Chapter 2: Kevin
Lieutenant Kevin Jameson (currently on leave from Starfleet), carefully clipped a dying stem off of one of his rose bushes.
He hated roses.
Really. They were pretty, and made a nice border around the garden if cultivated well enough, but he could hardly stand the hostile look to them. They had thorns. He grimaced slightly. What had possessed him to plant them in his garden?
Plants were supposed to be beautiful and complex, while somehow at the same time being simple. He loved the simple joy of just making life grow, underneath his fingers, from the ground. He loved it so much he almost couldn't stand it.
"Kevin!" came a call from the house.
Even though it interrupted his gardening, he couldn't help but smile. It came from his fiancé, Claire. He looked up, and spotted her on the balcony above him. "Coming, love," he cried back up the stairs. He gave the dirt a pat, and put his shears away in a small tool shed. Ascending the stairs, he heard two quick and sharp, not to mention very loud, sounds. He called his fiancé's name. "Claire? Is anything wrong?"
When he didn't hear a reply, he rushed up the stairs. Suddenly time seemed to slow down, his limbs moved sluggishly. Inside his mind a voice called, don't don't no you've done this before don't make it happen again no NO
But then he was inside, and he saw it. Blood. Blood everywhere, spattered on the walls. Blood on the carpet. Blood.
Blood covering Claire.
"No!" came a cry torn from an anguished throat. Kevin turned, and tried to find out who to call, tried to dial emergency services.
Kevin woke up screaming. Reflexively, he glanced at his hands. In his mind's eye, he covered them with blood, just like they had been.
.that day.
As if the weather detected his mood, a thunder strike sounded outside. Hell, maybe it did detect his mood. Maybe there was someone up there in Weather Control just trying to drive him insane.
He shivered, and got up out of bed, padding quietly into the bathroom that adjoined the bedroom. He doused his face with water from the sink. Claire was gone. He had to get over it; he had to forget that day.
.he could never forget that day.
"DAMNIT!" he yelled. Clenching his hand into a fist, he slammed it into the wall, promptly adding a bruised knuckle to the rest of his problems.
He turned and slumped against the wall. Tears were leaking from his eyes again, and he couldn't make them stop.
Claire. Claire.
.NO.
He returned to bed, and tried to get back to his nightmarish sleep.
Kevin woke up to the tune of an alarm from his computer. He answered it with voice only. "Who is it?" he asked without preamble.
"It's Aaliyah, your psychologist," came a smooth female voice.
"What do you want?" he asked, suddenly feeling very, very tired.
"I've pronounced you fit for duty. All this inactivity is only killing the possible recovery you could make."
He inhaled quietly. "Don't make me go back to the Trident."
"No, Gleau wouldn't appreciate your mental state at the moment. You've been transferred, to another ship, called the Challenger." The voice paused, as if awaiting a reaction from him.
"Not the ship that was destroyed thirteen different times before?"
"It was only destroyed nine times," Aaliyah snapped. "The other four were either disappearance or de-commissioning. And I'm getting fed up with you seeing the negative in everything. It isn't helping you any on your road to recovery."
He gave a dry chuckle. "I'm not on a road to recovery. It's more of a dead-end path. To nowhere."
"Exactly my point, Kevin. I'm hoping Challenger will get you on the road. I'm not your therapist anymore-the chief medical officer will take over that duty from now on."
"Damn, and I was just getting to know how to annoy you."
"Kevin. I'm sorry I couldn't help me more."
He was startled to feel wetness on his face. "I know."
"You'll get your orders soon."
He nodded, then realized that she couldn't see him. He terminated the connection. Better not say goodbye. Goodbye was the forbidden word.
A bing sounded, and he read his orders, including transportation arrangements. He had a shuttle to catch in thirteen hours. From there he would go to Starbase 24.
Shutting off the computer without warning, he pushed open the balcony doors. The wind ruffled his short but unkempt brown hair, and dried the tear tracks on his face. He looked down at his garden, and his vision blurred. Taking the stairs one by one down to the ground level, he knelt next to his favorite plants, the daisies. He touched a stem, and found that it was lying on the dirt. It's dirty brown color disgusted him, and he flung it away. Then he looked around more closely. All the daisies were just lying there. Not swaying in the breeze, just spicing up the garden with their beautiful white color, just lying there.
Dead.
And it wasn't just the daisies. All of the plants were dead or dying. Even the roses. He bit his lip.
Even the roses.
Lieutenant Kevin Jameson (currently on leave from Starfleet), carefully clipped a dying stem off of one of his rose bushes.
He hated roses.
Really. They were pretty, and made a nice border around the garden if cultivated well enough, but he could hardly stand the hostile look to them. They had thorns. He grimaced slightly. What had possessed him to plant them in his garden?
Plants were supposed to be beautiful and complex, while somehow at the same time being simple. He loved the simple joy of just making life grow, underneath his fingers, from the ground. He loved it so much he almost couldn't stand it.
"Kevin!" came a call from the house.
Even though it interrupted his gardening, he couldn't help but smile. It came from his fiancé, Claire. He looked up, and spotted her on the balcony above him. "Coming, love," he cried back up the stairs. He gave the dirt a pat, and put his shears away in a small tool shed. Ascending the stairs, he heard two quick and sharp, not to mention very loud, sounds. He called his fiancé's name. "Claire? Is anything wrong?"
When he didn't hear a reply, he rushed up the stairs. Suddenly time seemed to slow down, his limbs moved sluggishly. Inside his mind a voice called, don't don't no you've done this before don't make it happen again no NO
But then he was inside, and he saw it. Blood. Blood everywhere, spattered on the walls. Blood on the carpet. Blood.
Blood covering Claire.
"No!" came a cry torn from an anguished throat. Kevin turned, and tried to find out who to call, tried to dial emergency services.
Kevin woke up screaming. Reflexively, he glanced at his hands. In his mind's eye, he covered them with blood, just like they had been.
.that day.
As if the weather detected his mood, a thunder strike sounded outside. Hell, maybe it did detect his mood. Maybe there was someone up there in Weather Control just trying to drive him insane.
He shivered, and got up out of bed, padding quietly into the bathroom that adjoined the bedroom. He doused his face with water from the sink. Claire was gone. He had to get over it; he had to forget that day.
.he could never forget that day.
"DAMNIT!" he yelled. Clenching his hand into a fist, he slammed it into the wall, promptly adding a bruised knuckle to the rest of his problems.
He turned and slumped against the wall. Tears were leaking from his eyes again, and he couldn't make them stop.
Claire. Claire.
.NO.
He returned to bed, and tried to get back to his nightmarish sleep.
Kevin woke up to the tune of an alarm from his computer. He answered it with voice only. "Who is it?" he asked without preamble.
"It's Aaliyah, your psychologist," came a smooth female voice.
"What do you want?" he asked, suddenly feeling very, very tired.
"I've pronounced you fit for duty. All this inactivity is only killing the possible recovery you could make."
He inhaled quietly. "Don't make me go back to the Trident."
"No, Gleau wouldn't appreciate your mental state at the moment. You've been transferred, to another ship, called the Challenger." The voice paused, as if awaiting a reaction from him.
"Not the ship that was destroyed thirteen different times before?"
"It was only destroyed nine times," Aaliyah snapped. "The other four were either disappearance or de-commissioning. And I'm getting fed up with you seeing the negative in everything. It isn't helping you any on your road to recovery."
He gave a dry chuckle. "I'm not on a road to recovery. It's more of a dead-end path. To nowhere."
"Exactly my point, Kevin. I'm hoping Challenger will get you on the road. I'm not your therapist anymore-the chief medical officer will take over that duty from now on."
"Damn, and I was just getting to know how to annoy you."
"Kevin. I'm sorry I couldn't help me more."
He was startled to feel wetness on his face. "I know."
"You'll get your orders soon."
He nodded, then realized that she couldn't see him. He terminated the connection. Better not say goodbye. Goodbye was the forbidden word.
A bing sounded, and he read his orders, including transportation arrangements. He had a shuttle to catch in thirteen hours. From there he would go to Starbase 24.
Shutting off the computer without warning, he pushed open the balcony doors. The wind ruffled his short but unkempt brown hair, and dried the tear tracks on his face. He looked down at his garden, and his vision blurred. Taking the stairs one by one down to the ground level, he knelt next to his favorite plants, the daisies. He touched a stem, and found that it was lying on the dirt. It's dirty brown color disgusted him, and he flung it away. Then he looked around more closely. All the daisies were just lying there. Not swaying in the breeze, just spicing up the garden with their beautiful white color, just lying there.
Dead.
And it wasn't just the daisies. All of the plants were dead or dying. Even the roses. He bit his lip.
Even the roses.