"Ouch."
Just – ouch. That's all she had. 'Cuz she hurt. 'Cuz really, she'd been falling, fast, and then she wasn't, and now, now she hurt.
Ouch.
"Spock?" Voice, check.
"Here. Medical is on their way."
"Amanda?" Hearing, check.
A brief silence before a quiet: "Here. Safe."
"Good." Pause. "Ouch." Did her ouchies need potions? Was her satchel still in once piece and attached to her person? Wait, appendages first. Was all of her still in once piece and attached to her person?
"I shall require a report."
Report shmort. "Nope." He could go dig a report out of a fresh pile of cruppcake. She briefly opened an eyelid to test the lighting. Vision, check.
"Harriet."
"Perhaps when this," she gave a low energy, unhelpful, barely off the ground wave of her hand, "is over with." Ouch.
Silence.
Then: "We will speak as soon as you are recovered." BAH! "I will ensure there is coffee."
LOVE!/ 'Manipulative Bum!'
(Pick one!)
"Acting captain's log, star date twenty-two fifty-eight point forty-three. We've received no word from Captain Pike since he was taken aboard the atypical Romulan vessel known as the Narada. As such, and pursuant to the relevant Starfleet regulations, I have assumed full command of the Enterprise and classified him a hostage of the war criminal known as Nero.
"Nero, who has destroyed my home planet and most of its six billion inhabitants. While the essence of our culture has been saved in the elders who now reside upon the ship, I estimate no more than ten thousand have survived. I am now a member of an endangered species."
Was this how Harriet felt? Did this reality weigh as heavily upon her as it was now settling on him? Is this why she never discussed the topic of her true origins or her people?
"Based on readings taken as the enemy vessel departed and in consultation with the Enterprise's computational facilities, it is hypothesized that its next destination may be the Sol system – and, presumably, Earth. Further updates will be forthcoming as new information is available."
Yes, it was perhaps best that he speak with her when she was recovered. It was very likely he was in shock. A discussion with her would likely help him sort what meditation would not. He did not require that she confirm or deny his hypothesis; simple discussion would suffice in this particular instance.
Turning off his recorder, he moved from his spot on the bridge to complete a round of … medical. During times such as this, it was important for the captain to be seen by the crew. He needed to convey calm, control, and steadiness to maintain an adequate level of morale. For now, he would hold on to that need and "take comfort" in the steadying embrace of logic and duty. There was much to do.
He ignored the looks of pity/ empathy sent his way by the crew.
Spock didn't announce himself so much as bring his distress within "hearing" distance of her attuned magical senses.
"I'm here for your report Heale-"
"Hari, Spock, just Hari." She still felt a bit tender. Probably looked it too. "And as stated, I have nothing to report." Were either of them in any right state to handle hashing out recent events? "At the moment." Maybe later.
He raised an eyebrow. "You cannot expect me not to demand greater detail on how you managed to, in coarse terms, teleport, Harriet."
No, she couldn't – it would go against everything that made Spockety Spock Spocket, Spock. Still…
"It's not teleportation, of that much I can assure you." She stopped long enough to remove the compress from the side of her head and study it before continuing in the same exhausted tone. "At least, not properly. Teleportation is moving something instantly from one place to another. Jumping, as I've termed it, is a cross between several fields of study, namely Apparition and Transfiguration, and what amounts to smoke in flight. I actually stumbled on it by accident some time ago…" She looked up at him. "I really don't have the time to explain how it works and how dangerous what I just did happens to be."
(Panic)
(What if she hadn't been able to make it?)
She caught herself and took a deep, controlled breath. Then promptly held out her hand.
"I distinctly remember hearing something about coffee."
Silently, he produced her mug. 'Wait, what? When did he get that?!' She looked at him askance.
"It is a replica I acquired in anticipation for a similar situation."
Of course he had. And he just so happened to remember to pack it?
"Right. Sure. Now, tell me what's happened and what's next." She settled into her bed, ignoring the last of the ouch still invading her muscles. Nearly all of medical was overrun, but, in their confusion and curiosity, and given she'd apparently not been ambulatory, they'd simply placed her temporarily in a bunk.
Really, there were too many people about for her to feel comfortable having this conversation. He very well knew this, too. So why was he -
"Vulcan is destroyed," he said quietly.
Oh.
(Panic)
(What if none of them had made it?)
"Of its six billion inhabitants, I estimate that no more than ten thousand survived." Horror slowly began to overtake her panic. "An additional number yet to be determined are safely scattered elsewhere throughout the Federation and its allied systems."
She closed her eyes in sorrow, forcibly compartmentalizing her panic, growing shock, and continued Death induced anxiety. "And so it came to pass." She opened her eyes. "How are the refugees handling the loss?" she asked. It would not be appropriate for her to ask after his own shock in public but the question was general enough for him to include his own current state in his response if he so chose.
"Many are traumatized in ways that humans cannot understand," he confessed. "It is for the Elders to mind-meld with them where possible and see to their treatment with appropriate medications should such contact prove insufficient."
She nodded her head absently in understanding, already mentally listing what skills and services she could and would offer to assist.
"Here," she said, putting down the compress and taking a moment to dig around in her satchel. She handed the vial to him. "I'm likely not good for much for a few hours yet, but drink this. It tastes terrible so I suggest mixing it with something but it's perfectly safe. It will temporarily help with the shock," she said quietly but pointedly.
After staring her directly in the eyes for what seemed like minutes, but was only seconds, he took the vial and pocketed it.
"I'm serious Spock," she added in Vulcan.
"I understand," he quietly acknowledged in the same language. "I agree to discuss the matter further when time permits." She nodded her head in acceptance. "I also insist on discussing the nature of your … jumping in greater detail." This time, she hesitated a bit before reluctantly nodding her understanding. After so public a display, it wasn't a discussion she would truly be able to avoid.
He considered her for a moment before asking another question. "You are certain this matter is not yet settled?"
"Without doubt."
"Hari, how the heck did you get that couch onboard?" Bones asked. Harriet had been moved back to her room for rest soon after she'd finished speaking with the green-blooded hobgoblin. If she could carry on a conversation with him of all people after whatever she'd done to completely exhaust herself like that, she wasn't critical and there were others who were. The rest he just couldn't deal with right now.
"Irrelevant. Would you like to play monopoly with me?"
"What's monopoly?" No, he wasn't getting into any of her antics. He was already rather disturbed he was hoping she was still tired enough to have this discussion with him. "Actually, no, I don't have the time." She pouted. "No, Harriet." She sighed and put the long box with the bright colors down.
"What do you need then?" she asked in a professional tone.
"Your help. What do you know about empaths? And don't tell me nothing. There's some sort of flag in your file about it." Damn. It was times like this he wished he had a better sense of tact to go with his excellent bedside manner.
"My file?" she asked, nose flaring. Darn it, he wasn't trying to pry, but he needed all the hands he could get. Her getting defensive about this wasn't going to help him or the patients for which he was desperately trying to find additional hands and aid.
"I'm Chief Medical Officer now Hari. I've got bay after bay of injured and wounded." She was eyeing him critically. He didn't have time for this! "Look, I already knew you did more than just make teas. You're a practicing physician with years of experience and official Starfleet training. Whatever is between you and fleet command stays between you and fleet command. This is about the patients."
She considered him a bit longer before she nodded. "Fine. That is partially why I'm here anyway. Still, there's nothing more in the bay that I can help you with. You know perfectly well I'm pants with the equipment and I've already helped with triage."
"But you don't specialize in using equipment. What can you do without equipment? What resources do you need to make something for shock? To address parapsychology related injuries?" She was too serious, too visibly hard for him to feel comfortable speaking to her with their usual banter. Whatever her issue with Starfleet was, it ran deep.
"Send them to me, and I'll see what I can do. First, however, I'll need an office space, preferably attached to or near my own personal quarters. It'll make treatment easier. Second, I'll need some autonomy. I'm not Starfleet and I'm sure you've picked up that I'm not entirely here by my own free will. Third, I'll need you to remember I'm not a counselor Bones, I'm a healer. There's a difference. Perhaps not one you'll understand or accept, but there's a difference nonetheless."
His face pinched a bit. "I'm Chief Medical Officer Harriet. I can't just let you go off on your own and do what you want."
"I didn't ask you to." If she weren't so dead serious and near militant, he'd argue with her like he usually did but now most certainly wasn't the time.
"Fine. I'll find you new quarters and leave treatment to your discretion. But each one of 'em checks in regularly with one of the ship's counselors and you keep their charts updated in accordance with Starfleet protocols."
"Understood. Now get out."
Damn. What the hell had Starfleet done to her?
"What game is this Hari dear?"
"It's called Monopoly."
"So I see."
"An old friend seems to have stuck it in with my things some time ago. I found it while I was cleaning out my home one day. Would you like to play? Unfortunately, both Spock and Bones are too busy to play at the moment."
"…Is that coffee?"
"…Would you like some?"
Amanda hesitated but eventually took the cup. After a small sip, she placed the cup down on the table, well aware she was most certainly not drinking coffee for all Harriet's efforts to replicate the taste.
"Harriet, is there something you would like to tell me?"
"Such as?"
"Such as how it is at all possible that I'm alive right now." Was that hysteria creeping in?
Harriet considered her answer before selecting an oddly shaped miniature hat and placing it on the corner of square game board marked 'Go'. At least she assumed it was a game board.
"Which piece would you like to represent you? You can use a cup, a diadem, a sword, a locket, a journal, a grim, a wolf, or a stag. I'm pretty sure these aren't the original pieces, but I'm not entirely sure where those are…"
Amanda took a moment to scrutinize Harriet's face before continuing. Outwardly, she appeared to be worrying over the misplacement or loss of the game's original pieces. Yet Amanda knew that wasn't entirely the case. Harriet hid it well, but there were times when it was clear she wasn't entirely in the moment. Even after all the time they'd spent getting to know each other, Amanda couldn't properly guess at where her mind went in those moments, which made it difficult for her to remind herself at the moment that Harriet was a trained and experienced healer: it was very likely Harriet was simultaneously worrying about the lost pieces and Amanda's own peace of mind.
"Is there any advantage to using one over another?" she settled on, temporarily reigning in her emotions. Perhaps Harriet was also in need of comfort?
"No. Everyone starts off equally."
"Then why don't you choose one for me then."
Harriet hmmm'd. "There may be no particular advantage to using one over another but each piece does have its own particular appeal. Which piece calls to you the most?"
"What does each piece represent?" Amanda truly did her best to keep her rising frustration/ fear/ panic/ anger out of her voice but she wasn't so sure she succeeded.
"Now that is quite the question – one with a very involved answer. But I am not asking you to choose merely to frustrate you." So she knew perfectly well her refusal to answer the question was getting to her. "Our choices say as much about what we wish to say as they do about who we are. What do you choose?"
Amanda took a deep breath. "The cup."
"Hufflepuff with a heavy dose of badgerism at play." Harriet nodded and placed the piece on the board. Then she began counting small pieces of … paper? Was that the ancient currency? "Would you say you're more angry or confused?"
Amanda startled. Was there a segue she had missed? Still, it was a very good question.
"Both?" she offered uncertainly.
Spock was having a hard time confronting his failure. There was no other word to describe his inability to save Vulcan, to even successfully rescue his mother. Instead, it had been Hari – Harriet – who had succeeded in carrying out his goals. For all the power and technology he had at his disposal as acting captain, it had been another who had preserved his family.
He felt anger. Deep and unmitigated anger at his failings, at his impotence. He felt deep and unmitigated sorrow at watching the very real and complete destruction of his planet, his homeworld, … his home.
Now his anger included the complexities of both his inability to truly cut ties with those who would so readily cut times with him and his deep desire to prove his place amongst those very same individuals and their social constructs.
He was… overwhelmed by these emotions, which added even more to his frustration at being unable to understand and handle that strange combination of anger and sorrow.
Then there was the complexity that was Harriet. His mother's survival was both a relief and an impossibility. Yet it was also very real and he was burdened now not only with his failings but also his extreme gratitude.
… was this what it meant to be emotionally compromised? Was he capable of overcoming this, this turmoil and continue on with his duties as Captain? His duty to the crew? Was he truly any better off than those refugees they had managed to rescue?
…Had he played any role in that rescue? Or had he failed in that regard as well, leaving it to others to focus on such efforts while he so selfishly and ineffectively went to rescue the elders?
He was not blind to the fact that it had, again, been the efforts of Hari that had preserved the lives of those within the cave, that resulted in the preservation of the katric ark those elders had been attempting to shield. Together with its contents, the ark represented all that was good and noble and revered in those who had called the desert planet home for it held the soul of the ancient known as Surak. Yet that too could have been lost if Hari – Harriet – had not used her innate abilities to shield them from the ceiling, statues, and other falling debris within the cave.
For once, kneeling before his altar, attempting to take a moment to calm his mind before he returned to the bridge, did nothing but bring his angersorrowfailuregratitude to the forefront of his mind rather than the rear.
He only just registered the sound of depressurized air that indicated his door had been breached.
"You're thinking too loud," a voice eventually stated behind him.
Harriet. He did not wish to speak with Harriet. Inexplicably, his anger extended to her as well.
Why was she here? Why did she sound so healthy!? Not an hour previous, she had been near drained of energy! He snarled mentally, which sufficiently surprised him out of his anger enough for him to hear her next words with clarity.
"Speak your mind Spock," she said more quietly.
"I am angry!" he exploded, near jumping to his feet. "I feel anger. And conflict. And I cannot control either!" Realizing he was moving to loom over her smaller figure, he stopped himself and turned back to face the altar. It's symmetry and simplicity once more failed to induce the ritual effort to achieve emotional freedom he regularly engaged in.
"Do not try to."
He turned to her sharply then. What did she mean? How could he not?! Was he not a Vulcan?! Did she no longer recognize this?
It was only as he ended the thought that he realized he had spoken aloud, likely with no thought for filtering the anger out of his voice.
"I recognize you as being as Vulcan as you have always been Spock. That has not changed. That will very likely never change." Was she truly unmoved, standing there so calmly within the door to his personal quarters?
Another thought came to his mind. "How are you so unaffected? Barely three-quarters of an hour have passed and already you are recovered." Yes, that was most certainly bitterness and accusation in his voice.
How it distressed him further!
Harriet merely snorted in the face of his … outburst. "Recovered? Hardly." She moved to lean on the entryway's frame, some of her tiredness showing. "But this is not the first tragedy I have faced. And it will likely not be the last. For now, there are those who need me." She paused, then added, "there are those who need you." He did not answer her. Truthfully, he could not answer her.
angersorrowfailuregratitudeineffectiveness
"I am no longer fit for duty," he concluded.
Once more, Harriet merely snorted. "And the rest of us?" she asked with some force. "Are we no longer fit for duty? Can we no longer perform our duties admirably? With everything we have to give?"
… she was correct. Somehow, while the anger did not leave him, it still seemed to flee, leaving only a tiredness he could not explain in its wake.
"We all have a role we must play if we are to survive here, Spocky Pocky." His eyebrow twitched. "If you do not perform yours, with the professionalism, intelligence, and diligence that role demands of you, who will?"
… she was correct. Logical. He closed his eyes and he decided after a time that he would struggle to embrace that logic in every way that he could.
As he determined this, she continued. "Look, Rocky Spocky, we are the masters of our fate, the captains of our souls. That doesn't mean the bludgeonings of fate will find and shall find us unafraid, or our heads occasionally unbowed. The point, is that we stand straighter and stronger when the fell clutches of the shade seek us next." She straightened and came to stand before him, looking him directly in the eye. "Death is still here, is still waiting. It stands in a corner staring at me from under It's cowl, reminding me, us, that something more remains to be done."
She leaned into him.
And then placed her arms around him.
"I don't have the time or desire to explain how I came to know the entity known as Death, but I know it. Well. If It only gave so much time and indication about Vulcan, how much time do we have to deal with this Nero and his next target?" She looked up at him, her green eyes bright in the low light of his quarters. "What do we do next Captain?… Death is waiting."
Prompts: "How the heck did you get that couch onboard?" (fill for Ryuus2); "Let's play monopoly" (partial fill for redhouseclan); "I see dead people"; Invictus: attempt II
AN: I apologize. I completely forgot to update. Then, I kept telling myself I would and kept getting equally distracted. If I go on hiatus again, I'll let everyone know. However, for the time being, I have no plans to do so ... as long as my work hours get a bit better over the next month...
