It had been one of the most astounding cases in all medical history—an entire ship's crew developing Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder overnight. If not for some quick thinking by Drs. McCoy and M'Benga, the entire crew would've been locked away to be studied by psychologists the world over, instead of reassigned to less stressful positions, or simply retired.
McCoy's diagnosis had been that the PTSD had been for that entire five-year mission, or actually for everything since Nero's appearance on the eve of their graduation. The death of Pavel Chekov had merely been the trigger, the catalyst, for one of the most terrible stories in the history of the Federation. A large crew, on a brand-new ship, having just completed its shakedown trip and ready for its first official assignment, simply lost all courage, all wherewithal, and couldn't go.
Well, not all, as Jim would remind himself, despite the news bulletins. The new members of the crew, who hadn't been on the Enterprise no-suffix, were ready and rearing. In fact, when they saw the senior bridge crew just sitting in shock as the Commodore blinked out, they almost staged a mutiny. It finally took Mr. Sulu to calm everyone down, and Lt. Uhura called Starfleet to request medical leave for most of the crew. Those who stayed were having, Jim was sure, a wonderful time under Captain Will Decker.
The rest of the crew, though, went all over. Spock and Uhura had married and retired their commissions to help the settlements on New Vulcan.
Bones had also left Starfleet, starting a medical clinic in his native Georgia, with a lovely Andorian intern Jim had once had the pleasure of meeting.
Sulu had fallen back on his background in Astrophysics, working as head of the department on the Excelsior, under Captain Styles. The rest of the old crew was similarly scattered around Starfleet and the Federation.
Only Scotty had stayed on the Enterprise. It wasn't exactly the original ship, but he loved it almost as much and simply couldn't bear to part. Kirk just found it too painful.
Of course, Kirk had lied about needing to get back to HQ. He had taken the day off; he wasn't needed anywhere until his supper with Carol. They always had supper together this date. After all, she had been there, on Gamma Hydra IV with the rest of them, where Pavel had contracted the radiation that would kill him. And when Kirk had finished his time on the scout ship and taken a job at headquarters, she'd been instrumental in helping him network. He knew more people now than he had once thought existed.
Why was it, then, that the death of this one person meant so much to him? Was it, as McCoy said, because it reminds him of the 94 others who died under his command, not to mention the countless other beings he could have saved. Or was it simply that Chekov was part of Kirk, not that he could explain how. It's not like you talked about "Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Chekov." Chekov's friends were Sulu and Uhura. Yet, there was something that was just missing from Kirk since Pavel's death.
He walked around the countryside until he came across the tavern owned by, he knew, Pavel's cousin Walter. Kirk walked inside and took a seat, looking out the window at the falling snowflakes. Had it started to snow? A quick glance at his now-white clothes informed him that it had been for quite a while.
He looked around the tavern. It had a nice mix of old and new. In one corner, flames raged in a fireplace, as customers in large chairs drank hot chocolate and the like. In another, a holographic display of a local sports game held a large crowd in its sway. All were happy, enjoying themselves. All but Kirk.
Kirk didn't begrudge their happiness, think that just because he was depressed everyone should be. He was well past that stage. He was happy, in a way, to see others acting in a way he didn't think he was strong enough to act.
"I guess they moved Star Fleet Headquarters without telling me," Piotr said from behind him.
"Have you been following me?" Kirk asked.
"Don't worry, it's just a coincidence. I'm here to drive my uncle and cousin to the memorial."
The memorial? What time was it? Carol was gonna kill him! Just as Jim was getting up, though, a young woman entered the tavern. She was oddly attired; despite the weather, she was in a black summer dress, that honestly seemed right out of the nineteenth century. Her clothes were torn, her face bruised, and he blond hair all mussed up. She ran towards the two of them and collapsed in Piotr's arms.
"Billy!" she cried, and almost went limp.
"Excuse me, Miss," Jim said, trying to help Piotr put her on a chair. She looked up and, when she saw his face cried
"Ike! Oh, thank G-d! There's still time!" they had set her in a chair but she couldn't stay up. Her arms were flailing and her eyes wild.
"Billy, you've got to do something!" she said again to Piotr, "they're coming! You've got to save us. Save us all!" and with that, she collapsed.
