Captain Christopher Pike muttered expletives under his breath as he strode towards the Shipyard Bar or, as Pike deduced, a 'breeding ground for deaf and drunk idiots'.

The evening wind leaked through the material encompassing his legs, sending messages to his brain and triggering his muscles to vibrate. What the hell are you doing outside a shack filled with people half your age when you could be warm in bed by now? His legs complained. Or maybe it was his frozen fingers; he couldn't tell where the shivering was originating from now – probably both.

Pike sighed irritably – what the hell indeed. Only half an hour ago, he had been at the Riverside Shipyard admiring the superstructure of the fleet's unfinished flagship, surrounded by crates and containers boasting her name.

The U.S.S Enterprise

She was a true beauty; Pike could almost envisage her magnificence as he stood, admiring her skeleton. A nervous looking crewman had later interrupted his picture perfect view, fidgeting with his PADD and alternating his gaze between Pike's face and the unfinished flagship. His body language was a clear sign that his news wasn't likely to please Pike.

And it hadn't.

The crewman was a local in Riverside – not surprising considering that his job would only be 5 minutes away – and had been contacted by his friend that there were a group of Starfleet cadets acting inappropriately at the Shipyard Bar. Seeing as Pike's uniform singled him out as the highest-ranking officer in the yard, the crewman had decided that it was Pike's place to discipline the cadets and had notified him of the incident.

Which brought him to the current situation he now found himself in.

Christopher Pike grimaced as he neared the bar. Even from this distance, the pulsating neon lights blinded him and blaring music deafened his hearing. He shed his weary expression but kept his irritated one – it would help the cadets decide that it was in their best interests to obey his orders, lest they piss him off any more than he already was.

'Bottle of Saurian brandy and a shot of Jack.'

That should be enough, thought Jim Kirk as he waved a credit wafer over the payment sensor. The bartender nodded and returned moments later with his order. Jim swiped the Jack off the counter and chucked its contents down his throat. He gave it a few minutes to take affect before moving onto the brandy.

Last week to the day had been his day off work and he'd used the time to hack Starfleet System. He hadn't been expecting much; all the other times he'd tried had failed to show results and he'd been trying since he was fifteen. That day had been different though, his skills were honed from years of practice and at long last he'd finally broken through.

He wished he hadn't.

All their profiles had been listed alphabetically and he'd found one of his kid's five names down. Abby Creta had been her name. Had. Her profile had told him where she was residing but it also told him her age, height, weight, date of birth and date of death. At first he thought that he'd opened up the wrong profile – that there'd been another survivor with her name – but his kids were the only survivors under the age of twelve and Abby's profile had said that she'd died at age nine from malnutrition. When realization had sunk in he'd cried for the first time since he'd returned from Tarsus IV. Then he'd sat in an alleyway for hours with his thoughts and doubts plaguing his mind; If only he'd fought harder, gotten her more food, given her more of his share. In the back of his mind, he dully registered that he was going through the stages of grief in mixed up order. All that were left was anger and acceptance to experience – which brought him back to bottle of Saurian brandy he was nursing. He probably wouldn't find anger here, but acceptance? One word: Alcohol – the fastest catalyst for acceptance… more likely memory loss. But so long as alcohol had the same effect as acceptance he couldn't care less about the technical differences.

After all the years of trying, he had finally attained the list of survivors but now dreaded the thought of going back to it and finding out the fate of the rest of his kids. He didn't want to know – he feared to know.

It was better not knowing. Because when you didn't know, you still had hope.

Jim glanced down at the powder horn bottle in his hand and took a deep draught, letting the liquor linger in his mouth before it slid down his throat. Even as the brandy disappeared down his throat, its sweet flavor urged his taste buds to take another sip. Enticing, promising… and inevitably deceiving – alcohol was no different from false hope.

'Hi, I'd like a Klabnian Fire Tea, three Budweiser Classics, two Cadrassian Sunrises and uh… any recommendations tonight?'

Jim spared the time he could be spending drinking to check out the person who had seated herself next to him. An African American woman leaned against the counter, her long, dark hair spilled around her shoulders and brushed against her cadet-reds. Normally, Jim would have dismissed her as soon as he noticed her Starfleet uniform but there was something vaguely familiar about this woman and he hated not knowing.

'How about a Slusho Mix? A little powerful though,' the bartender suggested.

'Sounds intriguing – I'll give it a try,' the woman replied and then as an afterthought, 'oh, and a shot of Jack please.'

The bartender nodded and moved away to prepare her order. Jim turned his gaze back to the bottle in his hand; he had forgotten why he had been so interested in the woman next to him. Rotating his thumb and fingers he tilted the bottle downwards and invited it's entrancing contents to take away more of his problems.

'Hey Uhura! Didn't think you'd be here. A couple of us girls are sitting back there – you want to join us?'

A brunette cadet lurched precariously towards Uhura. She smelled as if she'd taken a bath in the bottle of bourbon in her hand and the silly grin plastered on her face confirmed that she was drunk. Jim frowned slightly… Uhura… he knew that name, he just couldn't remember where.

'Sorry Brit, I'm still waiting for my order. You know, you might want to quit while your ahead,' Uhura motioned towards the glass bottle Brit was suffocating in her fist.

'Aww Uhura you need to live a little!' Brit slurred, 'anyway, remember what our instructor said? Never quit!'

She laughed as if it were the most hilarious thing in the world and staggered away. Jim took another swig of his brandy as Uhura received her order. Her name was irritating him, like an itch in his brain he couldn't scratch – who was she? He decided he might as well just ask her.

'Hey,' he said and waited until she had noticed him, 'do I know you?'

Uhura raised her eyebrow in amusement. Straight forward, intoxicated and handsome – a lecher for sure. She was no stranger to bars or the lame pick-up lines that came with them. This guy was probably going to insist that he knew her but had forgotten her name and once she surrendered it to him there would be no way she'd be able to enjoy her drinks in peace... unless Brit had talked a little too loudly but then why else would he asks her such a question?

'No,' she replied flatly, 'but you should think of better pick up lines.'

She downed her shot as the last words left her mouth. Jim frowned in confusion.

'Huh? What are talking about?' he asked.

Uhura rolled her eyes but stuck to her script she used to reject drunks playing dumb.

'The answer is no to both questions,' she told him in Romulan.

Chances were, the guy wouldn't have a clue what she had said and remain speechless long enough for her to find another bar stool. Either that, or the alcohol would have reduced his memory to the size of a pea and he'd think that she didn't speak English.

'I only asked you one question,' Jim replied half in Romulan, half in English.

The alcohol in his system was making it harder for him to concentrate and he switched back and forth between languages without realizing it. Her confusing answers were deteriorating his concentration as he wondered what they meant – Did she think he was asking her out? What had he ever said to imply that? All he'd asked was a simple question; no need to jump to conclusions.

Conversely, Uhura was mildly shocked that the civilian had understood her. She realized her mistake and quickly wiped away the surprise on her face. He was sure to make some cocky comment now that he had seen her resolve break. However, the man continued to scrutinize her face and showed no sign that he had noticed her expression. It seemed as though he was genuinely trying to remember how he knew her. But that was impossible – Uhura had no idea who he was so it was probably just an act. It was common knowledge that it was dangerous for a woman to be alone in a bar but Uhura was not an average woman and she was determined to not to fall into this man's trap.

'I already told you – the answer is no,' she said more firmly this time.

Unfortunately, another Starfleet cadet was standing nearby and heard the warning tone of her voice. G.P Hendorff twisted his head around until he spotted Uhura and the civilian she was talking to. He motioned towards the man to his three friends and they nodded, understanding the situation. Satisfied they were all in agreement, Hendorff stalked over to the bar counter, his reinforcements following closely behind.

'This guy bothering you?' he asked Uhura.

'Nothing I can't handle,' Uhura replied, annoyed that Hendorff thought she couldn't hold her own.

Jim rubbed his forehead absentmindedly as the effects of the alcohol started to diminish and a headache crept in. He had forgotten to drink his brandy during his conversation with Uhura. He was about to take another swig but thought better of it; the fact that he couldn't remember where he had seen Uhura before really bugged him and the alcohol was probably the culprit for his memory loss. If he resisted the urge for a little while, he might be able to retain enough memory to remember how he knew her. He frowned as he ran through their conversation in his head… he had talked to her in Romulan; or at least he thought he had – it was a hard to trust his memory after consuming half a bottle of brandy.

Then it hit him – Uhura. Back when he was fourteen, he'd been confined to a hospital for almost a year. There had been a linguist who'd taught him Romulan and her name had been Uhura… coincidence? Not likely but there was no harm in checking.

'Hey,' he asked, turning to face Uhura, 'were you ever a linguist?'

Uhura opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by Hendorff.

'Watch your mouth, farm boy,' he warned, 'didn't you hear what she said? Get lost.'

Jim swung his gaze towards the bigger cadet and regarded him indifferently.

'What? Is it a crime to ask a question now?' he asked sarcastically.

Most of the alcohol had left his system and the grief he was attempting to drown earlier slowly infected his mind once more. Whoever this cadet was reminded him a lot like Kodos – always shelling out orders. Jim hated that; he was his own man, not somebody's puppet.

'I'm warning you, leave her alone,' Hendorff threatened him.

Jim was pissed off. Abby had died and if he couldn't give his crap to Kodos he'd shove it in this cadet's face. The Starfleet logo taunted Jim from the man's uniform and he was reminded of Starfleet's tardy response to the massacre and famine on Tarsus IV – Maybe they were to blame for Abby's death too.

'I don't take orders from anyone,' Jim growled, 'and if you think that uniform makes you any better than anyone else then you're way over your head.'

Hendorff glared at the younger man.

'Starfleet is a-,' he began.

'-a brainwashing, incompetent organization for smartasses like yourself,' Jim finished for him, 'congratulations – you're officially a statistic.'

'What did you just call me?'

'You heard me you overgrown ape-'

Jim didn't get any further than that before Hendorff's fist set a collision course for his face. Apparently, a bar was perfect for experiencing anger after all… but not so much acceptance – alcohol was only a temporary fix.