Absolution (One-Year-Later Requiem) [Star Trek: TOS/TNG; Picard, Spock, Guinan]

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Title: Absolution (One-Year-Later Requiem)
Author: caitn
Summary: Picard, Guinan and Spock mourn Kirk's death in Generations.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Star Trek: TOS/TNG
Warnings: Character death.
Beta: Many thanks to my wonderful beta, wanderingoutlaw.
Spoilers: Takes place after the movie Generations.
Title, Author and URL of original story:
The Grave by alara_r







Legend

I can't believe it's been a year already. I close my eyes and see
him lying there, his life slipping away like it was only yesterday. I
should be over it, moved past it, but occasionally a nightmare edges
past my restraint and I wake up in a cold sweat, his name on my lips.

Now, at his grave, the one I fashioned out of stones, it seems as
the grave of a pauper, one not befitting a man of his status. And
that's what he was for me, really, a legend. I never had the chance
to know him as a friend, never in my wildest dreams imagined that I'd
ever meet him, let alone have the chance to help him save an entire
star system.

Spock and Guinan stand with me, both lost in their own thoughts. I
understand her reticence: her's is a race of listeners, not talkers.
Most of my dealings have been with Spock's father, but he strikes me
as a taciturn individual, in spite of his underground machinations on
Romulus, or maybe because of it.

I can't begin to understand his loss: Kirk was more than just a name
in a history book to him; he was a mentor, colleague and friend.

I stand here and flagellate myself with "what if's." What if I could
have found a way to stop Soran myself, saving the both of us? What if
I had tried harder, devised a way to keep him alive until help came?
I feel guilty, if only in my mind, for his death, even though I only
knew him a matter of hours.

Soran is the real murderer; I know that. But after experiencing the
nexus, I can't help but understand him better. It would have been so
easy to lose myself in that reality, to give up to the cocoon of
happiness, contentment and belonging. It was just like she said; it
was as being inside joy, if joy was something tangible you could
touch and surround yourself with.

I know all that in my head, but it's hard for my heart to
comprehend. Kirk achieved so much before he "died" aboard the
Enterprise-B, and I weep inside at what he could have accomplished
had he lived. Had I been able to save him.


Friend


He didn't die alone. I am forever grateful to the man at my side for
being with Jim during his last moments. I stand, my head bowed, and
contemplate the irony of the universe. I, perhaps the one person who
loved him the most, was not by his side either time he died. We
drifted apart, he and I, and I became so focused on my work on
Romulus, I never felt him, not in any one of those seventy-eight
years he was trapped in the nexus. I know it was another plane of
existence, outside of our time and space, but I should have felt
*something*.

Both times someone close to me has been in need, Picard has been
there. I am forever in his debt, and I wonder if he'll ever know
exactly how indebted I am to him.

I hope he was happy in the nexus, though from all accounts it's
impossible to be anything but happy in that place.

I miss you, t'hy'la. I bend down and touch the cold, smooth stones
of his grave, hoping he found it in his heart to forgive me for not
keeping hold of the link that bound us for so many years.

I stand back up and turn to those beside me. Picard feels remorse,
but part of that is because of what will never be. Guinan…her grief
and guilt is borne of different fruit.

"He died as he would have wished." I break the silence. "He told me
once that he would die alone. I'm grateful to see that in the end,
that was not the case." I lay my hand on Picard's shoulder and give a
gentle squeeze.

"I don't deserve your gratitude, Spock."

"You don't think so, perhaps, but I do."

Picard nods his head.

"You're quiet, Guinan." I attempt to break her out of her silent
reverie.

"I only met him for a few minutes while he was saving us on the
Lakul."

Her words contradict the emotions in her eyes. She's adept at hiding
her emotions, but I'm adept at deciphering them. It's a common
misconception that Vulcan's do not have emotions. We have them; we're
just good at suppressing them. It takes one to know one.


Hero

It's my fault! I want to say, scream at the top of my lungs. I
summoned the nexus that pulled him in. I showed it to Soran and paid
the price for his obsession.

I keep silent, though, lost in my thoughts, same as the two men
beside me. There is no one I can confide in, no one to listen to me.
My role is clearly defined, and it doesn't include confessor.

I know, as they cannot; I was the one who summoned the nexus to
swallow us. And because I would not do it again when Soran asked it
of me, he went mad. If I had only summoned it again, all this could
have been averted. I would not be standing on Veridian III at the
grave of a man who died correcting my mistake.

Picard walks away, looking out over the vast landscape of the
beautiful but barren planet, the source of not only Kirk's death but
the death of the Enterprise-D. I know he feels the loss of both,
though in different ways.

"You blame yourself," Spock says to me in a low voice. "That is
illogical."

"Is it?" I counter, trying not to show my surprise at his empathy:
it's not something Vulcans are known for.

His only answer is the raising of an eyebrow.

I sigh. Kirk was more than just a friend to him, I know. He has the
right to hear the truth. "I summoned the nexus. His death is on my
hands."

"I have seen a great many abuses of power," he tells me, "and if you
summoned the nexus in a moment of weakness, I can understand your
guilt. But you are not responsible for Soran's actions. He made his
own choices. And it is those choices and actions that led to Jim's
death."

"I set in motion the events that caused Soran's obsession. I should
have known better."

"Jim would have forgiven you. As do I."

That's little consolation when I can't forgive myself. James Kirk
was a hero. He died saving us, twice. In the afterlife, what price
for murdering a hero?

"We could use someone of your insight and ability to listen on
Romulus."

I shake my head, knowing that path is not for me.

"Picard's new ship doesn't have a bar, so..." I shrug. "I'll find
someplace, try to make a difference a little at a time."

"Running won't make the guilt or pain go away."

I smile, not a happy one. "I know."

Picard joins us then and calls for the new Enterprise to beam us up.

I can't seem to tear my eyes from the pile of stones that marks
Kirk's final resting place. I'm glad it wasn't turned into some
shrine or gaudy memorial that happens to some hero gravesites. I
don't think he would have wanted that.

As I feel the effects of the transporter beam start to take hold, I
mull over Spock's words. I didn't hold a gun to Soran's head to make
him do the things he did. And I wasn't in my right mind when I called
the nexus in the first place, or I never would have done it. But
neither one of those changes the fact that James T. Kirk is twice
dead because of my actions. Maybe running away won't assuage my
guilt, but for now, it's a start.

Comments

[zulu]

Huh, interesting take on the movie. I like the characters you've drawn together for this.