Notes: This is a short piece that I just needed to write. My apologies if it is not accurate, and constructive reviews are most appreciated. Thanks.
Disclaimer: The following is a piece of fanfiction. No money is made off this. There is no copyright infringement intended; all characters and backgrounds, except for Admiral Marchand, belongs to the Star Trek franchise.
Upon Waking
The dreaded visit came one morning, out of the blue, one easy, innocent, beautiful autumn morning, and rushed at her like a slap to the face. After hearing the merry chime of the doorbell, she'd said absentmindedly—
"No, Jack, I'll get the door. Jo, didn't I tell you to go up and brush your teeth? Jack, sit down and finish your toast and get ready for school."
—then she'd hurried to the door, wiping her floury hands on a towel, and opened the door to a grave-looking man in uniform. As if from a great distance, she heard her own sudden intake of breath, and saw herself slowly looking upwards, squinting from the sunlight at the great shadowed stranger at her door. A slap of cold realization stung her cheek and rang mockingly in her ears.
She couldn't say anything. And in that moment, she woke up.
"Good morning," the stranger said. She couldn't appreciate the irony.
"Are you Maria Carey?"
She nodded, dumb. She was holding her breath... in what? Anticipation? Apprehension?
"I am Admiral Paul Marchand. Mrs. Carey, on behalf of all of Starfleet, I'm very sorry to inform you that—"
—no, she breathed. Don't. The officer on her doorstep looked at her with pity, but his message continued relentlessly.
"—that your husband, Lieutenant Joseph Lawrence Carey was killed on—"
She should've known this was coming. She should've prepared. But she'd shrunk away from that possibility, shirked her responsibility, and now she was waking up to the reality of her greatest fear. She didn't hear the rest. She wasn't sure if she wanted to, or if she could.
How did you hear, she managed to croak, albeit in a near whisper, interrupting the admiral's flood of commendations. What did they matter now? Admiral Marchand found his gaze straying away from her pleading eyes to her knuckles, white and clenched, on the doorframe.
"The news came through during yesterday's broadcast," he said, referring to the Pathfinder Project. There seemed nothing more to say. His own voice had died. There was a fitting moment of silence then, when the two of them just breathed and Maria stared unseeingly at the grey threads of the Admiral's shoulder. Oh, Joe.
"I'm very sorry," he said at last, with genuine sincerity. He hated doing this. She would hate him for it. They all did.
Again she nodded, but she didn't say anything more. He managed an awkward goodbye; the door shut, closing him away, clicking gently into place. She didn't say anything more. There was nothing she could say to him, to her children crowded fearfully around her knees, to herself. She was wordless.
Upon awakening, Maria had to concentrate on breathing.