Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters and plot.

Rated T: For language and dark themes

"Do not tell secrets to those whose faith and silence you have not already tested" ~ Queen Elizabeth I

Preface

Your mission is as follows: Drive twenty minutes west of Hartford CT. After exactly 20 minutes look to your left. Go down the nameless dirt road. Just about another five minute drive or so, passed the thriving pines and overgrown fields of brown grass, you will find a country house. The historical house is masterfully built with lovely chocolate colored wood, and mint green painted front door and windowsills. Each window is neighbor to a flower bed, and come spring you might be lucky enough to see the vibrant little wildflowers that have chosen this as their home.

Upon entering the house through the mint front door, the facade of charm and comfort will dissipate.

You will inevitably feel the burden of ghosts.

This is not your misfortune but that of the house, which will be relatively clean and cozy with evidence of repeated renovations. Renovations; desperate attempts to scrub the house raw until it could be rid of the lingering dwellers of the past. You will walk through the living room and into the over used kitchen with the disconcerting presence upon your back. But you must move forward still, into the library.

This is your destination.

This small room will be blanketed in sunlight with a soundtrack of melodic birds from just outside and a perfume of dust and aging leather.

Books.

These are your mission. Well, one of them is.

There will be many. Each of the four walls that surround you is floor to ceiling with bookcases so plump with the old books that I am certain you will worry that the cases will give way to a tidal wave at any moment.

I would apologize for the disarray, however I am not the one responsible for the mess. There are just too many books. But only one is your mission.

Which to possibly choose?

You will know. You will find it.

For this book is different from the rest.

A simple journal amidst grand classics, encyclopedias, and law books.

Take in the sight of it and be gentle. It is the last of it's publication after all.

This book holds a secret within it's beloved pages. A name. A story.

Now the story. Memorize it, breathe is in as if it is your last chance for oxygen before a watery plunge.

Turn once you are finished, walk back through the kitchen, into the living room where embers are still glowing blood orange in the fire place. I hope you know how to stoke a fire.

Feed the secret to the growing flames. See to it that the pages burn but do not dwell to watch them for long.

Leave swiftly without a second glance, for a ghost might look back at you, in judgement of your actions.

It would be too difficult to explain your orders to a hapless ghost.

I will spare you that unpleasantness.

Act One: Part 1

Darcy Carnegie leaned against the granite wall, arms crossed and electronic cigarette hanging out of her pursed lips. Darcy's platinum blonde hair, course from countless dyeing 'rejuvenations', was tied in a tired bun. The drooping hair style accompanied her beige pant suit, which was wrinkled from over use and lack of ironing. She looked as disheveled as she sounded. "I can't believe he's putting me through this." Darcy's perfectly reformed nostrils flared as she took another puff before thrusting her turquoise cigarette toward the redheaded woman beside her. "Want one?"

"Just keep the profanity in the hallway." The companion ignored the offer of the ghastly instrument of vapor.

"I know that Marla," spat Darcy after a few seconds of puffing away. Marla winced only slightly at her sister's days of embracing sisterhood had long passed. Their mother once went through a phase of dressing them identically despite their awkward height difference. At the time it seemed only natural to experience everything as if they were one individual. Now the idea seemed utterly preposterous.

There was a silence between the women. A minute? Two? Five even? Neither could keep the time. Such an endeavor could not be accomplished in such a place, or with such an emanate fate creeping ever toward them. "Do you think I'm a bad mother?" The elder sister finally broke the silence, unable to bare her own thoughts any longer.

"Please stop letting them into your head." Marla closed her eyes, pure exasperation clouding her own head. "We've talked about this."

"Why won't you just answer the question?"

"I'm too tired for this Darcy-"

"Is there a reason you're not answering?" Darcy put her cigarette down, allowing a tiny white cloud to blast into her sister's face.

"I'm tired."

"So you agree with Jaimie." Darcy's dark green eyes darted across Marla's exhausted expression. Marla sighed softly deciding she had no other choice but to tread lightly. It took a second or two but Marla was indeed able to muster up the strength to give her sister a simple smile.

"No. I don't think you're a 'bad mother'." Marla watched cautiously as the older woman computed her response and looked away with satisfaction. Marla frowned once more, pushed her thick auburn locks behind her ears and braced herself. "However this is not my decision."

"But at least I know that your statement was a good one." Darcy shook her shoulders, puffing out her well endowed chest like a robin in spring.

"You know I can't talk about that."

"I wish you would just have the balls to tell me." Darcy chuckled at herself, bringing Marla to stone silence.

Marla remained mute as they were finally approached by someone other than their own thoughts. She remained silent as they received the verdict.

Marla was silent as she dragged her sister out of the building, hands wrapped tightly to Darcy's waist as her insults mixed with that of her ex-husband Jaime's in toxic harmony.

A familiar yet unwelcome tingle spread beneath Marla's fair freckled skin as she sat beside her wailing sister in the cab. The walls were starting to crumble. Darcy sang out cries of profanity Marla had never even heard. Marla mentally sang her own song of curses as she cast her hazel eyes on the snowy road.

She cursed the sluggish traffic, her older sister's foolishly embarrassing behavior, and herself for getting involved in the first place.

Marla was still silent when they reached Darcy's lavish Brooklyn apartment complex. By then Darcy's voice was gravely and Marla's ears rang. The apartment had not changed in the slightest since their departure that morning, yet the rooms felt entirely unfamiliar to Marla. She watched as her older sister walked in mock pride to the fireplace mantel and took three picture frames from the ledge.

"I don't want these," Darcy said icily, thrusting the pictures into Marla's hands. "Well," Darcy straightened herself, looming over her sister in the heels she'd chosen for the day. She looked as though she was itching to say something, but nothing else was said between them. Darcy disappeared into her room and slammed the door, leaving Marla alone with her knotted thoughts and stomach.

Marla sat on the edge of one of many uncomfortable pastel leather chairs in the living area. Once she had walked through the threshold of this very apartment with wide eyes and sang praise for her sister's modern, pristine, orderly taste. These rooms, once envied and admired for their glossy minimalism, now felt hollow and cold. This was as doomed of sustaining life as the permafrost incrusted tundra. Marla felt the tingle once more as her discomfort grew. No wonder her precious niece never felt quite welcome here.

Marla looked over her shoulder to ensure her solitude before pulling her wallet from her satchel and began her task of removing the pictures from their frames. Each picture was a beautiful snapshot of the child in question, of lovely Rosie. She tucked the snapshots carefully into the folds of her bag leaving the frames, the empty shells, on the side table.

Rosie, with her sweet smile and charming intuition that surpassed her four years of life. Her little smile flashed into Marla's mind and dissipated. Such a kind little creature did not belong in this place. Not even in thought. Not even in a picture frame.

Marla was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to get as far away as humanly possible.

But Darcy. Oh her damn sister.

She ground her teeth and slid her sweaty palms along her thighs, immobilized by the prickling sensations that washed over her as wave after wave of guilt enveloped her. Every truth she'd uttered in the court house was a dagger in the back of her sister. Darcy couldn't know.

Sleep was her only escape, but insomnia was a sworn enemy. Long had she battled the swirling depths of the night, rarely arising victorious.

Marla slid back against the solid chair, kicked off her boots, and brought her legs into a crossed position. After a moment of rummaging through her satchel she pulled out her PADD. She ran her tongue across her teeth at the sight of how low her battery was, but typed in her code just the same. She was desperate to find something, anything, that could lead her mind on a hiatus from the current situation.

Flashing red at the very top of her inbox was her distraction. A distraction so odd in origin and unfathomable in subject that Marla found herself laughing for the first time that day.

Wisterias. Lovely soft lavender blooms cascaded in abundance from the rafters above. A week had passed since her departure from the bustle and drama of New York. One week since she had received the audacious message. Now she sat in the largest waiting room she had ever seen, devoid of any color other than sky blue. The walls, some 12 feet high, the stone floor, the cluster of tweed furniture, even the view from the rectangle sky light above, all identical pale blue.

All but the wisterias.

Echoing footsteps brought Marla's attention to the hallway just across from her. She stood at attention when the footsteps presented their owner. She straightened her back, steadying herself in attempt to mask her jetlag. The female before her looked less than thrilled to be there. A Commander, the woman was about a half foot taller than Marla with her brunette hair cut into a perfect pixie style. She could not have been more than 30 but her tense stance and practically invasive gaze gave her a power presence rarely seen in someone so young.

"Dr. McGivers?" The Commander said in a distinctly stern tone.

"Yes," she responded all too quickly.

"Follow me." Twisting on her heel the Commander made her way out of the waiting room at an alarming speed. Marla did as she was told. As she followed the Commander down the hallway, she did her best to straighten her gray uniform. In honesty she had always felt utterly ridiculous in her dress uniform. Her red ringlets bounced free from her bun and into her face as she tried to keep up with the taller woman's strides. Just as quickly as they began their journey, the Commander halted, causing Marla to stumble to avoid collision.

"Wait here." Just as mechanically as she gave orders, the Commander took out her PADD, typed for a few seconds, and approached the door to the right of them. With an echoing click the Commander pushed against the door, entered the room, and allowed the door to close slowly with Marla craning her neck for a curious glance into the mystery room. Nothing but blue. The Commander emerged after a beat and this time left the door open for Marla to enter.

Marla was careful to enter with staged confidence, for her nerves were taking the helm. An office; identical in size and color as the waiting room, only distinguishing itself with a massive gray desk and chair and a painting of the Federation Symbol hung on the back wall.

"Dr. McGivers," a male voice announced Marla before she could even take a single breath. "Come sit down."

Marla stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the man before her. She turned to exchange a glance with the Commander, but the door had already closed, leaving her alone with her gaping jaw, fluttering heart beat, and highest ranking officer. Colonel Marcus sat at his enormous desk, fiddling with files and never taking his eyes to meet hers. She followed orders and sat across from him and waited in the silence as he finished his reading.

"Ha!" The outburst caused Marla to jump. Marcus brought his lips to a grand grin and lounged back in his chair to look at her. She smiled uncomfortably and watched him as he brought both of his index fingers to point at his desk. He cleared his throat and read from the file "'My three years in the Terra Federation Archives taught me a great deal about myself and the person that I strive to be.'" Dammit, she thought in frozen horror. He rolled his eyes but continued. "'I've worked with some talented intellectuals…'blah blah blah-oh hear we go'…Despite all I might have learned here I can not help but feel that I have waisted three years of my time, in a prison where my coworkers are ever parasitic, my brain unstimulated to the point of feeling on the brink of insanity, and if I had the iron fist to do so I'd taser myself awake from this nightmare and ride a ship into a collapsing star.'" He stopped, nodded his head as if in agreement, and pointed to the reading. "Got anything else to say?"

"I…" Marla could hardly breathe, in fact she wasn't and her hands shook despite her tightly clenched fists."I think…some of that…See my-"

"Oh relax Doctor." Marcus smiled and brought himself to the edge of his seat. "Its nice to know someone can be honest in their yearly log."

"I didn't know anyone actually read those."

"No one does. Unless an occasion presents itself." He swiped the file away and creased his brow. "You wrote your dissertation on the battle strategies of the 5 greatest military leaders in earth history." Not entirely sure of how to respond Marla chuckled nervously and nodded in relief, still rattled from the introduction and shift in subject.

"Yes I did sir."

"To which you received wide spread criticism in the intellectual community." Marcus brought his right hand to his chin, a curious expression on his face. "Why do you think it was so badly received?"

"Well," Marla paused to collect herself. "Irrelevancy was the common criticism."

"Irrelevancy?" Marcus crooked a brow.

"Earth has been at peace for over 100 years sir. Despite the ever present importance for historical comprehension, what I chose to study was not considered essential to that understanding." Marla set her jaw. "The overall opinion is that what I specialize in is no longer of modern concern."

"Do you agree with that opinion." The question threw her. Within the time of a blink Marcus' relaxed stance had melted. He was studying her now, leaving her feeling exposed. He was looking for an answer. Which one?

"No." Her voice was still and a wave of relief ran over her as Marcus gave another smile. "History isn't a straight line. Destruction and creation are fundamental rules of the universe."

"We've already seen it happen."

"Excuse me?"

"Destruction." The Colonel moved his fingers across the table, allowing a hologram of a planet to float in between them. Marla looked to the planet and then back to Marcus. Neither needed to say it's name.

Vulcan.

"History will repeat itself, or so they like to say?" He searched her face for a response.

"To believe that conflict is nonexistent is ideal, but not necessarily realistic."

"Ah," Marcus grinned broadly and shook a finger to allow the extinct planet to disappear. "I knew I would like you." Marcus rose from his chair, waving a hand to keep her seated, and moved a small pile of documents from his screen to the PADD before her. "Doctor McGivers, I would like to offer you a position. See, I am in need of a specialist, a historian, a strategist. Someone who can understand the underbelly of our expanding universe." Marcus pointed to the PADD in front of her and continued before she could interject. "Read the papers. Sleep on it if you'd like. But I can assure you," his voice inflected to almost pompous proportion. "the position will be rewarding, great pay, benefits, the works. Best of all, you won't have to worry about under stimulation or having to taser yourself into a black hole."

Marla stared down at the PADD. "I'm not entirely sure I'm qualified for this line of work."

"No one is 'qualified' when they are offered a position that doesn't exist."

"I uh. I really don't understand sir." Marla kept her eyes on the PADD, scanning the information with jumbled understanding.

"I'm not going to force you into anything you haven't read over first." Her commanding officer bowed his head in respect. "You read over that now and I'll give you, oh lets say 5 days to think about it."

"Thank you," was the only response that felt proper.

"This is a wonderful opportunity Doctor McGivers and I think it will be the beginning of a truly seamless career. Just gotta take that plunge sometimes." She had no response as he gestured to the PADD and left her to read the offer.

She didn't need 5 days to think it over. No good nights sleep could change her immediate instinct.

She signed the dotted line without a single speck of remorse or reservation.

Authors Note: Welcome! Here lies the tale of one Dr. Marla McGivers. This story will live within a slight AU, that will become more prevalent as the plot progresses. I'm a lover of OST, TNG, and the reboot and wanted to put my own twist on the universe. All reviews and constructive criticism welcomed.