War.
It was an afterlife of sorts, he supposed. He remembered
everything – finding the tallest tree so that he could watch
the stars from its branches as a child, kissing that cute
female cadet on a dare from Tripp in their Academy days.
The exhilaration of his time as a fighter pilot, having one
too many whiskeys at the bar, frowning in the mirror at the
premature grey developing at his temples. But mostly he
remembered Taz – she coloured every part of his life since
she’d come into it thirteen years ago. Her spunk, her
bravery, her determination, her temper, her laugh – the one
he cherished because he got to hear it so rarely. She was
everywhere, and all of him, and the only thing that mattered
- the only thing that had mattered for a long time.
They had come so close – she had returned his kiss on
Qo’noS, and come to him that night in the hospital on
Earth. She’d slept in his bed like a lover would - even if
they couldn’t really be lovers, not then - and she had stayed
by his side every day as they danced, as they fought, as he
fought to be the man she wanted him to be.
He hadn’t fought hard enough. For himself, or for her.
He didn’t blame her for leaving. He didn’t blame her for
any of it.
And I will never get him back.
He’d just wanted to talk, when he asked her to watch a
movie with him. A little nostalgia never hurt. He’d take her
friendship again, if that was all he could get - but it didn’t
even seem like she wanted to give him that.
The moustache business had been a low blow, though.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
Up choked on a lungful of smoke and coughed. “Oh,
yeah, Specs – I did.”
He had grown strangely attached to this rag tag team of
his. A bunch of kids, really, relatively inexperienced and