chair, to rest his chin on the crown of her head, heads tilted together, watching the sun rise.

Unclothed fingers, smooth, calm, skimmed her bare hand, stroking across her knuckles.

She felt something flicker in her mind, a cinder gleaming tenderly, never daring to push, invade, take, but wishing for her to see.

She knew what Sarek was going to say long before he spoke.

She could feel it, even if the foreign word rolled awkwardly on his tongue.

"I love you too, T'Harauk. Never doubt that."

Spock was right.

The word love didn't really cover it.

Somewhere:

"Sir, there's been a security breach."

The hologram flickered.

"How large?"

The officer straightened.

"Not much, but someone has been digging into the locked files. We're already tracing the access point, but we haven't found the culprit as of yet."

"Good. Keep tracking. Until then… Speed up the schedule. I want him awake by the end of the week."

"Sir, surely we don't need to-"

"I will not have all my hard work ruined by a would-be journalist. Do I make myself clear, Officer? The security of Starfleet is at risk if we fail. Do you wish to see the Romulans annexing earth?"

The officer drooped under the harsh, unforgiving scowl.

"Of course not, sir."

"Good. Have him awake by the end of the week and proceed as normal. I'll send you the accelerated plans by encrypted data rods by the cycles end. If there is anymore… Digging, as you called it, inform me as soon as it is reported. Find me the perpetrator. Now, get back to work. You're going to be busy. Dismissed."

The officer saluted, holding the pose until the communication cut off with a pop.

When he was finally alone in the laboratory once more, he made his way to the only other inhabitant.

The pod was cold to the touch, slick and sloped, the squared letters of Botany Bay printed along its side, waned and patchy with age. His hand swept across the viewing window, scraping off the ice crystals stubbornly clinging to the glass.

The face was male, pale, piercing with its slanted inclines and regal arches.

A face resting in slumber.

Slumber that was soon to end.

The officer punched in the activation code into the control panel.

The pod hissed.

NEXT CHAPTER: Spending a lovely morning with his sister before her first afternoon tutoring session with a Mr. Sulu, Spock is less than pleased to have it interrupted by a certain student standing at their front door, asking if T'Harauk is there. Obviously, it was only logical to say no and slam the door in his face… Or, some brother sister bonding before Spock's personal and professional life irrevocably clash into one horrendous, headache inducing mass. Surek help him…

A.N: It's been nearly two years since I last updated this fic, and that quite possibly makes me a horrendous fanfiction author. I don't really have any excuses apart from working myself up into a tizzy lol. I got really worried about getting Kirk's character right, and kept scrapping the chapter. Then time went on, and the longer it did, the more perfect I thought I had to make this chapter to make up for the time missed, and subsequently, the more and more unhappy I got with the chapter. Until, eventually, I just shirked it off completely.

Then I realised this is fanfiction. It may not be perfect, I may have butchered Kirk's character, but, well, it's all meant in good fun. If one person, just one, enjoys this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, then its worth it. This is also the longest chapter yet, hitting a whopping 10,000 words. I was going to cut it off after Harry's first P.O.V, but for the such long wait I put you guys through, I chucked the two together and hope you liked it.

In short, after the longest break possible, I'm back! I really wouldn't be surprised if most of you had ditched this fic, I know I would have lol, and will have no further interest in any updates. Sorry for the horrible wait, and thank you all for all your kind words. For the few who stay, I really do hope you liked this chapter! Updates will be coming regularly, and, fingers crossed, there will never be such a long wait for the next chapter again.

I also want to quickly point out this is a strong AU for both Potter and Star Trek, so expect a lot of canon manipulation and fiddling. If this isn't your thing, here's your warning to get out the sinking ship, 'cause we are going deep folks!

Thank you followers, favourites, and reviewers! The love for this fic was immense, and all the kindness really did stop me from completely abandoning this fic. This is for you, and if I could, I would hug every single one of you. Unfortunately, that's impossible, so my measly thanks will have to be enough.

As always, if you have a moment, please drop a review!