[2375] San Francisco: Lt. MacFarlane's Personal Logs

August 16, 2024, 03:53:46 AM

San Francisco | 2375 | The MacFarlane Homestead | 1800 hrs

Kath sighed as she took a sip of whisky, her palm soothed by the coldness of the drink in the glass. Her palm that was still healing from her time in the Dominion War while on the Hamburg. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back. She considered what she wanted to say in her log, as she had been instructed by the Starfleet issue shrink to do while she healed.

"Tactical Officer's Personal Log... or is it Security still? Do I even get to say that is my title when I am on medical leave? Whatever. Either way. I understand my role in the universe and in Starfleet. I do. But I still question why my requests for certain assignments have fallen short. Is it because of my father's rank and position? If it is a personal failing, I cannot begin to fathom what it is.

I realize my hands were torn apart, but I can't help wondering if it would have happened if I were on a completely different ship. I love the Hamburg. I swear I do. It has been my home for a while and I want it to be my home a while more. But I feel like I'm made for greater things, if I would just be allowed to spread my wings a bit.

I'm not asking for a promotion. And I won't switch tracks. But I want to feel like my job is important, that it is going to matter at all in the grand scheme of the galaxy and whatever war I get dragged into.

This is not the first time I have been slung to the sidelines of a war. At least the last time I was hurt through my own actions not because of a feedback error in the ship's systems."

She opened her brown eyes then, staring at nothing as she mused on the circumstances that led her to going back home to Earth to recuperate. Pawlowsky had assured her that she would always have a place waiting for her on the Hamburg and she believed it. But did she want to go back? Would she not be reminded always about what happened to her hands which would undo the therapy she had been going through? Or would it strengthen her healing that was more mental than physical?

"NuQach says the war is apparently winding down. I'm not scheduled to be considered fit for duty for another month. What if I miss the rest of this like during the war with the Cardies alone?"

A pause then she took another sip of her drink.

"I realize the word 'Cardie' is considered to be on the same level with a slur, but frankly I don't see why. Nor do I feel particularly charitable towards them right now. It is their fault for this mess of a war. That fucking Gul Dukat above all others. And I have met and befriended far too many Bajorans to want to be nice and fair to the Cardies. Sorry, Cardassians. As if anyone will hear this besides my therapist."

Glaring at her glass a moment, she poured herself a refill. Her hands at least could handle this now, an improvement over a couple weeks ago when she was dropping almost everything she tried to pick up. Still she felt like she was healing too slowly.

She mused on her friend Asher No'a (last name first, first name last as convention dictated for Bajorans as well as numerous human cultures). No'a, who found themself fighting against Cardassians again with the added threat of the Dominion. No'a who was too young to have been a part of the Federation-Cardassian War. No'a who reminded her so much of Althan and thus was why she was extremely protective over them.

And then there was Karatek who was often silent until finally exploding with words that startled everyone. A functional mute Vulcan otherwise. And ironically the one language Kath was not as familiar with as she was with the mother tongues of the rest of her usual unit happened to be Vulcan.

Of course, NuQach, the physical muscle and intimidation factor. Adelaide, more no-nonsense than Kath was at times. Often the glue holding the unit together when they devolved into arguments on how to best complete a mission.

Each person in her squad had a place. They fit together like puzzle pieces. And now they were out there in the stars fighting a war that Kath had to sit out while healing. And she hated it.

"At least once I get better, I will definitely be hankering for a fight and I'm sure the Cardies will oblige."

Re: [2375] San Francisco: Lt. MacFarlane's Personal Logs

Reply #1 – August 17, 2024, 09:40:21 PM

San Francisco | 2375 | The MacFarlane Homestead | 0900 hrs

"Got fussed at by the reconstruction surgeon for getting bored and deciding that every single weapon in my house needed cleaning. Apparently my hands that are still regrowing skin should not be exposed to cleaning chemicals. Who knew?" A scoffing laugh escaped her. Of course she knew. It had been in that very long document on a datapad of all the things she was not allowed to do while her hands were healing that she had been given when she was released from the Starfleet Medical hospital.

It was clear in her voice and on her face that she was a little more pessimistic, a little more snide and acidic. She did not do well being on medical leave. She had found that out the first time. She was not a patient person when not in the field, actively on a ship. It drove her nuts not being able to be useful. What was she meant to do without a war to fight, a battle to win? Squadmates to protect?

She needed to boldly go... to the defense of her friends. The Federation.

"It's not my fault regrowing skin and sinew takes so fucking long, right?"

It was only nine in the morning and yet she took a long gulp of whisky. She deserved it. Didn't she?