Uhura walked into bar after bar at the way station before finding him. Had she known this particular establishment advertised over 100 types of bourbon she'd have started here.
"Hiya, stranger."
Taking the stool next to him, Uhura looked for any signs she could persuade him to leave. She'd always felt a buzz, like static electricity, when she came anywhere near Jim Kirk. Today the tingle barely registered on her exposed skin; that had only happened once before - when he lay dying in the Enterprise's nacelle radiation chamber.
"Hiya back. You found me pretty fast."
Rheumy blue haze fogged his normally clear lenses. Jim Kirk had been drinking and crying for a while.
"You want to talk about it, Jim?"
"What's there to talk about? Today is 'Happy Birthday' to me and 'We're Sorry You Died, George Kirk' for everybody else."
Uhura's words carried her frustration with his surrender to the booze.
"You told me once you hated pity parties."
"No one invited you, Uhura. Its my party. Go home."
"Only if you come with me."
"Don't hold your breath."
"Tell you what - we'll see who can hold their breath the longest. Loser goes back to the Enterprise with me."
That got a real laugh out of him. Uhura used the distraction to signal the bartender to stop the flow of bourbon.
"Why does everyone think I know how to feel about my father's heroics?"
"Maybe because you're a hero and you've actually died."
"Why are you still here?"
"Jim... Most of us join Starfleet and we run around the Academy in our fresh pressed uniforms - except you - and we spout the 'duty and bravery' bullshit. We dream about exploring the universe and making space safe and being heroes. Then we're up to our asses in real trouble and we're scared and our friends are dying all around us. Most of us are waiting for somebody to tell us what to do because we can't think anymore, we just want it all to stop. But a few special people get clear headed and start telling the rest of us what to do so we can survive."
Reaching over, Nyota tenderly stroked the back of her hand over his tear-stained cheek.
"That's who you are - the worse things get the better you perform. You know what it takes to be a hero."
Jim's silence was broken by a stranger who took the chair on the other side of Kirk.
"Lovely story - unless you're a woman. Then you can't get close to those command positions in those short, sexy skirts. No female heroes in Starfleet; that club is reserved for the boys."
The new occupant of the seat hoisted her shot glass in a toast.
"Happy Birthday to Starfleet's Favorite Boy Toy - Jimmy Kirk." the stranger toasted him.
No amount of alcohol could dull the memory of that voice. Janice Lester occupied the adjacent bar stool.