After a long absence of any creative thought that lasts more than 4 seconds, I am trying to jump start my brain again.

I am unsure whether this will be more than one chapter as it bloomed from a sight and a description in my mind and I have absolutely no storyline in place for this. It's ironic because I might have a another story but no lines to make it work.

Well, here goes.

The first time they met they were nine.

He was standing in the rain and shivering when the other boy almost ran over him on his bicycle. He looked up, startled. His senses, dulled and retarded by the cold, didn't register the almost collision till it was too late and it didn't matter anymore.

As the other boy stared at him and in his almost-delirious state, he thought he could hear his elevated heartbeat from the near-crash. His violently altered course landed him in the pool of light cast by the street lamp. His face was pale and stark as the harsh light threw harsh shadows across his face, making his expression seem cold. But his eyes, a curious shade similar to the earth mineral Gold, held the heat of the two suns of his home.

From under his heavy eyelids, with eyes that did not work well in the dark, he noticed the over-sized raincoat, and the bike too tall for the small frame. The boy's worn sneakers, peeking out under the frayed, sodden, heavy denim had to stretch to reach the ground and maintain his balance. The boy should not be riding such a vehicle so unsuited for him, much less at such speeds. The dangers it caused to him and pedestrians, standing almost unseen in the dark or not, was too large to ignore. Like in this particular instance. It was lucky that he was standing not far from a street lamp. The boy must have seen him in the low light and swerved in time to avoid the head-on collision. But why was he staring at him like it was his fault? This boy was a puzzle he wanted to solve - needed to solve - because, like his mother once said, he could not tolerate unsolved puzzles, since they were made to be solved.

Distantly, he knew he needed to get out of the rain before he descended further into this disconnected frame of mind. It seemed that the boy had come to the same conclusion as his eyes simmered and cooled and a raincoat was being thrown across his shoulders and the hood pulled over his head. The beat of raindrops on the material surrounding his ears made him want to sleep so he closed his eyes but a flame on his arm made him jerk them back open. He looked down at the intense heat on his bicep and realized it was the boy's hand, clutching.

Why was he touching him? He remembered that they were tactile creatures, like his mother once explained when he asked why she liked to hold him in what she termed a 'hug', and not due to a lack of decency. He stumbled over his own two feet and almost toppled the bicycle as the boy tried to pull him onto it.

"Where are you taking me?" his voice was even, he thinks it is almost frozen, apart from a break from a violent shudder that ran through his body.

"Out of the rain. What do you think? You're going to freeze to death out here!" The boys voice was hot.

"My mother has to find me. She said I was to stay where I was if we had lost each other." He thinks the rain is too loud and the boy has not heard him, as he gathers him into his arms to sit him in front of him on the two-wheeled contraption. He tries again, "My mother said-"

"I know what your mother said. But she isn't gonna be happy to find you dead on a sidewalk, is she?" The heat that suddenly surrounds him as the boy reaches around him to hold the handlebars makes him flinch and almost bring them both down to the ground this time, bicycle and all. "Stay still and hang on."

To what, he did not know. But the skinny arms around him seemed to be holding him up as they kicked off from the sidewalk. "Of course not." He says in answer to the previous question but it is too soft and the boy keeps.

Flashes of orange pavement flash past his eyes, his head having landed cradled on his arm on top of the handlebars. His neck twist left and right as the boy directs them towards their destination.

The next time he opens his eyes his limbs are being manhandled out the heavy material of his tunic but he could not find his voice before his lids settle close again.

He jerks awake the next time but he cannot make out any distinct shape through his blurred vision but a faint glow from a chronometer near his head. His blood thumps loudly in his ears as if under water but it was too hot to be logical. A firm squeeze of a vaguely familiar arm around his waist was all he registered before he went under again.

The third time, the layers are being slowly pushed away from his mind like the hair being pushed away from his forehead and the face of his mother comes into focus before an unfamiliar ceiling. Her eyes are worried and relieved at the same time as she lays a kiss on his head. "Oh, my baby."

His nose was flooded by the familiar smell of dballies and kreila and it made him more alert from the sudden scent after a period of not being able to smell at all. Disjointed thought processes and images flashed across his eyes and the feeling so strange he felt vaguely dizzy again. He turned his head to the right and stared at the silhouette of the boy standing at the open door.

"Oh, my baby, Spock. Thank goodness for Jim. He found you and then found me and kept you safe." It did not make any sense to Spock. But looking at the eyes - the colour of Azurite in daylight, not Gold - as unreadable as the of Vulcans of Kolinahr lighting with amusement, he did not think that things were going to be making sense for a while yet.

Open to ideas and criticism. Cheers, ya.