Quixotic.
The square was empty. Civilians were in their homes by sundown, come hell or high water. The new government on Tarsus IV deemed that a necessary precaution—it wouldn't do for something like the massacre years ago to happen again.
No, that wouldn't do at all.
When Jim had read the rule-book of the new colony, he had found himself wondering how anyone could live on the planet now, after what had happened before.
Funny. There had never been a now or before. It was always then.
Then was the massacre. Then was the loss of childhood and everything he held dear. Then was the beginning of the end.
Chris had briefed the bridge team, steady grey eyes lingering on Jim for only a moment longer than the others.
"What I say goes no farther than this room," He had said, gravelly voice intent. Grey met blue, then looked away. Once he had received the appropriate nods—had anyone bothered to look, only the Captain gave no indication that he had heard the Admiral's statement, preferring instead to study his nails—he continued, "Your next mission is simple—help the colonists on Tarsus IV build their Constitution."
He bit his lip, the only sign he was unhappy with the assignment thus given. Spock, too, looked upset at the idea, but didn't speak out. As for the Captain, the one to whom all eyes turned as soon as they heard of the newest mission, a political one, something he abhorred with a passion, well, he didn't even look up. Only the Communications Officer noted that he wasn't actually doing anything. If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought he was avoiding someone's gaze.
"Normally we wouldn't send you," The Admiral went on, his voice dragging all eyes back to his, but for the lone woman officer in the room, who continued her intent gaze on the Captain. "But in this case it is felt that the flagship of StarFleet would be put to good use in a situation such as this, and you are some of the most brilliant minds in the 'Fleet." He took a breath. "Don't let it go to your heads—much of what you do in the upcoming weeks will effect an entire colony for years to come, if not longer. Your names will be written in history in impermeable ink; it is my hope it will be with accolades rather than scorn."
And his transmission cut off.
The stars were just beginning to come out when Jim made his way out of the stronghold where he, along with a few of his crew, were staying, and he paused a moment, taking in the sight of Tarsus' moons, twin beacons that never truly went away, not even in the daylit hours.
Jim blinked rapidly to clear the film clouding his eyes, then set off purposefully down the road. He didn't move quickly, but there was nothing sedate about his stride—this was Jim as he was when no one saw him, intent and focused on his chosen mission.
His shadow regretted the fact that no one, save her, saw him like this.
"Captain." A no-nonsense voice greeted him as he stepped around the hallway's corner towards his room.
He replied, "Uhura," to the woman sitting on the floor outside his door, knees up with a thin brown arm curled around them. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" And he stepped inside the room, indicating with a brief tilt of the head—Gods, but he's been spending time with Spock—that she was enter.
"A question," the officer answered, and moved over the threshold.
"Hm," the Captain said noncommittally, leaving her in the main entrance and stepping into the kitchen. "Tea?" He called.
Uhura shook her head. "No, thank you," she said. Glancing around at the pictures, she made her way into the doorway the man had gone into, noting absentmindedly that there were none of his childhood, and few of recent years. One, in particular, caught her eye, and it stayed in her mind as she leaned against a counter.
The Captain raised a brow. "You had a question."
"I did," she confirmed. "What is on Tarsus IV?"
Whatever she had been expecting his response to be, it was not for him to stiffen up and go cold, blue eyes looking into a past she could not imagine.
"Ghosts," was his only answer.
Finally reaching where he had been heading, Jim stopped. The obelisk in front of him rose high above his head, the black granite engraved with names so tiny he could not quite make them out. Moving forward, he pulled out a rose and set it near the bottom, where the other flowers and mementos were.
He knelt there, in front of the monument, as if in obeisance to some god that no one had ever heard of, but left a mark of which he carried on him every day. A single tear, all he would allow himself, fell onto the black petals in front of him, lingering there like a drop of dew.
Rocking back on his heels, he murmured in a low voice, "Forgive me."
Uhura gave a side-long glance towards the Captain, brown eyes doe-like under thick lashes. He was on the transporter pad, about to call for Lieutenant Commander Scott to "Energize," and send them away from the home they knew to a place they didn't.
Blue eyes met brown, and a slight nod was all that she received.
If he were some other man, Uhura would have worried that he didn't know what she had been asking in that one glance. But this was James Tiberius Kirk, and he knew all she had wondered, and more she would never acknowledge. She thought it gave him some strange power that all the answers were yes.
Maybe it was just an indicator of the man he was—Captain Kirk had never heard of the word no. She sometimes didn't believe it was even in his dictionary, although he certainly had no trouble saying it to others.
Are you alright?
Do you need help?
Do you need me?
Yes.
"I know you're there, you know," Jim called lowly behind him.
"I'm aware, Captain," Uhura said, seemingly materializing from the shadows she had hidden in and moving forward until she was kneeling beside him, head bowed in deference.
He chuckled softly. "I should have known it was you," he said, not without kindness.
"Tell me about it," she answered, ignoring his statement. And he did.
"I was thirteen when my mother sent me to Tarsus. Thirteen, and full of nothing but hope for the future…"
-fin.