Chapter Two: Trapped in a Cycle.

Part V

Fighting to Forget.

James T. Kirk wiped the blood dribbling down his nose off with the back of his hand, wincing as his knuckles carelessly bumped and caught the bruised cheekbone that was blossoming into a rather nasty black eye. He was only thirteen. His opponent had been dragged off somewhere, Jim didn't care where, by one of his friends. It was just a school boy dogfight he would explain if anyone asked... Although, he wasn't sure they would. Not anymore.

Jim was used to it all now, the play, the act, the lies, blood and broken bones. If he got covered in bruises, painted in melancholy hues, perhaps he would be able to stop knowing which ones Frank had given him. He hoped he would. It was the reason he fought so much, just to forget, to hide, to pretend it never happened at home but in the streets or at school, on his own terms. This way, he was the one in control, even if it was based and built on lies.

You see, it was easy for Jim now, too easy to play pretend with Frank and everything that concerned him. He could take the blows, hide them under ones he had control over. He could take the verbal abuse, the fire in Frank's mouth, his tongue the wick and his teeth the spitting coals. He could handle the time when he was younger, when the shouting got so bad he would hide underneath his bed. But... He didn't know how or if he could control his mother and the feeling of unadulterated resentment he had building up inside of him.

The memories were the worst, they replayed in his mind over and over again, looped, trapped, a never ending cycle he couldn't break himself out of. It put stones in his heart, the pump and beat squeezing them, hurting, painful, a reminder that each beat counts. He was alive still. It's why he fought, why he thought he would always fight. To forget, to give a reason behind the pain, to pretend he had control. Did it matter?

At night, caught between sleep and consciousness, even when he knew for a fact his mother was away on duty, he thought he could hear them arguing, their shouts shaking the walls, their fights like thunder, continuous, loud, impossible to ignore, predictable. He would intervene if things grew violent, and after, when his mother cleaned his bloody nose with promises of packing and leaving, Jim would hate her all the more. They wouldn't pack. They wouldn't leave. They were as trapped as his thoughts, circles, around and around.

There was always rain with the thunder, and this type of rain always came in the form of mist in his mother's eyes. Eyes he could no longer bring himself to look at. Why did she cry when she never tried to fix it? Why cry when you put salt in the wound by making empty promises? In those moments, as bad as Jim thought it sounded, he hated his mother as much as he hated Frank. Why would she keep giving him hope they would leave when she had no plan what so ever to do so? Perhaps she hated him too. It was the only reason he could think of.

Sometimes, when Frank managed to keep his cool enough to storm out of the house with a thrown vase or bottle with a slam of the door instead of flying fists, Jim would find his mother on the couch, lifeless and lackluster arm thrown over her eyes, shielding the tears, but Jim could see. He always saw. He saw the mottled blotches around her nose, the pale streaks down flushed cheeks, the worrying of a fang into her bottom lip.

The worst, the very worst, was when she would gather herself up from the couch, limbs askew, unbalanced, wobbly, avoid his eyes and questions, his frantic pleas, force him upstairs, into bed and read him a story as if nothing had happened, as if it had all been in his mind, deranged, broken. He knew what would come sunrise then, when she read him those pretty stories from a blank face and thousand yard stare. She would be leaving for duty, gone, away, and some part of Jim wondered if her giving him those little slices of normality just before she abandoned him to Frank was really just another hint of depravity from her. Hope given. Hope taken. The cycle continues.

Come morning, even when he had told himself not to hope, she would do the same routine. Oats. A chaste kiss on the cheek. A tight hug and then the door would close and Jim would be alone, not sure when his mother would be back, if she would be back this time. Sometimes he thought she would die alone out there, in space.

Other times, he thought she would decide to stay on some planet she had visited, forget him, expunge him from her mind as if he was like some parasitic moss from a window pane. Other times, he thought she would rush through the door, hold him like she used to, when he really was a little boy that barely reached her kneecap, and promise never to leave again, or she was going to take him with her, it had all been a mistake and she was sorry, so very sorry. None of them ever happened and so, around he went.

Sometimes, after a rather vicious fight with Frank, Jim would stay up all night with his mother, trying to get her to smile, holding her, brushing away her tears. The next day she would get him a present, a cake or candy he had been after, though she never gave the present any reasoning, Jim knew why he got them.

A silent thank you she could never voice. She really shouldn't have... He never wanted them. He wanted her to try and make him smile. He wanted her to hold him, to brush away his tears and fears. No hugs came, no silly tactless jokes to try and make him laugh, no reassurance that they were going to be fine, just a treat, a smile that never reached her eyes and an oppressively silent day.

No, perhaps he had it wrong, the worst was when she would com him when she docked at a starbase, the system untraceable like all coms from Starfleet bases. She would tell him to say he was okay, 'Say you're okay Jim', never asking, telling him to say it because she knew the truth yet wouldn't acknowledge it and couldn't bare hearing it. He would do as he was told, voice trembling, though he would pass it off as his voice breaking, something all human boys went through at his age. She would end with a 'I love you', he would repeat it like a well-trained pet and she would be gone, the line dead, nothing but a blank, black screen, a slight buzz his only company.

Sometimes he couldn't bring himself to press the off button, he would pretend she was still on there, he would speak the truth, how he missed her, how he sort of hated her, how he was alone, how he wanted to leave but stay, how they should run away together. No one ever answered and the screen stayed black, but he would spend hours there, pretending. Jim was the best at pretending. Circles circling circles. Chained.

He had so many questions he would never ask and his mother would never answer. What would his father say if he saw her now, saw them now? Her always running. Jim Broken. George lost. Why say she loved him when she helped cage him, leave him, part of the cycle Jim just wanted to end? Why wasn't she brave enough to leave? Permanently? Why did she always leave him behind? "Oh, Jim..."

A pale, long-fingered hand reached for his face, to cradle, to hit, he wasn't sure anymore and on instinct, he flinched away, his brain only catching up seconds later to tell him who it was. Harry. He didn't expect Harry to understand his flinch, his recoils when she reached for him. In fact, he hoped she never would, for the only way to truly understand would be for her to be going through what he was, and he would never wish that upon anybody.

She didn't huff or scoff like he had expected her to do, instead, she reached out once more, slowly, gently, calmly placing her hand upon his cheek, not pushing or pulling, but coaxing him to turn and face her. She left it in his control if he wanted to turn or not, no orders.

Against what he thought he should do, hide his face like he hid everything else, he turned to face her, showing off his swollen face, bruises, cuts and scrapes. He must look a mess, chaos, destroyed compared to her own smooth complexion. Old ruins crumpled next to a marble temple. Her fingers were soft, butterfly wings, slowly stroking his skin. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, unflinching as she stared into his. "I'm here Jim."

No 'it's going to be fine'. No 'you're okay'. No lies. Harry, since he had known her, had never once lied to him. He would have torn his face away from her hand if she had tried to right then, when he was vulnerable and couldn't hide it behind his false bravado. Just... I'm here. And she was. Here. Sometimes, after so long of it, he would forget he wasn't alone. "Jim, you can't keep doing this. You can't keep this up. I'm... You don't deserve this. No one does."

Jim broke, reaching up to grasp and grapple at her hand, fingers locking around hers, turning his face to bury his eyes into the soft skin of her palm, sobbing. Her other hand and arm wrapped around his shoulders, tugging him to her, hugging him. When was the last time he had a hug? He couldn't remember... He couldn't remember and the sobs came harder and Harry squeezed him tighter, as if she could push him into her body and protect him. She had tried to do magic before when he called her to him, but it seemed while mentally here, her magic wasn't and so, he could feel how useless she felt. Still, at the time, it had almost made him smile to see her flinging every known spell at a red-faced Frank, it did, however, warm him to know someone was out there, willing to fight for him even though he never asked.

All she could offer was words, touch, for her, that wasn't enough, wasn't good enough, but to him... To him it was almost too much. Eventually, he managed to gain control of his cries, though, he did not try to pull himself away from the embrace and Harry seemed reluctant on letting him go. With a croaky voice, he spoke. "I'm leaving."

Harry's hand stalled it's path up and down his back before carrying on. "Leaving? Where are you going?"

Jim finally pulled away, rubbing a hand down his face, destroying the evidence of his weakness, his tears. Harry let him go but kept a hand on his shoulder. He was grateful, he needed touch right then. "I'm leaving the planet. I've already bought the tickets this morning to some human colony... I just thought it was a good idea for one last fight before I went. For good ol' times sake, you know? The shuttles due in three hours time. I'm... I'm leaving."

He had to go, he couldn't stay, he was dying, inside, outside, both perhaps. Harry and Jim huddled closer together. "Leaving to a new planet? You know, where I'm from, we move countries at most but planets? Wow. We should celebrate, what do you want to do?"

Jim looked around himself, at the bench, at the sky, then back to Harry with a shattered smile. Harry never judged. Never forced him to do or say anything he didn't want to. He needed her, he knew that now. He needed her as much as he needed the marrow in his bones. "Let's just... Sit and watch the stars. Who knows, one might even be my new home."

Harry gave a jilted nod, leaning back into the bench, craning her neck to look at the stars. "Do I get to know the name of your new home or do I have to guess? Did you pick it out by how flashy its name is? I know what you're like Jim. Naked VIII doesn't mean the inhabitants walk around starkers."

Jim chuckled, the first laughter he had had in months, reached up and plucked Harry's hand off his shoulder. However, he refused to drop it, instead of lacing his fingers through hers, settling back into the bench himself, looking up at the great yonder. He was going to a new home, a fresh start, he had his best friend beside him and the stars ahead. In that moment, bloodied, slightly broken and aching, Jim was full of hope and promise of a better future. A happier one. "Funny, Harry, real funny. But no, I just picked the one that the next shuttle was leaving for. Tarsus IV... It's got to be better than here anyway."

Part VI

Call me.

Jim was worried. Scared. Terrified. The implications were too much, the repercussions drastic. Harry lay in what looked like a rudimentary medi-bed, forearm wrapped up on a white clothe, bruises splodged across her face, a cut lip peaking out daringly. He had been called because Harry was worried about her friend, the bushy-haired one that spoke almost condescendingly to Harry, snobbish and hurried as if her thoughts were so important the universe needed them out and in the air as fast as possible.

Jim didn't really care for the brunette, though he liked the red-headed one who was littered in freckles, a Ron Weasley if he remembered correctly. The problem was, why he was so worried, was he had been called to her hospital bedside... Not when she was going through what put her into the bed in the first place.

If she had been in danger, enough to put her into a medi-bed on an extended stay, she should have been in enough danger to call him to her. And she had been in grave danger, from the story she told him, sensing no lies from her but a sharp, biting sort of cold detachment as she relayed the events, from the conversations he had overheard from her and an ancient man with a beard longer than surely possible.

A man, a long dead man, Jim still wasn't sure how that worked, who apparently also killed her parents, had opened a secret room in her school, sent out a horrific beast to kill unsuspecting victims, the teachers and tutors had done nothing and after the disappearance of a close friend, Harry being Harry had decided to find the room all herself and take on the beast with a... With a fucking sword of all things. She was only twelve! What sort of teachers not only condoned this behavior, rewarding it with points, but gave her the sword to use mid-battle, to begin with?!

The beast... Basilisk as Harry had told him, was highly poisonous, fast and could kill anyone with a glance, one mistaken look and it would have been game over for her, and Harry, while killing the thing, had had a fang the size of a Milidarian staff stabbed through her forearm. All the while she fought against the poisoning long enough to stab a diary that somehow, someway made a dead man not so dead. Jim... Jim couldn't wrap his head around it and the excuse of a shoulder shrug and magic wasn't enough.

If that wasn't enough to be scared about, Harry being a part of a school where things like this were common enough, Harry had laid crippled on the cold damp floor, dying and had not called him, even subconsciously like she should have. In the end, calls all equated to strong emotions. Dying, danger, to most people, forced a strong emotional response but... But not in Harry. She had been dying and she had not had the emotional response to drag him to her side.

In short, she did not care if she was hurt. She did not care if she died. He had also learned this was not the first time, last year she had faced down the very man that should be dead but wasn't, and she had not called him. Jim had only found out when she had smiled disarmingly at him and said: "Hey, I survived a troll, a three-headed dog, and a possessed Professor Quirrel last year, this year wasn't that bad in comparison."

And yet, she cared enough, had the emotional pull to zap him to her when she was worried about her friend being hurt about being turned to stone for a week and a half when she had not that response to her own death. She cared about others more than herself. His soulmate... His soulmate had a fucking Hero complex the size of the U.S.S Armada.

What if this happened again? Last year she had nearly died, this year too, he was sure a pattern was forming and no one but him seemed to be fighting against it. Her tutors... Her so called 'friends', they seemed all too happy to go along for the ride, let Harry handle it all, fuck the risks to herself, and reap the benefits. Harry was trapped in her own cycle. However, where he broke his with either leaving or staying, hers would only end in death.

What if next time she didn't pull through? He would be left in his own world, ignorant until the pain would fill him, the torment of the bond snapping and rotting, festering, and he would know he could have helped but Harry had not the thought or emotions to call him to her in her time of need. Yeah... No. Jim wasn't willing to play that part and he wasn't willing to let other people cram her into the ill-fitting spot of martyr either.

Standing at the foot of her bed, Jim crossed his arms over his chest, for once a smile nowhere to be found. Harry's own grin fractured around the edges, splintering, breaking. "I'm not buying this whole spiel that old man keeps trying to force feed you. The-Girl-Who-Lived, the chosen one, bullshit. The next time there's even a hint of danger, no matter if you're friends come up with some convoluted scheme that seems to always place you as the meatshield, or if that bearded fucker says it's for the 'greater good'... You. Call. Me. Do you understand Harry? I don't care whether you have to pinch yourself, get someone to punch you full force in the face or if you have to picture dead puppies or your friends hurt, anything that works, you call me. Are we clear? You nearly died Harry... You nearly died countless times already and I wouldn't have known... What if it was the other way around, would you be okay with it? Promise me you will at least try to call me."

Harry gave a small nod. "I promise I'll try."

Part VII

Who are you?

Spock sat rigidly, the twinge of his bruised cheekbone and split lip nothing but a blip on the recess of his mind. He was hollow, emptied, disemboweled. A true Vulcan. In truth, he had spilled all his caged emotions when he had lunged at the other boy after he taunted Spock's mother degradingly. Hence his situation, his parents on their way to pick him up after the threat of expulsion turned to 'extended leave until he reacquainted himself with the Vulcan way'. He knew why the board came to this decision, his high test scores were coveted but they would not allow such... Human behavior to take place in their hollowed halls. He just felt numb, eyes deceivingly placid and complacent, thoughts hazy, far-fetched dreams.

The illusions of this place, his life, the Vulcan's around him were broken. He was half human, there was no escaping that fact, no denying it after today, where rage had taken over him and he had pummeled the bully until he had been dragged off. But... But he was also Vulcan. He thrived on logic, routine, endless equations and probability. His two sides, the emotional reckless human didn't mix well with the cool, factual temperament of his Vulcan side. Most days, all days, he found himself fighting... Himself. How to react to each situation presented to him, how to fit in. Sometimes, he was wholly too Vulcan that he could sense it hurt his mother, other times he was too human to please his father and his own society. He was balancing on the knife's edge, tittering.

Was he Vulcan? Was he Human? He looked Vulcan, but looks meant nothing, deceiving as his own eyes in that moment. Biologically speaking, he was nearly entirely Vulcan, his green blood attested to it, but inside, sometimes, a little flash of humanity pierced through his Vulcan exterior and he was not sure it was a good thing or a bad thing. "Vulcan... Human... Tit for tat in my book. Interchangeable. Does it matter? First and foremost, you are, well, you. Why do you believe you have to cut a part of yourself out to live happily?

Spock couldn't bring himself to look at Harry, although he saw her from his peripheral vision, blurred, sitting on the window sill, bathed in sunlight, staring out into the vast world before her, wild hair loose, legs swinging back and forth merrily. She looked as he had pictured those fabled little earth creatures his mother would tell him about when he was young. Irish Sprites. "My human attributes make it hard to assimilate fully into Vulcan culture. However, I look and act too Vulcan for humans to be entirely comfortable with me in their presence. Human's, as welcoming as they believe they are, do not often notice their own uncomfortable state when in our... Mine... A Vulcan's presence. If I am to create a career, a stable home, it is imperative I assign to one civilization and... as you said, 'Keep climbing'."

She had lifted her hand to touch the glass, using her index finger to draw imperceivable patterns, swirls, circles, curves and sweeps. He wondered what it would feel like to have the patterns drawn on the back of his hand, on his forearm, over his soulmark. He would not look at her, couldn't, and she was not pushing him too, instead, she was talking to the window peacefully. "Huh. I suppose this is where we differ. A career, a big home and high standing in society are only bonus's to us. Will it make you happy? Are you sure? To me, happiness comes from within. You can't be happy with life without first being happy with who and what you are. Are you happy with yourself Spock?"

Spock faltered."I... I do not know the correct answer."

Harry chuckled sadly, the sound he had come to understand as hers, only hers. He had never heard anyone or anything able to replicate the same melancholy mirth she could. It wasn't taunting, not provoking, it was like she was sad herself because others around her could not be, so she would burden that honor, for them. "There's no correct answer, Spock, it's not a test. Although you are not, I can tell you that now. Otherwise, you wouldn't hesitate to say yes."

There was a weighty pause before she carried on as if she was letting what she said sink in, or bloom in the air between them. Flowering, offering the fruit of wisdom they both could pluck and gauge on. "Life is harsh. It has it's good moments, followed by the bad, then it repeats, a cycle. Frowns, smiles, tears, laughter, they're all the same thing in the end. Just us handling life's obstacles. Vulcan's don't show their emotions, do they? They try and bury it, control it. Where as humans are all about emotions, nothing is worth anything if it doesn't bring the rush of feeling. Vulcan's strive for placid numbness, where Human's abhor it. But you, Spock, aren't truly Vulcan. You aren't truly Human either. Embrace the emotions when it calls for it, embrace the numbness if that is what you need. Turn to logic and equations and probability, but don't forget to smile and love and laugh. Even if it's just internally. You. Are. You. Your emotions are your own, no one will ever feel exactly like you, no one will ever be you. Express yourself, but in your own way. Not in the way Vulcan's say you should. Not in the way Human's say you should. Damn it, not in the way I tell you to either. Find your own way, be that Vulcan, Human, or the spectrum in between, as long as its good for you."

Harry turned to face him, and like her eyes were magnetized, they drew his own to them. "Don't hold yourself to Vulcan standards, but don't try to be human when you're not either...And then, only then, can you finally answer yes."

Harry slipped from the sill, slowly stalking closer. "Who are you, Spock?"

One step. "I don't understand-"

Two steps."Who are you, Spock?"

Three steps."A Vulcan-human hybrid-"

four steps."Who are you, Spock?"

Five steps."A sentient being of-"

She was in front of him now, leaning over."Who. Are. You. Spock?"

At his answer, Harry smiled, beaming, bright, blinding. Did the sun know she had stolen its shine for her own? She slipped into the seat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, but never tore her gaze away."I'm... I'm Spock. Just Spock."

Harry shook her head, curls fluttering around her. She smelled spicy but sweet, flowery but not overpowering the hint of hotness scorching the edges of her scent. "There's nothing just about it. You're Spock. One of a kind, not because of your hybrid status but because of you being you. You're my friend... If only you could see what I see. Don't ever loose the answer to that question. You 're not just a Hybrid. Not just a being. You're not trapped and you don't have to choose, no matter who or what tells you, you have to. You. Are. Spock. Don't ever doubt or forget that. I know I won't and I'll always be here to remind you if you ever lose your way."

Slowly, mind a little more than muddled, Spock put his index finger next to his middle finger, straight, folding his others into his palm. Inching, he let his hand wonder to Harry's lax one, curling his around the very same fingers on Harry's. The instant spark flooded his system, fogging yet contradictorily clearing, as if he was blind yet seeing for the first time simultaneously. He felt dizzy.

Just as Harry was returning the hold, His mother's voice rang out and broke the moment, Harry disappearing from view like a cloud blown away by a strong gust of wind. He could still feel her fingers in his." Oh, Spock. Are you okay? Look at your cheek! I ought to-"

Before his mother could make a dash for him, Spock compartmentalized and regained order over himself, a task not easily carried out, and turned to face his mother and father, folding his hands behind his back as he stood. "I will not apologize for my actions, though I know violence should and can never be the solution. I... May have reacted poorly, but it was my reaction and mine alone. I can not and will not apologize for it. I will dutifully follow the orders you and mother bestow upon me, but I do not regret, nor apologize for what I did."

He had expected confusion from his mother, a lengthy talk from his father, but gained neither. Instead, his mother smiled at him, just a slither, one side slightly higher than the other, but a smile all the same. His father, standing exactly like him, back straight, hands behind his back, quirked a brow at Spock. "You need to work on your assumptions. I was not, and will not, ask you to apologize. While I do not... Condone your emotional reaction to the Karauk's provocation of you, I understand a reaction was required in this instance. However, Spock, I am disappointed it has come to this conclusion. I had thought you knew well enough to come to me and inform me of these circumstances and happenings on the first available time frame. From the reports, Karauk has a concussion, a fractured jaw, and a sprained ankle. This is... Satisfactory punishment and deterrent for future thoughts and plans that he might think to carry out. However, from what I have seen and been informed of, you need to work on your defense. I shall acquire you an appropriate tutor you will visit and train with each week. This is your... Punishment."

Oddly, he thought his father was... Proud, although he would never say it. Perhaps he and Sarek were more alike than he had originally accredited them with. He supposed, he had to have gotten his love for his mother from somewhere.

Part VIII

Who is Jim?

Ever since Spock had found out she could do god-given magic, what he called 'atomic manipulation', whatever that was, and Jim exactly what this 'magic' could do, it was kind of hard to deny after witnessing it first hand, they had not stopped asking incessant questions.

"And you use these... Cauldrons to brew... Potions? That is highly impractical and unhygienic."

"Do you think you could make a spell to view people naked without them knowing?"

"So, even though you all belong to the same species and have the same advantage, you segregate yourself into smaller sects that are color coded? Then you are pitched against each other in a highly dangerous sky battle to obtain a golden ball that has no worth outside the previous fight? In your world, this is classed as... Entertainment?"

"Are dragon's real here? If so, why don't you all just ride them...Like, everywhere?"

"The yellow and gold on your clothes state you as a Gryffindor, do they not? Tell me about that house, the others are inconsequential."

"I'm not being mean Harry! I mean, all the other houses have cool animals. A gryffin. A snake. A raven... But a badger?"

"So these stairs move in a nondescript pattern and yet your tutors expect all students to traverse this maze to gain entry to their classrooms, yet do not allow tardiness?"

"Do you think if we got that Professor Snape laid, he would relax a little? I mean, surely that Professor Hooch is willing, she looks at him enough..."

"Your 'headmaster' states this forbidden forest is strictly off limits to all students... And then assigns detentions in the very same forest he forbade students from going in due to life-endangering hazards present? Does he not face an ethical practice board?"

"It was an honest question! You would think with all these lessons, 'how to be like Willy Wonka' would be amongst them, you have everything else."

"The existence of the house of Gryffindor does not make sense. You, yourself have more house of Slytherin attributes, those friends of yours, Hermione and Ron, both more ascribe to the house of Ravenclaw and the house of Hufflepuff respectively. Ambition is a trait. Loyalty is a trait. Intelligence is a trait. Bravery is not, it is a choice. Is this why you chose to be put into Gryffindor and not Slytherin? If so, do all students get asked to join Gryffindor, and have to answer yes, before being assigned to that particular house?"

"Can't you just magic your homework to do itself? What's the point in magic if you still have to work?"

Although, to be entirely fair to Spock and Jim and their never ending questions and curiosity, Harry, when she was 'called' to them, fell into the same rambling cycle they spiralled down and couldn't seem to swim out of.

"Is there an evolutionary advantage to having your heart where your liver should be? I mean, for a major organ, it makes sense to have it behind and enclosed in your lungs and protective casing of the ribs... But where your liver should be? How in Merlin's name is that logical?"

"So, these 'transporters' literally rip you apart atom by atom, reassemble you thousand upon thousand miles away, and this isn't classed as repeated murder?"

"So you say you should say 'live long and prosper' upon meeting a Vulcan right? You also say your race and culture strives strongly for Logic and submission, and sometimes total eradication, of emotion. To say to someone live long and prosper, is that not a wish for the recipient? Like farewell. It means you wish upon someone a good life and to far well in their departure. Doesn't that contradict everything you stand for, especially for something you use to greet everyone?"

"I'm sorry... Hold up, hold up. You have no money, Jim? No one has any money anymore? How the hell does that work?"

"Do all Vulcan's have black hair, or dark? I bet my hair, or any human's really, is quite a shock if so."

"Look, you have ships that can travel through bloody galaxies, medicine I can't even begin to understand, you can make food from nothing, and yet you still haven't created a scanner that can detect bullshit?"

"You have green blood, correct? Well... Do you blush green? Do you sunburn green? Merlin Spock... Have you got green freckles?!"

However, on such a visit to Spock, one of Harry's questions, one both she and he had been thinking but not willing to add a voice to, broke their normally jovial and child-like awe."We're never going to meet in real life, are we? I mean, I'm from the past... Damn, we're not sure I live even in the same dimension... I'll never actually get to meet you face to face, see your world and wonders with my own eyes... Will I? How do you get from 1992 to 2253? Witches and wizards live long... But not that long..."

They were in Spock's room, him perched primly at his desk, a flat computer he called a 'pad' laid before him and Harry was at his window, staring out at the Vulcan landscape, eyebrows drawn down tightly over her eyes. The year 1992 tickled a memory in his mind, but he pushed it back. Later. "The... Matter is a complicated one. With all the advancements of our... My civilization, as well as your owns unlimited possibilities, the eventuality of you finding a way here is not as low as first conceivable. It is simply figuring out..."

Spock couldn't carry on. He had... He had lied. To comfort Harry, yes, but it was still a lie. A first for him. It was not simple, it was not a case of figuring out time adjustments, loops or holes, or inter-dimension travel, it was a complicated matter that took complicated thought process and experimental theories. The most probable was the black-hole theory, but he highly doubted Harry would fall into one anytime soon. His only hope was she was his soulmate and surely whatever force linked the people and created the bonds, was not so vicious enough to give him one he could never meet. Soulmates always eventually met, it was nearly as trustworthy as the laws of physics... Yet, Harry defied those laws nearly on a daily basis. She would defy the impossibility of their situation too. Still, the Vulcan in him couldn't help but mentally run through the logistics of it all...

How did you get from 1992 to 2253? Harry sighed deeply and sagged against the window. "Well, I guess we'll figure something out eventually. I really do want to see Vulcan with my own eyes... And the starships Jim showed me."

Spock's finger halted near his pad, frozen. "Jim? Who is this Jim?"

Harry smiled her sunbeam smile but Spock could only stare. If a Vulcan could look and feel shocked, he was that Vulcan. "Jim? You know, the other one? I thought you two knew eachother... He's like you, calls me to him sometimes and he visits often. Isn't it... Isn't this normal?"

Spock audibly swallowed. "No. No, it is most... Peculiar."

Prompts filled: Jim after a run in with Frank ✓, Spock with his bullies ✓. If you want to see anything that hasn't already been sent in, or has and you just really want to see it, don't forget to P.M it to me or drop it in a review, I'm trying to complete and include them all.

QUESTIONS:

Are Spock and Jim also soulmates? Are they going to 'visit' eachother?

Sadly, in this fic, they're not actually linked together like they are to Harry. HOWEVER Jim and Spock meet before Harry gets to them in person and... Not to give much away, but chaos happens as it always does with these three and leaves Harry 'out of commision' for a little while, leaving Jim and Spock to bond without Harry having to play middleman. ALL THAT BEING SAID, I don't think I'm doing a romantic bond between Jim and Spock in this fic, best friends? Sure, but I doubt it's going to go into slash territory. Although, I won't say it's deffinately off the table because once I start typing up chapters with a goal in mind, the characters just sort of... Take over and do their own thing XD. At any rate, I sort of liked their bond the way it was, never deffinate, a bit ambigious but with a lot of signs pointing in a direction we all know. Spock's and Jim's relationship didn't really need a label and I like that and I'm not sure I want to label it either in this fic. Any how, what are your thoughts guys? Give it to me straight!

Are you doing Tarsus IV?

I think this chapter answers that, although, Tarsus isn't really canon for the Kelvin timeline which the films are about. I am trying to fill all prompts, recommendations and other such things in this fic, so keep an eye out if you've made a suggestion.

When and how will they finally meet?

I can't and won't say much on this matter because I would be giving away major plot lines I'm trying to weave together. BUT, I can say they will meet by chapter ten and give you a little hint that I hope will keep you guys looking forward to what's to come.

Harry's school years ranged from 1991-1998

The Eugenics war 'officially' lasted between 1992-1996

Why hasn't Harry asked for the boys names? Where they live? Or any other important details?

Sorry If I was unclear last time, when they 'visit' or 'call', it feels a bit like a dream. In dreams, with me and most people I've talked to at any rate, they are abit uncontrollable. You don't really control what you say or do, you just go with the current sort of thing. You also don't question much, I mean, haven't you had a weird dream with perhaps pigs flying, but you're just like, okay and carry on? It's that sort of thing and when you do question things in dreams, the questions are normally not directed at the most important thing. Sorry if I'm not explaining well, it will become more apparent as the fic carries on. After all, this is only chapter two.

If you have any questions, and It's not a plot point I'm working on, don't hesitate to ask and I'll answer them in the next chapter.

A.N: I just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone who followed, favourited and especially to you little gems that reviewed! This ones for you! I hope you're all enjoying this, I'm having so much fun writing it. Bit of a warning: I HAVE NO BETA. I'll try and catch the mistakes but some will surely fall through my fingers. I will eventually go back and clean up the mistakes, but at the moment I'm concentrating on actually making the plot work out XD If this bothers you, I'm sorry.

As always, please drop a review! They keep the inspiration flowing and the fingers typing. Until next time-carelessdodger