Disclaimer: I do NOT own Star Trek, I'm just doing this for love, not money!

A/N: I decided that it might be easier if all of the oneshots were put together into one cognitive story. Well, please enjoy!

Warnings: AU! Angst! Sadness! Death!

*

Come In

"Where are you?" He whispered softly, his eyes closing as if to escape the sights he saw.

The rain fell in a torrent of unparalleled sorrow. It hit him everywhere. His shoulders ached with the force of the raindrops falling like shards of glass. The neat grass bowed before the storm's power, and Spock couldn't blame it. He too wanted to fold in half like a slight flower. But he couldn't.

The murmur of the priest reciting his mother's last rights filled his ears and overflowed. Today he was a cup too full. All he could see from the slits of his tired eyes was the dark wood box that held his mother as she was lowered into the earth.

Sixteen was too young to be alone.

There were only a few beside him at the grave. The few rare friends that his mother held close and the Vulcan man who stood at the back were the only testament that it really hadn't been Amanda against the world. She had had loved ones, friends. Her son hadn't ruined it all for her.

Spock clenched his hands in the deep pockets of his coat and hissed through his teeth as his long nails bit into the flesh of his palm. The sound didn't carry over the rush of the wind, and for that, he was glad. He already didn't like that he looked like shit in front of these people.

He opened his eyes to see the priest's final crossing and watched, heart broken, as the dirt began to cover his mother's box like a wet, uncomfortable blanket. He wondered if he'd get shipped to the Funny Farm if he threw himself down in the hole. He decided that it was likely from the wary look on the priest's face. He bowed his head and blinked his eyes as water fell from his thick bangs. He was soaked to the bone.

When the dirt lay level with the rest of the ground and people began to drift away, Spock stepped forward. He ruffled through his pockets, discarding the gum wrappers and lint, and slowly pulled out his prize.

The box was soggy, but it opened easily enough. He pulled out the wad of toilet paper and unwrapped it slowly. The glass birds felt like ice in his hands as he shoved the box and packing back into his pocket. His numb fingers fumbled as he knelt on the grave, his knees absorbing the chilly mud and grass chunks. With careful precision, he undid the tiny door on the top of the gravestone and slid the birds inside. They were kept safely out of the elements, and in the dark, the blues of their plumage seemed black. He wondered if they would look any less pitiful if it was sunny out.

Adjusting them some, he got them into position and stood, gently closing the door most of the way, but keeping it open a crack. Just in case they wanted out. He stopped himself, his eyes clenching shut and his breath rattling in his chest at the sight of them in there. He felt the tears well up and slide hotly down his cold face.

It would be alright, he chanted over and over.

The mommy bird and the baby bird were safe now. Nothing could hurt them.

He covered his mouth with his trembling hand and stood, turning to the man who had stayed behind with him.

Sarek felt his chest tighten to the point of uncomfortable as the child,

No, he corrected himself, the young man looked at him with eyes that shook him to his soul.

Dark eyes, wide with thick lashes and large circles. They looked black under the cast of the clouds, and he wondered if they weren't really brown. He had always wanted the child to have Amanda's eyes.

His child. He felt his chest get even tighter.

How could he have listened to her? Amanda had told him that she would be fine. He had listened, so cowed by the elders, so unaware of the bond. He had let her go, and in doing so, he had lost his wife, his partner, and his love.

And his child, his mind reminded him sharply. The thought was like glass to his frontal lobe and he almost winced.

His emotions were like a warring sea. Rising and falling, they burned like cold fire; barely restrained under his teachings. He wanted to speak, but could find no words to comfort the one in front of him. He hunched his shoulders and tried to ignore the drop in temperature as the wind rate picked up speed.

What was he going to do?

"You, you're…Sarek, correct?" He asked slowly, forcing the words from his throat as he watched him retreat further into his thick looking coat. The wind picked up but he couldn't feel it, his face was already numb.

He didn't know if he could deal with this. Now, anyway.

He couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he felt…alright. Hole, and warm to his senses. He had met Vulcans before, but this one felt different. He wondered if it was because he had been close to his mother. He felt the sorrow hit him between the eyes like a bat and fought the urge to curl up.

"Yes."

The answer was without infliction and Spock nodded, already having figured as much.

"I assume you received my post."

"I did."

"I'm cold. I'm going to my craft…Would you like a ride to the place you're staying?"

He barely remembered to tack on the polite offering. Mother raised you better than that; his mind scolded him as he moved to shuffle past the older man. He couldn't find it within himself to feel bad about it. Mother was gone, after all.

That's no excuse! His mind screamed at him. Spock sighed and nodded in assent to himself as he walked past the other Vulcan. He moved to accommodate Spock and Spock jerked his head forward.

"It's over here."

Sarek followed him as they walked down the softly sloping hill of the burial ground. His shoulders were slumped and his walk slow. Sarek wonder if he was meditating well. It was…unlikely in the face of such anguish he was feeling, he decided as he watched his feet. He wanted to be certain of the ground before he step-

With a rush of slick grass and wet mud, Spock's feet went flying out from under him. In a frightening rush, he was sliding down the hill. The seat of his pants found resistance and he sat there as the world flew around him. He was now at the bottom of the hill.

The corners of his mouth tugged and as he though about it, his smile widened. He threw his head back and laughed, landing with his back on the ground and the rain hitting his face sharply. He heard Sarek hurry down behind him, on his feet mind, and he couldn't help it; he laughed harder.

His eyes clenched shut and for a moment, the world stopped. Spock always had had a strange sense of humor. His laugh bubbled around the silent hillside and Spock couldn't care. It shook his lean frame and his cheeks and head hurt by the time he stopped, out of breath and green faced. He gasped for breath and smiled wider at the blatant look of concern on the other's face.

His eyes hurt and he rubbed at them with his sleeve as he tried to lever himself up.

Sarek caught his soaking arm and tried not to look more worried. He gently pulled him to his feet and was thankful that he had remembered to wear his gloves.

He felt the weight of relief over his heavy heart and thanked Surak.

His heart had stopped when he had heard his son's squeak of astonishment moments before he went sliding down the incline on his bottom. He had raced down after him, uncaring of mud and such in the face of his ch-…him, being injured. He found him doing the illogical.

Why would he laugh?

He wondered why he had laughed so hard, but attributed it to the fact that he had been in desperate need of it in past days. Spock figured he would ignore it unless Sarek brought it up.

"Well, that was fun!" He exclaimed, adrenaline warring with the want for sleep. He started looting for his vehicle keys.

Spock motioned forward with a bare hand; long fingers covered in mud and stained a dark green color from him catching himself as he fell.

He might as well keep his offer of a ride.

Sarek wasn't looking too great.

To My Parlor

Spock was starting to think Vulcan was on one of the lower rungs of hell. It was hot. It was sandy. It was fully of sharp pointy rocks. He fought not to scowl and resisted the temptation of kicking the hunk of red rock by his foot. His light undershirt kept him comfortably cool even as it worked with his jeans to make him a sore thumb in the crowd of chibi-Vulcans.

And no matter what the fuck his artist side said and crooned over, the suns (plural, damnit) needed to be shot from the sky.

He mourned the loss of his nocturnal schedule. His mother had worked night shift as a nurse, and Spock might have gone to high school and gotten straight A+s, but that did not mean that he had to like being up with the sun.

Spock held his breath and counted to cool himself down some. He might never be a Vulcan mystic, but he had been doing meditation since he could read and write and-

He glanced out of the side of his eye and saw the older kids be let out of class. They moved in a mass past him and he kicked his foot up to rest it flat souled on the wall behind him. He started counting backwards and making truth tables mentally.

Sybok had better hurry the hell up, because Spock was seriously considering pulling something stupid and embarrassing with all of those kids watching him like he was part of a petting zoo.

At least the older ones were better at making the glances look like accidents instead of blank faced, wide eyed mooning.

He reached up and tightened his bun self-consciously. His thick black hair would've made any purist Vulcan proud…except that when undone, it fell down to his ass. It certainly had grown in the months since Sarek's living proposal. He ruffled his bangs and relaxed into the wall of the educational facility. He was so glad that he didn't have to be here. Learn here. Do-anything-except-pick-up-his-little-brother here.

He had taken the aptitude tests and they had placed his seventeen year old ass in the fourth year of the Vulcan Science Academy…so…no real school. He designed ships and warp cores for fun and then watched as the other students squawked about them. He almost snorted at the thought of it; like he didn't know how to calculate the maximum velocity of the gravitational spirals in correlation to the intake of fuel and trajectory of the ship.

It was when the halls cleared and Sybok still hadn't appeared that Spock began to worry.

Sybok was the classic Vulcan child, a really good kid, and if he hadn't called or told Spock that he was staying after, then something was up.

Spock's eyes narrowed as he located the identical door of his brother's aquarium and pressed his ear soundlessly to the door.

The keen appendage picked up the faint sound of talking and then,

Spock jerked his head away from the door and grabbed the handle. He swung it open wide and without hesitation, charged in at the one holding his brother by the collar.

A solid crack of his hand and the older boy let go of Sybok, clutching his noise as he yelped.

Spock executed a neat ankle trip and twirled around to face the other two as the older Vulcan student hit the stairs leading into one of the learning bowls and fell in. Spock heard the smack of flesh on metal and ignored it in favor of twisting under the jab at one of his nerves. He did a forearm block and grunted as he felt someone grab the back of his undershirt.

A fist impacted the side of his face and he grunted, falling to the floor boneless only to swivel on his knees and take a leg shot at his attacker. Flipping, he slid away from the majority of the last one's kick at his side. It barely chipped his shoulder and Spock grit his teeth. He could feel the muscle tear from the force of a Vulcan's strength.

He surged to his feet and connected his fist to the boy's diaphragm, hard. He crumpled and Spock broke his nose. His breath was loud in the empty room and he touched his pouting lip to find green blood staining his fingertips. He scowled and probed at the rest of his face.

It hurt like a bitch, and he turned to find Sybok against the wall. His nose was bloody and his hair rumpled. His eyes were wide and his small form trembled. Spock tried to smile while he still could without wincing. It worked and he saw his brother's eyes widen just before he felt the fist in his side.

He coughed harshly and spun with the force, turning him to face his attacker. It was leg-shot guy and Spock growled. He threw himself into a half and tackled the other to the floor. He heard the breath wheeze from the others body as Spock sat on his chest.

With a neat roll from his attacker, Spock was on the bottom. Spock rolled them again and his yell joined the others under him as they tipped sideways into a bowl. Spock grunted as he tumbled over and over and landed with the heavier student on top of him. He felt the sickening crack of his finger break as he stopped the fist to his nose. Spock yelled and surged upwards, his legs tangling in the others as he held him off and strove to fight him at the same time. His fist got him in the nose.

They both froze when they heard, "What is the meaning of this." from above them in the loud voice of a Vulcan instructor.

Spock's eyes met the darker ones below him and he smirked, his face already hurting with the strain.

He scrambled off the other boy's lap and across the bowl as fast as he could.

The other took the side opposite to him and scowled darkly towards him.

The teachers hauled there asses out and laid one on them about responsibility and setting examples and shame. Spock was deadpanned as he was drug back out into the hall and set on a bench with the stern warning of don't move, we're calling the Ambassador from a stern faced Vulcan with a tight bun and a no-nonsense look about her.

Leg-shot as he was affectionately calling him was sat beside him with the same warning. Spock looked over and frowned when he saw Sybok be led off and the other two boys taken away to another room.

"Why did you hit me?" The tone was measured and frosty as Spock looked over to the boy who had punched him in the side and who he had gotten in the nose.

"Why were you beating on my younger brother?" Spock asked, mirrored frost formed between them.

"I was trying to stop them."

Spock looked skeptical.

"That wasn't what it looked like."

"You were highly illogical just charging in there like a mad seleak." The boy said, distain almost dripping as he glared. The look was diminished by his hand cupped under his nose to keep the grassy blood from the floor.

Spock couldn't help but snort as he held out his unbroken hand.

"I apologize if I was wrong. I'm Spock."

The other looked at it warily before taking it with a bruised hand.

"…Your apology is…sufficient. I am Stonn."

"Nice to meet you. You throw one hell of a punch." Spock grinned sardonically and rose and eyebrow as he touched his already tensing side.

"So you say." Stonn snipped back, his deep voice cold as he leaned back over above his cupped hand and frowned.

Spock couldn't help it; he laughed.

And as Stonn looked bewildered and his father walked down the hall, Spock thought that it was a beautiful start to their relationship. Broken fingers and all.

Said the Spider

Spock hissed quietly through his teeth as he concentrated on the canvas in front of him. It was almost done.

He frowned and leaned over to dip his brush into his palate. He carefully mixed the correct color he required and then leaned back to his piece and gently created his shadow.

He tapped the wooden end of his paintbrush to his lips in a rapid repetition before he levered himself carefully up to his feet. He set his paintbrush down and stepped backwards and looked at his art.

He knees hurt from sitting cross-legged so long, but what he was concerned over was-

"Spock?"

He yelped, spinning around quickly. His feet tangled and he fell backwards- only to have his arm caught by his surprise…r. Stonn.

He scowled as he stepped out of the hold the other Vulcan had on his arm, brushing his hands on his pants self-consciously. He was covered in art.

The sun shone on his back from over the house, and Stonn raised a hand to shield his eyes.

"What's up?" Spock asked, pointedly looking at the other.

Stonn cocked an eyebrow at him, and Spock cocked one back. He hated that expression that so many others seemed to wear.

"Is this not the appointed time in which we agreed to confer?"

Spock looked at his watched, and blanched, looking up to stare at his friend with horror.

"Man, I though I said a reasonable time! It's only 7:00!"

Stonn's head tilted questioningly.

"If I hadn't been unable to sleep, I would've been sleeping till noon." Spock explained, taking glee from seeing Stonn's eyes widen incredulously.

"Surely not." Stonn stated, stunned.

"Surely so." Spock mimicked, smile stretching his face.

Stonn shook his head wonderingly, unable to believe that his normally studious, hardworking friend would ever even consider sleeping so late. Wasting so much time that he could use for more constructive things…like learning.

Then again, Stonn considered, looking at the messy Spock, his friend had been raised by a human…

"Well," Spock sighed, "We might as well start. Why don't you come in."

He resigned as he packed up his painting supplies in their bucket, setting the still wet canvas on top to serve as an impromptu lid.

He jerked his head to let Stonn ahead of him, and in they went.

"Why don't you head into the kitchen. I'll run upstairs and grab my things."

Leaving his friend, Spock ran up the stairs and quickly put his things away, laying his wet piece atop his neat bed. He grabbed his book bag and hurtled himself back down the stairs, almost tripping as he rounded the sharp corner and went into the kitchen. His hair flew around him in a wave, and he impatiently pushed it behind his ears as he plopped his stuff down on the countertop and scrambled onto a barstool.

Stonn was sitting on the other side of the island, his hands neatly folded in his lap and his clothing pristine.

It reminded Spock that he must look like a mess.

Paint stained his hands and colored under his fingernails, his pants were his long loved, heavily holed paint pants, and he was just wearing a ratty undershirt that was almost too small for him.

Certainly NOT the best of pictures.

He tried to soundly ignore it as he dug out his advanced Physics When Applied to Mechanics book and placed it between himself and Stonn. Spock shifted, folding his bare feet beneath himself and sitting on his knees as he leaned across the table to point out the lesson to Stonn.

He would've much preferred to continue painting, or hell, even reading, but since the start of their tentative friendship, and Stonn had learned the position the younger boy had in the Academy, Spock had agreed to feed Stonn's ever loving obsession of Physics and…Mechanics. Preferably both…mixed together…and as much as possible.

Spock had put his foot down on the every two day thing that Stonn had requested at first. Spock was busy with the Academy, and Stonn DID have school to complete, so they had compromised on every Wednesday and Saturday. Meeting at Spock's, eating, studying, and Spock preparing his older friend on the final examinations that Stonn would have.

It was at times like this though, that Spock was most acutely aware of what he had lost…and gained.

Mentally shaking himself, Spock licked his lips and leaned over further, letting the photographic memory he had parade around for Stonn the lessons Spock was taking, and the work he was doing. Overall, Spock decided as he pointed out the engine equations on the layout for the new engine he was helping to create, it was just another day on Vulcan.

To

From the beginning, it had always been just the two of them. Mom and Spock. Amanda and Son. They had never had a man to fill the position of father to Spock, but he really didn't care. As long as he had his mother, he would be fine. They would be fine.

Mom was a nurse. RN. She traveled, taking Spock with her when she couldn't book a hotel immediately. Spock saw a lot of waiting rooms, crying families, and coloring books. He carried change only in his small pockets back then as he walked around to eat out of snack machines. They had much gas-station food back then.

Spock swore he would never touch another veggie-dog again after that time.

From a young age, he was easily entertained with newspaper, pens, and coloring books. Really, it was the art. Drawing, coloring, sculpting. It was one of the reasons he'd been so excited when they had settled into a small town with a big hospital that paid well. He finally got to go to school.

Art class became his haven where he honed his skills and perfected his techniques. Even when the other kids teased him, then ignored him, he always had his art, and Mrs. Waddle, to fall back on. He took college classes and did art for the rest of the day that he had at school.

It really hadn't been his fault that he was so smart. All he and his mother had had for reading material had been a dictionary and mother's school padds.

He'd grown up with Webster being his best friend.

But then, then it had changed.

He had entered high school, and found his corner of a place in the art room beside a senior girl with dark eyes. They had hit it off, and Spock had gotten one of his first human friends.

He knew now, that their friendship had never meant to last.

She had already planned to kill herself after graduation. Spock was an unexpected light in the otherwise dark world for her. He had been her friend, but in the end, she had already had it all worked out.

Spock found her with her brains painting the wall behind her bed, the 9mm antique Beretta fallen to the floor with a brightly wrapped birthday present for him.

He still had the unopened gift, the letter of goodbye, and the memory of her damn funeral to stay in his mind for the rest of his life.

During the funeral, he had sent her off with an inside joke that had gotten him kicked out of the funeral home by her parents and had ended up coming to her grave later that night with a bottle of booze and a pack of cigarettes.

He lit her cold stone a cig, opened the bottle, and poured it on the ground for her to have in her coffin. Her closed coffin because she had blown her brain out. The stupid bitch.

It had been more than a year later, with multiple trips to the therapist, before he had started to leave his pain behind.

He had hid away all of his art work from that time of mourning, except for the ink print of her face, smiling, happy. He kept the linoleum and proofs, and the almost empty bottle of ink on his dresser where he could always look and remember that, before she had died, she had been happy…if only once.

Then the worst had happened.

A drunk driver had hit his mother on her way home from work.

He had been so angry that night, so upset. She had said that she would be there, for his Academic Team game, and had never shown up. His team had won, but his mother had died.

He didn't find out until the after party and had turned on his phone.

The hospital had been trying to call him.

He answered the strange number.

The woman's voice had come on.

Spock couldn't really remember what had happened next except that he had got to the hospital in one piece without his phone and with a scrapped knee.

He had identified the body.

He had cried.

He had written out the messages from her address book for the funeral.

It was just close, if not old, friends until he had found the area code for contacting Vulcan. He was smart. He knew that the man showing up would likely be his father.

He had been teased all through school about being a bastard.

He had planned the funeral.

Something small, nice, she would've liked it.

He gave her the glass birds that she had bought for him from a flea-market in Utah.

But now, Spock came to with a quick snap when he felt as someone laid a blanket over his shoulders. He blinked open his tired eyes at the feeling of a thermometer under his tongue and groaned at the bleary picture of Sarek standing over him.

Right. He was on Vulcan now.

Shit, he was supposed to present in class today.

He raised a hand to grab the stick under his tongue, but a hand closed over his wrist and laid the leaden thing back down. Spock found he didn't have the strength to pick it back up again.

"Rest, Spock." Sarek's deep voice washed over him in a warm wave, and Spock could feel the lightest, unobtrusive brush of compulsion as it touched his mind. Sick as he was, he still fought it.

"No." He didn't recognize his own voice. He just didn't want to go back. He didn't want to think about her, about earth. He wanted to stay away from them. Even now, he felt the tears well up and slide down his cheeks at the thought of his mother's funeral.

And here he had thought he had no more tears to cry.

His hand caught his fathers in a tight grip, and he felt Sarek's other hesitantly run through Spock's messy hair with a soothing gesture. Spock felt his body start to fail with exhaustion and tried to struggle back awake.

"Sleep easy, son, for I shall protect you."

He thought he heard Sarek whisper to him in Vulcan, but with his feverish state, he would never be sure.

He went to sleep.

The Fly

Spock folded his hands behind his back in his customary pose and looked out of the view screen to the testing area below. He was almost smiling by the time he noticed the shock of blonde hair that stood by the "captain's chair." That made the smile turn into a smirk.

So this was the boy who had could hack his system, eh? Well, this was going to be…fun.

He stepped back to the monitoring screen and watched quietly as the simulation commenced. He followed the data track with his eyes and quickly froze the screens of the hack in progress, saving them to his personal files.

He wanted to applaud the brilliantly subtle changes in the frames that, had he not been looking at it, no one would ever see.

He had designed the Kobayashi Maru to be the perfect test for up and coming command officers. The frontal purpose was to experience fear; fear in the face of certain death, the captain would maintain control of himself and his crew.

But he had also planned it out to be taken more than once, something few recognized.

The moment The Board had come to him, just fresh out of the Star Fleet Academy with his focus being bimolecular mutations, and asked him if he could design a test for the slim students that where in the challenging Command Path, he had jumped on it with no hesitation.

Throughout school he had been known for his technological prowess, and who would expect any different? He had been in the Vulcan Science Academy for his teenaged years. So, it wasn't a shock for The Board to use him as they did. He had gotten to work immediately between his teaching of the xenolinguistics class and hand to had combat teaching.

Within a year, he had the Kobayashi Maru.

He even rated the people in his head as he went over the footage of cadets taking the test, as per The Boards request. They only wanted the best of the best brought before them, and Spock could understand that.

His ratings were simple.

Take it once and walk away defeated, you weren't fit for command.

Take it once and walk away contemplating, you had potential to be good in command.

Take it twice and walk away contemplating it even more, you had GREAT potential to be good in command.

The few in the second category and all in the third where given to The Board for their look over.

No one had yet come back to take it three times.

Except Cadet Kirk.

That was something that had shocked, and inordinately pleased him. Human or not, people were so afraid of failing that they didn't try anymore, it seemed.

Spock might have known the feeling had he not put up with ruining countless strands of DNA, circuit boards blowing up in his face, and having to laugh at himself and his fellow Vulcan students in the Vulcan Academy when everyone needed to lighten up.

(The people in Star Fleet would surely be shocked to find that to Vulcans, Spock was often the class clown.)

Spock had yet to look up the cadet's file, wanting to be surprised with each encounter but since he had discovered Kirk's digital fingerprints all over the SIM, Spock had known.

Cadet Kirk was either going to kill his crew in a ball of fiery death…

Or he was going to be one of the best to ever serve in Star Fleet.

Spock dearly hoped it was the second one.

Watching as the hack hit climax, Spock was unsurprised to have the lights go out as the program rerouted. They came back on after a spare second.

The other technicians were running like chicken's with their heads cut off as Spock stood straighter and walked back to the viewing window, an almost unnoticeable skip in his step.

Looking down on the blonde with a grin, he unfolded his hands and tucked them into his pockets.

He couldn't wait to meet Kirk.

It was bound to be…interesting.