I so don't own Star Trek.

Some facts about this: Definitely AU, Not going above a T rating, Not sure if this should be a relationship fic or not, Kirk and Spock centric either way. So…yeah, that third one might have something to do with what you all want.

Oh yeah, and there's a fair deal of cursing. Because I have an awful mouth on me when I write...

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

"Get the fuck out of there you god damn brat!" Frank's voice was loud and terrifying as his fist pounded on the door.

Ten year old Jim whimpered, curling up tighter on himself in the corner of the locked closet. He was half buried under an old jacket of his dad's. A musty, warm scent still clung to it, wrapping him in the only embrace his father could provide. Jim wanted. Wanted out of there. Wanted to meet the man who provided half of his DNA. Wanted adventure. Wanted so much more that it ached. Wanted something so different. Jim wanted.

"You have to come out of there eventually." Frank warned. "Crawl out before you die or you'll stink up the whole house. I'll fucking kill you when I see your god damn face."

"I'm never coming out!" Jim called back. "You'll have to live with my rotting corpse! Asshole! Hypocrite! Dickweed!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Frank slammed his hand into the door.

Jim fell quiet, not because of the order, but because he had nothing else to say to the man. That, judging by the sound of pounding fists on the door only angered him more. Jim snuggled tighter in the jacket, wondering if any of the cologne obviously lingering on it was in the hidden box in the attic. If he had to look like his father, he could really ramp up the hate his family felt for him by smelling like him too.

… .. . .. …

"You will maintain eye contact during our discussion." Sarek spoke evenly, voice hot with indifference.

Eleven year old Spock pulled his eyes from the floor, flittering them up with few pauses like climbing something of a mountain. His hands ached with the effort to keep them open. There was the cool kiss of the wind blowing through the door, caressing him. Spock waited. Waited for the scolding again. Waited for the harsh looks. For the hate that supposedly didn't exist. The resentment. Waited obediently. Because he didn't know anything else.

"Your behavior was unacceptable." Sarek informed him. "You must exercise control over your emotions. You did not exhibit the proper decorum for a Vulcan."

"I am not Vulcan." Spock spoke in desperation. "You made me that way. You and my mother. You. I am not the same as you. I can not be the same as you."

"Cease such illogical protests." Sarek sounded more disinterested than before.

Spock fell silent, obediently, because he was not trained to respond to the man. Based on his father's abrupt departure, he could no longer stomach the sight of his child. Spock flicked his eyes back down to the floor, wondering why he was not allowed the faults of other Vulcans. He straightened up, banishing the small, embarrassed child, vowing to be as Vulcan as he was forced to look.

… .. . .. …

"That's right! Run. Run away you little fucker!"

Jim didn't look back, outrunning the voice behind him. His legs weren't small anymore and could carry him anywhere he wanted to go. He felt the cool sting of the hail on his face, whipped around by the fury of the wind. His bare arms were too cold to register the pelts, little damp spots spontaneously appearing on his shirt and jeans. His hair whipped around his head as best it could at the short length he kept it, eyes watering from the cold and nose running faster than he was.

He could go for the quarry, finally end it, finally be free of the devil on his shoulder, the monkey on his back, the quicksand around his thighs. He could be free. It was a far distance to run, distorted, confusing. All at once it took seconds and hours. He had to be running faster than the car, had to, stalks of wheat and hail blinding him as it struck his stinging eyes. It was the pain, causing tears to run down his face, the irritation.

Jim stuttered to a stop, standing on the edge of something greater than himself. His eyes were bright, clearer than they had ever been. Just one step, between him and the end of it all. The beginning. One step, and everything he wanted would be his. One step and there would be no turning back. He never even considered turning back, stepping off the edge and into the great unknown. And he fell.

… .. . .. …

On a clear night, Spock could see the heated glow of Shi'Kahr from his window. Shi'Kahr, where his father was. Where he was not allowed to be for his perceived safety. He was flawed, an imperfect construct. Dangerous, if the others were to be believed. Dangerous because he was not one of them, not like them, not well enough in control of his own emotions to restrain unbecoming behavior as he should. So he was restrained to the country house for his studies, perhaps forever, if he could not prove he was now in control.

He set aside his most recent work from the Vulcan Science Academy. He'd always wondered why they would bother to name it such, as though any other species could form such an academy on the planet. There were no other sentient creatures on Vulcan and if other such creatures existed in the universe, they had yet to make themselves known.

The night was crisp, a cool, soothing wind billowing in through the open door. Spock stepped out onto the balcony, relishing the cold night. Another flaw of his design, a flaw of his designer. He could stand the heat, more than his contemporaries through sheer determination, but the embrace of the cold was something he sought out. It was illogical, but something in the cooled temperatures threaded through him, creating a sense of welcome. It was flawed to prefer any temperature, so long as you were capable of surviving it. And yet he preferred the cool air, the whisper of a storm, and the sweet humidity of the rain.

There was a loud crack, a thundering sound reminiscent of a lightning strike and a flash of heat. Spock's eyes flew open wide as he watched a comet streak through the sky, falling without losing mass, striking in the desert with a cloud of dust as a meteor.

Spock's heart raced. Illogical. It was illogical that such a thing could happen.

He toed on his shoes in seconds as he grabbed the keys to his car. It was highly efficient, clean and useful. Which was why it was illogical to trade it in for a newer model, and not a strange attachment. It was just a five minute ride at top speed, something that both horrified him and intrigued.

The crater he found was smaller than he would have thought. Perhaps the debris were not as large as they had appeared? In fact, it appeared the majority of the displacement was a result of it landing in a large sand dune. He crept up the side, heart thundering and eyes wide. It was the opportunity of a life time. He should have alerted someone at the science academy, given they were not already aware of its existence and preparing a team to investigate.

He crested the dune crater, and felt his heart freeze, missing several beats more than was healthy. Damaged as it was, there was no mistaking what lay in the center. He felt a giddy wave of emotion bubble up in him even as he set his face firmly and slid down the inside. It occurred to him, briefly, that it may be too hot to touch, or giving off dangerous radiation, but his deemed it a necessary risk.

To think, he would be the first Vulcan to touch an alien space ship.

Or…was it? It was possible, though improbable, that the science academy had been secretly testing a ship of their own design. If it was manned, the individual may need medical assistance. As Spock got closer, a symbol on the side caught his eyes. It was unlike anything he had seen before, pointed like an arrowhead. And there were words accompanying it, like no language on Vulcan. Alien.

He searched the outside of the ship, looking for any identifying manner of entering it. It was vaguely egg shaped, with strange engines on what he presumed was the sides. Gently, he made his way to what had to be the front. It was the only logical configuration, though there was no windshield or indicating factor. It was highly probably the script on the side could be written in any direction.

While he stood surveying it, deciding what would be the best method of approach, a soft, pneumatic hiss caught in his ears. Spock's breath caught in his throat as he watched the pod open, a hatch lifting on what could only be the top. He eased closer, peering through the darkness to see what was inside. There was a soft groan and Spock scuttled back, eyes wide.

When another, louder grunt of pain came from the cockpit, Spock's curiosity won out over the hypothetical fear Vulcans did not feel. He eased forward, muscles coiled and ready for an attack even as he gripped the edge of the cockpit and heaved himself up, marveling momentarily at the lack of heat. The inside was a mass of sparking wires and what appeared to have once been a single seat spaceship.

What captivated him, however, was the figure laying motionless in the pilot's seat. Two arms and legs appearing to be in a similar construction as his own. A head upon the shoulders, torso of comparable length and apparent size. The figure was swathed in a golden-yellow suit of some kind, form fitting and accompanied with a helmet. The visor of said helmet was darkened from the outside, obscuring the individual's face.

Spock was nearly confident this figure was a Vulcan, because the chances of an alien having a similar body structure as his own species were monumentally small. He wormed farther into the cockpit, chest braced across the strangely cool metal and legs braced against the outside of the hull. The figure made a soft groaning sound, trying to move its head. Male, by Spock's calculation, if the general body shape and deep vocal tone was indeed Vulcan or analogous.

Carefully, he reached out, lifting some of the debris from the…man's legs. The man jerked sharply, helmet swirling around to view him sluggishly. Spock froze, holding his breath as he stared at the alien reflection of himself on the man's helmet. Spock glanced down at the panel he had moved and his eyes widened. A dark, red liquid was flowing from a tear in the thick, armor like fabric.

Spock's first thought was to wonder how much blunt damage had incurred before the sturdy material finally sheared. His second though was to wonder at the strong iron scent now flooding his nostrils. His thoughts immediately were diverted by the high probability that the red liquid he was viewing was the blood of the creature now struggling to free itself from the safety harness strapping it in.

Spock jerked back in alarm, forgetting that he was being supported only by his front half being in the cockpit, and fell from the ship, landing in the sand with a puff of dirt. There was a strange barking sound coming from the cockpit, from the alien, followed by what was unmistakably a cough.

Spock returned to his feet, realizing the alien, whatever it was, was damaged and in need of medical attention. He scrambled back up, not bothering to dust himself off, and moved himself into a better position, bracing one foot in the cramped cockpit and one on the smooth surface of the hull. The figure had fallen silent again, holding its helmeted head in its hands.

Spock furrowed his brow minutely, scanning the damage to begin a plan of attack, so to speak. Seeing that the safety harness hampered the alien's upper body movement, it would be wisest to remove it first. He found it very difficult to conceive doing so, still not sure it was safe. There was no other way to properly free it, however, and it could die before he provided it medical attention if he did not. Without any of the hesitation he was feeling, Spock took the clasp the alien had been attempting to free before and broke it cleanly.

The alien glanced up at him sharply, the tilt of its helmet indicating a flick of its visual sensory organs between the clasp and Spock. Spock ignored it, beginning to methodically clear debris from its legs. The creature let out a baleful moan as Spock lifted one particularly large piece of paneling. Spock glanced over, and watched at the creature prodded at its instrument panel, apparently more interested in the damage to its ship than its own wounds.

Spock hesitated only a second before returning his attention to the mess. The creature would be free soon. If necessary, he could incapacitate it. He jumped, nearly slipping from the ship again as the cool material of the spacesuit ghosted across his ear. The alien raised its hands in front of itself, exposing that its hands were empty and well away from him. After a moment of careful watching, Spock placed his hands on the last of the debris, glancing again at the figure to ensure its hands were still where he could see them.

The bent metal peeled back with an ungodly groan and Spock's arms shook with the force it took to bend the strong material. The alien grunted again and pulled its legs up towards itself, one gloved hand coming down to press to the still bleeding cut. There was a fair amount of it, and if the creature required similar amounts of blood based upon its size as a Vulcan, it was most likely feeling just the beginnings of coldness from the loss setting in.

Spock vacated the cockpit, feet sliding a bit as he tried to find purchase on the slick nose. He knelt down, fingers ghosting against the smooth surface. It was exquisite under his fingers, like nothing he had touched before. The alien froze from where it was attempting to maneuver itself into a standing position to watch him. Spock felt his ear tips darken and stood, very nearly falling but managing to appear quite confident.

He leapt down into the soft sand, once again accompanied with a soft billow of dust. The figure jerked over the edge of the cockpit, staring down at him. Spock straightened himself up, ignoring the discomfort of being thoroughly coated in dirt. When the figure made no move to follow, Spock stepped closer, offering his assistance wordlessly.

Now the alien obviously hesitated, glancing behind it at its wrecked ship before swinging its uninjured leg over the side. It groped about with its foot for a moment before its foot seemed to sink into the otherwise hard hull. Spock watched in amazement as footholds appeared down the side of the ship. It proved a pointless endeavor, as the alien couldn't bear its weight on its injured leg and tumbled back. Spock caught it easily, marveling at how light it was.

The figure held very still before a loud, pained sound issued from it. Spock eyed the freely bleeding wound a moment, already starting to collect dust and muddy up the wound. His heart was racing, if nothing else at the fact he was irrefutable touching an alien. Calmly, like he were not experiencing the most monumental thing in his life, somehow withholding the trembling that threatened to overtake his hands, he lifted the alien bodily into his arms and started up the inside of the crater.

The creature flailed a moment, making a loud, elaborate sound before falling silent, arms folded over its chest. It was difficult, climbing the sand dune with something in his arms, but he made it to the crest, and immediately felt the alien perk up in his arms, looking around itself slowly.

The desert was wide around them, the lights of Shi'Kahr still glowing faintly in the distance, and the lights of his isolated home far closer. Spock braced himself, tightening his grip on the alien ever so slightly, and slid down the dune. The alien in his arms made a strange, strangled breathing sound, before breaking out into the same strange barking sounds it had made before.

Spock leaned back from it in surprise, not sure if it was attempting to communicate, or what the significance of the sound was. It fell silent as they started towards the car. Spock lowered it to the ground, bracing it on the car as he pulled open the door.

It looked between the car and the crater containing its ship and rapidly shook its head as though it were trying to dislodge something, attempting to back away. Spock felt a measure of annoyance and stepped closer, aware the alien would fall if it attempted to return to its ship. It backed away faster, both hands in front of it waving almost violently as it continued to toss its head about.

Spock growled in annoyance. "You are in need of medical treatment."

The figure froze completely, before finally cocking its head to the side. It made a short, confused sound, but continued to back away as Spock approached. It made a small vertical wave motion with its hands and Spock stopped. It knelt, shakily as it was obviously too damaged for such a thing. Spock made to approach again and it repeated the motion with one hand. Spock stopped again and it bobbed its head up and down twice.

Slowly, it brought its hand down to scratch something into the surrounding sand. Spock peered at it from a distance, eyeing the crudely done image in confusion. The alien pointed to its drawing and then back at the dune, making a string of strange and incomprehensible sounds. Most likely it was speaking to him in its native language. It seemed to be telling him, if he understood the purpose of the gestures and drawings accurately, that it wanted something, whatever it drew, out of the ship.

Spock peered at the alien device drawn in the sand and then the dune, before glancing at the injured alien. It would be completely incapable of retrieving its device. With a deep breath, Spock strode past it, watching it scramble out of his way, and then follow tentatively.

He didn't even know where to begin searching the ship for this device. If it was so critical, it would have to be easy to access. He ran his hand over the smooth paneling inside the cockpit, watching parts try to light up and move under his palm. Fascinating. A small square lit up when he pressed his palm to it and opened approximately 1.439 inches. He pulled it open farther, listening to the metal groan. There was an array of small devices.

Spock felt his breath catch in his throat as a wave of giddiness crashed over him and he pulled all of them out, carefully stacking them in his arms. He would very much like to take a closer look at them, but later, in the safety of his home. If the science academy were to send someone out to investigate the ship, he did not want to be found with it after having not reported the crash.

He returned quickly to the other side of the dune, in time to see the alien had taken a seat next to his car and was once again dragging its fingers through the sand. It glanced up when he started to approach, arms full of the alien devices, and immediately began to make the loud, barking noise. It was oddly not as disturbing, the longer he heard it.

He carefully placed the devices in his passenger seat, and the alien stood itself up, bracing on his car to look at what he brought back. It flicked through a few pieces before picking one up, a small, hand held device, larger than a pen, and more blocky, but vaguely similar in how it held it. It set the device in Spock's hand, wagging its finger at him perplexingly.

Spock stared at it, almost afraid to breath for fear of setting it off. He glanced back up and watched as the alien gripped the tear in his suit and ripped at it, the now damaged material shearing far more easily than it would normally. A strange material was exposed below the suit, soaked and browning with the red blood and dirt. The alien leaned against the hood, plunging its fingers into the wound and crying out hoarsely. Spock watched in wonder as it pulled out a filthy piece of metal, wiping it on a clean portion of the spacesuit and tossing it aside.

Spock stared for a moment as it held its hand out expectantly before practically tossing the device into its hands. It tilted its head down to look at the device a moment, and Spock was struck with the oddity of the situation.

Out there, in the red dunes, on such a clear night, this figure, clad in glowing gold, bleeding foreign blood, leaning on the hood of his car and tending its own wounds, was less real than a dream.

It took the device in one hand and the fabric under its suit in the other, pulling the material away from the wound. It looked worse, in the light of his car, than it had before, and the red around it a rich and beautiful color. Spock peered closely at it, intrigued, even as the alien ignored him, bringing the little device over. A light escaped from the tip of it and the alien ran it over his wound slowly, back and forth a few times. Spock watched the skin stitch itself, amazed and excited.

"Fascinating." He murmured breathlessly and the alien glanced up at him sharply.

It gibbered at him and he furrowed his brow, wondering how he was going to go about deciphering the language in order to communicate. The thought of communicating with this alien creature was almost too exciting to contain. Spock straightened up, tamping down on his blatant glee. The alien waited a moment before muttering something else in the language. It rocked its head side to side, a small enough motion that it could keep its eyes on him and issued a high-pitched, airy sound.

Before he could make any remark, it patted its leg a moment and then tossed the healing device back into the passenger seat. Spock watched the figure turn towards its craft and drop its shoulders, head once again in a side to side motion.

"Are you in need of assistance?" Spock queried, well aware the other could not understand him.

True to form it glanced back and chattered something before racing up the side of the dune. Spock followed, wide eyed. He stopped on the precipice, while the other slid back down to its craft. It vaulted into the cockpit and Spock felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, like he were about to miss a great opportunity. Before he could shake the fear and confusion paralyzing him, the ship flickered out of existence, leaving only the dune surrounding it. And its pilot.

The alien climbed down from mid air, as though something invisible were supporting him, and Spock realized the ship was still there. It was fortunate the ship could conceal itself after sustaining such damage. The alien waved its hand up and down at him as it raced back up the side of the dune to where he still stood. It raced past him, catching the side of the dune and sliding half way before tumbling. Spock darted after it, eyes wide at its antics.

It groaned, gripping its torso tightly and Spock felt the corners of his mouth twitch in the slightest of frowns and knelt next to it. Carefully, he gestured to the car, momentarily wishing he had some way of gauging its response. Slowly, it placed a hand on his shoulder, sending wild shudders through him even with the many layers between them, and heaved itself up. Spock followed quickly, prepared to catch it if it fell again.

It made it to the car with little incident and shoved the devices unceremoniously to the floorboard. Spock inhaled sharply at the treatment of such amazing devices, but said nothing as the alien collapsed into the seat, a soft sound that was reminiscent of heavy breathing resonating around it. After it tucked its legs in, Spock closed the door and raced to the other side. He was tense in his seat, coiled tight as the alien seemed inclined not to shift from the spot it had laid itself in. The ride back to his house was just as quick as it had been out there, though at least twice as heavy.

The alien managed to sit itself up straighter as Spock pulled into his house, slowly turning its head to take it in. It was already opening its door as Spock came around, scooping up the devices from his car. It made the hoarse barking sound shortly, before falling silent with a groan and clutching its torso. Carefully, Spock lead it into his house, well aware that what he was doing was beyond an ill-conceived idea.

The alien glanced down at the pristine floor as Spock toed off his shoes, arms full of the devices, and then looked at its dirty suit and tossed its head side to side. It then slipped backwards, bracing itself on the wall and raising a hand to its head.

Spock set the devices on his counter, vowing to remove the fine red dust from everything at a later point in time. For now, his excitement bubbled up again as he approached the figure, mimicking its previous action of displaying both hands, palms forward, in front of his body. The figure held out a hand, palm forward at arm's length, and rocked its head side to side again. Spock halted, keeping his hands up. The figure reached up, shaking hands prying at the helmet a moment.

It came off with a pop and in the same swift motion it pushed back the hood to its space suit. Spock's breath caught in his throat, brown eyes blown wide.

It was beautiful, like nothing he'd seen before: the flesh tinged pink and warm looking; the hair like golden starlight, soft looking and defying gravity; the ears round and exotic; the eyes, a blue like never existed on Vulcan. It was strong and masculine and yet so fragile looking. Spock ached to touch it, to inspect it. Its red lips were turned strangely, the corners pulled up faintly towards its eyes in an unusual way.

It reached up and yanked down a near invisible zipper, exposing a black shirt underneath the suit. It paused a moment as Spock's eyes widened and looked it over, before a strange look crept upon its face and it shrugged out of the arms of the space suit, leaving it hanging loosely around its torso. Carefully, blue eyes never leaving the brown ones watching it, the alien pulled its shirt free and, wincing, removed it.

Spock fought down the impulse to touch almost immediately, staring dispassionately at the firm chest, covered in purple, green, black and red, a wide mix of new and faded bruises. Those he recognized, familiar with the structuring of bruises and hypothesizing that the red blood would lead to very different colors than his own. It seemed the alien had indeed suffered through severe blunt trauma. Still eyeing him curiously, the alien retrieved another device block like in shape, and pointed it at its exposed chest.

It made a strange whirring sound and beeped repeatedly. The alien turned it around to look at it and a string of sounds exited its mouth, harsh and tinged with anger. Spock found himself staring at the full red lips shaping themselves around the foreign language. A pink tongue darted out to wet them and Spock quickly shifted his gaze to the blue eyes, feeling strangely disquieted by the gesture.

A soft exhalation accompanied the drop of the alien's shoulders, one hand pushing through the golden strands of hair. It suddenly seemed exhausted, looking weathered and like it'd been through a crash. Spock told it to follow him, not caring that it couldn't understand, and turned on his heel. It would need cleaned before it could sleep. Judging by the soft pad of another pair of feet, the creature was following.

Spock opened the door to the bathroom and gestured for it to enter. Blue eyes leveled on his as it walked past before flicking away to survey the room. Spock turned on his heel, immediately heading to his bedroom to retrieve fresh clothes for the alien. It appeared to be of a similar stature to him. He heard a moment of shuffling echo down the hall, and then the sound of someone fiddling with things in the bathroom.

He felt a spike of annoyance that things would most likely be out of place when he returned. He quickly snatched up an old pair of slacks and a loose tunic shirt. As he returned, he noticed the trail of red dirt on his pristine white floor and exhaled a little more forcefully through his nose. Later. While the alien was bathing. Now he was preoccupied with the fact that the alien had shrugged out of the suit and was staring balefully at it.

Spock placed the clothes on the counter, immediately capturing its attention. Now that it was free of the suit, Spock could see it was wearing a strange, blue pair of pants and had returned the black shirt, adorned with the same symbol as the craft, to its chest. Counterproductive, given it would have to strip again to shower. The corner of its lips stretched up again and Spock found his ears warming at the strange gesture.

"You will bathe and leave your clothes here." Spock told him firmly, wishing he could actually communicate.

When he suspected the alien did not understand, he pointed to the shower and then glanced at the trail of dirt, as if asking if it really wanted to argue. The corners of its lips lifted higher, its mouth opening to expose pearly white teeth. Its posture did not change, so Spock assumed the gesture was not meant to be threatening.

He stepped out of the room, shutting the door to provide it privacy. His eyebrow twitched as he looked over the trail of dirt. The inside of his car was sure to be coated in the fine red powder as well.

… .. . .. …

Jim stared at the door for a long moment before he started to disrobe. Wherever the hell he was, this alien didn't speak a word of standard. That concerned him. While it wasn't uncommon for aliens that lived far from the cities to prefer their native language, almost no one didn't know standard. And he wasn't that far from a city, by the look of things.

That lead him to believe he'd crashed on a pre-warp planet and was most likely breaking all kind of rules, Prime Directive being the largest. He glanced down at his mottled chest and sighed, glad that he hadn't actually damaged himself to the point of being in danger, but the few broken ribs sucked royally. The pain and disorientation from the crash leaving him with a rolling nausea and shuddering spikes of painful dizziness.

As he made his way to the shower, his thoughts turned back to the alien helping him. They couldn't communicate. He'd obviously never seen anyone like Jim. And yet there he was, offering up his bathroom, for a man he didn't even know. Offering up his home to something he'd never seen before. And acting damn calm as he did it. Almost freakishly, but Jim didn't know the first thing about the society, so he couldn't really say. Besides, he'd known a few cool cucumbers in his day.

And it had been kind of cute when he fell off the ship when Jim looked at him.

Jim shook his head, wondering at that though for the third time in an hour as he turned his attention to working out the shower. It…wasn't like he was used to seeing. He stepped in cautiously, trying to decide which controls managed what. Tentatively, he pressed a button and was immediately hit with a wave of something.

It took him a moment of the hairs standing on end to realize it was pulse vibrations. Carefully, deciding he could let the scientist in him figure it out later, he relaxed into the soothing sensation. It actually felt great, and he let a soft groan escape his lips, scrubbing his fingers through his hair to release the grime. It certainly wasn't a water shower, but he couldn't help but think he could get used to it. When all of the grime was off, Jim turned the shower off and stepped out.

His eyes fell to the clothes on the counter and frowned. Those were distinctly lacking anything he would call his style. But…with his jeans still bloody, he needed to wear something else for the moment. The slacks were made of a soft material that felt absolutely wonderful and he promptly decided he was alright with them, even if he did grudgingly have to turn the cuffs up a bit to keep from stepping on them. The shirt was of the same material, and Jim felt like he could definitely have these for nightclothes. He was already half asleep as he opened the door.

"Gah!" Jim yelped, flying backwards as he was immediately graced with the alien's visage.

He winged up an eyebrow at Jim's antics, and Jim couldn't help but puff out his cheeks in irritation. "What? You have got to stop staring at me."

The man glanced away a moment before turning on his heel and starting off. Jim huffed, following him in annoyance. There really wasn't much he could do for it, at this point. He was lead back into the kitchen and flopped down at the bar, watching the alien bustle around. How exactly was he going to figure this communication thing out? Language had never been a strong point for him. And he didn't exactly know how smart his host was. Working out prime numbers might get him started on figuring out the whole deal, or it might get him confused stares.

He wasn't too keen on the idea of this alien contacting his government, if it was a pre-warp society. Even if they did take to him kindly, the less people that knew about his existence the better.

The man set a glass of clear liquid in front of him and Jim desperately hoped it was water. He didn't want to put anything strange in his mouth and end up dieing. When he hesitated to take it the pointy eared alien grabbed a piece of paper, honest to god paper, and started jotting something down on it. Jim found himself eyeing those ears again. It wasn't like he hadn't seen stranger aliens, but there was something about that little feature that just sent a thrill up his spine.

The alien pushed the paper in front of him and Jim stared down at it. There were a few symbols on the side, no doubt labeling it, and a picture. Jim inspected the extraordinarily neat drawing and almost immediately recognized the Lewis structure of H2O, though he doubted that was what they were called on the alien planet. The alien gesture to the glass and said something, almost, almost sounding exasperated.

Jim took a tentative sip of water, still not sure what trace compounds could be in it that wouldn't harm the alien but could kill him. The elf's, because that was what Jim decided to call him in his head, eyes seemed to light up and Jim smiled, making a grabbing motion for the pencil he used. It seemed to consider this a moment before handing it over.

It knew the Lewis structure of water. He could work with that. He immediately set to work on a periodic table, labeling everything carefully. There was a reason the table worked. If they were advanced enough to know Lewis structures, they were advanced enough to know how a periodic table worked. Elf boy, god that made him giggle, was peering over his shoulder, brown eyes blown wide and leaning heavily into his space to observe his efforts. He couldn't help but smile, especial at how he carefully maintained a set minimum distance. He just peered at Jim curiously when he did that and Jim couldn't help but wonder what kind of society didn't have smiling.

When Jim finished, he passed the paper over, watching as the alien was highly careful to avoid actually touching his fingers even as he was completely lost in the sheet. He immediately wondered if it was a sensitivity issue, a cultural practice, or an individual trait. The strong urge to capture his hand and inspect it was a decidedly bad one and Jim occupied his hands with the glass of water.

Space-elf smoothed down the paper on the counter, muttering something to himself in his language. Jim leaned over and tapped the symbol for hydrogen, getting a sharp, curious look.

"Hydrogen." He told him, watching the eyes flick to his mouth before nodding.

"Hydrogen." The alien repeated and Jim felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. "Masu-tukh."

Oh hell. He needed to get some curse words into that mouth fast because Standard dripped off his tongue like pure sugar, molten hot and leaving scars where it touched. It took Jim a moment to process the word repeated back to him in the other language. He scrunched up his face, shaking his head. That language was going to take a bit of effort. Maybe it would be easier if he taught his own language first and then tried to pick it up, not that he wasn't going to try to remember anyway.

The alien lifted an eyebrow at his contorted expression and Jim shook his head, gesturing all the way across the table to Helium. He said as much. Space-elf, that would never stop being fun, muttered a word that sounded like 'tahal-tukh' and then whispered helium and Jim swore the word never sounded so appealing in his life.

He leaned back, blinking repeatedly and earning a look from his host. Apparently his ship wasn't the only thing to be shorted out by that crash. Brushing off the thought, because that was hardly the weirdest thing he'd ever thought, he continued with the lesson. He hadn't realized how long he'd been up until he yawned. The alien boy straightened at the action, big brown eyes staring at him amazed. Jim smirked a little, fighting down a second yawn, and rubbed his eyes.

The alien eyed him a moment, bemused, before something seemed to click and he stood. Jim watched him wearily a moment before standing under his watchful gaze. The man started through the house and Jim didn't hesitate at all this time to follow him.

There was a sharp look as he opened the door and Jim peered into a decent sized room with pillows arranged on the floor in the approximation of a bed. Briefly, Jim wondered if it was one of those cultures or again a personal thing. Jim glanced nervously at the alien and saw him gesture briefly to the room and then himself, and then down the hall to another door, words slipping off his tongue fast enough to make the room spin.

When he made no move, the alien stepped into the room and Jim followed cautiously. He gestured to the pillow bed and waited, hands clasped at his back. Jim plopped down on the bed, staring at him. He repeated something in his alien language and exited into the hall, closing the door behind him and locking it with a deafening click. It was then Jim realized there was no lock access on the inside and he was stuck in the room.

Well, mostly stuck. He could probably break the window if he wanted. It occurred to Jim that it was pointless of the alien to tell him where his room was if he was just going to lock him in. Though it was possibly an after thought. Jim shrugged, sighing as he curled up on the bed. It was more comfortable than most places he'd slept. The night air was frigid outside, but the house had been pleasantly cool. The room itself was a little warmer.

Jim buried his face in the pillow and promptly sneezed. Sitting up, he inspected the bed. There were just a few traces of hairs…fur. He was sleeping in a pet bed. Oh well. Still better than most beds he'd been in. It was likely that the alien didn't have a guest room or wasn't sure if the bed would be comfortable for him. And Jim had a sneaking suspicion that the man only recognized his yawning because it was similar to what this absent pet would do when it was tired.

He was effectively an interesting pet. He'd probably have some complaint about it…in the morning.

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

First chapter: Done. So this could be a highly interesting experiment…