It was wrong.
It was evil.
It was sadistic.
It was god-damn sadistic.
It was god-damn fucking sadistic.
Of all the people in Starfleet, of all the ships, of all the captains, it had to be him - Captain James fucking Tiberius Fucking Kirk of the Enterprise - who was ordered to Tarsus IV to 'evaluate the possibility of re-colonization.' God damn the bureaucrat who didn't remember, or chose to ignore, the disaster of the previous colony. They probably didn't care about people. They were just numbers; they could be replaced if only they 'recalculated for future errors.'
He hoped that some survivor sent them hate mail. Or even better, he wished he could fly his ship up the ass of the sonofabitch who proposed this mission and see how he liked it.
He had been there. He had seen the terror in the people's eyes as they were needlessly slaughtered in the streets. He had watched as his aunt and uncle bleed out in the front room while he hid in the cupboard under the stairs because he was too afraid to do anything. Nobody ever teaches a nine-year-old what to do when a sadistic dictator takes over the government under the nose of Starfleet. He was absent a lot in school; he must have missed that particular class. Because his aunt and uncle had known something was wrong, they had guessed that somebody might do something extreme with food resources running out. They must have guessed that somebody would come.
They hadn't expected heartless, soulless, emotionless mercenaries to destroy the front door. To open fire without provocation. To ransack the house for every little bit of food and valuables. To piss on both of their bodies. To drag their mutilated corpses out into the suns for the birds to pick out their eyeballs.
Nobody had expected it. Nobody.
That's what they told him: that the previous actions could not happen again because they were prepared for it now.
Bullshit.
They should have had more officers on the planet. Starfleet should have had knowledge that the food supplies were going bad, that the colonists were starving, that people were dying. But no, that would require intelligence, something he had been convinced Starfleet didn't have. He had decided after being returned back to his hellhomeandfrankandhisfists on Earth that he would never join their ranks under penalty of death. Never.
When Pike had dared him that fateful night in a bar in the middle of nowhere Iowa, he had wanted to spit in his face or punch him or something. How dare he come to him talking about the glories of Starfleet: he who had seen all the gritty dirty grimy parts.
But his uncle's words had come echoing across space that night as he lay underneath the stars, wondering what lay up in the great unknown that even Starfleet with all its ships had not discovered.
"Your father didn't join Starfleet the glory of having a ship. He didn't join for the wonderful work they could do. He did it for the work they should do, the work he didn't see them doing anymore. When he flew the Kelvin into that ship, he did it because it was what needed to be done, because he would never have been able to live with himself if somebody else had been forced to do it. He took it willingly upon himself. He did it because he couldn't bear putting that pain on somebody else. That's why he was a Hero. That's why Starfleet makes a big deal out of him."
It had been a surprise to hear it the first time, even more the second. Uncle never liked to talk. So that's why he went into Starfleet, so nobody else could feel the pain of loss. He would protect anyone he could. He would be the son of a dad he wanted to believe in, not the one everyone else did.
He could justify his having to deal with Tarsus IV with that knowledge, but that sounded to analytical, too much like Spock. This whole thing wasn't logical; he was going back to the one place that almost broke him, that had torn his soul until it had held together by a thread.
God, he felt like a child, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to go. It wasn't fair!
He was going down to the planet with the away team. Bones had almost cursed him out, something about re-opening wounds that hardly ever healed in the first place.
"God-damn it Jim, I'm a doctor not a psychologist! But even I can see how this isn't gonna be good for you. You're still screwed up from the last time you were down on that planet. Jesus Christ! Why did they have to pick you?"
"Because I'm a sadist, Bones. Because I know the place better than anybody else, and if we can get the survey done quickly, we can get away from this Hell pit and go back to saving the galaxy. I don't know Bones. I really don't know."
But Bones did know; he had seen the meaning behind Kirk's word and realized why Kirk had to go down to that planet, had to lead the away team, had to do this.
He needed the closure. He needed to say good-bye, because he had never been given the chance.
So here he was, standing on the surface of Tarsus IV in front of what remained of the original settlement; if he strained, he could swear he heard the voices of the other colonist children on the wind that seemed to find every hole and create a whistling noise that grated on the nerves.
"Captain, the tricorder readings confirm our previous intelligence; the land is no longer suitable to grow extra-terrestrial plants of any form. There appear to be only seven different native plants that are suitable to grow in a ten kilometer area. I suggest we forward our findings to Starfleet and leave for star-base 36-06."
"I never thought I'd agree with a Vulcan, but he's right Jim. Let's get the Hell out of here. This place gives me the creeps."
"Aye, I'll be wanted ta get back ta the ship maself. I cannae trust that those bloody engineers won't hurt ma baby. Even if Keesner is watchin' o'er her."
His friends, no, his new family had come down with him in order to make sure he was alright and to make sure he came back. All of him. It was a new feeling to have family surround him and love him. He hadn't felt this way since, well, forever.
A small hand shyly appeared on his shoulder, reaching to grab him.
"Kaptain, ve cannot do anysing here. It is time to go home. To go to the Enterprise."
Kirk turned and smiled at the away team behind him and nodded his agreement much to the visible relief of his family.
J.T. Kirk looked out one more time over the plains of Tarsus IV, remembering all of the unspeakable atrocities he had committed in order to protect his clanpackpeoplechildren. For the last time he breathed in the scent of gealds in the air. J.T. said goodbye to all the people he had left behind, all the people he had failed to save, known and unknown. And J.T. turned away at last.
Captain James Tiberius Kirk turned to see his people and smiled for the first time in what seemed like a long time. It had been sadistic. It had been awful. It had been torture to come back here. But now, standing here amidst the remnants of a life he had tried to ignoreforget, he felt his burden lighten. He didn't need to carry the weight of the dead alone. His family was here to bear it with him, to sing the tales of the true heroes of Tarsus IV.
"Enterprise, away team ready to beam aboard."
He was ready to go. Ready to leave it all behind. Because he had a family. Because there were people who loved him.
For the first time, he was really leaving Tarsus IV.
For the first time, he was wanted.
For the first time, he was going home.
Home.