A/N: This is part of a "Jim is sent to live on Vulcan with Spock' series I started some time ago. In order to understand what's happening here, I'd recommend reading 'not my blood, still my brother' first. And with that said, please enjoy!

Throughout breakfast, Spock gave no indication regarding his feelings towards Jim's acceptance to the educational exchange he'd applied for several weeks before. Neither of them had spoken of it in the meantime, so it must have slipped his mind, at least until his human brother proudly paraded his acceptance letter through the house, showing it off to their parents with bright eyes and a sunshine smile.

It was only natural that they would agree to send him. It was a wonder how anyone could refuse Jim anything when he looked at them with so much hope and joy and love.

Spock, on the other hand, was displeased. This did not mean he expressed his displeasure, of course. He set his silverware on the kitchen table with no unnecessary amount of pressure, spoke cordially when addressed, and made certain to maintain a decidedly neutral expression whenever Jim glanced in his direction. This, for some reason, only seemed to upset his brother, as Jim tapped his knuckles to get his attention, before stating with a note of reassurance, "It's only for three years, Spock. I'll be back here bothering you and Mom before you can recite the periodic table in Klingon."

Spock took a sip of his tea, noting the bitter taste. "The Klingons have a very different periodic system than Earth. It contains a variety of elements endemic to their planet and is lacking certain materials that could be found in Earth's solar system."

Jim nodded as he spoke, an impish grin quirking the corners of his mouth, "Are you saying it's too hard for you, Spock?" At Spock's continued silence, he huffed a laugh, not realizing that Spock had already accomplished the task for an independent study program in the Vulcan Learning Center.

Amanda gave a pointed look at Jim's untouched breakfast, causing his cheeks to flush pink as he tucked into his cereal. After chewing and swallowing speedily, he picked up where he'd left off, his enthusiasm for the topic only growing. "They'll teach me how to fight, and I'll learn how to speak tons of languages. Trust me, Spock, an opportunity like this is once in a lifetime!"

Something about Spock's demeanor must have clued him into the young Vulcan's conflicting thoughts on the matter, because he suddenly demurred, settling down into his seat as though chastened. Were it not looked down upon in their culture, Spock would have groaned in frustration. He was doing everything he could to keep his emotions in check, yet his little brother seemed to pick up on them with ease, even when Spock was trying desperately to keep them hidden.

Clearing his throat, Spock attempted to repair the damage, "I simply cannot comprehend the necessity of this exchange. You can already speak Vulcan, a feat most humans your age cannot attest to."

Jim cocked his head, angling it towards Spock, and winked. "But I'm not trying to keep up with humans, now am I?"

Spock bristled, thinking of the bullying Jim had endured at the Learning Center. He'd hoped that it had settled down over the years, as his had to a degree. Now, however, he was beginning to wonder if he hadn't been overly optimistic. "If this is about your classmates-"

"I don't care about what they think, Spock," interrupted Jim, startling Spock into silence. "It's just…" The hold Jim had on his fork tightened and released several times as he searched for the words to say, a scowl growing on his face. He placed the silverware on his plate with a sense of finality. "Nevermind," he said, rising to clear his dishes and place them in the sink. "If you don't get it, I'm not going to bother trying to explain it to you." When he was done, he bent to give Amanda a featherlight kiss on the cheek, "Thank you for breakfast, Mom," causing her frown to soften, then dashed into his room, shutting the door behind him.

Spock thought he might have heard a lock click.

"I do not understand," he admitted after a time, his mind reeling with frustration he wasn't meant to feel. "What did I say wrong, Mother?" A gentle hand covered his own.

He looked up at her hopefully. "It's not you, Spock," she told him, a hint of amusement in her tone. "Boys his age simply need a little more room to grow and mature, as I'm sure you understand."

"I see." Spock nodded. "Well, if that is the case, then I wish to state for your consideration that Vulcan is a much larger planet than Tarsus IV. And the Vulcan Science Academy is one of the most prestigious centers of learning-"

His mother cut him off with a soft laugh. "There is nothing to worry about, Spock. Did you think I would sent him to a colony I hadn't researched? A dear friend of mine is going there to keep an eye on him, as well." When Spock still looked doubtful, she added with a knowing smile, "I'm sure you're familiar with the creator of linguacode, Lieutenant Commander Hoshi Sato?"

Spock had always been an admirer of Hoshi Sato, the linguistics communications officer for Starfleet. She was an omniglot that was rumored to have received surgery that would enable her to speak and converse in alien languages and dialects that were outside the range of human vocal cords.

Amanda allowed her smile to widen at the slight widening of her son's eyes and raising of his eyebrows that translated to an utterly gobsmacked expression on Vulcan. "I thought that would change your tune. And now I suppose you'd like to go with him." When she returned to finishing her breakfast, Spock considered what she'd said. Surely, to live and learn under Hoshi Sato would be an incredible experience, but that alone did not sway Spock's thoughts on the exchange. The truth was he'd always wanted to go with Jim, if only to keep an eye on him, but perhaps that was exactly why he needed space.

As much as Jim was family, he wasn't Vulcan, a fact which would always undermine any achievements he made in the Academy. Maybe it truly was for the best, then, that Jim accept this opportunity to live among other humans.

Even with that rationalization in mind, however, there was no denying that the empty feeling spreading from his stomach was only a precursor to how much Spock was honestly going to miss him in the weeks and months to come.

Three years had never seemed so long.

Amanda was working on her PADD in the living room when Spock walked in to inform her in his usual manner that Jim had missed his weekly call. Though outwardly he appeared calm as ever, the fingers clutching his holo-comm to his chest were bloodlessly white.

She reached over to pat the cushion next to her, giving implicit permission for him to sit soundlessly on the couch. "You wouldn't happen to be worried by any chance, would you?"

"That would be irrational," Spock replied without meeting her eyes. "I am merely informing you, Mother, of an unsettling break in pattern." Amanda cupped her hand around a smile. A week wasn't such a long time, and Jim had been making a lot of progress with his studies according to Sato, so she could forgive him if he missed a week or two. After all, living on the colony wasn't easy. Everyone had to contribute to its upkeep. As John Smith said, those who didn't work, didn't eat.

"Maybe he's just tired," she suggested soothingly. "I'm sure he'll contact you in a couple days." And Spock had nodded, though she could sense he was dissatisfied with her answer, and took to carrying the holo-comm on him at all times. For a month, it was always nearby, whether he was reading in his room or at school, until one day he approached her again with, "It has been a month since Jim last made contact."

There were brushes of shadows under his eyes now, a paleness that spoke volumes about the toll this was taking on him. She paused in the middle of washing the dishes, one of her arms covered in suds. "I'll admit, that is a little concerning. Let me see if I can get in touch with Sato-san."

Once she was finished, she toweled off her arms, then went to her bedroom to fetch her PADD from off her nightstand, and input Sato's contact number from memory. A flashing red blurb appeared on the PADD's surface: The device you attempted to connect with is no longer in service.

Though she tried to tell herself it was probably nothing, it was hard to ignore the icy dread pooling in the pit of her stomach.

From there, she contacted the parents and relatives of others who'd agreed to the educational exchange to discover that they hadn't heard from their children in at least a month, either. She wrote down the names of the people she spoke with, the dates of last contact with those on Tarsus IV, then made an emergency call to Starfleet, even using her ambassador's clearance to get patched through as quickly as possible. The instant a click on the other end let her know the line was open, she announced her name, rank, and clearance level, and requested information on any contact made with Tarsus IV over the last month.

"Ma'am," the crisp, cool voice of the communications officer responded, "I'm afraid your clearance doesn't rank high enough for me to give you access to that information."

Amanda touched the PADD to her head, taking a calming breath before asking,"What's your name?"

There was a moment of dead air on the other end. "My name is Jacqueline."

"Okay, Jacqueline, my son is on Tarsus IV. Can you at least-" Amanda tried in vain to keep her voice from breaking, "Can you please tell me he's okay?"

The sound of keys being pressed reached her ears, which was more encouraging than the previous silence. "We received a distress call nearly a year prior that claimed a fungus had destroyed their crops. A supplies ship was sent to relieve them but was delayed due to Klingon interference. Other than a message from Governor Kodos stating that the situation was under control, there have been no further transmissions received from the Tarsus IV colony."

Amanda steadied herself. As an ambassador and former teacher, she'd learned much about the history of conflict, and when communication from a people to the outside world ceased, it was rarely a good sign. "How bad do you believe it is?" She asked, her voice nearly a whisper. "Truthfully?"

"Truthfully, ma'am, I'm not sure. I'm very sorry I couldn't be of more help to you." And to her credit, Officer Jacqueline did sound genuinely regretful. Perhaps even more so than was warranted given the information she'd provided.

"No, it's…" Amanda massaged her temples. "It's fine. Please inform me whenever communications with Tarsus IV are reestablished."

"Yes, Ma'am." And without any further preamble, the line went dead.

Starfleet was hiding something. Amanda was sure of it.

With seemingly innocuous intentions, Spock wondered aloud at dinner how long a human could survive without sustenance.

"About three months," Amanda responded automatically, tucking a stray lock of hair back into her bun. Bemused, Sarek glanced between the pair of them.

Having already known the answer, Spock nodded. "And how long has Tarsus IV been without food, Mother?" Amanda's fork fell from her hand, hitting her plate with a jarring clatter she could feel in her teeth.

"Where did you hear about something like that, love?" It was only when Spock's expression hardened into a mask that she realized her son hadn't known for certain, had only suspected. Shame clogged her throat, leaving her speechless to protest when Spock abruptly left the table.

He was angry, as he had every right to be.

She was angry, too.

The next morning, Amanda gently shook her son awake, and when he blinked up at her, placed a single finger on her lips. Then she quietly told him to get dressed and ready in fifteen minutes. Wordlessly, he obeyed.

Somehow, without asking, he knew they were going to the Starfleet base. And the minute they arrived, Amanda threw herself into the recovery of the Tarsus IV colony, demanding that additional supply ships be sent to the planet in case the situation had deteriorated to a degree they hadn't anticipated, and volleyed for a small, fast team of fighters, as well. When asked why, she effortlessly recalled instances in Earth history where famines like these had been used to exploit the people, leading to dictators and warlords seizing power over the weakened, desperate populace. "People like that won't relinquish power without a fight."

And thus, when contact was at last made with the Tarsus IV colony and resistance was indeed met, the amount of losses on Starfleet's side was greatly diminished. Unfortunately, they were too late to prevent the massacre of four-thousand one-hundred and seventeen civilians. It was so close, however, that Robert April, commander of the fastest and most advanced ship in the fleet, the USS Enterprise, would never truly forgive himself for allowing the Klingons to delay their arrival. Though often praised for his handling of the precarious situation, it would weigh on him for decades to come, especially after seeing the state of the Tarsus survivors… along with the antimatter chamber coated from floor to ceiling with fine black ash.

They found a prisoner chained up in a cell beneath the rubble of Kodos' compound, a young boy with sandy blond hair streaked with dirt and mud. His clothes were in tatters, his body emaciated. It was a miracle he was still alive, let alone strong enough to fight them off when they attempted to free him from his shackles. Once they'd finally settled him down enough to get close without him lashing out in ways that were far more likely to hurt himself than any of April's crew given the boy's weakened state, they were able to see the wrists and ankles rubbed raw by the chains, inflamed and in the early stages of infection, and other partially healed wounds that appeared to have been the result of an interrogation.

As such, it took a fair bit more convincing to persuade the boy to tell them where the other survivors were. April had to pull out every trick in the book, from showing his badge - "Like you can't get a fake Starfleet badge?" - to reciting his name, rank, and identification code - "Anyone could find that out with a little determination." - to finally resorting to sharing classified information with the kid, namely about why it had taken the USS Enterprise so long to come and save them.

"We didn't know how bad it was," he'd told the boy honestly, because he was a leader looking after his men, same as him, and he deserved that much. "And when we started to suspect, so much time had passed that Starfleet sent the fastest, best ship in the fleet to bring you the supplies you needed except… Klingons fired on us en route, kept us from getting to you sooner."

The boy stared at him with ancient eyes. "Did you kill them?"

April didn't look away. Didn't flinch. "Maybe I should have." After taking a moment to let that sink in, the boy said he'd lead them to their hideout. He trekked through the barren fields like he was born there, helping them navigate the quickest, safest route with the least resistance, while the rest of April's shipmates and the crews of the other ships dealt with any remaining hostiles from Kodos' camp.

With his help, they were able to find over thirty children and young teens living in the fields.

And bring them home.

Here was what the Starfleet base on Vulcan was aware of when April's first transmission reached command:

1. The crops on Tarsus IV had been eradicated by an exotic fungus believed to be native to the planet's ecosystem.

2. Twelve months had passed since the previous governor of Tarsus IV had claimed the colony was running low on resources.

3. For the past three weeks, there had been no communications coming from the colony, nothing on the channels besides static.

What they did not know was that half of the colony's population had been systemically wiped out to preserve the other half. Amanda Grayson did not know on which half her son had fallen. She did know, however, that Jim was a survivor.

If there was any possible way he could have lived, her Jim would have found it.

Needless to say, she didn't give up hope, not even when the officers shut her out of the proceedings, having deemed her too emotionally invested to be involved. Instead, they left her and Spock in the observatory room to wait for the arrival of one of the Tarsus IV survivors. While she stared out into the vast expanse of space, mentally recalling the constellations that decorated the Vulcan night sky, Spock stood disconcertingly still beside her, the tautness of his bearing suggestive of an urge to move, to pace and fret, that he stubbornly refused to indulge.

He certainly was his father's son.

Amanda brushed his shoulder, causing him to jolt in surprise, and he looked up at her with too wide eyes, his surprise momentarily giving her a glimpse of the maelstrom of emotions tearing him up inside. Gradually, he relaxed at her touch, the stress pulling him taut leaking out of his slender body.

There was a misconception about the Vulcan that Amanda had always wished to brush aside from the collective minds of generations like the pesky cobweb it was - Vulcans are not emotionless. They feel more deeply, more strongly than anyone, and that is why they practice self-control.

Not because they don't care, but because they care too much.

And if anyone doubted her claim, they would only have to look at her oldest son the moment the doors open to reveal a team of Starfleet officers, covered in dust and dirt, with Commander Robert April of the USS Enterprise at the helm, and a skeletal child walking unsteadily at his side. The boy was coated in a thick layer of grime, with sunken eyes and cheeks making him look both young and ageless.

Images of Jim's dazzling smile flashed through Amanda's mind. She remembered how thrilled he'd been to go to Tarsus, how he'd talked about it non-stop for days, practically bursting at the seams with excitement. None of that energy was present in the ghost-like child standing with their fingertips brushing Commander April's, their gaze unfocused and dazed.

Amanda couldn't stop herself from moving, couldn't wait any longer to hold her son in her arms again, but when she stopped in front of him, he didn't open his arms for an embrace or open his mouth to speak. It was almost like Jim thought he was dreaming. He looked up her with such heartbreaking hope and doubt and fear, as though she would vanish like a gossamer mist if he reached out to touch her.

And she was afraid, too. Afraid that if she moved too quickly, if she wrapped her arms around him and folded him into an embrace he wasn't ready for, his fragile bones would shatter.

She hadn't realized Spock had followed her until he spoke, his voice low and tight with tenuously chained fury, "How did this happen?"

April glanced at Amanda, motioning for them to speak in private. She knew Spock would be upset at not being included, but resolved to fill him in on the details later. Someone needed to stay with Jim. So while Commander April explained to her in hushed tones what Governor Kodos had done, and how her son, barely eleven when she'd last held him, had broken eight children out of the antimatter chamber, becoming the default leader of a group of up to thirty survivors before his capture.

Through it all, she heard Jim murmuring, "I had to keep the other kids from starving." There was a note of apology in his voice, as though his diminished form was something he needed to justify. "They weren't as strong as me. I had to protect them." Spock made a soothing noise, his hands placed lightly on Jim's sides. Blue eyes blazed around pinprick pupils. A laugh like cracked glass spilled from his dry, bleeding lips. "You don't have to worry about me, though. See, I remembered exactly how many calories I needed to stay alive, just like you taught me, and made sure I got a least that much. I mean, who else would've taken care of us if I died?" It was clear that he didn't understand why Spock grew pale at his words, why he pursed his lips as though struggling not to be ill.

He rested his head against Jim's chest, listening to the feeble beating of his heart, and though Jim didn't seem notice, tears dripped down his stained cheeks, falling onto Spock's hair, where they stuck to the strands like dew. Slowly, Jim lifted his arms from his sides, and wound them around his brother's back. Shocked, Spock stiffened for an instant, before fiercely returning the gesture, and they shook in their shared suffering while their mother looked on, certain now that her sons were going recover from this, however long it took.

"Ambassador Grayson?" Commander April was waiting for a response. Amanda subtly inclined her head to assure him that he had her full attention. A line appeared between his brows. "Ambassador, you must understand that Jim is one of nine witnesses left to testify, should Kodos choose to someday come back from the dead, that the governor personally signed off on the deaths of thousands. For the sake of your son's safety, you must tell no one of what he experienced on Tarsus."

"My th'y'la and I," she started, emphasizing the endearment to make it implicitly clear that she would not be keeping any secrets from her husband, "would do nothing to endanger our son, Commander," and lifted her chin, determination and ferocity plain in the set of her jaw. "However," and her voice gained such a razor sharp edge that even the Commander looked nervous, "Governor Kodos had best hope he stays dead."

After several days of having his vitals monitored - a process complicated by Jim's steadfast refusal to enter biobeds - the boy was deemed stable enough to resume living with his adopted family on Vulcan. It was recommended, however, that Jim be taken to see a therapist, as he appeared to have developed a severe aversion to enclosed spaces and crowded areas.

It wasn't an easy adjustment to make at first, as Jim's needs had changed over the course of the few years he'd spent on Tarsus, and though the family did their best not to treat him as though he were fragile, the fact of the matter was they were still learning where to step. In order to make the curve as painless as possible for Jim, Amanda had spoken to him in private, asked him what topics they should try to avoid, what made him nervous or uncomfortable. At first, he'd insisted everything was fine, and maybe even believed it, but through patience, Amanda had learned that certain tastes and smells brought back memories for him he'd rather not face just yet, and made sure to adjust accordingly.

Unsurprisingly, it was a conversation that helped them both tremendously. After all, no one knew what Jim needed better than Jim himself, and Amanda refused to learn what hurt him and what didn't through trial and error. Perhaps there would be mistakes in the future, but this way, they would get past them together. As a family.

One such learning experience was during their first meal as a family after almost three years. Though Jim had known the meal was coming, he still looked awkward and heartbreakingly small in his old place at the table. The smell of tofu frying, something he'd once loved, had him gripping his shrunken stomach, his features contorting into a pained grimace as his body reacted violently to the scent.

After wrestling with indecision for about a minute, Spock breathed out a heavy sigh, then slipped his hand into Jim's, telling him quietly to squeeze it if his stomach was bothering him. "It will distract you from the pain." And though Jim appeared skeptical of the claim, he accepted the offer with a grateful nod. Witnessing this, Amanda's heart swelled with pride.

From that point on, Jim was quiet, speaking only when everyone had been served, and he noticed how small their portions were. Concerned, he asked why they were all eating so little, to which Amanda replied that eating too much at once could hurt him.

Jim blinked at her in confusion. "But you guys can eat as much as you want, right?"

"Vulcans require very little nutrients to sustain homeostasis," Spock replied, sounding as though he were reciting information from a textbook, before adding a touch hastily, "Also, I am not very hungry."

Though outwardly he appeared as stoic as ever, Sarek's dark eyes glittered with poorly concealed amusement. "I believe our appetites will return, Jim Kirk, once you are fully healed."

Jim took a moment to study his family, some of the color returning to his cheeks, before smiling for the first time since he'd left Tarsus, "Then I guess I better heal fast, then," and tucked into his mashed potatoes with fervor.

Sarek looked down at his own dismal helping with a soft, "Please do," earning himself a playful swat from his bondmate.

All Spock had wanted was a glass of water.

He'd crept out of his room on bare feet, keeping on his toes as he made his way through the hallway towards the kitchen, only to pause outside Jim's bedroom. He hadn't meant to do it, but some instinct made him stop, and when he did, a quiet sniffling reached his ears.

It was possible that Jim was having a nightmare, the content of which Spock didn't care to imagine. Earth custom suggested the correct course of action would be to wake him, yet Spock hesitated. He was not accustomed to being comforting, as such a skill would be wasted on the Vulcans. He didn't know what he'd say to Jim, and the thought of somehow making things worse chilled him to the core. Even so… a muted cry was all it took for him to slip soundlessly into the room.

There was no plan. Just a pure and earnest desire to help.

Spock hoped it would be enough.

Unfortunately for him, the bed was empty, its covers and sheets dragging on the floor as though they'd been thrown in a panic. He moved to check that the window was still closed, the pace of his heart quickening in his chest, when a small hand shot out from under the bed to grip his ankle. Spock looked down to see a pair of startlingly bright blue eyes peering up at him from the shadows. "Jim?" He got down slowly onto all fours so that he and Jim were level. "What are you doing under there?"

"Please," Jim begged, "you have to help me protect them. They're only kids."

So are you, Spock didn't say.

There wasn't enough room for both of them under the bed, so Spock angled his body to bring it closer to the edge, blocking out everything else from Jim's sight. Judging by the small frown on Jim's face, he would've preferred him under the bed too, but Spock guessed he'd accepted that this was the next best thing.

When a shiver wracked through Jim's frame, Spock pulled the blanket off the mattress to cover him, only for Jim to throw it clumsily over him, too. "I want to see them," Jim confessed in a breathless whisper once their bodies were mostly concealed by the fabric, with Spock's lower legs poking out despite his best efforts due to a recent growth spurt. "I need to know they're safe." Jim gasped, his voice splintering into a ragged sob. "Why won't anyone let me make sure they're okay?"

No longer thinking of what he could or couldn't do, Spock wrapped an arm around him. "They are safe, Jim. You kept them all safe." In Jim's glassy, unfocused gaze, a bottomless well of trust dwelled. With it wholly concentrated on him, Spock was beginning to find it difficult to continue. "They are with their families now. Healing. And when you're all recovered, I am certain you will see them again."

Jim believed him, and just as Spock had hoped he would, started to relax. Spock could feel the tension draining from his back. There was so little of him left, though, that Spock felt a sudden, irrational spike of fear at the prospect of Jim melting away entirely.

"I'm afraid to close my eyes, Spock," Jim murmured fearfully, his words muffled thanks to his head resting against the carpeting. "What if this isn't real? What if I wake up and all of this was just a dream?"

Spock tightened his hold on Jim, pulling him closer. "Do I feel like a dream?"

Since his body was naturally cooler than a human's, it must have felt like a balm to Jim in his feverish state, as he leaned unconsciously into the touch, a soft sound escaping his lips. Though Spock judged the rise in Jim's core temperature to be minimal, he made a mental note to inform their mother if it worsened. "Rest, Jim. No harm shall befall you whilst I am here."

It was as though he'd spoken the magic words. Jim's eyes widened briefly, followed by a flash of gratitude, before falling closed as his expression slackened. Simultaneously the hand clutching Spock's loosened, and the sounds of Jim's racing heart gave way to steady, even breaths blessedly unlabored in sleep.

Focused as he'd been on his brother, Spock hadn't acknowledged the entrance of another, but now he shifted to see a pair of familiar cotton slippers standing by the doorway. Amanda knelt down beside him, brushing his hair briefly before resting a palm on Jim's forehead. The corners of her mouth crinkled with a frown. "The doctors said his immune system would need time to recover," she explained, and in an attempt at humor, added lightly, "It's a good thing Vulcan is one of the most cleanly kept planets in the galaxy."

While the attempt was appreciated, a single phrase had been replaying in Spock's mind ever since learning of the famine, the massacre, the months Jim had spent on the run, "I should have been there." It came out so bitterly even he was startled by the sheer vehemence of an emotion he wasn't meant to feel. After all, it wasn't logical to desire to change the past.

He looked up in time to see a single tear drip down his mother's cheek, but before he could give voice to the horror mounting within him at having made her cry, he found himself enveloped in her arms. "Oh, my brave boy," she whispered against his hair. "You noticed something was wrong, and that helped so, so much. More than you can know. But if you had been there with him, I might have lost you both, and I honestly don't know if I could have survived that."

Spock had seen the pink rings around Jim's wrists, the recently healed scars peeking out from under his shirt collar. He wanted to - needed to believe that if he'd gone on the exchange with Jim, those wounds would be lessened, if not erased entirely. Vulcans were stronger than humans, faster. He could have done something to help, instead of waiting around awkwardly while Jim battled demons and traumas that no one who hadn't been on that planet with him could ever dream to understand.

Leaning into his mother's calming strokes, he muttered, "I don't know how to help him, Mother." He was supposed to be so smart. A prodigy. So why couldn't he at least do that much?

When the gentle brushing of her fingers through his short locks slowed, he risked glancing upward to see her watching Jim's sleeping form. She looked down with an expression that shone with pride. "I think you do, Spock. I think you already have."

Once Spock was sound asleep - still guarding Jim as he promised, though Amanda had brought him an extra blanket and pillows to help him feel more comfortable - she crept out of the room, being careful not to wake them, but instead of returning to her own bed, walked to the kitchen where her PADD rested on the counter. After staring at the black surface of the device for several seconds, she activated it, pressing the side button to illuminate the screen with a dim glow.

"Patch me in to Starfleet Command." Immediately, the PADD began to connect her to a communications officer. Amanda stated her name, rank, and clearance codes, then when prompted, informed the officer that she wished to speak with, "Lieutenant Commander Winona Kirk of the Valiant crew, please." Normally, a call placed to Starfleet in the middle of the night would be considered suspect, but someone must have known what happened on Tarsus IV, because Amanda had barely settled on a stool when she heard the click that signaled a connection had been made.

She took a deep breath,"Jim's okay, Winona. He's okay, but…" Flashes of Jim staring up at her, lost and frightened and hurt, flooded her mind, that spark in him doused to a smoldering ember, and found to her shock and confusion that she couldn't continue. A sob clawed its way out of her throat, followed by another, until her whole body seemed to tremble with the violence of their creation.

And for all that she attempted to steady herself, wiping her cheeks and palming her aching eyes for the sake of sharing with Winona what had happened to their son, the stubborn tears continued to fall. Unable to respond to the stream of Winona's concerned reassurances and questions, she wept quietly, a hand pressed against her mouth to muffle the sound as her feelings poured forth relentlessly, emptying a heart heavy with grief for the innocence that was stolen.

A/N: You would not believe the amount of research I did for this. As always, reviews are welcome. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Have a wonderful day!