Why do I even have emotions anyway? thought Gretchen in seething frustration as she left Engineering.
She was suddenly angry, bitter, and annoyed, all at the same time, with a sadness in her gut that felt like an eviscerated wound.
How many times did I beg my mother to do something, anything with me? And Naomi's mother is going to take dance lessons with her? I would've hacked my arm off for that as a child.
Gretchen found herself wandering, reluctant to go back to her rooms, and suddenly she was in front of Tuvok's Quarters.
Before she could change her mind, she entered the passcode, and dropped exhaustedly in front of the meditation table.
She had not been back to the room since the day the stasis had begun.
She tried briefly to meditate, but she was too tired.
She tapped her fingers against the table, holding her head in one hand.
I am not at all proud of myself for being jealous of a child...and Naomi...she died so long ago in my timeline...but still...how many times did I look up at the ceiling holding a white flower and wishing she were safe and...
Gretchen felt two tears falling down her cheeks.
...I've thought of her as my friend my entire life...Voyager's first child...who used to read me Flotter...
...Who I saw carried, dead...with her mother walking in front of her...and I didn't understand...
...Jealously is unjust, and useless...but I can't get it to go away...
...And I'm tired of denying my emotions...
Gretchen hissed in anger. She reared back, and then struck her head against the table twice in frustration.
Fine. F I N E. I'll try therapy.
The holographic therapist's office was not as intimidating as Gretchen would have expected. There were large windows, and the color scheme was green shades, with a vibrant blue that reminded Gretchen of the ocean. It did not look sterile, or indeed like anything Starfleet.
The Doctor had recommended this therapy program, apparently created by Starfleet Academy, based on the counselor on the Federation's flagship.
The woman looked something like Athena, and had a soft, maternal manner, with a lilting, almost melodic voice.
She was however, a holographic program, and that make it easier for Gretchen.
"I understand you'd like my help with something," said the program, with no preamble. No greetings or small talk, which a real person would have felt necessary.
The equivalent of the Doctor's "State the Nature of the Medical Emergency."
"You can sit if you like," said the woman, gesturing to a plush chair next to her.
"I'm tired," said Gretchen as she sat, unsure where the words had come from.
"Why are you tired?"
"Nothing I do works out," said Gretchen, "I'm a failure at everything, everything important I screw up. I'm fighting with my mother, my friends are in stasis, the ones that aren't in stasis are dead..."
Gretchen could not stop talking as the words tumbled out, "It's hopeless...and I can't even stop myself from being jealous of a child, I can't even control myself, because I'm tired of controlling myself and I'm just tired."
"Why don't you start at the beginning?" said the woman's kind voice.
And Gretchen did.
It took a long time. Gretchen was not done with the story that session, or that week, even a month later she was thinking of things she had not spoken of.
It was nice for the young woman, because the holographic counselor could not get tired or worn down. She would always be there when Gretchen called her up, and could be put on pause if Gretchen needed. She would listen and Gretchen had no qualms about taking up her time, waking her in the middle of the night, or overwhelming her with the details.
It was what Gretchen needed.
Still, as the story began to wind down, and she began to repeat herself, she started to miss real people.
"I had almost forgotten," sighed Gretchen to the holographic woman the fifth week of her visits, "That I originally came here because I was trying to give Naomi dance lessons. The Velocity tournament distracted her for awhile, but it's almost over. I can't put it off any longer."
"That was the final spark," said the woman's lilting voice, "It was not the reason you came."
"No," admitted Gretchen.
"I don't want you to think that resolving that will heal you," said the woman sagely.
"I don't," said Gretchen, nodding, "I just want your advice. I have to find a way to do it. She needs help. It's not about me."
"I'd say whether you spend your free time teaching Naomi and her mother how to dance does indeed concern you," said her therapist's accented voice.
"If you saw how sad Naomi is...and she's just a child."
"Naomi isn't your responsibility, and your feelings matter too. You can't just ignore them because you're a grown person."
"I'm not at all proud of myself for being jealous of a child."
"Just because you're not proud of it, doesn't mean you have to be ashamed. The feeling just is, it isn't right or wrong."
"It's stupid."
"It sounds very logical to me. You were forced to carry burdens you never should have had to as a child. One of those burdens is that the woman who you loved the most in all of existence never had time for you. Her rejection wounded you deeply. That kind of feeling doesn't just disappear, and it has consequences."
"One of which is I can't be there for Naomi."
"Why do you want to be? Because you're the only one who knows how she feels? Because you feel the obligation?"
Gretchen sighed, "I guess, yes."
"So find someone else, someone on this ship will teach them, maybe not dance but something. You don't have to do it."
Gretchen was silent.
"Is there another reason?"
Gretchen stared off, thinking.
Finally she spoke, "I love Naomi. I've loved Naomi since I was a preschooler. I want to teach her how to dance. I want to teach Sam too. I'm just tired of hurting, and I know it will hurt."
"Maybe it would hurt less if you were honest, if you asked them to be considerate of your feelings, as you're being of theirs. Naomi may be too young, but Sam isn't."
"I'm supposed to tell Sam I'm jealous of her daughter?"
"She may be more sympathetic than you think. The desire to have a loving, supportive relationship with one's mother is essentially universal in humans. Sam obviously knows that, as she's provided it for her daughter."
"I'd just be giving her an opportunity to reject me. To tell me to suck it up."
Her therapist looked at her intently, "You've known Sam Wildman for years. Is that really what you think she'll do?"
Gretchen remembered.
"No."
Sam was as kind as Harry, and twice as non-confrontational. It didn't stop Gretchen from being scared and ashamed of herself, but it did finally let her speak one day as they were alone in an alcove of Engineering.
"Sam," said Gretchen cautiously, "About those dance lessons."
"You don't have to do it," said Sam kindly, glancing as she fiddled with a panel, "I know teaching both of us would be too much trouble. And I know you're busy, you may not have time to teach Naomi either. I'm sorry she cornered you. You don't have to feel guilty about it. No harm done."
I don't think you're right about that but...I'm supposed to be being honest about myself right?
"I want to teach you and Naomi how to dance."
Sam looked at her, obviously catching that she was going to say something important.
"I," said Gretchen, breathing in and gathering all her courage, even as her stomach hurt, "I didn't have a very good relationship with my mother...I loved dance more than anything in the entire universe as a child...and she didn't want to share that with me...It's stupid, it's just plain mean but...seeing how close you and Naomi are makes me jealous."
"I want to teach you and Naomi how to dance," continued Gretchen, "I'm just afraid I'll be overwhelmed. And I'm trying to be more honest about my feelings," said Gretchen, looking down now, away from Sam's soft gaze.
"I'm trying," said Gretchen, clenching and unclenching her fists, "To face what I never could before, my past with my mother."
Gretchen sighed deeply, "I suppose this could be part of it."
Gretchen looked down, hissing in anger and frustration, "Why can't I just get over this?"
"Remember Rachel," said Sam, coming closer and putting one hand on her shoulder, "People don't just get over things like that."
"I don't want to be like Rachel," said Gretchen, still looking down.
"I don't think you are," said Sam sadly, "I think you're much stronger."
"My mother was very tough," said Gretchen, exhaling tiredly, and facing Sam, "I got that much from her at least."
"What was she like?"
"Incredibly tough, determined, clever," said Gretchen, nostalgically, looking off.
"Is she dead?" asked Sam gently.
"I...no," said Gretchen, "I watched her die as a child...well, I found her murdered..."
Sam gasped.
"But she came back I...I know it sounds very odd but...I just recently realized she came back...I'm, trying to decide what that means...I don't want to go back to the way it was, to letting her define my existence...but, I'm not sure she's the same person anymore..."
"It's smart to be cautious," said Sam, "But sometimes people do mellow with age...realize they made mistakes with their children...she wouldn't be the first..."
"But it's your decision Gretchen," said Sam forcefully, holding her gaze, "You don't have to do anything you don't want to and we'll have your back."
Sam, reached up and clenched both her shoulders, "You're one of us now. You're on Voyager, your mother, your past, they can't reach you here."
Well, if that's not ironic and untrue.
Gretchen smiled, rather sadly, and Sam reached over and enveloped her in a hug.
Despite the unwitting falsehood of Sam's comforting words, Gretchen still felt the warmth.
You don't want a new crew…..but you need one….the Captain's voice echoed in her mind.