Calling Out

Melissa stood in the door way of Jim's room. His behavior was the same, the motions, the silence, the obsessive writing, all the same as they had been for the past four hours. His pupils were blown wide, staring unseeing before him as his hands frantically wrote on the page beneath his fingertips.

She was preparing to study language, specifically xenolinguistics at the local community college before trying her hand at Starfleet. Jim, she was sure, was writing in a xenolanguage. It was too precise, too regulated and what appeared to be words repeated in common orders while others appeared rarely. Punctuation and accents ran with the odd symbols she had never seen before. James Kirk was a genius, she knew it deep in her heart but something was truly wrong when he sat so still, staring into space, writing in a language she wasn't even sure he knew.

Melissa flinched as the door to the house opened and shut. Winona was home. Giving Jim one more glance, Melissa met Winona at the landing. She smiled briefly.

"He's been at it for almost five hours now Mrs. Kirk. Tried all kinds of ways to get his attention with no luck. Hopefully he'll respond to you. Call me again if you need a sitter. Jim's a sweet boy." Melissa watched Winona for any emotion, but only saw a slight tightening around her eyes before the woman gave a curt nod and lead her to the front door and showed the young girl out. She would never understand how Winona could love one son with such devotion and somehow despise the other.

Winona made her way slowly to the boy's room wondering if somehow his being here and displaying these odd mannerisms was the universe's way of a cruel joke. The boy looked so much like his father, smiled and laughed like him so much it hurt her, broke her heart and soul into pieces every time the boy lit up with happiness. She knew somewhere in her mind, logically it was not the boy's fault he looked like his father, nor was it his fault George Kirk was dead, but standing in the doorway, watching this boy of no more than five, she could not find it in herself to be sympathetic or loving. She was bereft without George, and the longer she looked at this boy, the pain increased until she could not handle it.

Then as the feelings came to the precipice of her tolerance, something broke in her, shattering in her mind, scarring her soul and instantly she was at the boy's side. Her vision began to blur around the edges and time slowed. She only felt the deep all encompassing grief of her husband's death, of loss and heartbreak. When it overwhelmed her senses and she could not take another second, the emotions receded like waves on a beach.

Her vision cleared and she was calm, but numb. Her body was tense and her right hand throbbed with pain in time with the accelerated pulse of her heart and the panting of her lungs. Her left hand was curled around soft fabric and she was now kneeling on the floor. Focusing on her fisted hand, she recognized the cloth as the shirt Jim was wearing and then her eyes trailed up the boy's chest to his face now ravaged by hand shaped tattoo bruises. She had hit him. Several times with a fierce passion.

Locking her eyes with terror-filled blue, Winona tried to summon sympathy, or caring, or even concern, but could not. She stared at the bruises for a long moment, analyzing the force she used, watching tears leak from the boy's eyes without an ounce of worry or concern, not even regret. She simply did not care.

Standing, Winona looked down at the boy one last time before leaving the room as silent as she had entered.

Jim stayed prone on the floor long after his mother had left the room. His tears, trailing down the sides of his face into his hair and dripping to the floor at the nape of his neck, made his skin itch, but he did not move. He lay in silence trying to contain the overwhelming sense of hurt and betrayal filling his soul.

Something fragile and unique within him had been destroyed upon his mother's hand slapping his face and as her blows continued the psychological pain out weighted the physical. Despair slithered in slowly until it was all he felt. He cried out silently to the universe for affirmation that his life was precious, that somewhere he was needed or wanted. Jim waited for the universe to respond, but he only received cold silence in its wake.

Light years away on another planet, a young boy shot awake. His emotions were unsettled and he knew a precious being was hurting, but he had no evidence other than his own feelings. Logically those feelings were not enough to justify his understanding and conclusion.

Settling back into bed, the boy tried to contain and deal with an overwhelming feeling of despair, however it moved too quickly and engulfed his logic, filling every aspect of his katra before he was able to try. The suffocating feeling brought tears to his eyes and he had no control to stop them from spilling down his pale cheeks.

Down the hall Sarek started awake, knowing instantly something was out of balance. Looking for his wife, he found her already out of the bed and halfway to the door. Following her, he touch his mental bond to his son and was overcome by a wave of despair. The emotion felt like Spock's and yet it was foreign.

Stepping in the room, Sarek hesitated a brief second as Amanda hugged the seven year old to her, trying to calm him as best she could. Then Sarek was next to them, his fingers tracing his son's psi points before gently melding into the dark despair that was over taking the boy's mind. Slowly, he diffused the despair unto himself and gathered the rest to place in a container they would deal with together during their meditation.

Afterwards Sarek did what he thought was best for his son, sending waves of safety, comfort and affection, lulling the fragile mind into rest and repose. He stayed for several long moments after Spock's mind had relaxed into sleep before leaving and watching Amanda tuck him in.

Silently they returned to their bed, and in the darkness pondered what had occurred.

"The despair and loneliness were not his own," Amanda's soft voice stated.

"Indeed not, my wife."

"But he has not been bonded yet either...is it possible...?" she trailed off, worry clouding her thoughts.

"We shall find out tomorrow my wife. Sleep. Be at peace." Sarek tangled their fingers together in a comforting gesture as he felt her relax. Only when he was sure her dreams were peaceful, did he close his eyes and follow her, protecting her as best he could.