Jim Kirk buried his hands deeper into his pockets and tried to pretend that his shakes were from the chill of a late spring night, and not from fear. From an alley half a block away Jim watched the entrance to the Starfleet Academy Museum, staring up at the bright banner that proclaimed the opening of the new Kelvin exhibit.

Months ago Jim had seen the announcement for the exhibit's grand opening, and every morning after he'd hacked his mother's comm account. He knew the Admiralty would send Winona an offer to come to the three day unveiling as a tribute to her husband, and Jim also knew that Winona would shoot them down without even bothering to ask her sons.

So after Winona had sent her usual abrupt rejection to headquarters, and Sam had refused to cooperate but wished him the best of luck, Jim had messaged back Starfleet and pretended to be his mother.

It was always more difficult than Jim expected to fake being Winona, despite his years of practice from forging school paperwork. After a few drafts Jim sent off a message as Winona respectfully reconsidering the Fleet's offer, and asking for one ticket, just in case. For months Jim had hidden that ticket in a nook under his floorboards, and kept from Frank that he was doing odd jobs all over Riverside to make enough money to buy a round trip shuttle ticket to San Francisco.

Despite the blinding excitement that had gotten Jim this far, it all bled away into terror now that he was actually here.

He'd been crouched in this alley for twenty minutes, watching both the Fleet brass in their perfect crimson uniforms and the Federation dignitaries wrapped in their finest climb the marble stairs to the museum. Jim looked down at the too big khaki pants he'd taken from his brother's closet, and the dirty dress shirt with thinned patched on his elbows and couldn't help feeling dejected.

Jim felt like a fool.

Half of the exhibit was dedicated to the life of George Kirk; filled with displays, holos, logs, and speeches, all trying to explain how destiny had made a captain who would trade his life for a ship that had only been his for twelve minutes. Ratty pants and a dirty shirt was not how the son of a hero was supposed to look. He was supposed to be polished, and dignified, someone fitting to carry the Kirk name. Not a waif who looked like he belonged in a Dickens novel.

Jim had all but talked himself out even crossing the street, content to stand outside and watch the museum entrance from his hiding place, when Jim saw him. The man was tall, with broad shoulders, brown hair, and a warm smile. There wasn't much to set him apart from any other officer with a captain's stripes, except for how often Jim had stared at his picture over the last few months. Captain Christopher Pike was one of the main speakers of the opening, scheduled to speak on the life of George Kirk in the way only his best friend could. The pamphlets said Pike had known George since birth, knew everything about him, and most of the holos of George had come from Pike's own files.

Jim stared at Pike making his way up the steps, exchanging hellos with the security personnel as he passed, every bit of him screaming 'captain'. This was his father's best friend. This was the man who could answer all Jim's questions about George, the one who could tell him everything he'd always wanted to know... and Jim was hiding in a corner. Jim had been building PADDs and bootlegging network connections trying to find info since the first time someone had told him George Kirk was dead, and here was the source Jim had been looking for his entire life. And Jim couldn't summon up the courage to walk across the street.

Jim puffed out his chest with the blind bravery of the young and made his way to the museum. He wet up the marble stairs to the wide entrance, staring at the old style metal doors where Fleet security and their scanners were stationed. Jim willed himself not to slow while he maneuvered himself into the line of the friendliest looking security officer.

The man raised his eyebrow at Jim, who simply pulled the carefully maintained ticket out of his satchel and handed it over. The security officer waived Jim through the full body scanner with a smile and asked, "You alone here, kid?"

Jim turned on his sweetest, sheepish grin and replied, "I left my bag in the car and had to go back for it while everyone else went in."

The guard smirked at Jim, who blushed and shuffled his feet in fake embarrassment. It was enough to keep the genial guard from asking any more questions and moving straight on to scanning Jim's ticket. It went through with the same beep as everyone else, but the guard kept staring at the scanner's readout.

Then he scanned it again.

When the guard's grin shifted from friendly to blank, Jim started to get nervous, and shuffled just out of range of the officer's grip in case Jim was flagged to be kept in custody. Jim held his voice level and asked, "Is something wrong?"

The guard looked up at Jim with a start and sputtered out, "N-No. Nothing's wrong, sir." The guard handed back Jim's ticket with twitching hands and waived him through the open doors and into the museum. If Jim had been paying attention he would've realized that the moment Jim stepped past him the officer had his comm out to radio someone up the chain of authority, but Jim was too distracted by the room in front of him.

The Academy Museum was the best source for humankind's history with space, and it showed in every line of the building. The main hall of the museum was open air that stretched up through all three levels of the structure, crowned in a beautiful ceiling. It was a rounded sheet of glass carved with the pattern of the stars above at high summer. Jim assumed that when the sun was high, the shadows in the glass made a perfect star chart on the wide floor below.

Jim kept to the sides of the entry hall, staying out of everyone's path, and avoiding the patches of Fleet security circling the room. Anyone who did glance Jim's way quickly passed him by, choosing to ignore the badly dressed boy instead of ask questions that might interrupt their night.

Jim made it into the modern wing of the museum, stopping every so often to stare at some display along the way, trying to look casual. He was so excited that he was up the stairs and nearly to the Kelvin exhibit before he looked back and saw Fleet security weaving their way through the crowd, obviously looking for someone. Jim's gut clenched in fear and he ducked down a side hall before he could be spotted. He started to run as quietly as he could, looking for an emergency exit, cursing in his mind as he went.

Jim went until he couldn't hear the dull hum of the crowd behind him, then ducked around another corner, just to be safe. He found himself in deep nook, blocked by the leafy branches of a clump of Andorian Dwarf trees. If Jim had bothered to read the plaque he probably could've figured out why there was a copse of trees in the museum, but instead he collapsed against the wall and muttered, "Stupid, stupid, Jim."

From behind the bundle of trees a voice replied, "May I ask why it is you think Jim is stupid?" Jim jumped away from the wall in shock and whirled around to see another boy emerge from a narrow path through the trees that Jim hadn't seen. "And why has Jim's stupidity has led you so far away from the main gathering?" Now that he was looking for it, Jim could see a flash of bench tucked beside the window on the far side of the trees, which was where the boy must have been sitting when Jim came in.

Jim took half a step back before he caught himself and muttered, "Wh-what are you doing back here?"

The boy arched an eyebrow and raised the PADD in his hand, "I am reading." The boy said it in a tone that clearly implied Jim had to be slow to even ask such a question, and despite his stress, Jim couldn't help a smile at the boy for mocking him.

The boy's eyebrow went even higher, and Jim knew the boy was waiting for the answer to his own question. Jim slid past the boy and down the small path to plop down on the bench and replied, "I'm Jim, and I'm stupid because I thought coming here was a good idea."

"This supposition was incorrect?"

Jim snorted, "This supposition was idiotic." Jim slumped further down on the bench and waived to the empty space beside him, gesturing for the other boy to sit. He cocked his head to the side and Jim could almost feel the internal shrug before the boy gingerly sat down beside him.

Jim bumped shoulders with the other boy and said, "So, I'm Jim."

"You have already stated your name."

Jim chuckled and swung his feet underneath below the bench while he replied, "That means you're supposed to tell me your name."

"If you seek to know my name, why did you not ask for it?"

"I was being subtle."

"Subtlety is a human trait."

Jim snorted, "Well, yeah..." Jim turned to the other boy to tease him, but the light spilling through the window cast the boy into sharp relief and Jim finally saw him properly. "Woah..." Jim breathed. "You're a Vulcan." The boy turned to Jim and raised an eyebrow in concern, as though Jim would consider speaking with him another stupid idea. Somehow in his stress Jim had only paid attention to the wide brown eyes offering him comfort, and assumed the other boy was human. Now that he looked at the boy properly, Jim could see the stiff, high-necked robes and the fine arch to his eyebrows.

Without thinking it through, Jim reached up his hand and gently touched a finger to the tip of the boy's pointed ear. At the touch, the boy's look of concern vanished with a pale green blush. Jim's common sense returned in a rush and he pulled his hand back in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?"

The boy's brow furrowed slightly and he asked, "How would I have been damaged?"

"My teacher said Vulcans are touch telepaths, and anytime you get touched by somebody who isn't Vulcan, it hurts you 'cause you're allergic to our minds."

"Your teacher is incompetent."

Jim smirked, "She's not incompetent, she's just weird."

"Weird is not an accurate definition for a lack of xenobiological knowledge."

"So... I didn't hurt you."

"I am unharmed."

"That- that's good. And awesome, by the way. You're a Vulcan! I've never met a Vulcan before!" Jim leaned forward in excitement, and at his declaration the other boy's blush returned.

"You are the first human child of my acquaintance as well."

"I'm not a child!" Jim retorted.

"Given my understanding of human biology you are approximately nine earth years old."

"I'm ten."

The corners of the boy's mouth almost turned up, Jim was sure of it, "That age still places you in the category of 'child' according to human development."

"How old are you? You can't be that much older than I am."

"In human years I am eleven."

"See! Not a difference at all!'

"Your math is illogical. For a difference to be of a degree where it constitutes 'big' we must first establish a mathematical base." Jim might have mistaken the boy's statements for tightly wound truth, were it not for twinkle in his eyes.

Jim smacked his arm and laughed, "Stop trying to be difficult!"

"I am not attempting to be difficult."

"Of course you are! You haven't even told me your name!"

The other boy lifted his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute, and with an almost smile he replied, "I am Spock."

Jim unleashed his full grin and made a terrible attempt to duplicate the salute. "I'm James Tiberius Kirk."

From the opposite side of the trees a steady, Vulcan voice declared. "That would explain why Federation Security is searching the building for you."