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| *Gone. He's gone. Oh Lord, how will I live through this day? And, after that,
another. Then another. Years without him. Will it always hurt like this?*
James T. Kirk sat on the edge of his bunk, utterly defeated. Although it was
just after midnight, ship's time, and he knew that he should try to get some
sleep, he was still wearing his uniform. He just didn't have the strength, or
the will, to do anything, not even the simplest task.
Finally, he pulled off his boots and stretched out on his bed. That was just the
best he could manage, and it would have to do. The bed was mussed, having not
been made today, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Besides, if
he didn't make the bed, then he didn't have to unmake the bed. Two less things
to deal with.
Cursing himself for being maudlin but unable to resist the impulse, Jim bunched
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