*EDITED*

Um, don't freak out guys, but I'm scraping the 2nd Arc. My OC Lucy turned out to be too awesome to just shove her into the middle of this story where she'd be forgotten. So! Slight change but don't worry. Also, second chapter's up! ('Course, this leaves more time for fluffy K/S scenes so it's a win-win.)

Hello. Katsuki here. So, K/S. The granddaddy of slash. I had to contribute to this epic love story some time, so why not now? Anyways, for anyone who by freaky coincidence has read "Prisoners", this is my new home. Sort of. My old home is for reading, this one's for writing. Yeah, I'm nuts, I know.

Anyways, I'm an Australian hailing from the BLEACH fandom, so please excuse anything, uh, especially weird. Please review if you have the time, but at least fav and/or follow if you liked it but actually have a life to get back to? Thanks!

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Chapter One: Two Such Lonely Souls

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James T. Kirk was an unusually quiet child, or so his first grade teacher, Mrs Green thought. Unlike the other six-year-olds, he never spoke out of turn or punched someone for taking his things. And they did, quite often in fact, take little Jimmy's things. Not that he had many things to take.

Mrs Green had been teaching the young Kirk for just over half a year now, and she still had yet to figure out what made the little guy tick. Once, a girl even smaller than the tiny boy – and my, was he tiny – had taken his metal ruler and smacked him in the face with it when he, rather politely, asked for it back. Another time, the other boys in class had taken his lunch – all of it, not that there was ever much of it either – and Mrs Green had watched the underweight, scrawny little James Kirk faint ten minutes into their afternoon art lesson. These, sadly, weren't rare occurrences. Bad things seemed to happen to Jim every other day.

And never once did he complain about it. Mrs Green had tried, multiple times, to get James to talk about his troubles but never to any success, as he'd always shake his head, his scruffy blond hair flying about, and smile like he had no troubles.

It was frustrating, to be honest. And Mrs Green was frustrated. But not with Jimmy, never with him. She was frustrated with herself for not being able to do anything about it – whatever it was.

So when her fellow teacher and husband had told her about the pen pal program with Vulcan his fourth grade class was undertaking, she had seen a golden opportunity for her to finally do something. If Jim wouldn't talk to her, someone he had to see on an almost daily basis, perhaps he'd be better off pouring his worries into printed words someone thousands of light-years away would read.

If it ever even occurred to her that perhaps a Vulcan wouldn't be equipped to deal with a human child's emotionalism, she didn't spend much time thinking about it.

The very next school day, a Monday – her favourite day – she put a copy of the elaborately worded proposal letter on James's desk. He blinked in surprise at the PADD for a moment before turning his big, blue, very confused eyes on Mrs Green.

"Ms," Jim said in his quiet, sweet voice. "What's this?"

"This," Mrs Green said proudly, "is a letter from Vulcan, explaining about the pen pal program they're starting this year to encourage healthy relations with the Humans."

Jim ran a tentative finger along the edge of the PADD before picking it up slowly. He read it faster than even Mrs Green had, the long-winded and often complicated sentences making sense to him in a way his teacher never understood. Six-years-old and reading like a Professor of literature. Another James Kirk puzzle she'd yet to figure out.

She was, however, quite adept at reading emotions on anyone, and was delighted at the excited look in Jim's eyes when he finally looked back up at her. He'd read it twice, she noted, like he couldn't believe it the first time.

"Are the other kids doing this?" he asked, curiosity evident in every line of his being.

Mrs Green nodded happily. "Only the fourth graders."

Jim frowned a little at that. "Then why…?" he trailed off, looking down at the PADD again. His eyes flickered back up to Mrs Green's and the look there nearly knocked her off her feet. Little children weren't meant to look so confused, not in that sad sort of way at least. It was as though Jim didn't understand why she was giving this to him, and him alone. And if she had any doubts about her observational skills they were quickly alleviated as he asked, "Why me?"

Mrs Green ruffled his hair affectionately, making the mess even messier if that were even possible. "Because I thought you'd like it, silly," she smiled at him and got a tentative but blindingly happy smile in return.

"Thank you, Mrs Green," Jim mumbled, sounding the happiest she'd ever heard. It saddened her to think that such a small thing could bring this boy more happiness than she'd seen on him before, because despite the fact that he was almost always smiling, it had never seemed real to her.

The way he was smiling now, as he reread the words glowing on the PADD screen, seemed very real indeed.

*^.^*

Spock was unusually loud for a Vulcan child, or so Amanda was told. It was true that he did ask an exceptional amount of questions but Amanda had never minded answering them to the best of her abilities. She wasn't a teacher for no reason, after all.

Amanda loved her son, truly. He was the most precious thing in the universe to her, and seeing him suffer torment at the hands of the other Vulcan children hurt her dearly. She wanted the best for her child – doesn't every mother? – and not having any friends wasn't what she had in mind.

Now, being Amanda Grayson, she wasn't about to sit back and let her son be lonely. No way. So she utilised her impressive mind and came up with an idea so logical not even her dear Sarek could refuse.

Pen pals.

It was perfect.

She told Sarek (in great detail) her plan, and he – in a surprisingly short amount of time – had it approved. Now she was waiting patiently for the first electronic letter to arrive. The human children would send the first letters because otherwise the Vulcan children would alienate themselves pretty effectively in the first sentence.

When Spock came home one afternoon clutching a PADD to his chest with the largest not-smile she'd seen in two years on his face, Amanda had pulled him into a gentle hug and whispered into his ear, "Have fun, Spock."

He'd pulled back and put on a disapproving frown. "Vulcans do not 'have fun', Mother," he reminded her primly, but his eyes were sparkling.

Amanda managed to look appropriately berated and let her son go upstairs to his bedroom.

She smiled at his retreating back, before turning back to her work in the kitchen. Just in case, she'd decided to make Plomeek soup. But hopefully it would be eaten in celebration rather than for comfort.

Upstairs, Spock entered his room and put his bag by the door. He sat at his desk and placed the PADD on the table in front of him with a calm he didn't feel.

A pen pal. A friend.

It was illogical to feel as excited as he did over this simple school assignment. It was even less logical to be experiencing the momentary bouts of anxiety he had been enduring since being given the PADD.

It contained the first letter from his Human pen pal. The program required they exchange at least four letters each but Spock found himself wishing they could continue, even after the four letter minimum was passed. He didn't have many (read: any) friends on Vulcan. Even his father was hard to talk to. The only person Spock felt able to be himself around was his mother, a Human. By that reasoning another Human should accept him as well.

Should being the key word here.

Taking a deep meditative breath, Spock flicked the PADD on. The sudden burst of light on the screen he'd been staring at unblinkingly blinded him momentarily but then the glare faded and the words came into view.

Hello,

My name's James Tiberius Kirk. I hope you don't mind but I am only six. I know all your friends will be talking to other nine-year-olds but I hope you will still like writing to me. I know I liked writing to you and I don't even know you yet.

I live in Riverside, Iowa, in the United States of America. It's pretty nice here. Very quiet. We have a shipyard in our town, dedicated to George Kirk. He's my father. You might have heard of him. (If not, you could. He's pretty easy to find, what with being a Starfleet hero and all. Try USS Kelvin, you'll find him.)

Have you ever been to Earth? I've never been to another planet. Well, I was born off-planet. In a shuttlecraft in outer-space actually, but that's not important.

I should explain something before I go any further. My first grade teacher, Mrs Green, is the whole reason why I get to write you. She told me she thought I'd like writing to you, and she was right. But then, she's always right.

Mrs Green is half Orion, on her mother's side. Have you ever met an Orion? They have green skin, you know, and the females emit really powerful pheromones. Mrs Green doesn't though. She's not really sure why. Everything else about her is Orion so what happened to the pheromones? Maybe Orion women have to learn how to emit them, like a martial arts skill. That would explain why Mrs Green doesn't have them. Her mother died when she was very young.

What's it like on Vulcan anyway? Is it as hot as they say? My mom went to Vulcan once. She said she couldn't go outside unless it was dark. Of course, she said this to Sam (my older brother), not me, so I might have heard wrong.

I don't know much about Vulcans. I read all the information available on you guys but there really isn't all that much of it. How come you're still so secretive with us? We told you everything. …Well, not everything. I'll bet good money you don't know my IQ.

Do you play chess? I do. I play with Sam. I used to win all the time but then Sam told me to stop being so competitive and I started not paying quite as much attention so I'd lose and Sam would keep playing with me. I still like playing chess and I don't get to do it as much as I'd like to.

Mrs Green said not to write anything over five-hundred words long for my first letter so I'll stop now.

Thank you for being my pen-pal,

Sincerely,

James T. Kirk.

Spock blinked quietly at the finishing signature, letting the words run over in his head. He felt a rush of emotions, that he did his best to supress. Even so, some spilled onto his features.

Indignation, resignation; that they'd give him, the pathetic hybrid, a Human child in the first Earth grade.

Relief, happiness; that James Kirk seemed so nice (and very scatterbrained, inquisitive, friendly, and just plain odd).

Eventually Spock's emotions stopped swinging so violently and he settled on the nicer side of things. James Kirk was, among many things, someone he could try to talk to. He didn't sound like the type of person to bully or insult him. If anything, he sounded… nice.

Spock ran the pad of his thumb across the PADD screen above James Kirk's signature.

With his other hand he picked up his stylus and began to write his response.

*^.^*

"-and you'll never be worth anything, you lout. Get back downstairs you little prick! Back down here right now!" Jim's slammed his bedroom door shut and locked the deadbolt. He ducked away from the door as a fist landed hard upon it.

"Jim! You ungrateful bastard! Get your ass out here right now!" Frank Kirk, the late George Kirk's brother and Jim's stepfather, yelled at the door. He hit it again, just for good measure. "Fine! Stay in there! Stay in there and rot, you asswipe! Don't even think about coming out of there!" He kicked the door, cursed furiously, and stomped away.

Jim sank onto his bed, and pulled his legs up to his chest. He wiped furiously at the tears streaming down his cheeks, mingling with the blood from his split lip. How was he to know that Frank would already be in an alcohol-induced rage when he came home? How was Jim to know that Frank would swipe the PADD from his shocked hands? Worst of all, how was Jim going to get his pen-pal's letter back now? For all he knew, Frank would smash it between now and the time he passed out.

Now all Jim had to look forward to was a very long and hungry night.

*^.^*

The loud, pig like snores of his uncle-turned-stepfather echoing in his ears, James Kirk did something he'd never dared to before.

He snuck downstairs. In the dead of night, after Frank had passed out, Jim crept down the wooden staircase, avoiding the creaky step. He knew what he was coming for. And even though his stomach had been issuing complaints in increasing frequency and volume for the past three hours, it wasn't food he was after.

No, Jim was after something with much more sustenance than mere food. He was after the PADD, and his pen-pal's letter.

Jim reached the bottom of the stairs (they never seem so long in the daylight) and quietly put one sock-padded foot after the other as he edged over to his uncle. Frank was lying across his favourite faded green couch, empty beer bottle still in hand.

The PADD was on the coffee table in front of Frank. Only a few centimetres from his hand.

Jim swallowed against the lump in his throat. This wasn't going to be easy, but Jim wouldn't give up.

He tiptoed over to the table, so close to Frank he could see his nostrils flaring in his sleep. Jim took a deep breath and held it, going the last few steps to the table. He picked up the PADD with agonising slowness, never once taking his eyes off Frank. Once the precious piece of machinery was safe in his hands, Jim backed away.

He didn't breathe again until he was back in his room, the door locked behind him.

*^.^*

James Tiberius Kirk,

My name is Spock. As a Human you could not pronounce my family name. I do not mind that you are of only six Earth years of age. I am only nine Vulcan years of age. The difference is insignificant.

I live in the Vulcan city of ShiKahr. My father is Sarek. He is Ambassador for Vulcan to Earth. This is why we live in ShiKahr; the United Earth Embassy is located there. My mother is Amanda and she was a teacher on Earth before she married my father. Her last name was Grayson. She lived in Toronto, Canada. I understand this to not be very far away from your hometown.

I have never been to Earth, despite my mixed heritage. I have also never left the planet of my birth.

I have indeed heard of your father, George Kirk. The incident with the USS Kelvin is regrettable, however I am interested. You mentioned you were born in space, in a shuttlecraft whilst it was in flight. Am I to assume this is connected to the USS Kelvin in some manner? It would not be logical for you to have mentioned it otherwise, therefore I believe it is.

I too have had the experience of knowing a woman who is always right. My mother has never once been wrong in her assessment of things. It is rather disturbing on occasions.

I have met three Orions in the course of my life. The first was Sooris the Courageous. He spoke with my father on matters of diplomacy one night when I was five. The second was a woman named Peile and the third her young daughter Gaila. They were stopping off at Vulcan on their way to Earth. They spoke to my mother for some time, exchanging stories of Gaila and myself.

I did not think to ask any of them about Orion pheromones as it would have been impolite of me to do so. However, I believe your theory of being taught by an elder Orion woman to activate the glands in question is a logical explanation for your teacher's lack of ability in this area.

It is indeed very hot on Vulcan, especially during the middle of the day when the sun is high in the sky. The temperatures reach points that no Human could safely endure.

It is true we Vulcans have chosen not to reveal our more private matters to the general public. I assure you, we have our reasons. I, while not entirely Vulcan, am privileged to know of the Vulcan way. For the most part, it is a very logical and reasonable way to live. There are, however, certain things Vulcans must push past that no other species as great as ours must. I cannot speak of them, but perhaps if we continue our correspondence, in the years to come I may be able to tell you.

I would not begin to guess at your IQ score as it is an out-dated and inaccurate system and I have but one small piece of information to go off of. I could not speculate at this time, but if I come to a reasonable conclusion I will inform you of my answer.

I have never played chess. I researched the game after reading your letter and have found the idea most interesting. I have a suggestion that we might continue over our letters. We could play a game of chess, step by step, over our correspondence. I would find the experience most enlightening and would be grateful if you would consider the idea.

As I have gone over the five-hundred word limit your teacher set you, I will let this letter draw to its conclusion.

I thank you for writing to me, James Kirk.

Spock.

The PADD fell onto Jim's pillow with a dull thump. The dim light from the screen continued to light the room, throwing Jim's face into shadow.

If anyone could have seen his face in that instant their heart might have broken. His smile was just that brilliant, just that soft and warm.

Jim twisted sharply and lay down on his back. He smiled up at his ceiling, silently thanking God or whoever really, but mostly Spock.

Friend. The word seemed to float on the air in front of Jim, just out of reach. He could see it, almost taste it; the potential was there. He'd never said half the things he did in his letter to a living soul before but now he had. In an electronic letter. To a Vulcan. Well, half-Vulcan, Jim's mind supplied cheerily.

Spock. Such a nice name. It was alien but in a good way. No silly apostrophes or anything. It suited him, Jim thought fondly. Spock certainly suited the kid who'd written him such a formal but so heartfelt a letter. Only Spock, Jim decided, could do that. Could make his life so bright with just a few hundred words. Things didn't seem so terrible at the moment, and Jim couldn't remember ever being happier.

It was worth the risk. Of course it was. Now he just had to keep it up. He had to not screw up and make Frank's words a self-fulfilling prophecy. Jim didn't believe that. He would be Spock's friend, even if it killed him. But hopefully it wouldn't. 'Cause that would kind of defeat the purpose.

Jim really wished Spock had written more. It felt like he'd wanted to, but had stopped out of courtesy or trepidation or something. But Jim had stopped for the same reasons, afraid he was rambling and making a fool out of himself.

It seemed they were both being silly. Jim didn't really care about that though. It was just so unbelievably great to have someone to be silly with. One letter, and maybe Jim was just imagining it, but in that one, single letter Jim felt he'd finally found a friend.

A friend named Spock. A Vulcan. Huh, didn't see that one coming, Jim mused.

What he kept coming back to, what his thoughts continued to centralise on, was Spock. Jim could imagine him, a young boy, dark hair and eyes like all Vulcans, and pale, green-tinted skin. He would wear plain grey and black clothes and be smiling as he read Jim's letter and wrote back. Jim imagined Spock thinking of what he wanted to tell Jim then censoring it as it was swept gracefully onto the page.

He imagined Spock lying back in his own bed now, staring up at his own ceiling. He imagined Spock imagining Jim imagining Spock and smiled.

Jim turned onto his side, tucking the still-glowing PADD into his chest. He curled up around it, closing his eyes to the warmth he felt coming from his one friend. Even though that friend was so far away, Jim felt Spock pull him into the most loving embrace he'd ever felt.

"Thank you, Spock," Jim whispered into the darkness. "Goodnight."

*^.^*

On Vulcan, lying on his back in bed, Spock's eyes finally slid shut. He fell asleep to one final thought; of a small Human boy curled up safe and warm in his bed.

Goodnight, James.

*^.^*

Thank you for reading!