Hey everybody! I'm SOOO sorry for the long posting delay! I went backpacking for a month, fell in love with a different fandom, and kind of put this on the backburner. Also, being new to story writing on , I assumed reviews would go to my email, and, receiving no such emails, I assumed nobody was reading, which relieved me of all the guilt I should have been feeling for not updating *sheepish*. I now see that I was completely mistaken, so I offer all of you reviewers my humblest apologies! I do have a fair amount of this story mapped out, so I don't plan on abandoning, but actual chapter writing can go pretty slow :(.

Chapter 3 - Thursday

Captain Christopher Pike was enjoying a rare moment of peace to contemplate life (and when the hell he'd get off the rock that was Earth and onto a ship again) when his station beeped to indicate a comm request. And with my luck it will be an Admiral on my case for another cadet! He checked the sender. Dr. Samuel Gevertz / Commander, Science Officer (retired) / Earth-San Francisco-Starfleet Academy-Dyson Building.

He accepted the call.

"Sam, what can I do for you?" Chris inquired, face flat and professional.

"Good morning to you too, Chris. Had your coffee yet?"

Pike responded by lifting his mug to his lips and taking a sip, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

Gevertz laughed, "You're guilt-trip won't work on me, Captain! I've been pestering you for too many years. Speaking of which . . ."

Pike rolled his eyes, giving up the act and emitting a fake groan for effect. "What class is it this time? Didn't I make somebody cry the last lecture you dragged me into?"

"She claimed she had allergies, but there was no denying you left an impression." Gevertz grinned. "You know you enjoyed it."

Chris just smiled back.

"I think you can guess what I'm hoping you'll come talk about," Gevertz said, his expression sobering into a serious mien. Chris's own smile fell slightly at the change. "I'm teaching the Ethics class this year, and I thought maybe you could stop by and tell the cadets something of your experience with Tarsus IV. I know you've turned down other instructors in the past, but I think a personal account would . . ."

Pike brought his elbow up onto his desk so he could prop up his head while massaging his brow. Just the mention of that damned Ethics class seemed to trigger a stress headache. Those memories held nothing but anxiety and frustration for him, and they always made him think of the kid. Maybe if they were on better terms the memories wouldn't be so painful, but as it was . . .

"Sam," He lifted his head to look the older man in the eye, "No. I don't think there is anything in the world that could induce me to go before a class of overly curious cadets and cry about my feeling and memories of Tarsus. Find someone else."

Gevertz frowned, his eyes filled with sympathetic sadness, but his mouth firm, "Sometimes it can help to talk, Chris. It would certainly help the cadets."

Chris shook his head, his hand moving in sync, "There are several other people currently on Earth who were either on the planet or part of the rescue party, even if it was 10 years ago. Ask them."

"You're the only one who was in a command position-who not only toured the colony, but met several of the key players, helped direct relief efforts, and wrote a condemning report that helped send Kodos and most of his soldiers to a penal colony for life. You can't deny that your role may have been just a little more significant than others."

Chris gripped the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. There's nothing you can say, Sam, really there isn't. "I don't deny that, Sam, but there are-were-other factors. I knew someone on that planet . . . It was . . . a difficult time . . . and I have no wish to dwell on it."

Gevertz's must have heard the suppressed emotion in Pike's words, because his expression flickered to surprise, then understanding, and finally settled into resignation. "I understand. Or at least, I understand that you'd like to keep your private life private. And I will respect that. Just remember, Chris, time doesn't heal all wounds." Gevertz gave him a sad, soft smile. "I'm guessing you know that better than most. If you ever want to talk-and I don't mean in front of my class-you know where to find me."

Gevertz ended the connection.

Chris sighed, and straightened, trying to stretch out the tension in his shoulders. It was going to be a long day. When does Jim have to take that infernal class? He couldn't avoid the thought as it came to him. He's a first year, so . . . All first year cadets took Ethics. Well, there were some exceptions, but on the whole-

He accessed the admin network and did a quick search.

Kirk, James T.

*schedule

"Damnit, kid," Pike sighed. His fingers hovered over the console, hesitating. "Damnit."

He pulled up a new txt-comm window and stared at his screen morosely. What could he possibly say?

"Let's it, Ska'teen. Now divert a little more to maneuvering for the approach . . . that's good . . . easy, easy . . . Stop! The tractor beam has you now. Power off the . . . yep, you got it. Good job Cadet." Lieutenant Commander Jacobs patted the four armed Budhesian in Cadet red sitting beside him on the shoulder. "Were you watching all that, Kirk?" Jacobs turned to look behind him at the other red-clad figure in the simulator.

Jim grinned back. "Yes Sir!"

Jacobs' smile twisted into a smirk. "Good. Then you won't mind getting me a cup of coffee while we practice undocking. Half a gram of sugar, no milk. Make it the Arkellian roast."

Jim rolled his eyes in well humored exasperation, and undid his safety straps. "Sir, yes Sir." He said loudly, saluting sharply as he stood. "One cup of Arkellian roast coffee, no milk, 500 mg sugar. Sir, would the Commander like a saucer for his mug, Sir!"

Jacobs didn't turn around, but Jim suspected it was because he might crack up if he did. Instead he replied with solemnity, "A saucer will not be necessary, Cadet, but if you could bring it in a travel cup I'd be much obliged."

Jim turned smartly on his heel and marched the grand total of 15 feet to the replicator. The simulator was actually a real shuttle—albeit an old one. The impulse engines had been removed, along with the (paltry) weapons system and most of the sensors, replaced with data feeds that mimiced their counterparts, so instructors could program different scenarios. The important thing, however, was that the interior was untounched, and therefore included some of the amenities—a replicator being the most obvious.

Unfortunately, being a 30 year old model, it didn't yet have a functional voice-operating system. Something about the frequency of the hull vibration, or the engine hum . . . Whatever. Jim reached his hand up to the touch pad and his fingers moved on autopilot. He felt a slight jerk as the shuttle disembarked—the hover field suspending the simulator weakening in imitation of releasing docking clamps.

The replicator hummed as his entry began to materialize.

Four medium blocks of an off-white, hard substance appeared where there should have been a cup of coffee. Jim grabbed a block and mechanically stuffed it into his right pocket and was reaching for a second before his mind processed what he was doing. His arm, half extended toward the replicator with hands outspread, froze, and then began to shake.

"Kirk! Where's that coffee?" Kirk could feel Jacob's gaze on him, and he moved his fingers frantically to the replicator's console and jammed his fingers over the pad with sloppy movements. With another hum the blocks disappeared, and with a more focused sequence of buttons the coffee was before him. Jim let out a long, unsteady breath. His right hand wrapped around the cardboard cup and he forced his shoulders to straigten and his knees to lock as he returned to the front of the shuttle.

"Sir, your coffee, Sir."

Jacobs took the cup with a raised brow, but thankfully returned his attention to Ska'teen.

Jim returned to his seat, resting his hands on his thighs. But as he did so, he felt something in his left pocket. A hard rectangle that pulled on his pants pocket even as it weighed on his mind.

Jim would have slammed the door if it were possible when he made it to his dorm, but all he could do was slam his palm against the center square of the console on the door frame. The door opened with a 'woosh', and he repeated the process to see it close. When he turned around he was confronted with an empty room. Hmm. Bones must be out. Or studying. Or Stars knew where. No doubt he'd stumble in sometime soon—he had a hospital shift in the morning.

Jim made his way to the shower, and didn't come out for half an hour. He'd met up with Marlene after Interspecies Relations. They often met up on Thursdays—it was wing night at the B-Shack just off campus, and they both had a small love affair with their Tangy Barbeque sauce. But he hadn't been hungry, not for anything that wasn't hard, white, and block shaped, so they went back to her place to watch a vid this time. Of course, he wasn't so interested in the vid as he was in her, but ostensibly he was there to watch a vid.

It didn't take long for both of them to lose track of the plot as they were consumed by more physical activities. He'd undone his pants and was working on her bra when things had taken a turn for the awkward. Well, he'd left too fast to see just how awkward Marlene found it, but it was certainly awkward as hell for him. She'd lain on her bed, black hair splayed across her white sheets, her eyes closed . . . and even though he saw the smile on her face, knew that the sheets looked nothing like the pale green moss of Tarsus IV, told himself that her hair was nothing like Carla's, and that this room wasn't a clearing in the woods . . . he told himself all these things, but when he looked at her . . .

Needless to say, neither of them were satisfied when he left.

So he took a long, long shower.

When he got out, he grabbed his PADD with one hand and with his other he reached under his bed and pulled out a hidden bottle of scotch. Bones didn't care, but sometimes there were inspections. He took a deep swig, then switched on the book sized device.

As soon as he connected to Stel-net, Jim was notified of new Stel-mail. That was no surprise. Between reading attachments sent out by his instructors, reading group invitations sent by classmates, campus notifications, and (less numerous) the occasional personal message, Jim could usualy convince himself he was a popular guy. He opened up his account to both kill time and ensure his message cache didn't stay clogged with the nonsense mail.

There was a message from Marlene at the top. I think I'll skip that one . . . at least til this bottle is empty.

Two attachments from Gevertz, a reminder from Delahoy to bring his space jumping gear to their next class . . . a link to several presumably boring essays for Prime Directive . . . a campus message from Pike about—hmm. There wasn't a subject. Pike, as the general academic advisor for his year, frequently spammed them with campus notifications and warnings, so it was not unusally for his name to pop up in Jim's mail, but usually . . .

He tapped the button to open it in a fresh window:

Jim,

I know you don't want to hear from me, but I heard your Ethics class is covering T-. If you want to talk, I'm here. Any time. I'm still in the same unit—you'll never convince me that yellow isn't a masculine color! My emergency comm password is 'Pegasus NC1'. Any time, kid, I mean it.

Chris

Jim tapped the message closed. He really should call Chris, really he should. Jim took another swig of the bottle. He'd do it tomorrow.