Day 07 [2000 hrs.] A Horse To Water

Topic: Day 07 [2000 hrs.] A Horse To Water (Read 4209 times) previous topic - next topic

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Day 07 [2000 hrs.] A Horse To Water

August 08, 2019, 02:37:59 AM

Cross hesitated outside the doors to the Theurgy’s Main Sickbay, just far enough from the doors so that they remained closed. He had arranged to meet Lieutenant Commander Hathev the day before, having not realized the Theurgy’s new Chief Counsellor’s office was housed within Sickbay itself. He now regretted the oversight, having asked Thea for directions to the office only as he was on his way to meet with Commander Hathev. He regretted it very much.

He had arranged the meeting following some advice given by Seren during their counselling session two days previous, having given some thought to the suggestion that he find a Vulcan to help him learn to control his emotions. He had always struggled with them but had managed to maintain a relative balance, or at least keep them from spiralling completely out of control. Following his correction at the hands of the Savi that had all changed, and he had found himself fighting to keep himself in check more and more frequently in the days since his biology had been altered. Even during his session with Seren, he had only just managed to stop himself from going into rage which could possibly have seen him assault the counsellor. However irksome Seren was, the man didn’t deserve that.

Now, having spent the past two minutes staring at the doors to Sickbay, Cross forced himself forward. Part of him wanted to resist the motion, to simply do an about face and march back along the corridors from whence he came. He could simply apologize to Hathev later, giving some excuse of being held up with departmental business…

Any chance of that disappeared as the doors to Sickbay hissed open, the nurse at the duty station turning her head to inspect the newcomer. Cross gave the nurse a curt nod as he strode into Sickbay, though he halted at the corner of the hallway which led to the surgical suites, his eyes darting between the corner and the duty nurse, the latter studying him quizzically. Cross leaned forward slightly, his eyes peering down the hallway to ensure that it was clear. It was. She wasn’t there. Relaxing slightly, Cross moved past the duty station and gave the nurse an embarrassed half-smile.

”I’m here to see Commander Hathev.” He stated as he strode past. ”She’s expecting me.”

The nurse at the duty station said nothing, choosing instead to simply stare at him with a mixture of shock and disbelief, the sight of a smiling Vulcan being quite unexpected. He glanced to his left as he approached the door to the Chief Counsellor’s office, looking down the hallway which was situated opposite her door, running off deeper into sickbay. Again, there was no sign of her, only an orderly who moved between rooms without so much as a glance in his direction.

Cross closed the last few meters to the counsellor’s door and pressed the button on the frame to trigger the chime within. He waited a moment, glancing back over his shoulder with worried eyes as though eh expected a certain android to appear at any moment. He felt his heartrate accelerate slightly and the worry grew, the mere seconds it took Hathev to grant him permission to enter seeming to Cross to span hours.

Come on… come on... come on...

The thought repeated in his head as he waited, wanting to be clear of the corridors of Sickbay as quickly as possible. He heard movement down one of the corridors behind him, and was about to cast another hunted glance over his shoulder when the doors to Hathev’s office mercifully hissed open, allowing him to step briskly inside, casting one last wary glance down the corridor from which he fled. Down the corridor, he saw a white form come into view, though V-Nine’s optical unit was facing the other way. Cross’ eyes grew wide as a sense of dread loomed within him, the feeling only abating once the doors had hissed shut.

Letting out a soft sigh of relief, Cross turned to look at the other Vulcan that occupied the room, as well as taking in the room itself. He had not previously met Hathev, and had not been sure what to expect. He had known that she was Vulcan, that being what prompted him to seek her help, and that she was the ship’s Chief Counsellor. That told Cross she could be discreet. He hardly wanted word to get out that the ship’s new Chief Tactical Officer was taking lessons in self control. That would hardly inspire confidence in his peers or subordinates.

”Commander Hathev, thank you for seeing me.” Cross said, stepping forward. ”I know we haven’t been introduced yet. I’m Lieutenant Commander Cross.” Cross took another step towards the Chief Counsellor, beginning to extend his hand to shake before remembering the awkward moments when Seren had first come to his quarters. He had held out his hand, only to have Seren disregard the gesture in favour of the traditional Vulcan gesture. Rather than risk another awkward moment with this new Vulcan, Cross opted to try that route. He raised his right hand up beside him, spreading his fingers in an attempt to make the usual ‘V’ formation with his fingers that he had so often seen Vulcans make. The positioning proved more difficult than he had anticipated, however, with his middle finger being more inclined to group together with his ring and pinky fingers rather than his index. Cross stared at his hand a moment, then lifted his left hand and slid a metal finger down between the middle and ring fingers of his right hand, coaxing the middle finger into the proper position. He let his left hand fall away, managing to hold the fingers of his right hand in position for a moment before they began to drift apart, the digits seeming to have a mind of their own. Cross ultimately let his right hand fall away as he gave up on the gesture with a muttered ”Haja…”.

Cross glanced up at the Chief Counselor, his face colouring slightly as he realized she would likely have heard his utter the expletive. ”Forgive me, Counsellor. I’m, ah… unaccustomed to that greeting… I…” He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly, ”As I said the other day when I contacted you, I’m not…” Cross winced slightly, having never been comfortable talking openly about his problems. ”I never expected to be in this position. I managed just fine before the Versant, but…” Cross squared his shoulder, looking at Hathev with a resolved, albeit uncomfortable expression. ”Following my correction, my emotions have proved… difficult.” Admitting that difficult was almost as bad as trying to deal with the emotions themselves. ”It was suggested that I seek the help of someone accustomed to dealing with the emotions of your kind.” Cross’ jaw tightened as he realized his mistake. ”Or rather… our kind…”

Kardasi Translation:
Haja - Fuck

Re: Day 07 [2000hrs.] A Horse To Water

Reply #1 – August 08, 2019, 12:49:27 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Fife

Twenty-four hours had not yet passed since Hathev and Seren acknowledged each others’ existence, and already she was being referred one of his patients. A curious thought, and yet not entirely accurate: it had not been an official referral, of course, with Lieutenant Commander Cross approaching her apparently by his own initiative. In any case, she doubted Seren would have recommended her particular services to the Lieutenant Commander, considering her previous lack of success with this particular issue.

Of course, Kireil was not the only Vulcan she had schooled in this matter. She had offered advice and support to her Vulcan students at the Academy, preparing them to navigate a life among emotional species while maintaining their inner balance and control. The key difference, however, was that these students had already been educated in the teachings of Surak; they had approached her for minor assistance, not tutelage in the very basics. Her sole experience in such an endeavour could hardly be called successful, despite her best attempts.

(Once, on leave from the Damascus, she had tried reading the teachings of Surak to Kireil as something of a pre-slumber ritual. After two nights he had complained so long and so loudly she had been forced to retreat; Triss had taken up the mantle in her stead, reading Kireil a work of fiction filled with wizards and monsters and magical rings. Hathev had listened from the doorway as Triss affected voices for each of the characters, watching Kireil clamber into his mother’s lap to read alongside her, his head resting beneath her chin, eyes bright with wonder. She would try again when the child was older, Hathev had decided; next year, perhaps.

She had been a fool.)

Hathev frowned slightly; such thoughts were illogical and unnecessary. There was little good to be gained from them, except for the knowledge that she would need to approach her next appointment in a vastly different manner from the one employed with her son. But then, she had known as much already.

She cleared her mind and turned her thoughts towards the present. Lieutenant Commander Cross was a curious individual, and one into whom she had done a certain amount of research even prior to his initiation of contact. He was the Theurgy’s new Tactical Officer, and such a title carried with it an importance and responsibility that she in her capacity as Chief Counsellor could hardly overlook. Another alum of the Endeavour, Mr Cross had been one of the survivors from the Versant, a fact that had neccessitated a mandate to attend counselling once his physical recovery was complete -- although from what she had read of his file, the man should have been in regular counselling since childhood. Hathev had recommended Seren to carry out the treatment for the very same reason that Cross had approached her now: as a new-made full-blooded Vulcan, Mr Cross’ emotional state would be volatile beyond even human standards, and of the professional counsellors aboard Seren was by far the most qualified to treat such an affliction.

Interesting, then, that the commander had come to her even after meeting with Seren -- and in an unofficial capacity, at that. Perhaps his work with Seren had already incurred great improvement and he was simply seeking the small advice she had offered to her students at the Academy. Anything more drastic than that should by rights be recorded on his file, and she would not be party to such an omittance without due cause.

The chime at her door activated to notify her of her appointment’s arrival; she stood smoothly, calling for entrance as she did so. Any trepidation she might have experienced must now be put aside, for she had a duty to perform.

Neither late by human standards nor punctual by Vulcans’, Lieutenant Commander Cross stepped into her office with unexpected eagerness. She might have mistaken his aspect for that of excitement or readiness, had he not also been intent on staring behind him, body tensed as if experiencing the early stages of acute stress response. It took him a full four seconds to relax slightly, turning to view her.

An inauspicious beginning indeed, and yet not one she could begrudge him considering the recent trauma experienced. A certain amount of paranoia was, unfortunately, to be expected -- if she judged him by the standards of emotional beings, at least. Certainly, she could hardly judge him as a Vulcan, considering the circumstances; he was, in effect, in his infancy as a Vulcan, and despite his full-blooded state he shared few markers with herself, appearing more noticeably Bajoran than Vulcan. Whatever might be said of his biology, she could not approach him as she would a Vulcan raised in the traditional manner.

Her appearance unaffected by any internal workings, she waited for Mr Cross to initiate his preferred greeting, and was surprised when he rerouted his no-doubt customary human handshake into an attempt at the Vulcan salute. ‘Attempt’ being the operative word; but messy, childish, and accompanied by expletives as it was, she was nevertheless gratified to note the effort expended and the willingness it exhibited.

‘Greetings,’ she said as warmly as she was able, returning the salute with considerably more grace before offering a handshake of her own. Just as Mr Cross had displayed willingness, so too would she. Bypassing his confused and meandering apologies for the moment, she attended to her duties as host, speaking in the register and manner she used for humans and other emotional beings: ‘You are welcome in my office; please, make yourself comfortable. I have Vulcan tea brewed, but if you prefer another beverage I can have it replicated for you.’ She herself preferred a smooth latte to the more traditional brew of her homeland but when entertaining a fellow of her species, no matter the circumstances surrounding that individual’s Vulcanhood, it would have demonstrated an unacceptable level of unpreparedness had she not readied a pot.

She motioned for the officer to sit on her couch as she retrieved the relevant drinks and moved to join him. She sat far enough from him that they could comfortably view each other without needing to swivel, and yet it was nevertheless a position she was unaccustomed to as she had never sat upon her own couch, usually situating herself opposite her patient. It represented a casualness on her part that she was not entirely comfortable with yet which was necessitated from the unofficial nature of their meeting; although, of course, her minor discomfort was not discernable from her countenance. The pot of tea sat cooling on the coffee table between them.

Such duties tended to, she returned to the man’s earlier explanations. ‘The salute shall come with practice,’ she said, employing a tone she knew to convey kindness. ‘Everyone must learn at some time; you need not apologise that your learning is only beginning now. It is enough that you are willing.’ She regarded him neutrally for a moment. ‘If I were to say I understand your current predicament I believe we would both know such a statement to be untrue; yet I hope you shall believe me when I say I understand some of it, at least. Nevertheless, I must admit some surprise that you would not approach such an issue with Ensign Seren; he is your counsellor, is he not? He is uniquely qualified in this subject.’

She took a sip of coffee to break any tension inherent in this line of questioning. ‘It is no matter; I am content to assist you in whatever manner I may be able. But first, I must ask a question.’ She met his eye, control and curiosity both in her own. Just as she gave her counselling patients an opportunity for self-reflection and the exertion of authority over their treatment, so too would she offer this to Mr Cross. Thus: ‘What level of control do you wish to achieve? How do you envision success in this matter?

‘I will be honest with you, Lieutenant Commander. To strive for full suppression at such maturity without prior teaching would be a task of almost impossible difficulty. Yet partial suppression is rejected by our kind for a reason: it is unreliable, difficult to maintain, mentally draining, and can have negative physical side-effects.’ She regarded him over the rim of her coffee cup. ‘Of course, there is a difference between control and suppression. Nevertheless, full suppression is favoured by our species for a myriad reasons, all born of logic and reason established by the greatest minds of our planet. I would urge you to think carefully about what results you desire, and what you may be willing to compromise to achieve them.’

Re: Day 07 [2000hrs.] A Horse To Water

Reply #2 – August 09, 2019, 07:25:39 PM

Cross had regretted his miserable attempt at the Vulcan salute the moment he had begun, and had regretted the uttered curse that immediately followed. Commander Hathev, for her part, was gracious in her response. Hathev simply returning the salute, showing infinitely more grace and dexterity in pulling off the gesture, before offering a handshake which Cross gratefully accepted. The first moments of their encounter had already proved much less uncomfortable than the initial moments following his first meeting with Seren, on which occasion Cross had offered a handshake which had been returned with a Vulcan salute and an odd glance at the offered hand. It had hardly set the encounter off on a positive note.

Cross found he already felt much more at ease with Hathev as she welcomed him in a manner that seemed almost approachable, even if it still held the same detached manner than Cross had come to expect from Vulcans. As the thought occurred to him, Cross reminded himself that this was not a mandated therapy session, and that he had sought her out. He should at least give Hathev the benefit of the doubt for the time being. It would certainly do him no good to judge the person who’s assistance he hoped to enlist. He nodded his thanks as she instructed him to make himself comfortable, situating himself on the couch she had gestured to as she went on to offer him Vulcan tea that she had prepared. “Tea will be fine, thank you.” Cross said by way of reply, not wanting to seem rude since she had already gone to the trouble to prepare the tea. He gave Hathev a slight smile as he wondered what, exactly, Vulcan tea would taste like. Part of him suspected it would be nourishing, bland and flavourless, or perhaps bitter and borderline unpalatable. Certainly nothing that would be enjoyable. Doubtless enjoyment would be considered illogical…

He pushed the irrational judgements out of his mind as Hathev placed the tea on the table and took a seat on the other end of the couch. As he watched Hathev situate herself on the couch, Cross couldn’t help but reflect on the difference between himself and the other Department Head. While she carried herself with poise and grace, seating herself smoothly on the upholstered surface of the sofa, Cross had simply flopped down on the cushions, shifting his weight in jerky movements to settle himself. Where Hathev perched herself on the couch in an almost delicate manner, Cross leaned forward with one elbow resting on his knee, propping himself up, appearing almost brutish by comparison. Having noticed the difference Cross straightened himself, directing an almost shy smile in Hathev’s direction as she informed him that the Vulcan salute would come with practice. He didn’t have the heart to tell her than, following the first attempt’s horrible failure, it would likely also be his last attempt. He knew that the reason for his visit was partly to blame for the feelings of embarrassment and failure, his emotions having been significantly stronger in the time following his correction. It wasn’t just the anger that he struggled with, but anything he felt. Embarrassment, joy, fear, apprehension, attraction; they were all far more intense, far more disruptive.

Hathev went on to explain that he need not apologize, that everyone must learn. She told him that it was understandable, as he was only beginning to learn. He felt thankful for her words as she informed him that, for the moment, it was enough that he was willing. She regarded him for a moment before she continued, her expression remaining neutral.

Hathev moved on, getting the session properly underway by addressing Cross’ reason for coming. She began by stating that, were she to claim to understand Cross’ plight, that they would both know the statement to be untrue. The statement was simple, and yet reminded Cross of his session with Seren, where the younger Vulcan had made such a claim, angering Cross to the point of practically yelling at the male counsellor. Cross was thankful for the tact the more senior counsellor displayed as he listened to her continue, Hathev stating that, while she may not be able to empathize with what Cross was dealing with, she believed she did have some idea of what he faced. Hathev then raised the question of why Cross did not raise this issue with his own counsellor, Seren, during their regular sessions, going so far as to state the Seren was uniquely qualified in the matter. Cross directed an almost guilty glance at Hathev, a weak smile playing across his features as he carefully formulated his answer. He hardly wanted to insult on of the counsellors working under Hathev.

Not within her hearing, anyway…

”Counsellor Seren mentioned that he would be willing to tutor me in the matter during our session.” Cross admitted, having leaned forward at some point while Hathev had been speaking, elbows once again resting on his knees and fingers interlocked. ”However, he also suggested that I could seek out a more senior Vulcan member of the crew to be my tutor me if I were reluctant to work with him.” Cross’ smile took on a more genuine appearance as he continued. ”Not to speak ill of counsellor Seren, but I have been taking mandated counselling since my rehabilitation following my… internment…” The smile had faded from Cross’ face at the mention of the circumstances of his childhood, though the only sight of tension he displayed was his organic hand gripping the prosthetic just a little tighter. ”While I see their merit, I have never enjoyed such sessions, which is why I opted to seek out someone not directly involved.”

Hathev had taken a sip of her beverage as he spoke, Cross’ nose telling him it was not the Vulcan tea she sipped, but rather coffee. Dark, aromatic, rich coffee. Cross, still not wanting to be rude, took up his own cup and took a sip of the Vulcan tea.

Cross understood instantly why Hathev was sipping a coffee rather than the Vulcan blend, though he schooled his features to prevent a grimace from running rampant across his features. As he had suspected, the tea was… less than pleasant, at least to Cross’ palate. That being said, Cross had often received rather critical remarks on his tastes, his enjoyment of Cardassian alcohol having always elicited a multitude of scathing remarks form his friends. In this situation, Cross opted to forego his own scathing remarks, and chose instead to simple give Hathev a smile that might have held the tiniest hint of discomfort as she began speaking again, and lowered the cup back to the table.

She went on to state that she was content to assist him, adding that she first had to ask a question. She met his eyes as she spoke, and Cross thought he could see curiosity in her gaze. Cross made a point of blinking, his first time doing so properly during their session. He had long ago developed the habit of blinking only with his second eyelids, the result being the impression that he stared at people. The habit had often been described as unsettling by those he worked with.

The question was in regards to his aims, and what he wished to gain. Cross listened as she went on to comment on the unlikelihood that he would be able to fully suppress him emotions with so little formal training, and the dangers of working towards partial suppression. Cross couldn’t help but smile to himself as she made the statement that full suppression was the method preferred by their species, unable to stop the small grin from spreading across his lips as he glanced down at his clasped hands.

”I mean no disrespect when I say this, counsellor, but I have no desire to be a proper Vulcan. Cross said, forcing the grip of his hand to loosen before sitting upright and raising his gaze to once again meet hers. ”I may now be fully Vulcan, biologically at least, but I have never had any connection with either half of my heritage. Adherence to Vulcan logic is as distant and alien to me as faith in the Bajoran prophets.” Cross had reached out as he spoke, lifting his cup without thinking. He paused now to consider his next words, and took a sip as a means to stall for time. He hadn’t been thinking about what it was he was doing, and was unable to suppress the slight wince that momentarily seized him. Cross gave Hathev a guilty look as eh returned his cup to the table, pushing it slightly further away than it had been before to ensure he did not mistakenly take another sip of the liquid it held.

”What I hope to achieve is simply control, rather than suppression.” He said, pressing on as though nothing had happened. ”I had always struggled with my emotions, though the brief instruction I received during my rehabilitation was often enough to at least restrain myself, to maintain control and stop myself lashing out in anger, or being overcome by anxiety or…” He had been going to say “lust”, though he had managed to stop himself at the last moment. Even so, embarrassment settled in, causing his features to be tinted green. He softly cleared his throat before he continued. ”In the aftermath of my correction, I have found my reactions to be stronger, far more intense and intrusive both in their physical and mental manifestations, and my aim is to simply gain the control necessary to not be a slave to these new Vulcan emotional reactions.”

Cross leaned back on the couch and sighed, giving Hathev a look that held embarrassment and frustration. His right hand moved to his left arm as he considered his next words, his thumb and fingers rubbing the area on his left forearm where organic met prosthetic, the skin there having begun to itch. ”Any help you would be able to lend me in this matter would be most appreciated, Counsellor.”

Re: Day 07 [2000hrs.] A Horse To Water

Reply #3 – August 11, 2019, 06:56:53 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Fife

Hathev had prepared her defences well prior to initiating the handshake, as she always did. It was an unnatural and invasive greeting, and yet unfortunately necessary to put some individuals at ease if they were more used to human rules of etiquette. Fortunately Hathev’s control in this, as in all else, was impeccable, and she rarely experienced any adverse effects from such contact. However as her skin touched that of Lieutenant Commander Cross, she found she had somewhat underestimated the intensity of transference. Cross’ unbridled emotions battered themselves against the glass wall of her defences, far stronger than she had anticipated both by their own merit and by the fact they were amplified due to the dual nature of the telepathic link created between them. Hathev was accustomed to such telepathic abilities; Cross, however, was clearly less experienced with their strength.

Once she had overcome her initial shock at being faced with such powerful emotions — like a gale force wind blowing in one’s face — she was able to identify them properly, and was relieved to find they seemed benign: little more than nervous energy sparking in a myriad different directions. Of course, even relatively unconcerning though they were in themselves, it would not befit her to become affected by them, and thus she redoubled her efforts in keeping them at bay, focusing on calm control within herself.

Engaged as she was, she could not entirely evaluate the reciprocal strength of their telepathic connection; certainly, she received a great amount of Mr Cross’ emotions, but whether her own control would bleed through the thin veil between them she could not say. Certainly, new to his Vulcan self as he was, she doubted he would be able to trace such a sensation back to her as its origin point even should her control seep through to him.

Nevertheless, she was glad of the handshake’s end. They pulled apart, Cross moving to throw himself upon the couch, and Hathev took a moment to re-centre herself, flexing her hand ever so slightly in an attempt to dispel the unpleasant sensation of another’s lingering psyche. When she turned back to the commander the briefest of seconds later, she was entirely restored to herself.

Posing her question on his reasons for bringing this issue to her, she was interested to hear Mr Cross’ diagnosis of his relationship with Seren. Without being party to their sessions she could hardly formulate her own judgement with any degree of certainty, yet from her previous experiences with the boy she harboured her own hypothesis. Cross’ explanation was somewhat halting, distracted by an effort not to offend, the natural extension of his eagerness to appease her that had manifested with his Vulcan greeting and acceptance of the Vulcan tea — ‘not to speak ill of counsellor Seren’ indeed — as well as a brief and clearly affecting reference to his childhood. She merely nodded slightly at this; as he said, she was not his counsellor, and she would not be initiating discussion on such topics unnecessarily.

As she was acting in an unofficial capacity, Cross’ relationship with his counsellor was not her concern. As Chief Counsellor, she would not interfere with a subordinate’s treatment unless she deemed it essential or believed the counsellor in question to be behaving incorrectly. On a more personal level, she had confidence in her former protegé’s abilities as a counsellor; but as his former teacher she was familiar with both his strengths and weaknesses, and she found herself drawn to assist and educate him even now. He was no longer her student, and she no longer a professor; that she even required herself to be reminded of this fact was irksome.

She reigned in her wandering thoughts sharply. There was no purpose to be gained from them.

‘It can be useful to seek an outside perspective, certainly,’ she afforded Cross. 'Your reasoning is sound.' With that line of questioning complete, she turned to the details of their purpose and the specifics of the commander’s intent.

She was not surprised to hear that he did not wish to attempt full suppression; indeed, she herself had stressed the difficulty of achieving such a state, and although he had shown an openness in engaging with Vulcan tradition his general behaviour and countenance had been recognisably and seemingly comfortably emotional. She had not expected Cross to wish to undergo another drastic change so soon after the last and at such maturity already. It was not an entirely logical decision — full suppression would always be the most logical conclusion for their kind — but considering the circumstances it was reasonable enough.

Yet despite this understanding, Hathev found the commander’s answer somewhat disappointing. Once more she was faced with a Vulcan who did not wish to know what that truly meant, who did not care to join their culture, and who thought of their species as non-Vulcans did — as emotionless, overly-fastidious, contrary pedants — rather than the beautiful and organised intellects they truly were.

It was proper for Cross to wish and take actions to control his emotions, and she understood his reasoning for not taking that control further; for that, she could not fault him. Nor could she fault him for his lack of desire to immerse himself in a culture that had never truly been his. And yet it could now be, if he wished it.

Monastic isolation was logic taken to its furthest conclusion, but community and shared knowledge was every bit as reasonable, and Hathev had seen the consequences of denying one’s cultural origins.

‘I understand,’ she said simply. Conveniently, her tone was no more hollow than normal.

Emotional species were eternally guilty of misjudging others on first impressions, and never returning to re-evaluate that judgement in light of any new data they earned. Of course, she did not require the positive understanding of any who ascribed importance to emotional feeling; such validation would be meaningless, coming from one so far behind herself in intellectual evolution. It was only when this judgement infected others of their species that she had cause for grievance; when Vulcans, surrounded by those who did not understand their culture, came to believe that culture was lesser, or alien, simply because emotional beings told them so. When they came to believe the way of the barbarous, child-like species they interacted with was somehow more than the way of their forefathers, the greatest minds the galaxy had to offer. More what, she had to wonder, and had been wondering ever since her son decided that was true. More what? More foolish, certainly; more irresponsible, more meaningless, more hindering, more cruel.

Every time a Vulcan made themselves in the image of an emotional being, they turned their backs upon a thousand years of evolution, a life of peace and certainty, in exchange for the chaos of a storm their ancestors had long ago shut out.

Cross had seemed willing to try, at first. But his attempt at greeting had been poor, and his reaction to the tea was no more positive. He had said himself, he felt no connection to his heritage; such actions had been done as appeasement to her own sensibilities, an attempt to smooth their first meeting. How very logical of him.

‘Very well, Mr Cross,’ she said, her expression as calm and immutable as ever. ‘I shall teach you some practical methods by which to control your emotions. Nevertheless, without proper mental training you shall only reach a very shallow level of moderation. Should you wish to achieve a greater and more lasting command of your emotions, we would need to engage in intellectual preparation. Would you be willing to consider such an approach from the outset, or shall we relegate it to later discussion?’

She regarded him for a moment, the man sitting upon her couch who was neither Bajoran nor Vulcan nor indeed anything else; who had the face of one and the emotions of another but the countenance of neither, the culture and history of himself alone. Entirely adrift in the universe. The ancient human adage said that blood was thicker than water; from what she could see, Cross had neither, and now when opportunity it came for him he turned his back upon it.

Something locked deep within stirred behind her eyes. ‘I must warn you,’ she said, a dryness in her throat. She could not in conscience commence this course of action without properly informing the commander of the details that he might judge for himself. She had set out with similar intent once before, and she had failed, and the ghost of that failure had followed her halfway across the galaxy.

Yet something gave her pause. Was such a revelation truly sound logic? Were her previous experiences truly as relevant as she believed? The situation was far removed, in both the broad strokes and the details, the circumstances wildly opposed. The individual, although bearing some similarities in behaviour, was much older and more experienced; moreover, he had sought her out of his own accord. She too had changed and grown wiser, and the relationship and purpose were more nuanced than before. By sharing her previous failure, she risked deterring the commander from seeking even her assistance, and by extension risked his situation being left untreated — for if not her, then who else aboard this vessel could fulfil this role? He would not seek Seren’s guidance, and she knew of no other Vulcans who were as well-placed as herself.

No, such an explanation would only weaken the carefully-gained trust they were beginning to build. There was little good she could predict coming from it, and indeed it was not entirely necessary, the circumstances being so different.

She composed herself quickly. ‘I must warn you,’ she said again, more smoothly this time, ‘this tea is one of the more pleasant brews of my homeland, yet all Vulcan tea is an acquired taste. I must admit it is one I have never particularly savoured myself, although the beverage does offer some benefits in that each brew stimulates a different part of the brain and you may drink according to your needs. The tea of my home, for example, is extremely bitter and designed to induce clarity of thought and intensity of focus; nevertheless, I have found human coffee to be a worthy substitute.’ She stood, crossing to the replicator. ‘If you would prefer another beverage?’

The business of physical movement assisted her own mental clarity in much the same way as the tea was intended to do. She had been correct in her judgement that the situations were contrasted in more ways than they were similar; from the physical and mental distance now afforded her, she could see this clearly. She could not map upon Cross her desires and ideals; any attempt to do so would be unethical at best and potentially damaging at worst. She had attempted such an approach before, and though she still struggled to identify and ascribe particular weights to each cause of Kireil’s betrayal, she would be a fool to attempt the same strategy after it had failed so spectacularly before. Cross wished for nothing more than control; with an effort of will, she accepted this.

‘Of course,’ she said, returning to her seat. ‘I shall offer you every assistance in this matter. First, however, to aid in my understanding I would ask a few more questions, if you will. I am interested to hear the difference in your emotional experience before and after correction. Are they simply stronger, or do they differ in any other ways? Do you experience all emotions to the same degree, or are some consistently more potent than others? If we can identify patterns then we may discover the most necessary place to begin.’

Re: Day 07 [2000hrs.] A Horse To Water

Reply #4 – August 13, 2019, 04:04:03 AM

While Counsellor Hathev had told him that she understood his desire for emotional control rather than suppression, Cross thought he sensed a great deal left unspoken behind the simple two word statement. That thought was lost to him in the aftermath of the disgusting sip of tea, and he was still inwardly recoiling at the flavour as Hathev continued, stating that she could instruct him in some practical methods of emotional control, though adding that these would be limited in their effectiveness. She went on to explain that, should he wish for a more lasting authority over his own emotional state, it would require them to go through some sort of intellectual preparation, whatever that meant. Cross had a mental image of hours of grueling mental exercise and training, possible with Hathev beating him over the head with a stick whenever he made an error. Despite their constant crowing of their logical superiority, always in that insufferable monotone, the pointy eared bastards always seemed to have a penchant for understatements.

As that thought crossed his mind, Cross once again reminded himself that he, too, was now one of those pointy eared bastards, at least biologically.

Hathev had asked him if he would consider such intellectual preparation, and he looked at her in a considering manner for a long moment before opening his mouth to answer her question. He had yet to utter a sound when Hathev spoke again, and Cross’ jaw practically clicked shut.

”I must warn you,”

Her voice sounded different as she spoke, her voice sounding almost strained, if a Vulcan could sound strained. Cross waited, ready to listen to the Vulcan woman’s warning, anticipation building within him that it would be some utterance on his current illogical state, or else how difficult it would be for him to attain what a Vulcan would consider to be adequate control. In Cross’ experience, Vulcans liked to herald their own control as the ultimate attainment, as though the act of denying themselves the simple pleasure of smiling elevated them to another state of being. As Hathev’s pause continued, Cross wondered if she was reconsidering. Perhaps he had smiled one too many times since entering the room. Perhaps she simply found him too far from the Vulcan idea, too alien. It would hardly be the first time someone had viewed him in such a manner. Many people found the fact that he smiled to be off-putting with his Vulcan appearance, despite the Bajoran ridges on his nose.

”I must warn you,” She said again, forcing Cross to bite back a comment about the lack of logic in repeating a statement. Normally Cross would have taken great pleasure in needling a Vulcan over such a statement, though in this case if was he who had initiated the meeting, and so he thought better of it.

”The tea is one of the more pleasant brews…”

Cross’ jaw muscles clamped down to contain the laugh that almost escaped him, his neck feeling as though he would choke on the howl of mirth that wanted oh so desperately to escape him and launch itself giggling into the world. That what the warning? That was what Hathev, a Vulcan, felt warranted a repeated warning? He was glad he had already put his cup down, otherwise he was sure he would have spilt the vile liquid contained within, his body having given a brief spasm in his effort to contain the obnoxious guffaw that yearned from it’s freedom.

Cross swallowed with some difficulty, finally forcing the laughter back down to the hell from whence it came before looking at Hathev with a strained expression. She had informed him that she found coffee to be a worthy substitute for the Vulcan tea, the statement ringing like music to Cross’ ears. He found himself surprised that Hathev would drink coffee, the caffeine having little effect on Vulcan physiology, though he was hardly inclined to comment on such things if it would allow him to drink a cup of dark, bitter gold rather than the putrid sewage that the Vulcans, in their infinite logic, chose to pass off as tea.

”A coffee would be wonderful, thank you.” Cross replied, his voice sounding somewhat strained from the previous exercise in restraint. He watched as Hathev retrieved the coffee from the replicator, giving her a grateful smile as she returned with the steaming cup. He immediately took a sip, the smooth, bitter bite of the coffee washing away the traumatic memory of the tea and leaving Cross feeling at peace with the galaxy. He took another sip as Hathev seated herself and continued, confirming that she would assist him in his endeavour of control. She went on to add that she had several questions to give her a better understanding of the situation.

Cross listened to her questions, his expression intent as she listed several off. Once she had finished, explaining that the answers may help them determine where to begin, Cross took another sip of the blessed liquid held within his cup and placed it on the table.

”I had always struggled with my emotions, even before my correction.” Cross admitted, ”I had received some instruction in emotional control from a Vulcan Officer who was involved in my rehabilitation, though it was only the most rudimentary of instruction. It allowed me to function, though I would still have…” Cross’ mind was momentarily cast back to the Academy, to the beginning of his first year when he had first met his… friend… Izar Bila.

Quote

Cross lunged forward, his body operated more by instinct than actual thought. His hands closed on the Cardassian's jacket, gripping handfuls of the uniform's fabric as he heaved sideways. His momentum, coupled with the other cadet's surprise, allowed him to shift the man easily, and before Cross realized what he was doing, the other cadet's face had been driven into the corridor's wall, a fleshy thud resounding through the corridor as the cadet made contact with the solid surface. Cross released his hold on the jacket and grabbed the Cardie's shoulder, yanking it back to turn the grey scaled bastard to face him. Cross' arm cocked back before the cadet's face had turned towards him, and as soon as Cross could see the spoon on the bastard's forehead he drove the punch home, his fist connecting with the Cardassian's forehead just above his left eye. It was only when Cross withdrew the arm in anticipation of delivering another blow that he saw the blood running down the man's face. The cadet's eyebrow was split open, though Cross didn't know if it was from the wall or his own fist. The blood flowed freely from the break in the grey skin, sending a small but steady stream of brown blood flowing down over the ridges of the man's nose as it made it's way down his face to drip off his chin.

”…occasional lapses… in control.” Now there was an understatement worthy of a Vulcan. Cross felt almost proud.

”Since my correction, the increase in emotional intensity has made my previous emotional turmoil seem passive, like a faucet when compared to a waterfall.” Colour rose in Cross’ cheeks with the admission. He had never been comfortable talking about his internal struggle, much less to a Vulcan. ”They are significantly stronger, harder to tame, and at times can be extremely distracting, almost debilitating, in their intensity.” Cross sighed and reached up with his hand, pinching the wrinkled bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb as he fought to push the embarrassment down. He needed to do this, needed the help. He could think of no other way to regain control of himself. As he pinched the bridge of his nose, he reached out with his left hand to grasp the teacup, catching himself only at the least second. His eyes snapped open as he yanked the hand back. He stared at the metal prosthetic for a moment before ultimately letting it rest on the couch beside him, reaching out with his organic hand to lift the cup to his lips. Cross was thankful that he had caught himself, as he was sure Hathev would not appreciate a crushed cup, nor the coffee stain which would have subsequently adorned her couch and carpet. Cross’s jaw clenched as he inwardly cursed the damned hand, not for the first time, before raising his gaze and continuing with his answer.

”I don’t know if I would say they differ in other ways beyond their intensity. The frequency with which I struggle has certainly increased, though that may simply be a result of the greater intensity.” Cross tilted his head to one side momentarily, as though finally admitting something to himself. ”Both of those facts make me inclined to accept your suggestion of… what was it? Intellectual preparation?” Cross gave Hathev a weak smile, his mind once again throwing up the mental image of Hathev striking him in the head with a stick. Cross stared down into the dark liquid held within his cup as he continued. ”I’ll admit that I am quickly growing tired of being a slave to impulsive emotional outbursts. I think that, perhaps, a greater level of control would be for the best.” It almost pained him to admit that in the presence of a Vulcan, kind though Hathev had been thus far. Assuming one overlooked the counsellor’s attempt to poison him with that abominable concoction that the Vulcans passed off for tea.

”As for whether I experience the emotions to the same degree, I hadn’t really considered that before. I’ve certainly felt embarrassment a great deal more than I did previously, though the Savi put all the abductees into the same containment cell naked. I’ve never been particularly modest about myself, though…” Cross paused, glancing at Hathev out of the corner of his eye as the green tint once again rose in his cheeks. The incessant physical response to his discomfort was an ever-growing bane to him. ”though I’ve never been particularly comfortable around the opposite sex…”

Fuck Cross cursed himself, his jaw clenching momentarily, there’s no reason she needs to know that. Focus, you idiot!

”There have been several other situations where embarrassment and, uh… other emotions have proven problematic, though I wouldn’t say they have been more prevalent than, say, anger or...” Cross lifted his head to regard the counsellor with an apologetic expression, the colour in his cheeks growing more fierce. ”I… know this isn’t giving you much to go off of.” Cross pressed on. ”Everything is just more present. I wouldn’t say one emotion stands out over the others as more prevalent or intense.” Cross shrugged. ”I’d always struggled with anger more than other emotions, though I’ve been told by Kai, Lieutenant Commander Akoni that is, that I’m just a grumpy bastard. Who knows, he might be right…”

Re: Day 07 [2000hrs.] A Horse To Water

Reply #5 – August 16, 2019, 05:44:57 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Fife

It was testament to Hathev’s previous distraction that she had not recognised the signs of amusement in Mr Cross; now, as she turned her mind to the familiar comfort of psychological analysis, her customary focus returned and she listened to the commander’s words with proper attention. He seemed considerably more at ease with his new beverage, something she found herself agreeing with as she sipped her own coffee in kind. It may not have had the same psychological benefits as the tea could boast, and the caffeine may not have been effective on her physiology -- indeed, it may have been positively indulgent by some definitions -- yet she found it assisted her mental state all the same, and clearly the same could be said of Mr Cross.

Nevertheless, his speech continued to be punctuated with pauses and unfinished sentences; a sign of discomfort in a psychologist’s office, or the result of a naturally disrupted speech pattern? She would be interested to study his linguistic proficiency after such an educational background as his; but now was not the time, of course. He was no scientific specimen and would no doubt take umbrage to being treated as such. Should she ever wish to witness the anger of which he spoke for herself, she need only be as indelicate as to insinuate such a thing; but of course, the blow to any trust between them would render any gain a moot point. In any case, Mr Cross’ perceptions of his anger were in many ways more telling and useful than any information gleaned in the witnessing of it could hope to be.

That he had previously received training in emotional modulation was not new information but still warranted discussion. ‘Do you recall the shape such instruction took?’ she enquired. ‘How effective would you judge it to have been?’ From Cross’ description she would surmise it had been surface-level at best, providing a minimal level of control that was nevertheless beyond the scope of most humans. The fact that he had suffered lapses in that control, even before more recent developments, was concerning: for if it truly was only a rudimentary control to begin with, then such lapses would not equate to an unnecessary facial expression as was Hathev’s definition, but to emotional outbursts of an intensity that was potentially dangerous to both Cross and those around him.

That his emotions had strengthened in power even since that time was now doubly concerning, although not unexpected. She was glad, therefore, when he expressed an openness to the mental training she had mentioned. Certainly he seemed in need of psychological support in this matter, as the mere act of discussing this topic seemed to weigh upon him heavily, causing him to experience embarrassment and exhaustion by turns. In the course of this conversation alone he had already blushed more than she had ever seen in a Vulcan.

He also appeared remarkably distracted, as was demonstrated in his performance with the various beverages he had accrued on his side of the couch, absently reaching for the coffee cup with one hand before correcting himself and using the other. Of course, his species was not the only change the man had recently undergone. She regarded him carefully, considering the man before her. Truly, if he was experiencing the extent of emotional turbulence and instability he was describing, the composure and self-awareness he managed was remarkable. True, he was unacceptably animated by Vulcan standards, but if she was to judge him as the emotional being he once was -- and, for better or worse, would likely continue to be -- she had to admit she was impressed at his deportment. There had been no demonstrations of the instability of which he spoke, and although it was of course early in their acquaintance to make such a judgement she had encountered others from the Versant dealing with similar changes with far less grace than the individual currently seated upon her couch.

Then, again, this was not the first drastic change in the man’s life. His entire self must have been overshadowed with past experience, and thus just as she could not judge him by Vulcan standards nor could she judge him entirely by those of emotional creatures. From her experience dealing with those who had experienced vast trauma, she understood they often required measurement by their own individual scale which could not always be mapped onto the more generic scale of their species, culture, or even fellow victims of similar trauma. She was not here to act as counsellor to Mr Cross, of course, neither for his recent experiences nor his older wounds, yet it would be remiss of her to ignore the effect of one or the other upon his current trials and the reason for their meeting.

She wondered if there were any others like him.

Trauma was the greatest isolator, convincing the sufferer that they were fundamentally different from those around them. In Cross’ case, this was doubly so. Was it truly so surprising, then, that he chose to forge his own path rather than be beholden to the culture of a species he barely belonged to? Her own logic -- that of a Vulcan raised among her people -- played no part in this.

It was with kinder eyes that she looked upon him now. Within this framework, his decisions appeared far more logical than she had given them credit. Indeed, even working upon emotional logic as he was, he was still behaving in a reasonable way by even Hathev’s standards. He had sought her out, and now agreed to the more sensible course of action. Between this circumspect self-awareness and his low but functional self-control -- impressively so for one untrained -- she was inclined to believe that he might have made a wonderful Vulcan, had he wished it; and an admirable man, that he did not.

‘I am glad you think so,’ she said, ‘I believe you shall find a greater degree of control to be liberating. You need not concern yourself, however; I shall not require you to become, as you put it, “a proper Vulcan”.’ Following the teachings of Surak was, of course, the most efficient and effective way to achieve control, yet Hathev understood such a suggestion would likely be met with resistance and so refrained from making any suggestion to that effect. Yet many of the great philosopher’s ideas could be presented to Mr Cross without his name explicitly adjoined. Indeed, whether she read directly from his work or simply explained the general concepts, she would be drawing from his teachings with every breath.

However, Surak was not the only thinker to ponder the nature of emotional control within Vulcan society. There was no single monolothic Vulcan experience, just as there was no single human one; different individuals utilised different techniques to achieve the same end. Hathev was familiar with many such alternative techniques, and such knowledge would serve her well here.

Mr Cross went on to consider whether he felt all emotions equally strongly or whether some were more pronounced than others. She had been expecting a discussion of his anger, but instead he began by interrogating the newfound strength of his embarrassment. Curious, and hardly what she had anticipated, although for one to blush as much as the commander did perhaps it was hardly surprising. His admission to awkwardness around women, however, was surprising, and Hathev found herself regarding him with something akin to a shadow of amusement. She suppressed it instantly; Cross’ comment was hardly relevant and certainly uninteresting, and her own reaction was duly kept to a counsellor’s detached analysis and nothing more.

The commander shot her an apologetic look as he continued to ramble, cheeks still tinted green. Perhaps discomfort and embarrassment were the causes of such disordered thinking and speech, as he it was more unkempt now than ever. She watched him from over the rim of her coffee cup, taking a sip and allowing him to run his course until he flagged, trailing off into quietness.

‘An interesting analysis,’ she said once he had spoken himself dry, ‘yet from what I have seen, it is one I would agree with. Nevertheless, it is your anger which most troubles you, correct?’ She regarded him for a moment, and then: ‘How does it feel, when you become angry? Intellectually, physically, emotionally. What is it you experience? Additionally, are you aware of any times when you experienced these symptoms without going on to lose control of your anger?’

She allowed him space to reply before continuing: ‘Are you aware of what things trigger these feelings in you?’ A test of self-understanding, yet for one who had spent as much time in counselling as he it would surely be little challenge to the man. ‘The better we understand the minutiae of your condition the more efficient our work to control it shall be,’ she explained. ‘Establishing triggers and warning systems will allow us to identify future cases before they occur and mitigate such risks.’

Re: Day 07 [2000hrs.] A Horse To Water

Reply #6 – August 21, 2019, 10:27:19 PM

Cross took a moment as he considered Hathev’s question regarding his previous training, thinking back to the years following his liberation. He could picture the face of K’Shem, the Vulcan who had taken it upon himself to teach Cross the beginnings of self control. K’Shem had tried his best to impart the knowledge Cross would need to be a functioning member of society rather than a mindless dog, enslaved to his emotions. Cross reached up unconsciously and toyed with the two silver hoops he wore in his right ear as thought back on his time with his old mentors, K’Shem and MacDonald together taking great pains to see to Cross’ rehabilitation and working well beyond what had been expected to aid him in his goal of joining Starfleet. The earrings had been a gift from the two men when he had gotten accepted into the Academy, and Cross had never been without them since. These, of course, we just replicated replacements, the original two having been lost to the Savi, but Cross cherished the thought of them more than the earrings themselves.

”My mentor’s name was K’Shem.” Cross finally spoke, a slight smile spreading over his features as he remembered the cool and collected Vulcan. ”He was a Lieutenant posted to Earth who worked with Lieutenant MacDonald, the man who took primary responsibility for my rehabilitation. K’Shem worked hard to teach me some basic emotional control, though immediately following my liberation I was rather… unstable…” Cross directed an almost guilty expressiong towards Hathev at the admission. The admission was an understatement of epic proportions. ”K’Shem managed to teach me enough that I was mostly stable, though I’d still have moments where I lost control. He taught me some rudimentary meditations, and gave me my first meditation lamp, as well as some basic thought exercises to help calm the mind. “ Cross reached out and lifted his mug from the table, taking a long sip before he continued, staring down into the dark liquid within his mug. ”It might not sound like he taught me much, but I was little more than an animal when I came out of the camp. I had no control, no education, and no trust.” Cross glanced at Hathev out of the corner of his eye. ”He did the best he could with what he had to work with.”

Cross listened as Hathev expressed her satisfaction with his decision to undergo her intellectual preparation, feeling a sense of relief as she added that she would not require him to become a “proper Vulcan”. He hadn’t meant any disrespect in the remark, not to her anyway. He had, perhaps, used such a term to needle Seren occasionally during their session, though that was a detail he thought best to omit with Hathev.

The truth was, Cross had no inclination to follow Vulcan logic, nor the teachings of Surak. He had spent his life prior to his correction considering himself neither Bajoran nor Vulcan. He was simply Cross. Now, though he was forced to accept the need to deal with his Vulcan physiology and emotional intensity, he still harboured no desire to become one of those who had, for so long, treated him as some sort of illogical creature.

That said, he had no doubt Hathev would try to sneak the odd gem of Suraky wisdom into his training.

Cross took another sip of his coffee as Hathev considered his summary of his emotional experiences. As the bitter darkness of the beverage stimulated his taste buds, Cross couldn’t help but wonder if Hathev understood what it was that he was feeling when he described the experiences. Seren had claimed to, though that statement had caused a bit of a rift to form during their counselling session.

When Hathev spoke again, she chose to address his anger, asking for confirmation that it was the emotion that troubled him most. Cross nodded his agreement of her assessment, listening as she continued. She asked how it felt when he became angry, what his experiences were, and if he was aware of times when such indicators manifested without being followed by an outburst, as well as if he’d identified any triggers which were prone to setting him off. She went on to explain that they should attempt to understand the occurrences so as to better allow them to develop a plan to deal with them and develop control techniques. Cross couldn’t help but grin rather impishly at the other Vulcan, as the initial thought to pop into his head was that he generally found stupidity and incompetence were the root cause of his anger, though eh thought it best to phrase his response in a more diplomatic fashion.

”How does it feel?” Cross repeated Hathev’s first question as he considered his answer. He thought back to the time she had grown angry, to the times he had lost control, looking for some word to describe the experiences. ”I think it depends on what has caused the anger, though I would say it is generally a burning anger, almost a rage or hatred, and a desire to lash out or inflict harm. It’s as though I’m driven to retaliate against whatever has caused my anger through violence.” Cross’ face wore an expression of concentration as he spoke, his gaze remaining on his hands. He felt no anger now, only shame at his violent actions, his outbursts which could, and on occasion had hurt those around him. ”Intellectually? I don’t know that that factors into it. Once I begin to lose control rationality has little to do with it. Physically, I experience an adrenal response.” Cross paused then, reaching out to take up his mug and take a sip before he continued. ”A tightening in the chest, accelerated heartrate, a spike in blood pressure.” Cross glanced up from his cup, meeting Hathev’s eyes reluctantly. ”My focus narrows, so that I’m only able to see the cause of my anger. Emotionally, the anger seems to surge, growing in intensity until I lash out. Once it starts, I have trouble focusing on anything other than my reaction, either trying to stop myself from feeling it or trying to lash out at the cause of it.” A thought seemed to occur to him then, and he held up his prosthetic for Hathev to see. ”For example, this hajari thing has become the bane of my hajari existence. Every time I accidentally break something with it, which has been all too frequent, I feel a spike in my anger, my heart pounds, and I just want to put the thing out the hajari airlock.” Cross gave Hathev an apologetic, almost sheepish look as he let the hand fall to his side once more. ”If you’ll excuse my language…” He added. He had been trying to control his language since his interactions with the Chief Counsellor had began. In truth, he was surprised he had gone so long without uttering any of the expletives he customarily used. Counsellor Seren had attempted to inform him that such language was illogical and unnecessary, and while the man’s comment had only prompted Cross to swear more in his presence, he had been trying to behave himself around Hathev out of respect.

”I feel irritation and frustration fairly often without a serious emotional response being triggered, though I couldn’t tell you why some things set me off and not others.” Cross gave a shrug, knowing that he wasn’t being much help with the admission. ”As for triggers, I’ve found it to be inconsistent. What sets my anger off one day won’t even phase me another, and my reaction varies as well. Perhaps it depends on my mood, or how I slept?” Cross directed another apologetic glance at Hathev. ”I’m sorry, counsellor. I know this isn’t exactly helpful…” He took a deep breath, then another sip of coffee. ”Is it possible that my emotions might gradually become more stable as time passes? I know that, immediately following my correction, I had a loss of control almost immediately, from something as simple as someone telling my to calm down. I nearly killed him for it.”

I would have killed him, if the Savi hadn’t beamed him out of my cell… Cross thought, a small spike a fear lancing through him. He had to get himself under control. The tactical officer sighed again, placing his mug on the table and scrubbing his organic hand over his face in exasperation.

”Forgive me, I just…” Cross let his hand fall away form his face, giving Hathev a miserable look. ”I haven’t struggled like this since during my rehabilitation. It’s proving to be… tiresome…”

Kardasi Translation:
Hajari - Fucking

Re: Day 07 [2000hrs.] A Horse To Water

Reply #7 – August 27, 2019, 10:02:24 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Fife

It was as she had surmised; Mr Cross had received only the most basic of instruction at a time when he had already reached maturity and was being subjected to far more lessons and changes than just these. She did not know K’Shem; it was hardly the most traditional of monikers yet still reliably Vulcan, and the teachings he imparted were correct despite their rudimentary nature.

Cross’ judgement of his past mental and emotional state was neither surprising nor unaffecting; to hear him speak, it was as if he had been barely more than an uncivilised brute even by the standards of emotional beings. She did not know to what degree his word could be trusted on the matter -- illogical creatures were terrible for misremembering their pasts and misjudging their own selves -- but considering the information she had already gleaned on the matter she was inclined to believe his evaluation was, if not entirely correct, then containing a great enough majority of truth for her to include his testimony in her understanding of the matter. With caution, of course.

The teachings of K’Shem were those one might impart to a child; little more than good habits, they were the most basic building blocks from which true Vulcan control might be learned and constructed. It was well that he had received this much, at least; were she beginning with a true newcomer, she might flounder in the footprints of her past missteps. No; here she had an adult already versed in the foundations of Vulcan teachings and willing to learn more. Although still woefully inadequate, the state of Mr Cross’ emotional education was not as bad as it could have been considering the circumstances.

Interestingly, Mr Cross seemed to think kindly of his old teacher. A nostalgic smile came over his face as he recalled the man, and he was quick to defend K’Shem with self-deprecation. Given the man’s clear lack of love for his Vulcan bretheren, this was somewhat unexpected. In a few short sentences Cross admitted to a number of personal deficiencies he was clearly acutely aware of, his discomfort manifesting itself in the glances cast at Hathev as he spoke, in his avoidance of eye contact, and in the choppiness of his sentence structure. Yet throughout there was a respect for his teacher that remained constant, a gratitude and acknowledgement of the man’s efforts. Hathev understood Cross to have been understating the nature of his ‘instability’; it seemed he also understated the profundity of K’Shem’s impact upon him.

‘I am glad,’ she said, entirely truthfully. ‘It seems K’Shem helped you in many ways, and I am honoured that you would ask me to continue in his stead.’ Of course, honour was something of a distasteful concept, exceptionally Klingon in its expression, yet it was the closest human descriptor to the intellectual understanding of the situation that Hathev had achieved. Commander Cross could have approached any Vulcan aboard this vessel -- or indeed none at all -- and although she was certainly the most logical choice, illogical beings could not be assumed to act in such a way. Whether it had been emotion or logic, or most likely some metamorphosing combination of the two, that had led Cross to her door, she approved of that decision and did not intend to take it for granted. That humans could only parse such a sentiment from a word implying such a crass concept as honour was unfortunate, but for the purposes of communication such linguistic debasement was sometimes necessary.

‘Learning such things was difficult for you?’ she asked, continuing the conversational thread. ‘I would not be surprised if it were so, nor would it speak to any deficiency on your own part. Nevertheless, older and more stable as you are now, we can do better.’

Mr Cross seemed to watch her with a sharpened interest as she considered his analysis of his own emotional state. What intelligence he hoped to gain from the pursuit she could not say with certainty; perhaps it was simply curiosity that drove him to regard her so. Vulcan logic could be perceived as something of an oddity to many emotional beings; he would not be the first to find her fascinating and offputting in equal share. Or perhaps he wished to fit her amongst the categories of Vulcan with which he was acquainted; how did she measure up in his eyes alongside such individuals as K’Shem and Seren? But such conjecture was irrelevant, of course, and thus she paid it no further heed.

She had been expecting Cross’ answer to her question on the nature of his anger. That it triggered an adrenal response in him was basic biology; a child could have surmised as much. So too could any half-intelligent being have told her he experienced anger as violence, the two inexorably intertwined so much as to be one and the same for the man. Nevertheless it was still useful to hear such things expressed by the patient, and, as such things were wont to do, it led to the offering of an answer to a question she had not asked, the example of his prosthetic the perfect detail to alight upon.

Nevertheless, she allowed him to finish answering her questions, only speaking once more when he had concluded his thoughts. First, she turned to a matter of contention: for it seemed the Commander had an irksome and unhelpful tendency to apologise where none were necessary; she would have to disuade him of the habit.

‘I acknowledged my one-hundred and seventeenth birthday last year,’ she said dismissively. ‘if poor language affected me I would not have chosen the career I did. Additionally,’ she said, her tone softening somewhat, ‘I would ask that you allow me to be the judge of what is and is not of use. Your apologies are unnecessary; all I ask is willingness, and this you have shown. Had you all the answers already I daresay you would not require my assistance in this matter.’

His question took a moment’s thought to answer, requiring no small amount of consideration as it did. Certainly, it was possible that his emotions might become more stable; but then, a great many things were possible, and emotional beings tended towards an unfortunate conflation of possibility and probability. While she believed it likely, from the information she had been afforded, that Mr Cross had stabilised since his initial outburst following his ‘correction’ as he apparently put it -- a distateful term with all the implications of the Savi -- whether this stabilisation would continue, or whether it had already reached it limit, she could not say. False hope could be a bandage upon a wound, but it was not stitches, it would not truly heal, only slow the bleeding.

‘I do not know,’ she said at great length. ‘It would be disingenuous for me to claim familiarity with any situation with more than a passing resemblance to the one in which you now find yourself; nor is it in my nature to speculate. I can only answer with my own observation, and say that you appear to me now as one in their adolescence, adrift in their own identity, and unable to fully realise themselves or control their impulses; nevertheless, you have none of the ‘animal’ about you which you describe from your previous experiences. That you have more control in this moment than you did in that cell could speak to your emotions stabilising, to your training, or to the strength of your core. Conjecture aids us little here.’

Her words were true, delivered with as kind a sentiment as Hathev was capable, and yet every utterance seemed to weigh upon Cross heavier than the last. The man seemed so very tired in that moment, meeting her eyes with so dejected an aspect, such exhaustion in his movements, that she almost experienced a flicker of empathy. She had never felt such a thing, of course -- but the shade of it, the shadow upon the cave wall, its threat and temptation both… These, she had felt, if only briefly, if only in the depths of herself where she no longer dared look for fear of what might come seeping out.

But such a thing was foolishness.

‘It shall not be easy,’ she said, controlling her modulation tightly, ‘and it is not right that you should have to experience this. Yet it is so, and we shall do all we can to ease it.’

She would do so now. With a laser-guided focus, she returned to an earlier strand raised by Cross and held in her mind until such a time as she could begin to tug upon it. For those who asserted to have no self-control were often incorrect in their judgement. Certainly this was true of those who used their anger to hurt others: for how often had a patient asserted that their abuser had been ‘out of control’, only for it to be discovered that the person in question had been eerily lucid in the targets of their destruction. A creature truly out of control would destroy indiscriminately; what a person in a rage, where ‘rationality’ held little sway as Cross had said, where a blood mist befitting the Klingon descended -- what a person in such a rage spared from their wrath said much about them and their apparent control, or lack of it.

‘You said you wish to destroy your prosthetic, that it angers you to the point of desiring to enact violence against it,’ she said, her gaze made of needles. ‘Why, then, do you not? What prevents you from doing such a thing?’

Re: Day 07 [2000hrs.] A Horse To Water

Reply #8 – August 29, 2019, 12:11:59 AM

Hathev had surprised him when she said she was honoured that he asked her to continue his training in K’Shem’s stead. He had never really heard a Vulcan use the phrase before, and wondered if it was simply chosen as a way of setting him at ease. Regardless of her reasoning behind the use of the word, Cross found he was glad that she’d agreed to help him. He knew he needed the help, reluctant though he had been to admit it to counsellor Seren during their session.

She went on to state that, while learning control may have been difficult for him during his post-internment rehabilitation, they would be able to do better now, Cross himself being older and more stable. Age and stability didn’t stop Cross form raising an eyebrow as Hathev informed his that she had just turned one hundred and seventeen. He was surprised that she’d inform him of her age so casually, as he had thought that discussion of a person’s age was considered taboo in most cultures. He was also surprised because, well, she didn’t look one hundred and seventeen. Cross had no idea of his own age, his records having been destroyed during Starfleet’s liberation of the Cardassian camp, and so all he could say was that he was somewhere in his 30s, a mere child if compared with Hathev’s years.

Cross almost felt like a child as Hathev continued, instructing him to allow her to be the judge of what was useful and what wasn’t, and informing him that his apologies were not necessary. A slight colour rose in the former hybrid’s features as he was chastised by the older Vulcan, feeling very much like a child being reprimanded for some discovered act of mischief. She went on to say that all she required was for him to be willing, and that he had already shown this.

The embarrassed blush faded as Hathev moved on, addressing his question as to whether his emotions might not stabilize on their own, given time. Hathev admitted that she did not know, going on to admit a lack of familiarity to any circumstances which resembled his own. She went on to explain her understanding of his current state, describing him as adrift and unable to realize himself or control his own impulses, which he had to admit was accurate. She informed him that she didn’t see any of the “animal” in him that he described, though Cross suspected that she might change that observation if she were to actually see him in the volatile state he had been upon losing control. Cross himself hoped never to see that side of himself again, let alone have anyone else see it. Anyone close enough to observe him in such a state would be at risk themselves. For a moment he had a flash of memory, of being in the cell with Drake, of the murderous urge to get his hands around Drakes throat, of wanting to squeeze the bloody man’s neck. A slight shiver ran down his spine as he forced the memory away, back down from whence it came.

Cross couldn’t prevent a grin from spreading over his features as Hathev informed his the process of learning better emotional control would not be easy, adding that it wasn’t right that he should have to experience this. Cross mentally added that, continuing with that line of thinking, it wasn’t right that he exist in the first place. He had been the product of a sick experiment, and his lack of emotional training stemmed from his upbringing as a result of that experiment. Or rather, lack of upbringing. He opted not to voice the thought, however, so as to avoid disrupting Hathev’s train of thought.

And to avoid another scolding…

Hathev began with his previously stated hatred for his prosthetic, her gaze intense upon him as she pointed out that he claimed to wish to destroy it, yes he had not. She asked why this was, what prevented him form acting on the desire. Cross raised the prosthetic again, considering the metallic appendage for a long moment before replying.

”I haven’t destroyed it yet because, for the moment, it’s better than simply not having a hand.” Cross said, letting the hand fall back into his lap as he returned his gaze to the couch’s other occupant. ”I keep it for the same reason I opted to have cosmetic surgery to restore my former appearance. I may no longer be a hybrid, but I wished to recognize the face I saw in the mirror. To see familiarity.” Cross held up the hand again, though his gaze remained fixed on Hathev. His tone had remained level and calm through out his explanation, though as he continued some heat crept into it. ”This hajari thing is a menace. I don’t know if it’s a problem with the prosthetic, or the result of my altered Vulcan neural pathways, or something else entirely, but I keep breaking things with it.” Cross sighed, and let the hand fall, his tone quieting as he continued. ”And yet there’s something familiar about having two hands. I don’t destroy it because it’s still more natural-feeling to have both hands, even if one is the wrong colour and made of unfeeling metal.” Cross reached over with his organic hand and released the prosthetic from his forearm. He slid the prosthetic free and placed in on the couch beside him before sliding the fitted padding from his stump, then raised the shortened limb as if for her inspection.

”There is nothing familiar about this.” Cross continued, his face impassive as he glanced at his arm. The limb was severed halfway between the elbow and where the wrist would have been, the tip of flesh at the end of the limb looking healthy in that it was healed and of the same skin tone as the rest of his arm, yet the scarring at the end was somewhat twisted and unnatural at the same time. It appeared as though it had been horribly mangled and, though healed afterwards, the initial damage had merely been mended, rather than corrected. ”When I see this, it doesn’t feel like it’s my arm. Not that I feel repulsed by it, or ashamed of it. Quite the opposite. But the fact is that it feels more familiar when I see two hands.” Cross let his arm fall to his side, and though he directed his gaze at the prosthetic, he didn’t yet move to replace it. ”Also, if I did put the thing out an airlock, I’d have to go back to Sickbay to get a new one, and I’d prefer to avoid Sickbay as much as possible after… uh…” Cross’ face coloured as his eyes darted up at Hathev for a moment. ”after what was done to me… as a child in the camp…”

He felt a wave a relief at the fact that he had caught himself this time. He had slipped up earlier that day while with Blue, and the Human woman had forced him to elaborate on his little slip of the tongue, much to her amusement and his embarrassment. As he thought back to the previous slip-up, he could still hear Blue’s laughter ringing in his head.

”Anyway, I’m hoping it won’t be an issue for too much longer. Blue… Commander Tiran I mean… is making me a new one.” Cross glanced back up at Hathev, his pale eyes holding a hint of mirth. ”So it’s not that I haven’t destroyed this hand, so much as I haven’t destroyed it yet.” A slight grin spread over his features, holding a hint of black humour to it. ”More of a stay of execution than an actual pardon.” The darkness seemed to fade form the grin, though the smile took on an aspect of questioning. ”Besides, if I’ve yet to act violently towards the source of that anger, shouldn’t that in itself be considered an accomplishment of sorts? In spite of the fact that I want to destroy the hajari thing, I haven’t.”

Kardasi Translation:
Hajari - Fucking

Re: Day 07 [2000hrs.] A Horse To Water

Reply #9 – September 03, 2019, 02:14:52 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Fife

Hathev was content to listen to the new made Vulcan’s outpouring in expressionless silence, allowing him the space he required to speak. He worked himself round in circles as he thought, offering several explanations, and Hathev was not surprised that he did not think to identify the meaning behind such explanations. To do so would have required a degree of self-awareness that would have been extraordinary at this stage. Nevertheless, despite his meandering thoughts, he spoke with an interesting certainty; curious, how one could simultaneously be so uncertain of themselves and so confident in their analysis of their psyche.

He quoted wishing to feel natural, or normal, as a reason why he did not destroy his prosthetic — a good sign, in that it suggested the psychological barrier that stopped most creatures from deliberately or knowingly harming themselves had extended to include that prosthetic in its definition of his self, despite his professed dislike of the appendage. Of course, such an extension would not guarantee that an individual would be averse to harming their prosthetic — people were not always averse to harming their flesh bodies, and could do so readily in extreme cases of psychological distress. She had not believed Mr Cross to be in danger of such a thing, and thus the confirmation was unnecessary; however as data it was useful to have it established at this time.

The demonstration of the commander’s injury was also unnecessary in itself; there was nothing the viewing of such a thing could achieve. In an emotional being no doubt it would have engendered horror, discomfort, and sympathy, but it held no power to affect Hathev thus. Were she counselling Cross, she would have regarded it as an opportunity to better understand the trauma the man had recently been through, both physical and emotional, and an invaluable chance to study his relationship with both his damaged arm and the prosthetic that was to replace it.

She was not his counsellor, however, and thus such things were irrelevant to the matter at hand. She would not prohibit herself from performing her analysis, of course, as she could not be certain when another opportunity would present itself nor when such information might be of use. She merely relegated it to the back of her mind that it might not distract her from her purpose.

She had treated patients who had experienced loss of limb in the past, although it had never particularly been her area of expertise. She knew that amputees often found it difficult to reconcile the sudden changes to their body, the sudden lack of something once so mundane. She also knew that emotional individuals could form emotional attachments with their bodies that could be difficult to transfer to a prosthetic, and that in any case prosthetics could be uncomfortable or imperfect in a myriad ways. That Mr Cross had difficulty with such a thing was unsurprising.

Nevertheless, he demonstrated no visible distress when faced with the sight of his limb. His expression was carefully schooled with a control that Hathev could appreciate, yet she could surmise the calm surface obscured a tumultuous interior. Despite her lack of specialisation in the area, it would be remiss of her to allow this moment to pass without offering something by way of acknowledgement.

‘It is natural that you require time to acclimatise yourself to your prosthetic,’ she said. ‘Just as your mind required time to gain proper control over your body in childhood, so too must it now learn the intricacies of your new appendage. This will come, you need not be concerned on that matter.’ No matter the sophistication of the prosthetic, the pressure sensors, the naturalistic presentation, it was a device alien to the body’s original state and thus the mind would take time to see it as an extension of the body and not simply a tool external to itself, and thus learn to remain aware of the prosthetic’s positioning and movement. No doubt Cross would be undergoing physical therapy to assist this transition; time here was the only true answer.

In the meantime, however, the artificial appendage frustrated the man to near-violence. This was Hathev’s primary concern.

The man’s admittance of reluctance towards Sickbay was hardly unexpected, considering, as he said, his previous medical trauma. He clearly felt embarrassment in sharing this, just as he had in describing his inadequacies of control. A symptom of his unfamiliarity with her, no doubt; as he became more comfortable in her presence, his embarrassment in discussing such things would dissipate. The contents of his statement were also relevant, suggesting another motivator for not destroying the offending prosthetic: fear.

She was glad to hear he would be replacing the temporary prosthetic with a custom one soon; she had not yet had the questionable honour of meeting the Chief Engineer personally but she had been assured of the woman’s competence when creating mechanical contraptions. Hathev had to hope the commander would also be consulting with medical and scientific professionals in the discipline of prosthesis, although from what she had seen of Miss Tiran such a thing might not be assured.

Nevertheless, a replacement could only prove helpful in the circumstances. Cross existed now in limbo regarding his artificial limb; he could not truly acclimatise to it until he had his true and permanent prosthetic, and any progress he made towards accepting the temporary device might be rendered moot once he was issued with its replacement. The sooner he received his true hand the better.

‘You may certainly consider it an accomplishment,’ she said. ‘It is also an accomplishment of particular interest to me.’ She regarded him calmly. ‘You said you have no control once you enter your rage state, correct? That the capability for logical thought is removed from you? Yet you do not destroy your prosthetic, despite its status as a source of frustration for you, for two reasons. The prosthetic feels more natural to you, and thus harming it would be as harming yourself; is this accurate? Next, returning to Sickbay is an outcome you wish to avoid, one that you perhaps even fear.

‘It seems to me, therefore, that your reasoning is entirely logical. Would it be correct to say that perhaps you are not as out of control in your anger as you imagine? You yet retain enough control to think of the consequences of your actions against your prosthetic, and this stays your hand. Thus it remains for us to strengthen this control that you may exercise it outside of these perameters.'

She paused slightly, considering her next words. The suggestion would likely not be welcome, yet if the commander agreed it could prove the most efficient and effective method. 'I would suggest teaching you some further means of self-discipline and methods of emotional control for use within the depths of your anger, alongside a more general emotional education for day-to-day control and outburst prevention. Eventually, if you are not averse, I would suggest deliberately triggering your anger in a controlled environment.’ She watched his reaction carefully. 'It is my opinion that this would be a most useful method of preparation and practice for you; of course, every precaution for safety would be taken.'

Re: Day 07 [2000hrs.] A Horse To Water

Reply #10 – September 06, 2019, 05:44:51 AM

In response to his suggestion that his lack of acting on the desire to destroy his prosthetic was itself an accomplishment of sorts, Hathev calmly informed him that it was an accomplishment that was particularly interesting to her. She clarified that he had claimed to have no control when seized by his rage, and that logical thought was not possible during such times.

Cross nodded his agreement.

Hathev went on to point out that he did not, in fact, destroy the prosthetic despite the frustration it caused him, for tow reasons. It felt more natural to him, and he viewed it to be that harming the prosthetic would be harming himself, asking if her conclusion was accurate.

Cross gave a non-committal shrug, not necessarily agreeing with the conclusion that he viewed it as self harm, though not giving voice to the thought.

Finally, Hathev stated that he wished to avoid returning to Sickbay, which he viewed as an outcome he wished to avoid, or perhaps one he feared.

Cross nodded confirmation to that conclusion, though Hathev was hardly aware of the true reason for his aversion to Sickbay. Cross momentarily wondered if she would show some sign of surprise or amusement if he were to tell her the true reason for his aversion to the ship’s medical ward, or if her Vulcan demeanor would hold firm. Blue certainly had felt no compunction about showing her rather abundant amusement when he had told her the story behind his reluctance to visit Sickbay again. The Theurgy’s Chief Engineer had almost toppled off the couch as she roared with laughter and clapped her hands, delighting in his embarrassment and the story which had caused it. Cross could hardly picture Hathev putting on such a display, though the idea of trying to prompt the cool and collected Chief Counsellor to crack an amused smile was tempting.

Cross was pulled from his thoughts when Hathev went on to state that his reasoning was entirely logical, and would it not be correct to say that he was not as out of control as he imagined? He had to admit that she was correct in stating that he retained control when considering the frustration he felt towards the prosthetic. She went on to conclude that they should work to improve that control so that he could apply it to other situations.

She paused then, and Cross considered what she had said for a moment in the temporary silence. There might be something to what Hathev suggested, despite her lack of knowledge of certain aspects of his situation. After a moment Hathev continued, proposing to teach him some means of control which would prevent him from losing control even in the throws of his anger, along with more generalized control to aide in his daily life and prevent such outbursts. Cross nodded his agreement to what the counsellor proposed, though he froze when she suggested that they would intentionally trigger his anger. The idea of deliberately doing so, even in the controlled environment she suggested, gave Cross pause.

”That all sounded like a good plan, up until the part where we’d be intentionally setting me into a state of rage…” Cross said, his hesitation apparent by the slow manner with which he spoke. ”Even if every precaution were taken, I would still be worried that something might happen. That I might…” Cross didn’t finish the sentence. He glanced up at Hathev, worry clear in his expression. ”I… would be willing to consider such a thing… however…” Cross swallowed hard, his throat feeling as though it had gone dry he moment Hathev had proposed the experiment. Cross reached out and lifted his mug draining half of the remaining contents before he continued. ”When you speak of a controlled environment, what exactly do you have in mind?” The question carried with it another unspoken question.

How could they be certain he didn’t hurt her?

”I agree that both a method of control to be applied when I feel anger seizing me, and a method to help mitigate such situations and for day-to-day control would be beneficial. But your suggestion of triggering an episode for the sake of practice could prove dangerous.” Cross placed the mug back on the table, then took up his prosthetic from where it sat on the couch beside him, setting it on his lap as he slid the protective sleeve over his stump. ”I would not wish for something to happen to you because you were trying to help me.” Cross stated in a soft tone as he glanced up at Hathev, concern in his expression. The sleeve in place, Cross lifted the prosthetic and positioned it one his arm, securing it in place and flexing the fingers to test out it’s position before looking back to Hathev. ”I’m not saying “No” to your suggestion, though perhaps such a thing should be discussed once we have progressed in the teachings first.”

Cross took a deep breath, lifting his mug again and draining the remainder of it’s contents before placing it back on the table. He turned his full attention back to the counsellor, his expression resolute. ”So, counsellor, where would you suggest we begin?”

Re: Day 07 [2000hrs.] A Horse To Water

Reply #11 – September 10, 2019, 10:59:57 PM

[ Lt Cmdr Hathev | Chief Counsellor's Office, Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Fife

Hathev had not, of course, expected the commander to react to her suggestion with anything less than trepidation. It was no doubt a daunting prospect for one currently living in fear of their own emotions, for one whose anger meant not a few sharp words but a hurricane unleashed upon whatever and whomever was in its path, which had already been loosed and let to wreak its havoc upon those around him, only stayed by the very creatures that had released it against his will. She had little frame of reference intellectually, and none whatsoever emotionally, yet from a detached perspective she understood his motivations to the best of her abilities. In the simplest of terms, he was afraid; this, at least, she had studied. She had even… entertained such a thing herself, briefly. Fleetingly.

But that lived in the place she refused to touch. There was little purpose to it.

She had known positing such a course of action at this stage held inherent risks within it. Primarily the risk of refusal, although even should Mr Cross not be willing to consider such a thing at this time, by planting the suggestion in his mind he might be more open to it at a later date. The secondary risk was that the man would be so unsettled by the suggestion that he would renege on his intentions to self-control and no longer seek her assistance; this, she predicted, had so minimal a probability of occurring as to be nearly irrelevant, however as it had a greater than 0% chance it still became her to give it due consideration. Tertiary and quaternary risks were redundant in this paradigm.

Mr Cross was, as she had expected, hesitant; nevertheless she was gratified to see that he did not refute her predictions. He neither rejected the suggestion immediately nor attempted to flee the scene, both positive indicators. Nevertheless, his discomfort was writ large upon his face displayed in the way he blanched at the proposal, in his slowness of speech, and his clear tumult of thought.

‘Your concerns are valid,’ she said gently as he trailed off, leaving much unsaid but understood all the same. ‘Should you wish to explore such a possibility, we would of course discuss the best approach, and the methods of safeguarding both yourself and any others.’

The course she had proposed was inherently dangerous; she, of course, understood this. She could not fully judge the exact extent of that danger without more data regarding the precise nature of Cross’ anger, and she would not receive such information without observing him in a state of rage, providing a challenging paradox for her anaylitical powers. The unknown quantity of his anger was unfortunate, as it inherently stymied her attempts to properly predict the possiblle outcomes, and to therefore plan accordingly; nevertheless even taking this unknown into consideration, she still believed her suggestion to be worthwhile. There was only so much that could be taught in a classroom, and the finer points of emotional regulation required practical experience to master; far better that Cross receive this training in a controlled environment than attempt to gain field experience at the potential expense of the safety of himself or others.

Cross’ hesitation was profound, yet he voiced a willingness to consider the proposition; this, at least, gratified her. ‘I ask for nothing more than your openness at this point,’ she said, ‘you need not make a decision until a later date. I merely wished to raise the suggestion that you may think upon it.’

She smoothed her skirt, listening as Cross continued. ‘I consider a holodeck the most reasonable locale,’ she said neutrally in response to his question. ‘They offer the most suitability and mutability, naturally. Specific safety precautions can be discussed closer to the time, if you decide you wish to proceed; as the individual most cogent of the danger, you would be directly involved in all such plans.’

His agreement to her twofold plan was gladly received, although not unexpected; she had known him open to such an approach already. More unexpected were his next words; their phrasing, rather than their content -- the expertly bloodless ‘something to happen’ making a euphemism of the truth they were both more than aware of. That he expressed concern for her was appreciated, but unnecessary. She had judged from his demeanour that he did not wish harm upon others, and similarly calculated that such a desire would extend to herself, not least as she was assisting him and was therefore of direct and practicable use. Of course, it could simply have been an excuse to avoid the experiment she suggested, but she saw no signs of untruth in his expression. His concern -- his fear -- was genuine. Nevertheless, he did not veto the action, despite the fear it engendered in him; rather, he merely asked for a stay of its execution.

‘Of course,’ she said smoothly. ‘We can discuss this once more when you feel ready, if you so desire.’ With Cross’ full attention upon her, she straightened herself in her seat, poised and elegant with a controlled effortlessness. ‘In the meantime, join me in meditation. Your training begins this evening.’

--FIN