Waking from the Dead

For the next two days, we were all rather focused on preparing ourselves and our ships for joining the war effort against the Borg. Due to the Federation Charter, we couldn't officially call ourselves full allies in the war effort. This was Janeway's mission, not Starfleet's or the Federation Council's. We were merely responding to a request for assistance from our ally, Queen Nessav Kyana of the Krenim Commonwealth.

To the Unity forces, however, we were already one of them.

Many of the allies owed their entry into the war, at least in part, to us— Unimatrix Zero, the Unity One Co-op, the Sakari, the Zahl, the B'omar. It was strange and a bit surreal to think of just how much Voyager had impacted the Delta Quadrant, whether unwittingly or on purpose. Yet, none of us could have predicted how important our first contacts with these peoples would ultimately be.

And nothing brought people together quite like a common enemy.

I kept myself busy enough to avoid getting pulled into Harry's shuttle project. "Flying is just a hobby for me," I said when he pressed me about it. "You're better off with real flyers, like Tom."

The truth was that I simply couldn't face Tom yet. Did he see Marnah when he looked at me? Was I stained by her sins? Had I been repeating her mistakes?

I did manage to get a walk-in session with Sinta before he left. Talking to him about my dreams, the Prophet, all the puzzle pieces I was trying to put together— it really did help. I even told him some of the things I learned about my mother, and how hard it was for me to integrate that with the woman I thought I knew. Although I left out Tom's name, I knew that if Tom ever brought this story up in session with Sinta, our therapist would put the pieces together. Would it affect the way he worked with either one of us?

But I couldn't let myself linger on that thought, lest it become another reason for me to withdraw even deeper inside myself.

Loathe as I may have been to admit it at times, I needed Sinta behind me. I was a professional and an officer, and I could carry on with work despite a massive amount of strain, but I could only give my best to patients if I was at my best. For too long, I had been alone in my field, the only counselor on both Voyager and Equinox, and my own well-being had suffered deeply for it. I needed to lean on Sinta in order to support the weight of these crews on me.

I also explained to him about the katra-connection I shared with Tuvok. He was a bit concerned at first— understandable, given that Vulcan philosophy was ostensibly about suppressing emotions, and mental health professionals tended to promote the opposite.

"You're right," I told him when he voiced his concerns, "most Vulcans do embrace the suppression or purging of emotions as a way to control them. But, many who work with alien species are also aware of the fact that Vulcan emotions function quite differently from those of other peoples, and Vulcans familiar with xenopsychology do not encourage emotional suppression in other races. It's hard to argue with centuries of research."

"Is Lieutenant Commander Tuvok familiar with xenopsychology?" Sinta asked.

"Familiar enough."

He considered this for a moment, his amber eyes narrowing and his mind most likely probing mine.

I took a breath and forced my mental guard down, opening my scarred and reluctant mind to his. It was something I had to consciously do, fighting that bad habit of closing myself off. 'He's safe,' I reminded myself. 'I need this.'

He reached for my emotions as if reaching for my hand, but then he pulled back. "I'm sensing resistance, and it's stronger than usual. Can you tell me about that?"

"Same as always," I said with a sigh. "I don't like being exposed."

"Is it merely discomfort this time?"

I frowned, turning my thoughts inward. Was it just that habitual avoidance of mine— that unease with vulnerability? It did feel a bit different, but could that simply be me? "We've only had one other session this time around," I reasoned aloud, "and it's been a long time since our work before. I've changed."

He dipped his head. "Yes, you have."

"Maybe I'm just different now."

"Do you think that's all your resistance is— that it only seems stronger to me because of how you have changed since our last war?"

Was it? It didn't feel right when he reflected my own reasoning back to me. Was there something else in the way? I searched myself, but came up empty, so I shook my head. "I don't know."

"I notice that you've stopped wearing your earring again," he said. "I wonder if you would still be alright with the somatic exercise we used to do?"

I smiled, dipping my head. "Yes, that's fine, Sinta." Then, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

Sinta leaned forward, as well, reaching a hand out to my left ear. I closed my eyes and focused on the feelings his touch aroused— the sense that my pagh was reaching for connection to his.

"Your people may not be known as telepaths," he said, "but the belief in soul-connection through the left ear is too prevalent to ignore. You have the building blocks of telepathy— as, I suspect, most humanoids do. Breathe."

Obediently, I breathed as deeply as I could, then exhahaled long and slow.

"Your pagh was strong before, but it is even stronger now. Breathe."

Again, I did as he asked.

"What do you feel in your body right now?"

I took a moment before answering, mentally scanning my body and allowing myself to notice all sensations. "My chest is tight, and it takes effort to practice deep breathing. I think my heart rate might be a bit high, but it's not pounding. My shoulders and neck— the muscles are tight there, too. My fingers and toes are a bit cold, and slightly tingly."

He waited a bit to allow for more observations. When I made none, he asked, "If you were to name an emotion that might go along with what you feel in your body, what would that emotion be?"

"Anxiety," I said.

"Could that anxiety be the source of your resistance to a telepathic connection with me?"

But it was wrong— the emotion I had named. I shook my head, eyes still closed. "No, it's not anxiety. It's fear."

"Fear of what?"

"Of being a monster," I said without thinking. Then, my mind repeated the word, taunting me. 'Monster, monster, monster.'

Then, there was a brief moment of nothing.

"Talia? Are you with me?"

My eyes snapped open and I gasped, as if I had just been nudged awake after nodding off. But I hadn't fallen asleep; I had dissociated.

"Breathe," Sinta said.

I did as he asked.

Then, he released my ear. "If you don't mind, would you sit back?"

I pressed myself into the soft cushion of the loveseat behind me.

"Go ahead and place one hand on your forehead and the other over your heart." Once I did as he instructed, he added, "Breathe," counting to four to time my inhale and ten for my exhale. This we repeated several times over.

"How do you feel in your body now?"

My eyes had fallen closed during the breathing exercise, and I let them remain closed as I scanned my body once again. "Not so tense. My heart is back to baseline. I can breathe easier. My hands are warm. I feel... okay. I'm okay."

"Go ahead and release your hands."

When I opened my eyes and let my hands fall into my lap, I saw a gentle smile cross Sinta's face.

"You said that you were afraid of being a monster," he said. "Now that you are feeling more secure in your body, do you still agree with that statement?"

My mind seemed to be more steady and clear. "Yes."

"What did you mean by that?"

"I don't want to be like my mother. I don't want to be ruthless, to use people, manipulate people. But I never recognized her for what she was. What if I can't see it in myself? I've manipulated people. Used people. Even killed people. What if I'm a monster, too?"

Sinta sat back, crossing one knee over the other. "Ruthlessness. Manipulation. Using others for selfish gain. Are these examples of behavior you think of as monstrous?"

"Yes, sometimes."

"But not always?"

I paused to think about my answer. "It can depend on the reasons behind doing them. Sometimes, we have bad days and do things we wish we hadn't. Sometimes, bad things are necessary for a greater good. I'm sure my mother thought her actions were a means to a better end, and that they were worth it because of what the Federation and Bajor stood to gain."

"What do you think?"

I looked him squarely in the eyes. "Rape is never worth any outcome, no matter what."

"Alright, so acting a little antisocial in certain situations may not qualify as monstrous, but certain acts do cross the line."

"Right."

He nodded, then stroked his chin. "These are behaviors, though, and as you said, behavior can often be tricky to judge apart from its context. I wonder if there are any deeper characteristics that you think of as monstrous?"

The image of Marnah as a drone flashed through my mind, followed by Loran's bloody smile. "Coercion," I murmured. "Consistent patterns of seeing other people as props, refusing to think of them as people just like us, using threats or power imbalances to make them act how we want them to— regardless of how it might affect them— and never being sorry for it." I met his eyes again. "That's monstrous."

"By that standard, do you think you are a monster, Talia?"

I thought of all the horrible things I had done through the years— the Kardasi boy I killed at Korma, the thousands of people who had died because of my assistance in the Maquis and Zahl rebellions, the murderous thoughts I'd had about Seska just before we pulled her from that small Kazon shuttle, the lovers I'd used and cast aside like Tom and Chakotay, the way I broke Harry's heart when I cast him aside, too. I thought of all the times I labeled myself as a monster, and how learning about modified nanoprobes and genetic enhancements had only cemented that belief.

But Sinta's question was valid. Was any of that truly monstrous? I thought about my definition, whether or not it was accurate, and how it compared to the evidence I had used to judge myself.

Then, like a black veil pulled back from my face, I recognized my own cognitive distortion for what it was— a lie I had told myself to explain the bad things I had done, and which I adapted to make sense of bad things that were done to me. The more I thought about that, the more clear the reality was.

And the more free I felt.

I smiled and huffed a laugh as moisture trickled into my eyes. "No. No, I'm not a monster. I'm just another screwed-up human being."

Sinta grinned. "Not so unlike the rest of us."

"No, I guess not."

The next day, Voyager and Equinox docked at the Zahl station, and I said my good-byes to Elentia and Sinta. Admittedly, I felt a bit lost as I watched them both step onto that transporter pad and dematerialize in a blue beam of light. Sure, I'd had a breakthrough in my session with Sinta, but where was I to go from there? And who else could so easily understand me the way Elentia did?

Almost as soon as I left the transporter room, Chakotay commed, asking me to report to his office.

"Have a seat," he said when I got there, and I did as he asked. "I'm working on duty rosters, and I wanted to discuss some changes I've made to your schedule." He spun the computer console around to face me.

As I examined the roster, I felt my face cinching into a frown. He had me listed for personal training with him on the holodeck every day the next week. "What's with all the sims?"

"I want to train you to be ready to face the Borg."

"You think I'm not ready?"

"The last time you boarded a Borg ship—"

"I did my damn job," I said, leaning as close to Chakotay as the desk would allow. "I did my job, and half of Annika's, and I did it with two holes in my chest."

With a sigh, Chakotay leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms and giving me a look that practically screamed, 'See what I mean?'

But I didn't see. "What?" I demanded. "What the hell is that look for?"

"Do you hear yourself, Talia? We've barely started talking about the heist mission, and you're already worked up."

I straightened. "I am not worked up! I'm—" What word did I need? "—I'm just a little irritated that you think I can't handle my job."

He laughed. "A little irritated?"

My ears were practically on fire. "This is funny to you?"

"You're ready to cut my throat out, and you say you're 'a little irritated.'"

My hands clenched into fists, and I had to bite my lip to keep from calling him out on his assholery. Insulting my abilities, singling me out of the entire crew for training, then laughing at me for being offended? I could have jumped across the table and strangled him right there.

But the moment that impulse crossed into my conscious mind, it stopped me cold. I released my fists and let my lip slip from between my teeth. He was right. I was livid— and for what? For being asked to do some mission sims in preparation for the war we had just entered? What was the matter with me?

A string of obscenities fell from my lips as I dropped my head to the surface of his desk. I expected to hear his amused chuckle— the usual reaction to the few profanity-laden concessions he had managed to wrest from me over the years— but instead it was his quiet, gentle voice.

"Talia."

When I looked up, there was no victory in his brown eyes, nor haughtiness in his face. But what emotions were behind his expression? It was hard to tell.

"I've been reading up on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder lately," he said.

I frowned and sat up, my anger stirring again. "That's what this is about? You think I can't perform because of my trauma?"

His expression hardened, and he tilted his head to the side. "Are we really going to do this again?"

I wagged a finger at him. "Oh no you don't. This isn't just a little irritation now. This is real, legitimate anger."

"Why?"

"Because I'm sick of being treated like a porcelain doll! It's bad enough that I have Harry and the doc hovering over me, and the captain worrying that she'll say something to break me. But you? Tay, of all people, I thought you'd be on my side! You know I can handle this. You've seen me pull missions in way worse shape. How can you—"

Chakotay grabbed my hand. "Talia, listen to me. I'm not questioning whether or not you can handle any mission. I don't think you're weak. I'm on your side. Can you trust me enough to listen to what I have to say? Or do I need to bust your ass for being a disrespectful little shit?"

I huffed, deflating a bit at his candor, then nodded.

He let go of my hand. "I get it. As I was reading, I could relate to a lot of it— the flashbacks, the irritability, the constant alertness for any possible threat. I used to feel like that all the time. Sometimes, I still do. You went above and beyond your duty on that heist mission; I'm not questioning that. But now that we're going to war with the Borg, you're one of our best assets. I don't want you gritting your teeth and fighting a battle in your mind while you carry out whatever missions we put you on— not because I don't think you can do it, but because, frankly, it's a waste of a great human resource. So, I'm going to drill you until you can walk onto a Borg ship with no distractions in that genetically-enhanced brain of yours, and you can put all of your mental energy into the real battle in front of you. Understand?"

His words were like a cold-water shower. "You know?"

He nodded. "Kathryn and Tuvok briefed me yesterday."

I took a few breaths, forcing myself to calm down and take in everything he had said. It wasn't a threat— not to my ego, my service, or my position. It was good. Smart. After a few drawn-out seconds of silence, I nodded. "Okay. I'll have to rearrange some of my appointments, but I can do it."

He nodded. "Good. Dismissed."

"I lost it on Chakotay today," I admitted to Harry over dinner in the mess hall that evening. I wasn't sure what sort of reaction to expect from him, but I followed the impulse to tell him anyway.

A slight smile curved his lips. "That must have been an interesting meeting."

I huffed a laugh, but before I could say any more, another voice cut in.

"Who hasn't lost it on Chakotay at some point?" B'Elanna quipped as she slid into the seat beside me. Setting her tray on the table, she nudged my shoulder with hers. "Can't be any worse than I've done."

"Don't you dare go stealing my thunder now," came Tom's voice.

Startled, I looked up as he took the seat beside Harry.

He gave me an impish grin. "I'm pretty sure I still hold the record for losing it on Chakotay."

It was as if I had slipped into some parallel universe where nothing bad had happened between the four of us, but I couldn't figure out where my reality had shifted. Part of me expected B'Elanna to snap back at Tom— to hear them fall into the flirtatious banter that used to color so many of our times together. Instead, all three of my companions stopped and watched me, conspiratorial half-smiles pulling at their faces.

I frowned. "What's going on?"

"We want you to help us with the shuttle project," Harry said.

"Harry told us all about how you've been making bullshit excuses," B'Elanna added, "but we're not gonna let you get away with it anymore."

"But—" I panted and licked my lips. "But what about—" I waved my hands, gesturing around the table at the four of us as I scrambled for words that wouldn't come— "this?"

"What, our relationship drama? As much fun as that was, I, for one, am over it."

When I met her dark eyes, I found a sincerity that added nuance to the levity of her tone.

"Me, too," said Tom, his own eyes full of apology.

"Me, too," added Harry for good measure, although he had never been part of the problem.

"So, what," I asked, "are we all just going to forget everything that happened?" A lump formed in my throat, and I gulped it down. "Everything I did?"

"You act like it was all just your fault," Tom mumbled.

"It's over," B'Elanna said. "We've talked about it already— took up an entire damn meeting when we should have been working on design specs— but we did, and we all want to move past it."

Harry took my hands into his. "What do you say? Are you with us?"

I couldn't hold back the tears any longer, and it wasn't worth the effort anyway, so I let them fall as I studied every single face around the table. There was no deception in them, no trickery. That was their truth. "Can it really be this easy?" I asked.

B'Elanna scoffed. "Easy?"

"It's not easy," Tom said, "but neither is life out here at the ass-end of the galaxy. And things are about to get even harder. Maybe it's better if we just accept that we need each other's friendship."

"Friendship," I repeated.

"Yeah. Friendship. You know, that thing that's not quite family, but is maybe even better?"

A blubbering sort of laughter came out of my mouth, bringing even more tears. With one of his hands, Harry reached up and wiped the moisture away. It was a little embarrassing to think about how I was literally sobbing in the middle of the mess hall, but what did it matter in comparison to getting my friends back?

"So," B'Elanna said, "are you gonna help us with that shuttle, or what?"

I nodded. "Yes. Yes." With a few decisive sniffles to get a grip on my emotions, I wiped my eyes, lifted my chin, and smiled. "Let's build a shuttle."