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Day 05 [2357 hrs.] Breaking point

Breaking point

STARDATE 57572.66
16 MARCH, 2381
2357 HRS.

[ Lt Carrigan Trent | Memorial Terrace | Deck 21 | USS Theurgy ] @BZ

He should have seen this coming.  Too much work, too little rest, and far too few people he could trust.  And of those he could trust, they too had burdens of their own and he could not, would not saddle them with his own as well. Heather was chief among them, and what made matters worse, he did not entirely know how he could be there for her either.  So to say Carrigan Trent was buried under feelings of inadequacy on top of his stress levels would be a gross understatement.

Evening had turned to night, and even the stiff glasses of bourbon, a habit he would have to be careful not to fall back into, failed to quiet his mind.  But instead of pacing his quarters like a caged animal, he instead went for a walk.  He had no set destination in mind, but he knew he would remain spaceborne.  He simply could not muster the energy to put on civilian clothes or rustle up one of his Aldean cover identities.  And if he was to be set upon by anyone who would relish the opportunity to get some payback on him, he was not even sure he'd care enough to mount a defence.  So, his long legs carried him towards one of the docking bridges and he was within the shipyards complex, and more meandering saw him at a different entry port for Vector 3. 

His legs were moving of their own volition, and before he knew it, he found himself down on Deck 21, walking into the Memorial Terrace.  Normally, there were often people milling about, or simply sitting in reflection, but this night, or at least at this time, it was empty.  The area was meant to be serene, but the near-silence was deafening to him.  And as a result, his breathing quickened, and his heart started to beat faster. 

And then, he was in Hell.

His eyes caught a name on one of the walls.  Sjaandin Fedd, a friend of twenty years, dead at his hands.  And then, it was as though his eyes were draw to more of them.  Yelchin.  Peri.  Urban.  Those who died at he hands of the Savi.  Those who died at the hands of the Borg.  At the Rendez-vous point.  Their names were haunting him.  The nameless droves he had been responsible for killing between Task Force Archeron, Black Opal and Starbase 84, the crew of Bellerophon whose deaths were laid at his feet regardless of what had actually traspired.  The dead from his crew back on the Harrier, names and faces he knew intimately, and had loved.  Countless ghosts screaming at his mind. 

He would never know what had brought him here, if it was fate, dumb luck or just a subconscious need to be there.  But everything that weighed upon his mind and conscience came crashing down.  He had fought so long to maintain the mask he wore, to keep himself under control.  A mask he never let slip more than a sliver lest he lose what little was still his, that iron control.

But, now he was simply too tired.  Tears filled his eyes, and his knees gave out, his legs no longer able to bear him.  Fabric tore as his synthetic knee bound in his trousers on his way down.  Blood flowed when he knuckles of flesh and bone hammered onto the deck.  And a voice only a handful still living had ever heard raised above what most would consider a loud conversational level sounded with a harsh sob.  And sobs turned louder, and then, the dam broke and the mask that kept deep passions tightly leashed shattered.

Horror, sorrow, guilt, pain, fear, frustration, pent-up aggression, anger and rage, and so much sheer, black hatred, no small part directed at himself, all of them finally given voice in the form of a primal, atavistic scream.

Re: Day 06 [2357 hrs.] Breaking point

Reply #1 –
[Lt. Zephyr Praise | Feeling the Feels | Pent Up is No Good |  You're An Emotional Jack Hammer]
@CanadianVet



Zephyr had been working herself to the bone these days, but it felt good.  It was the good kind of tired, when your brain just couldn't take one more iotta of information, one more formulation of a plan, one more long mathematical and hypotethical problem.  It was then, that she knew it was time to stop.  When she read the same problem in front of her several times without finding an answer, or worse, remembering the question in the first place.  That was usually when Zephyr called it quit time and headed home to the welcoming arms of her favorite Klingon.  Who usually had food, snacks, drinks, and some sort of board game set up for that night.  It had tickled her that a Klingon, so tough and so fierce, loved fuzzy sweaters and simple things like board game night.  But, honestly, she was loving it and he was teaching her all the games.

Last night, they had played a game with little rooms, set within a home.  Little squares you could move your chosen person around.  It was a murder mystery, you had to figure out who had killed the master of the home, and with what tool, and in what room.  It was a delightful good time, and she quite enjoyed herself.  They had both fallen asleep amid all the little characters and tools laid out on the board and several digital slips of paper keeping track of what 'wasn't' in the magical envelope at the center of the board. 

Tonight, he had said something about battling ships.  She wasn't so sure how she could be good at a game that was battle.  While she could fight with a Bat'leth and she could fight with her hands, she lost when it came to tactics and strategy of a larger nature.  Still, he assured her that it wasn't as complicated it as it sounded.  It was some sort of game with pegs, and ships, and guessing.  She was speculative at the moment, but willing to at least give him the benefit of the doubt.

 The problem was, though, that Zephyr, nearly consistently, got lost.  She would take a turn, or be nose deep in her PADD and step off on the wrong deck on accident just because the other people got off there.  As was the case tonight.  Even though she had left her labs and knew her way back to her Quarters, were she actually paying attention, now, she found herself on deck 21 and without a reason to be there.  She hadn't even realized she was on the wrong deck for a good five or so minutes just navigating it as though it was the right one. 

What made her look up wasn't the fact of all the 'wrongness' around her and how she was assuredly wasn't in the Senior Officer Quarters area, but the wall of intense pain, betrayal, horror, and a slew of other emotions that threw themselves against her.  Zeph doubled over for a moment just because of the sheer potency of all of them.  She nearly threw up, only because it was just so much being released all at once which meant one thing.

Someone had been shoving this stuff deep down and refusing to deal with it.  Now, it was going to come out.  Emotions always did, there was only so long that you could shove that stuff back before the body released it all in the art of protecting itself.  She had seen it time and time again, and Starfleet was full of people that did the same thing.  She could tell it was close though, not too far, the string of emotions got stronger as she continued to walk until she came to some sort of terrace that she had never seen before.

Her eyes studied the space there for a moment, before turning to the man that was on the ground.  He was screaming out, and tears streamed down his face.  Zeph put her PADD in her pocket and she leaned against one of the walls putting up her own sheilds for a moment to quiet her mind from his deluge of emotions.  She waited for the scream to die down, the lungs only held so much air, and so the scream could only go on for so long.  She waited until he was quiet, though not done with his emotions, she wasn't going to do any good speaking while he was screaming.

“It's good to get that out, the scream, it's cathartic.” she told him softly as she crossed over to him and lowered herself to his level.  She knew, that what helped many, was knowing that they weren't alone.  So the green eyed betazoid rested her hand on his shoulder for a long moment and gave it a warm squeeze.

“Im not going to ask if you're all right, because you aren't.  But, you will live through this, of that I can assure you.” she gave him a warm and supportive smile.  “Breathe.  First you must breathe, the pain will not just go away, but it will lessen, you have been through a lot.  Remember though, you have surpassed.”

Re: Day 06 [2357 hrs.] Breaking point

Reply #2 –
[ Lt Carrigan Trent | Memorial Terrace | Deck 21 | USS Theurgy ] @BZ

The screaming went on for a long time, and from where he was on the deck, Trent saw it fit to give in to the need to break something... with his hand of flesh and blood.  But it was not until his throat had become raw from giving voice to nearly a decade of things he had kept under his mask of impassiveness that he slowed down, and he felt a hand on his shoulder.  It was small.  It was warm.  It was squeezing him.  There were sounds coming from next to him,  but the blood pounding in his ears had deafened him.  For a moment, the worst came to his mind.

He had been found in his moment of weakness and he was about to get his head caved in.  In a way, at this time it would be close enough to doing him a favour.  At least he no longer would have to look at himself in the mirror and have to fight waves of self-loathing, among other things. 

But then, he was hearing words again rather than an indistinct mumbling.  Assurances he would make it through this.  At the time, he doubted it.  There was simply too much weighing down on him; he was simply too damn tired...  But as he was told to breathe, his lungs seemed to cooperate... and the he coughed, and blood splattered the deck before him.  Well, that certainly had something to do with how his throat felt like he had gargled with broken glass; he had heard of how people could damage their throat through screaming... he'd never thought it would happen to him. 

And then, as he tried to push himself into a sitting position, his good hand gave out and he fell to the deck, and what should have been a cry was but a gasp and he brought the trembling limb before his face as he rolled onto his side.  The knuckles were all split and bloodied, and it was clear at least two, probably three, had been broken or dislocated... 

But he still listened to that soft voice, reassuring him, and he turned his head towards its source.  Soft green eyes, and, for the first time in what seemed forever, a kind face outside of his quarters.  But despite the words of encouragement, he could only shake his head.  "No," he fairly croaked at a level a little lower than his regular near-whisper.  His throat felt as though it was lined with jagged metal.  "I... I just lost the last thing that was all mine..."

And once again the pale grey eyes, reddened and swollen, shut again as his shoulders shook as he fought against more sobs.

Re: Day 06 [2357 hrs.] Breaking point

Reply #3 –
[Lt. Zephyr Praise | Anguish & Pain | Too Much Weight | Healing the Soul Takes Time | Step One]
@CanadianVet



She could tell he didn't hear her at first.  Not because of anything he did on purpose but she could feel his mind and how he wasn't there yet.  He wasn't present with her at the moment.  As much as she wanted to help until he opened himself to that help he wasn't going to get any of it.  He wouldn't be hearing her.  Still, she wasn't the sort that could walk past the terrace that he had decided to make his stand on without offering aid.  It wasn't even that she was a doctor and trained to do that kind of assistance.  It was because of her enormous heart and the sheer kindness to everyone that she met unless it came across someone that burned her.  Ethan was one of the people on that short list and if she ever saw him again he would be lucky to sport all the bones in his face where they originally grew when she was finished with it.

He coughed, when she told him to breathe and blood sprayed down onto the deck plating below him and his pants.  She sighed softly.  “Fine job you've done to yourself.” she said as she pulled her bag closer and she opened it.  The bag was only with her this time because she had only just left her lab so that she could head back to her Quarters.  But, luckily for him she had several things in there, one of which was a pretty little hankerchief that she carried with her when she was working in the Arboretum.  So she could wipe off her hands when necessary.  It had printed flowers all over it and it was soft but porous.  She reached up and she softly tapped at the blood staining the skin around his mouth before put the piece of cloth on his knee.

He tried to pull  himself up but collapsed and Zeph gave a soft sigh, nearly inaudible, as she shifted over to him and helped him sit himself up leaning against the wall of the terrace.  She didn't know the man, but then, she was new to the ship she didn't know hardly anyone actually.  But, she hoped that she could help him through whatever tight spot he found himself in at the moment.  Once she was fairly certain he would remain upright, she leaned against the terrace border next to him pulling her bag close again. 

Since she had been working so hard on the Heather and weaponry project she had a fair amount of Medical stuff in her bag since they were doing all sorts of tests and the like.  So she pulled out her medical tricorder and her first aid kit.  She didn't have a lot of stuff with her, but she didn't think he could get to her lab at the moment where she had all the other goodies that would likely put him back to rights.  Though, the fact that he could use a few sandwiches or whatever it was that Commander Tiran ate might work better in his favor. 

“You've done yourself a bit of harm there.” she said softly, as she ran the tricorder over his form and pursed her lips at the read out on the screen.  She was wearing science teal, but she had been double trained so she was an actual medical doctor too.

He hissed, more than he spoke, as he forced his mutilated throat to work around the air from his lungs to form words.  She tilted her head and her eyes, a stunning hazel green mixture that did not speak of her full Betazoid heritage thanks to the Savi and V-Nine, met his.  She smiled softly.  “I find, that is never actually the case, but what I do believe you found is what most call rock bottom.  I've been there before myself.” she admitted as she used her hypo to give him a small pain killer and something that would help his throat mend up pretty quickly.  He would probably be a little sore until lunch time tomorrow but it would be a whole lot better than it would be untreated. 

“Lets see this hand of yours.” she said as she carefully lifted it by the wrist careful not to jar the bones and she studied it for a moment.  “I've given you something for the pain, but nothing is going to truly take away the discomfort of me setting your fingers.  You'll probably want an actual sickbay visit, but as a doctor, I can do a little triage here.” she admitted, as she softly opened her kit leaving his hand hanging in the air.

She pulled out gauze, tape, and some splinting material.  Laying them all out in the lid ready to grab when she needed them she turned back to the hand and took it in both of her own.  “We don't know each other yet, but I think we're about to be close.” she chuckled softly as she gently felt for the bones in his hand to see how they needed to be set.  “My name is Lieutenant Zephyr Praise, I'm a Science officer here, Botany predominately..” she began to chatter and before he could even prep himself the sickening crunch of cartlidge and bone being reset for the first finger happened.  She didn't even skip a beat while talking.

“I just got here, to the Theurgy I mean, I was one of the Versant refugees.  Oh and if you're worried about a Botanist fixing up your hand, don't be.  I do genetic and biological hybridization work with cross species DNA so I went back to the Academy for my medical certification as well.”  Pop, a finger went into its socket and she moved on while she continued rambling giving him something to concentrate on.

“You know, the Arboretum here, is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen on a ship.  It has so many plants, flowers, tree, and it's just so peaceful.  I'm not sure about you, but honestly, I find nature the most soothing thing in the universe.”  Another sickly sound, it was wet, and complicated because this particular finger was broken in two places, but she managed to get both in there and studied the rest, they were bruised and hurt, but she had fixed the worst.  Carefully, she lay the splinting material around each of the fingers, and once it felt the heat of the body it hardened into the almost cast like form.  She then wrapped them all together in gauze carefully so that they wouldn't get infected.

“I hope you don't think I'm nosy, and I'm really not trying to be, but see I'm an empath.  And your emotions are screaming at me, really loudly, in my head.  So I can tell that you've been holding them back for far too long.  Which is probably what explains the damage you've done to yourself.  Though that won't make the emotions any better, it is good to get them out and physical methods are often cathartic.  Harming yourself won't make it any better though.” she warned and sat beside him again now that the gross part of the physical stuff had been cared for.

“You know, I'm a good listener, and I'm pretty unbiased as … I'm new.  So.. if you want to talk … I can hang for a little bit?” she offered.

Re: Day 06 [2357 hrs.] Breaking point

Reply #4 –
[ Lt Carrigan Trent | Memorial Terrace | Deck 21 | USS Theurgy ] @BZ

Trent did not fight the hands that guided him into a sitting position.  There was something about being curled upon the deck that was attractive in its own right; just letting everything go.  He was so bloody tired of fighting just about everything around him, he did not even think he would have had the strength to gather himself up at this point in time.  He was not even sure if he wanted to have that strength left either. 

He was not even quite sure of what was going on either, his mind sluggish and trying to catch up with events.  But what he knew was that someone with soft hands and a gentle voice, and some startling eyes, was there and was treating him with... kindness.  That person, either she did not know him, or was the first one outside of his own quarters to offer that kind of genuine care.  But for now, it hardly mattered.  He had done a good number to his hand, and his throat...

There was the hiss of a hypospray and the gentle sting of an injection, and the fast-acting agent reduced the pain in his throat while his hand no longer screamed at him, it still throbbed something fierce.  Well, the edge had been take off, and while pain had the potential to clear someone's mind in a hurry, removing some could have the same effect, allowing him to actually concentrate on the what this stranger who was helping him was saying. 

Rock bottom.  That was actually where Trent figured he was himself.  Practically universally reviled, with nearly no one he could trust, and told that his hope of redemption for doing what he would  maintain to his grave was the right thing dangling on the far side of a truly Sisyphean task.  But he could hardly fault this stranger for not understanding what he had just say.  His ability to maintain his calm, frayed as it had been of late, was still the last vestige of an identity he valued he had left before it had so spectacularly shattered. "I'd say you're right about where I'm at," he managed to reply with what would be considered a sad parody of the ghost of a smile.  "Not my first time here either."

As she took his right hand, he inhaled sharply.  Broken bones.  Not he first time that happened.   But the last time he had punched something as unyielding as the deck he had just pounded, it had been not too long after he'd lost his left forearm and leg, the Harrier, and much of her crew.  And he had been very drunk, to the tune of a bottle and a half or so of bourbon drunk.  So when he had been scraped off the ground and seen  to, he had not felt a bloody thing when he'd been treated. 

But not this time. 

She had just introduced herself when those gentle fingers turned to steel and a middle finger that was no longer in its socket was unceremoniously put back in place, and a savage grunt escaped his throat.  A few deep breaths later, he managed to have control of his voice, again, and between teeth gritted in pain, he managed to give his own name.  "Carrigan Trent.  Intelligence."  He did not give a rank, not when the two pips at his collar faced his new acquaintance.

She was still speaking while she was working, and when his ring finger was put back into place, his prosthetic hand tried to claw at something on the ground, fingers of metal and polymers finding no purchase against the pain.  But, sweating profusely from he pain, he did manage to speak again, addressing her qualifications, but through he pain, there was something approximating real humour on this clenched version of a smile.  "Beggars... can't really... be choosers."

And then, his pinky finger.  For this one he could not limit himself to some grunting; in fact he actually cried out in pain and his synthetic hand came up, and smashed down hard.  But not on he deck.  Not on flesh and blood where it would have done real damage, but on he equally unyielding materials of his prosthetic leg just above his left knee... that same knee that had been lethal to Sjaaandin Fedd... and T'Rena. 

The cold fire in his right hand started to subside even as the instant-splints were hardening.  Yes, he'd have to go get himself looked at by the duty doctor before going to bed, but that would be a detail.  And if uncomfortable questions were to be asked, he would resort to the old standby of 'I fell' to justify his injuries.  Even in the closing years of the twenty-fourth century, that expression was still known to mean 'I'm not answering that'. 

As she spoke, he looked at his gauze-swathed left hand and let it rest in his lap. "I have to wonder how or why I even got here," he said softly.  "Because I certainly hadn't intended it, or to just... break down."  Yes, he would take her up on this offer to stay behind and talk for a while.  So far she'd not judged him, only been there to speak to him, and offer what comfort she could when she'd found this hot mess curled up on the deck. 

"And I hope you didn't get hit too hard.  There was... a lot I needed to let out.  Going back... close to ten years.  Back to the start of the War, really."

Looking down at his hand, another sad smile appeared.  "It's been a long time since I'd punched something like that." 

Re: Day 05 [2357 hrs.] Breaking point

Reply #5 –
[Lt. Zephyr Praise | Talking About Life | Rock Bottom | Road Map to Civilization | I'm Not a Counselor]
@CanadianVet




Working on the man, watching his face flinch in pain, and feeling it brush against her minds mental shielding she could tell that he was hurting.  Right now, the physical outweighed the emotional, because it was sharper and it was more current.  Phsyical pain always lessened emotional because the body tended to put the worst stimuli first.  Pain was not something you felt just in your mind, it was felt with your nerves and in your body.  That was why it over rode the emotional pain.  Still, he gave his name, and Zeph filed it away for later.  She had never heard a name like Carrigan before, but she supposed that everyone had to have a name and it wasn't like Zephyr was a common name.  In fact, it was one of those really odd names too but she had never let it hold her back.  The fact that he was listening himself as an Intelligence Officer really intrigued her, but she also knew enough about Intelligence and black ops to know that he wouldn't be able to give her any elaboration on that.

“Do you see yourself as a beggar?” she teased a little bit while she worked on his hand and hoped that he would take it as the joke that it was.  Though she was honestly curious too.  Because, she could understand how rock bottom felt.  To everyone, it was a little different, but honestly they were all similar.  Clawing her way up from her own personal rock bottom had not been easy but it had been wroth it.  It had been one of those things that had allowed her to actually, finally, decide on the kind of person that she wanted to be.  The kind of person that she could be proud of all on her own.  That was what mattered, but it was hard not to let yourself fall into just reveling in the darkness of rock bottom.  But instead, deciding that it wasn't good enough for you and that instead, you were going to tell the world to get bent and find a place for yourself.

“No one intends to break down.  They just happen, especially when you don't let your emotions out.  Keeping them locked up inside isn't healthy for anyone and your body can only take so much.  There is a wealth of emotions, and even if you need some sort of physical outlet, or to ugly cry, you have to get them out.” she explained.  “I'm a Betazoid, so.. emotions are kind of my thing, I know a thing or two you could say.” she chuckled warmly resting her hands in her lap she looked out over the terrace, beyond it there was the beauty of the stars.  They had always called to her, and even now, still did.

She smirked as he .. sort of, but not really, apologized for his mental scream attack of earlier.  She gave a quick shrug.  “I'm used to fielding the emotions of other people.  I am not a counselor, so luckily I don't have to try to help humans puzzle through them.  They're very adept at shoving things to the side until they explode or take it out on someone they didn't mean to.  But, even still... you're fine.  I'm not angry, you were crying for help, even though I don't think you wanted it, you needed it.”

For a long moment she fell quiet watching the stars with her hazel green eyes back.  She had retained her full Betazoid self but she had gotten her half Betazoid eyes back.  They had been rare enough for a half breed and she hadn't really felt like herself since they had been taken away.  So she was glad that they were back. 

“All the way back to the war?  Why?”  Her eyes cut over to him.  “Why do you hide your emotions?  Don't tell me you're one of those people that think that emotions are for the weak and only make you weak instead of stronger.  I find, that emotions used in the right way, can be so much better.” she admitted her eyes cutting back towards the stars.

Re: Day 06 [2357 hrs.] Breaking point

Reply #6 –
[ Lt Carrigan Trent | Memorial Terrace | Deck 21 | USS Theurgy ] @BZ

"Most people are pretty good at staying on their feet when you bump into them; won't stop me from apologizing for it, though."  Trent managed another ghost of a smile.  He had to admit, he felt... lighter now.  Oh, he'd cried in private before, behind closed doors, out of sight.  But this time, when he had let it all out, it had been witnessed.  In some ways, it had made the release real somehow.  Or at least more so than when he would break down in complete solitude. 

But now, well, he was left with a most unenviable task: he had to put so much into words, things he'd managed so far to avoid confronting the hard way.  Well, in for a penny, in for a pound and all that.  So, he would have to start answering questions.

"Well for starters, this is my third time making Lieutenant... the first was the normal way, through hard work.  The second... came at the beginning of the War.  I had a command of my own, the Harrier.  We were ambushed; we could have broken free, but it would have told the Jem'Hadar their new ambush tactics worked.  Well, they did, but it was ambiguous enough at the time they couldn't be sure.  I chose to engage.  Harrier did no survive; most of my crew didn't either.  That is where I earned those."  As she spoke, he lifted his prosthetic hand before knocking on his synthetic knee.  "I lost my confidence, requested a demotion even after I was cleared of wrongdoing in losing the ship." 

"I never really got over it.  I knew every member of my crew.  Loved them.  They were mine, and they trusted me.  I got them killed." 
There it was, the root of why he held things back.  He had loved those brave souls he had led into battle.  He could not afford to do it again, it had hurt too much.  But as much as he wanted...  "Not long after I got here, there was a mutiny.  I managed to avoid capture and took one of the Battle Bridges.  There were three Ensigns there.  They too trusted me.  They got murdered right in front of me, trying to stop an insane Vulcan from preventing us from retaking the ship.  The same madwoman who brainwashed my oldest friend, whom I killed with my bare hands." 

Yelchin.  Peri.  Urban.  Fedd.  There were already a lot of names he was dragging behind him... "And I'll never know how many I killed when I defected from Sankolov, at Starbase 84... and in the Nebula.  I'm considered a murderer even on this ship.  Everyone whom I thought may have my back... no one has."

He looked down, and he buried his face in both his hands.  "If I let loose, it's an admission of my guilt, and of everything that's been said about me.  If I keep the mask, I'm guilty because I won't show guilt.  So all I had left before tonight that was really mine... was that control. It was the mask.  I don't even have that anymore."

Re: Day 05 [2357 hrs.] Breaking point

Reply #7 –
[Lt. Zephyr Praise | Horrors of the Past | Reflection | Pent Up Emotions | Fit for Duty?]
@CanadianVet




His third time making Lieutenant.

She listened as he explained that the first time he had earned the third pip on his collar was the hard way.  Proving himself and moving up the ladder as he went.  Then there was another one, the war, he had commanded his own ship and some things went down.  He lost a lot of people, and requested a demotion.  Her brow rose.  So he has gross insecurities then.  She could not understand why anyone would actually ask for a demotion especially after working so hard.  Especially when you weren't, at least as far as she could tell from his amazingly concise explanation of events, that he had actually no hand in the death of them.  Sure, they were under his command, but it wasn't as though he asked them to drive off into the sun while he sat back and ate a box of cookies.  She could not understand his thought process there, she had been in some rough spots both career and personal wise, but she didn't think she would ever actually volunteer for a demotion.  That would be up to her superiors and where they thought the fault actually lie.

He wants to be a martyr.

She could understand losing confidence to actually command, and yet, the emotions in the heat of the moment just after said battle would have been heightened.  It made her wonder who the commanding officer over him had been and why they had been glad to allow him to step down.  Most commanding officers, with actual know how would have accepted something so emotionally charged of a decision.  Instead, they should have sent him off for therapy, as clearly he had some serious pent up emotional backlog, and they should have possibly re-educated him in some way.  Gotten his confidence back up after such a devastating blow rather than accept what was said to them as though it was fine.  What a horrible Commanding Officer. she thought, but said nothing about her thoughts on the matter. Unless they had other reasons for him to need to step down....


Zeph listened as he talked about people being killed in front of him, something else he blamed himself for.  And then, again some sort of defection from Starbase 84, and all of that stuff.  She listened to him explain how he felt too.  How he was a murderer in the eyes of everyone around him, and how he would never be seen as anything else.  How he was guilty if he didn't show the guilt, and guilty if he did.  There was no winning situation here.  Zeph reached up a hand and brushed her hair out of her face giving him a long sigh for a moment as she tried to figure out how to tread on this. 

“I'm not a counselor, just for the record.” she said softly.  “But, it seems to me that the only person that thinks you're a murderer is yourself.  I think that you carry around the deaths of those you have served over and those you have served with.  You carry your own guilt and the reason you see it in the faces of others is because you feel the guilt.  You believe that those around you see it because you feel it so vastly.  But, I don't think anyone sees it.  I don't think you're labeled a murderer, before you decided to destroy the flesh inside your throat I hadn't even heard your name before.  So I think you're grossly over estimating what people think of you and instead you need to look what what you think of yourself.” she admitted as she shifted slightly and dug through her bag to get out a bottle of water that she had earlier.  Taking a sip from it she offered some to Trent if he wanted any, because he might be thirsty now that his throat was healing a bit more.  He still needed Sickbay.

“This is the life of serving the Federation.  You will see people die, you will make decisions that cost lives, we all do.  Every one of the officers out there walk around with guilt on their shoulders, with the weight of lives in their shadows.  The difference being, that instead of shoving their emotions behind a closed door and waiting for them to go away because they didn't want to handle them at the time, they dealt with them.  Whether therapy, or working out, or finding a new passion, a new love, something that gave them a catalyst for change.. that is the difference.  Shoving your emotions away, will only intensify them.  You pretending to be calm will never be enough.  Because, they're still there.  You haven't dealt with anything.  You haven't tried to confront how you feel about yourself.  You have to fix yourself from within.  You have to build yourself back up from the foundation.  Every time something happens, you have to cope, live, deal, and move on.  You're stuck in the past, Carrigan.” she admitted softly. 

Re: Day 06 [2357 hrs.] Breaking point

Reply #8 –
[ Lt Carrigan Trent | Memorial Terrace | Deck 21 | USS Theurgy ] @BZ

When the bottle was offered to him, Trent reached across his body with the one hand he had that still functioned, his hand of bare metal and polymers.  When he accepted it, his synthetic fingers innocently brushed against those of flesh and bone, the sensors in the prosthetic relaying the temperature and texture of those digits in the same kind of fuzzy, dream-like quality that came from the always imperfect melding of artificial nerves and the ones he had been born with.  When he took a sip, he found himself coughing as the water hit his tortured throat, but he calmed it with more of the cool, life-giving fluid. 

And truth be told, the simple act of drinking, of sharing someone else's water no less, was a thoroughly simple, utterly innocent, yet somehow very intimate act.  Something he'd not expected from a complete stranger.  A complete stranger who either miraculously had not heard how the destruction of Bellerophon and every last casualty suffered in the Nebula were his fault, or simply did chose not to believe that particular narrative. 

And even though she was no counselor by her own admission, her presence was a far more comfortable one than the counselor he had been assigned.  And she was providing the kind of presence he had been thoroughly craving.  Someone who wasn't judging him.  "Maybe I am stuck in the past.  But if I let that go, I'm afraid I'll be betraying the memories of the long list of deaths I'm pulling behind me."

He took another pull from the bottle before handing it back.  "I don't know what you've heard.  Hell, some versions have it how I waded into Task Force Archeron with blood in my eye and wanted to murder every last one of them..."  He let out a sad chuckle.  "I'm good at killing people, and like everyone else, I do take pride and joy in a job well done.  And part of me... can't stand that.  It's one thing to do it when the lines are clear... but lately I've been killing Starfleet personnel.  Good people who only followed orders they had no reason to believe came from an enemy I couldn't even conceive in my worst nightmare."  And God knows I have a lot of those, and powerful ones at that. "I knew people across TFA.  People I'd trained, people I'd led.  Friends.  I have no doubt I've killed some of them too."

He took a deep breath.  Because now everything was laid bare.  He had to fix himself?  Confront his feelings?  He didn't know how, or even where to start.  Because there was one simple truth to it.  "Zephyr," her first name felt natural; after all, she had used his, too.  "When I look in the mirror, I'm not entirely sure I recognize who it is who's looking back at me.  But I know I hate him.  How do I fucking hate him!"

There was no holding back the tears, and he buried his face in his hands.

Re: Day 05 [2357 hrs.] Breaking point

Reply #9 –
[Lt. Zephyr Praise | Man or Martyr | Guilt of Many Years | Time to Let Go | Life Moves on, So Should You]
@Auctor Lucan



She listened to the words that he said, about how if he didn't carry the guilt with him he would be betraying those that had been killed.  Zeph understood what he was saying, everyone in Starfleet had been witness to or the cause of someone's death.  She still remembered the time she had been kidnapped and kept in a small closet with three other women.  Once she had been able to break out, she had killed no less than three people getting back up to the surface for help.  She had succeeded and been able to rescue the other women, and even some officers she hadn't known were captive down in the facility where she had been held.  But, yes, she had killed people.  Everyone had at one point or another.  But, he seemed to take the deaths he had been apart of, or around, extremely personally.  A fact for which she could tell weighed him down to the point where he was here and now.  With having hurt himself … maybe not exactly on purpose but it should have never gotten to this point. 

Who cleared this guy for duty? she wondered a moment.

“I think that you betray yourself by carrying their lives on your shoulders.  I think what you actually have is survivors guilt.  You're upset you survived and they didn't, you think it should have been you.  Had you gone route A instead of route B more would be alive.  But you went route A for a reason, a valid one, I'm certain because most of us don't just make decisions based on flipping a coin.  We're all very smart people and we've thought about the best course of action.  That doesn't always lead for ultimate success but instead, sometimes still isn't enough.  That doesn't make it wrong, it makes it not enough for that situation.  Some situations you can't win no matter what but you pull your pants up and you keep trying anyway.”

She took the bottle back and put it on the ground between them incase he wanted more.  She wasn't currently thirsty at the moment and she could always get more.  He began to tell her that he didn't know what she had heard and her brow rose.  “Nothing, I don't know anything about you.” she admitted as he dove into the various stories about himself causing her brows to raise higher. 

“With blood in your eye?  Really?” she let out a small chuckle.  “I'm sorry, but as much damage as you did to yourself here, I don't see you as a raging murderer with a hard on for blood or anything.” she shook her head but then she also admitted she didn't know him or anything about him and that was still very true.

He admitted that he was good at killing people and sometimes took pride in a job well done.  Zeph wasn't sure what she thought about that.  She had never taken pride in the actual act of taking a life. Even on the Versant when she had worked hard to keep the Savi away from the others while they were dong their important work to help them get off the ship.  She never took pride in the deaths of those around her but she took pride in the diversion tactics, or the fact that she had escaped or saved others.  Perhaps it was because it wasn't about the killing for her but about the goal at the end of freedom or whatever it was that she was working towards.

“I'm going to be honest here, and say you should never find pride in the killing.  If it's your job to complete the task, say getting out of a bad situation like on the Versant or whatever.  To save the lives of others, that is the goal to concentrate on.  Not the art of killing.  Is anyone actually good at killing?  I don't really know the answer to that.  I have taken lives, I wouldn't say I'm good at it, and I wouldn't say it never haunts me.  They do, they really do, but then, I know they were all for the reason.  The greater good for the lack of a better term.” she admitted as she picked at a loose thread on her pant leg, probably from scooting around on the floor tending to wounds.

He told her when he looked in the mirror he didn't like what he saw and hated the man that was within it.  “that's probably the most honest thing you have said tonight.  You hate yourself, and what you've become.  You hate what you have had to do in the name of goodness.  But, you either have to come to terms with it and seek actual help.  Or, you have to figure out what to do with yourself.  You have to embrace whatever it is you see in the mirror and own it, or make the changes that will alter it in the future.  You have that power, you have that chance.  Every day you wake up and get out of bed is another chance to start over.  It won't be easy, but until you can look in that mirror and see the man you want to be, you won't be completely healthy or whole.”

Re: Day 06 [2357 hrs.] Breaking point

Reply #10 –
[ Lt Carrigan Trent | Memorial Terrace | Deck 21 | USS Theurgy ] @BZ

Acceptance. Redemption. Hope beyond the breaking point. Was it really there?

The scientist made it sound so simple, but the years had undermined him. The guilt never really left after the Harrier. He had been too quick in resuming command when Ives gave him the chance, but how could he openly admit to that? He was trapped upon the pedestal he'd raised, even though its foundation had always been weak. He was falling now, the fortifications around his pedestal razed and crashing into the sea, and he had no means to climb back.

This was why he hated Dewitt. Because she'd struck that weakness and made it crumble. He'd told her he was emotionally compromised, able to keep everyone else in the dark about it, and when she saw his weakness and how it may have clouded his judgement, she'd struck that weakness... Mid-battle, she'd taken command of the Helmet and done what he had been meant to do, and he had no means to prove that he'd do it better than her. The Theurgy had been reintegrated, the ship off to fight the Borg instead of saving Heather. He still didn't know if he'd do what Wenn Cinn did, in leaving the abductees on the Savi ship. Heather had been there. Surely he could have split the ship's resources?

At the expense of the Federation? The galaxy? It was Heather... but the Borg Queen had demanded everything from them. If they's split the Theurgy up, chances were that everything would have fallen apart.

Was this why Ives had not reinstated him? Because of what he might have done? Was it to prevent him from putting person before the mission? Was this what he had failed to acknowledge, and ask forgiveness for? In the end... despite all the following implications and the possibility that he was just as guilty as he was for the Harrier, his greatest regret was still in trusting Dewitt. The white hot hate he held for what she did remained nonetheless. Irrational, and unquenchable.

And the scientist still babbled about redemption. It sparked his anger, fuelled by his pain, and it was an ugly, cold thing. It was like she held up that cursed mirror she spoke of... and he just wanted to break it.

"Leave me be. You don't understand! He lashed out. Not against her, even though he wanted to. He rammed his metal fist into the deck plating, making a dent. You are just a scientist. You have no idea what it is like to be in command, and have hundreds of lives depending on you. How could you possibly tell me what I should do? You have no right to judge my health and wholesomeness. While you play with lab tools, the very lives of the crew depend on my judgement!"

He caught himself speaking in the present tense... even if he knew it would never happen again. Dewitt had made him fall, and Ives had seen through his mask. All he could do... was to try and defame Dewitt and Ives. Perhaps this Commander Ducote was a better option. Someone who'd listen, and make everyone see how he was supposed to be the one to save the galaxy at the battle at the apertures.

"Begone!
 

Re: Day 05 [2357 hrs.] Breaking point

Reply #11 –
[Lt. Zephyr Praise | Tides of Change | No Helping Here | I Can't Help Those That Are Broken]
@Auctor Lucan



She could feel it.

When his acceptance and hope for the future for having her talking to him changed.  When it twisted and morphed into something nasty.  She had a feeling that this was exactly what he did to people.  Pushed them away.  Over and over again, making sure that they didn't come back.  Those that stuck around were the ones that had hearts of steel or they wanted something out of him.  Otherwise, she couldn't imagine that people would continue to come back like this.  She could feel the way that the tide which had been turbulent but not overly done, had turned into the kind of tide that would destroy the things around it. 

Finally, it came to the surface and he screamed at her.  Zeph jumped, for the sudden volume.  Before hand he had been almost too quiet but in this place it was quiet enough she could hear.  But, she hadn't expected the sudden outburst even though she could feel the emotions in him changing as they had been.  As he screamed he rammed the only hand that he hadn't hurt, because it was metal, into the deck plating actually making a dent.  Zeph rose her brow and kind of scooted to the side to give herself some extra room. 

He began to tell her that she didn't understand, she never could, because she had never commanded and had hundreds of lives depending on her.  That she couldn't understand what he had gone through and the people that were lost on his watch.  Zeph felt her throat go dry and she gave a sigh.  She had hoped to help but she could see now that he was past help.  What she could do though was raise her concerns with the staff that could either force him to get help or find something for him to do.  He really needed the help and honestly, she didn't think that he had any place on a ship as dangerous as the Theurgy right now.  He really needed a stable place where he could work on building himself back up.  He was too far down the rabbit hole for the kind of help they could offer here to do much of anything.

That was her opinion anyway.

“Fine.  Throw more help to the side, I've seen officers like you before.  You throw everyone that tries to help you away because you're too afraid to face yourself.  Well get over yourself.”  Zephyr said as she picked up her kit and her things pulling her bag on her shoulder again.  “See sickbay about that hand, or don't, I do hope you find hope somewhere.”

With that, Zeph turned, and headed back into the ship.  She had battleship to play with her favorite Klingon and she was ready for some amazing Khorin cuddles after that whole mess back there.

~Fin~
 
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