InsaneJournal

WHO: George Kirk and Amanda Grayson
WHAT: Trying to come to terms with his wife's departure.
WHEN: Not long after this.
WHERE: A local bar
RATING: TBD
STATUS: In Progress

Although George had warned Amanda that he wasn't going to be the best company, by the time they had set out for the bar in order for him to drown his sorrows he had already made a decision to at least attempt to be sociable. He didn't feel like it but he'd been raised not to let his own issues get in the way of playing the part of good company when others were around and, while George sometimes fell short of the expectations of his parents in that regard, he was old enough and mature enough to know that just because he was miserable didn't mean he had to make everyone around him feel the same way.

Still, that didn't mean he was up to little more than smalltalk. Maybe a few idly made comments about Winona, and the life they'd shared until it had been cut short that day on the Kelvin. They had been happy, once. Happy, with a blossoming family, and hope for the future. There were times when George wanted nothing more than to go back to that moment that he'd agreed to the assignment upon that fated starship just so he could blatantly refuse his orders. Yes, he would have faced a Court Martial and likely would have spent a bit of time in lockup, but he would have gotten out eventually. He would have also been around to see his sons grow up and watch his wife grow old beside him.

That wasn't possible, though. Nero had changed the timeline. Any attempts at changing it again would make him no better than the Romulan responsible for the initial fluctuation. So instead George was going to remain stuck in a city with the knowledge that, should he return home, he was mere seconds away from his own death. And now, coupled with that knowledge, was the realization that he was never going to see his wife again.

Sitting down heavily at the bar and wrapping his hand around the glass of whiskey that the bartender handed him, George belatedly realized as he raised the glass to his lips that he'd yet to say a single word to the woman beside him. So much for attempted small talk, he thought with a shake of his head. Taking a long drink of the alcohol, appreciating the burn as it slid its way down his throat, he set the glass on the counter and stared into it for a moment before doing his best to correct that oversight.

"I'm not sure what's worse," he intoned, slowly turning his gaze to Amanda. His brow was furrowed, his lips turned downward at the edges. "Knowing that she's gone, or knowing that my sons likely don't care all that much that she's not here anymore." It was a bitter pill to swallow - the knowledge that his family had a gaping hole in it that nothing would ever fix, now. With another frown and shake of his head, he took another swallow of his drink.

"Sorry," he mumbled into the glass. "I warned you I wouldn't be the best company."