How Do I Live With It?

Posted on 12 Dec 2019 @ 12:01am by Lieutenant Commander Camila Di Pasquale & Lieutenant Commander Tivan

2,222 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: Epilogue
Location: Counselor's Office
Timeline: December 3, 2389

Camila paced back and forth in her quarters, her willpower slowly crumbling each time she went past her small table that held a small bottle of blue liquid in it. It was that or spend another sleepless night, or worse, wake up screaming as soon as she started having another nightmare. She remembered Dani - Nurse Black - suggesting she go see the counselor, but she wasn't overly fond of Stuart. It was nothing personal, but she hadn't been ready to see a counselor when the old Black Hawk had been destroyed and everything was too fresh.

Now it was old and she had fresh blood on top of the old and she felt like she was drowning. With a cry, she went to her terminal and began to check the counseling department. Some were new, some weren't, but one stuck out like a sore thumb. Or ear as the case was. Well, two ears. Pointed. Starfleet had sent them a Vulcan Counselor. A Vulcan sent to counsel one of the most traumatized crew in the fleet. She shrugged and sent a request for a session and used her Chief of Security position to bump others that weren't Command from the top of the list, then waited. Her eyes went back to the bottle of blue liquid and she hoped the Counselor wouldn't be long in getting back to her.

Before long, the terminal sounded off with an incoming reply. It was a confirmation, but no appointment scheduled.

The ombre haired woman checked the response, then cursed in Italian at the lack of an appointment. She looked over at the bottle and shrugged. "Looks like it's me and you again, Blue," she said tonelessly.

A chime rang out. Somebody was at the entrance to her quarters.

She sighed. Was it another Security officer coming to tell her that they were transferring off the ship? Or was it someone coming to check on her again? Either way, she headed to the door and pressed the release.

Tivan pursed her lips in a near smile in greeting. There was a dancing sparkle of anticipation in her eyes. "Good evening, Lieutenant. I understand you requested an immediate appointment." Looking past Camila, she took note of the colorful bottle on the table. Her right eyebrow twitched ever so slightly at the observation. "May I come in?"

Is that a smile, or am I hallucinating? Camila mentally asked. Not to mention the sparkle in her eyes. Perhaps she was a V'tosh ka'tur like that other crewman had been. If so, she planned to show her out. An airlock. As soon as possible. "Please," she said and stepped aside for the higher ranked officer.

"Thank you." Entering an emotionally dysregulated Security officer's quarters with visible signs of intoxication at hand was probably not the wisest things to do, but not all heroes wear capes. Tivan took her time, stepping slowly and surely into the center of the space. As she turned around, she took in the sight of the room and was near enough to a diagnosis. But that wasn't why she was here.

"So what seems to be the trouble?" It was rhetorical, of course, but Tivan always savored a good confession.

The room was far from standard and had various items from Earth on one shelf, a Horga'hn statue from Risa on another beside of a Klingon Mek'leth, and a closed globe of some planet on a tripod that looked as if it had a seam to open. However, it was also far from orderly; a uniform half draped over one chair, a discarded PADD half under the couch, and the painting of a ship hung from one corner on a wall.

"Where do I start?" Camila asked rhetorically. "Have a seat. Just make sure nothing is in it. I haven't been the best housekeeper lately. Want something to drink?"

"Based on what you have endured, Lieutenant, why would you be the best housekeeper of late?" Tivan kept her face expressionless, having noted how Camila reacted to her smile, and let her tone carry her sympathies instead. "Water would be lovely, thank you." Pausing for the end of one moment and the start of another, Tivan posed a direct question. "Why don't we start with why you can't sleep at night?"

The Security Chief went to the replicator, unable to stand the sound of sympathy in the woman's voice. She was clearly insane, but when had Starfleet done anything other than saddle the ship with a crew that seemed determined to kill themselves? "Water. Chilled." She ordered and waited for it to materialize in a hum of slightly musical energies. She brought the glass back. "Nightmares," she said simply as she offered Tivan the glass.

"Of what?" Tivan asked as she accepted the water. Her eyes probed at Camila over the rim of the glass.

Would a Vulcan get sarcasm, or should I just let it out? Camila wondered. "I kill the same crewmembers night after night and then stand in judgement by them before I do it again," she said tonelessly.

Tivan gave a knowing nod. "And what do you feel when you live out these events? It can be more than one feeling."

"Guilty. Afraid. Angry."

"Fear and anger are secondary emotions," Tivan said. "They react to other feelings, like pain and suffering, or... as you first said, guilt." She canted her head into a faintly squinting sidelong look. "Did you enjoy the act of killing?"

"Did I what?!" Camila asked in shocked disbelief. "You really are V'tosh ka'tur. Anyone who enjoys killing isn't civilized," she snarled as her blood started to boil. "Enjoy it? I've lived under the weight of guilt and anguish every night since it happened and you asked me if I enjoyed it?"

"Well, you must feel guilty about something," Tivan said with a shrug that disregarded most of what Camila had said, "and since you were not in control of yourself at the time of the killing, then you couldn't possibly feel guilt over something you did not actually do. Perhaps you developed Stockholm syndrome, sympathy for your captor, in which case part of you took pleasure in what happened." Her brow raised in challenge. "If such is not the case, then your anguish is misdirected. Now, think. What is the true source of your guilt, Camila?"

It didn't matter if the woman had researched the crew's last mission or not. She talked like it was a simple matter and easily resolved. "Because I'm the one that surrendered the away team to them!" she screamed and wiped a photo of her and a young man off a shelf.

This was good. The trick would be to keep the floodgates open long enough for the heart of the matter to reveal itself. "Would you believe that most conflicts can be reduced down to a mere handful of common traits? Those few universal conditions can combine in an infinite number of combinations to give us infinite diversity of emotional experience and expression, but conversely we can distill any unique event down to its fundamental form."

Tivan stepped closer to Camila, lowering both the volume and the register of her voice into a blend more soothing. "What I'm hearing, Camilia, is a confession of inadequacy. You did your best and your best was not enough." She placed a tender hand on Camila's shoulder. "You cannot be all things to all people because no one can. 'Adequacy' is an inconsistent standard no more tangible than our dreams. That truth can be painful, but it also can lead to places that are so liberating. I am willing to help you realize it, if you'll allow me."

"Adequacy?" the ombre haired woman said in disbelief. "I'm the Chief of Security! My job isn't to be adequate, but to surpass that and protect the crew with my life if need be. Not take them!"

"You aim to surpass adequacy? Into what? Ultra-adequacy? Keep it up, Lieutenant, and you will make me resort to Logic." Tivan gave a breathy chuckle. "Your nightmares are derived from this waking fantasy of yours that you can take responsibility for events that are not your responsibility. One day long from now, if fortune smiles on you, death will come by natural causes. Will that be your fault? How is that any different from being taken captive by an invasive entity?"

"Adequate gives a sense that there is barely enough, and that people would be more comfortable if they could have just a little bit more," Camila told her with her eyes narrowed. "On this ship and with this crew, that is never enough. It will never be enough, either. Not on my watch. Not again." The last two words were barely spoken and tears started sliding down her cheeks, but she made no move to brush them aside.

Tivan felt her face melt into a merciful grimace. "Oh, Camila." Her eyes were alight with the healer's aura as she brushed the tears away with her thumbs. "What will be will be. We make the choices we are able to make, and that is the end of the part we play. You had no choice in what happened, and you must come to accept that." She withdrew her touch, lest she be drenched by Camila's internal torrent. "There is a wonderful saying from your world. 'Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.'" At that, Tivan's grimace widened into a smile. "Wouldn't your service to this crew be improved by a serene state of mind?"

"Commander Tivan," the Security Chief said in almost a low growl. "You may have read the reports of our last mission to get a clue as to what happened, but you obviously haven't read deeper that that. We've had traitors. We've had deadly diseases. We've had possessions and more! Serenity? Give me two extra arms so I can hold more phasers and eyes on the back of my head so I can see who's trying to stab me in the back!"

"And what would the Dolmoquor have done with all of those extra arms and eyes and phasers?" Tivan countered. She gave a sullen shake of her head that made her loose braid away behind her neck. "No amount of preparation or leadership could have prevented what happened. Not even the divination and fortune-telling of bygone eras." She fixed Camila with a leveled stare that was both kind and measuring. "If you want to be 'more than adequate,' then you will choose to find a way past the past. If you want my help, then I'll see you at this time next week. Or else."

"Don't threaten me, Commander," Camila warned her. "I don't respond well to them. I made the appointment and I'll keep them, just don't threaten me ever again."

Tivan stifled her amusement. "You mistake my meaning if you construed my words as a threat. It was a conditional statement." She turned aside and stroked the side of the horga'hn statue. "My duty is to assess the present and future well-being of this crew in order to ensure everyone is at their best. If you aren't going to work with me, then you're merely wasting my time. Time better served with people voluntarily pursuing recovery. Missing appointments, refusing to seek recovery, or any other runaround like tonight will lead to 'else,' which is a weekly CT scan in Sickbay which will be used to determine your neuro-psychological state."

She smiled again to keep pleasant. "I'll know what's going on in that beautiful head of yours one way or another, but whether or not you find recovery and peace of mind or wallow and die in self-loathing is a choice I leave with you. I cannot make it on your behalf."

As she walked away, she swiped the bottle of blue alcohol and tucked it inside the crook of her elbow. "And I'm afraid I'll be confiscating this, at least for now. Impress me at our next meeting and perhaps you'll earn it back."

The moment deserved a satisfied sigh of a job well done. "I think that's enough for one session. Be well, Lieutenant!"

"Yeah," Camila grunted, entirely dissatisfied, but glad the woman was leaving. "Put that back. It's evidence I confiscated from a crewman."

"Confiscated with your mouth, perhaps." Tivan said with a harsh sniff. "Let us make an accord here and now. We will never lie to one another. Doing so will incur brainmapping instead of counseling sessions, and I do so very much enjoy counseling sessions." She then threw the bottle against the floor hard enough to shatter. The blue liquid was viscous enough not to trickle too far beyond the puddle of shards. Carefully stepping through the sticky mess she'd made on the floor, Tivan showed herself out. "Oyori."

"Expect charges to be filed, Commander," Camila called after her and wanted to scream, but just closed the door and locked it, then sighed. "I'm going to kill that bitch."

RSS Feed