This chapter is sad. I cried while writing it. Just warning you.

It was a rough day.

Jim had been right, the barn no longer existed, aside from its concrete foundation and a few scattered boards. The main structure had been shifted, crushed, and twisted, as if by a careless toddler.

Before venturing out to the barn, Jim and Spock had cleaned everything-thoroughly. They swept, they scrubbed and scrapped and even painted after Jim dug a can of white paint out of a box in the cellar. By the end, the house looked better than it ever had during Jim's lifetime, despite the tarps on his ceiling and the chunks of missing roof.

His ceiling. Well, technically the house was his now, as star fleet had no idea where his mother was, and neither did he. Nor did he really care at this point. He'd given up worrying about her.

The sun was just setting on the plain when he ventured out to see if he could find the barn, letting the re-attached screen door slam behind him. The yard around the house was indistinguishable from the agricultural fields that surrounded the the Kirk property, some of the last non-corp owned land on this section of Earth. He really needed to find the lawn mower and put it to use.

A dizzy spell hit him as he looked directly into the sun, and Jim had to pause for a moment, holding still until it dissipated. He needed more water. And maybe he should ask Spock to mow the lawn.

Jim continued his walk, pushing through the waist high grass, following his memory to where the barn was located, though he couldn't see it on the horizon. He needed to get away for a few moments.

Spock had basically done everything, all day, besides make breakfast and lunch on the replicator. Either Jim would attempt to do something, and have Spock appear, remove the tool from his hand, and inform him that his chosen task was 'too arduous' and no amount of comparing him to Bones would sway his opinion. The few things Jim had managed to do without Spock's interference had tired him out, but he couldn't let Spock see that, so he had to keep smiling and cracking jokes that weren't laughed at.

The walk was comforting, it wasn't quite so hot out side, and the wind rushed across the prairie, rolling the grain and whisking across his face. The day hadn't been all bad though. There was something distinctly pleasing about watching Spock with a broom in his hands and the pleasant look he assumed when thinking about two things at once, precisely sweeping Jim's floor. Those star fleet fatigues he wore weren't too bad either, showed just enough to keep aim focused, but not too much to give him a god damn boner like he had this morning.

His boots crunched on something and he looked down, removing his boot from a shard of glass. He had to be getting close. After a few steps the grass parted, revealing the carnage.

The wood was torn apart and scattered everywhere, along with a twisted hunk of metal that had been part of the support. Glass was every where, a long with random items that had been in the barn, like a bicycle wheel and the rest of the bicycle, a wheel barrow, and damn, the lawn mower. Maybe he could fix it. However, certain things were noticeably absent. Like the walls. And the roof.

There was a soft sound, and Jim paused, waiting for the wind to ease. There it was again, a faint mew.

Oh God.

Scrabbling through the rubble, Jim located the source of the sound. It was a kitten, orange fur bright in the setting sun, bright blue eyes staring at him in terror. Jim lifted up the rubble he was trapped under, sucking in a breath when he saw its mother and siblings, all dead. Oh God, why did they have to live in this barn, of all places? Why did the tornado have to hit here? They were just innocent creatures for Gods sake. They didn't deserve to die

"Come on little guy," Jim murmured, crouching down and cooing to the kitten. But the kitten didn't get up and scamper away. It continued to mew in terror, front paws scrabbling at the concrete. But it's hind quarters and tail didn't move. "You can do it," Jim's voice cracked as he watched the kitten struggled to stand and fall back to the ground, to lie still and breathe heavily, eyes misted with pain. "Come on. Please. You've got to get up!"

"Jim!" Spock shouted in the distance, but Jim was too preoccupied with the cat, petting its small forehead with two fingers, making soft, miserable noises. "Jim," Spock said, having approached his location. "I have been calling your name for approximately-" he stopped when he saw the suffering animal.

"He's going to die Spock," Jim murmured, continuing to pet the struggling kittens head. There was a long, long pause.

"Yes," was the soft reply. Jim turned to Spock, eyes wide with blue fire, glittering with it. Or maybe they were damper than usual. "We should do something! Call an animal hospital, have him beamed out, bring him water at least!" Spock was placing a steady hand on Jim's shoulder. "We need to do something! We can't just let it die!" He was desperate now, grabbed Spock's arm with one hand. "We're not going to just let him die."

"Jim," Spock said softly, and as Jim watched his first officers face softened to the point where it was nearly human in its sorrow. "The cat is going to perish. There is nothing to do now except give it a more painless death."

"No!" Jim said, ripping his shoulder away from Spock, looking back to the fading cat as he continued to pet it. God no. "There has to be something, there is always something!"

"Jim," Spock repeated, more firm this time. " I do not believe there is anything. But if you wish, why do you not run back to the house and acquire your communicator to call an animal hospital." With one last look at the kitten, Jim nodded and stood, running back to the house as fast as he could in his weakened state, pushing over grass, through the door, to the communicator, and back out the door and across the field.

He just in time to watch as Spock put the cat to sleep with a meld. Just in time to watch it die.

Jim had known that the cat was not going to make it, he had known since he realized its spine had been seriously injured.

But he cried anyway.

He couldn't help it. He was exhausted, and this was yet another blow to his fragile state of mind. Would God ever care again? It was just a kitten! Just a god damned kitten. Why couldn't it live? Why?

Jim rubbed the tears away as fast as he could, scrubbing his fist against his eyes and facing away from Spock until he had himself back under control. When he could meet his first officer's eyes, he saw such sharp pity that he either going to cry again or punch him in the face.

He opened door two.

It hurt his hand more than it seemed to hurt Spock, the mans head turned, but just barely.

"Why did you do that?" he screamed, mouth twisted in anger even though the tears hadn't stopped rolling from his eyes. "We could have saved him!" Jim hit him again. And again. Finally Spock grabbed his fist and prevented him from landing another blow.

"Enough," Spock snapped as Jim ripped his hand away.

"You killed it!" Jim sobbed, totally losing it. It wasn't just the kitten anymore. It was everyone who had died. The cat. Two hundred people in London. Twenty thousand in San Francisco, including Pike-a man who might as well have been his father. And one hundred and two of his crew.

He'd lost a fourth of his people. A forth. Because of his decisions. It was all him. All those deaths rested on his shoulders. If he could have just done more, pushed harder, something, anything, he could have saved some. He could have saved them all.

"No, Jim, I did not kill it. I simply eased its passage into death. It could not be saved," Spock stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It was the logical decision."

"We could have tried," Jim rubbed at his eyes again, clearing the fresh tears. God, he was such a mess, and now Spock had seen it all. Splayed in the hall, physically too weak to stand. Shivering from fear in a dark basement. Crying over the death of one animal. And so angry, so furious, he punched his best friend, no, the man he loved. Three times.

"I will burry the kitten and his family." Spock released his shoulder and gave him a nudge forward. "I suggest you return to the house. You are exhausted."

Jim swayed for a moment, staring at the small broken body, fur matted with mud, blue eyes hidden forever. Then he turned and left without another word, shuffling across the plains, up the steps, and onto the couch, where he dropped heavily to the cushion and stared blankly at the holo vision, not bothering to turn it on.

He regretted walking away almost immediately. But what was he supposed to say? Sorry for punching you in the face three times? Or keep up his anger, for the sake of pretense, even though it had faded away as he looked into Spock's calm gaze and watched the sun set across those brown irises.

He'd just punched Spock.

Shit.

I'm so sorry it's been so long since the last update. I've been away and it was difficult to find time to write, especially this chapter. I just want to let everyone know that I love cats, (my sn is Natcat) and I didn't kill the cat because I'm vengeful against them. I needed some more emotional tension-another way to break Kirk down. I. Just came to me. I admit I changed it a little, because I was reading the original version over and started sobbing, maybe because I'm a cat person, so idk if it is as sad. I'm updating tomorrow at like 10 am To make up for my lateness. Also if I didn't reply to your review, I'm sorry, gmail is weird if I get a whole bunch at once.

-Natcat