Don't Let Them See

Years Ago

When she arrived at the school, Catherine Matthews leaned down bringing her eyes level with her daughter. Her thumb brushed across Aalin's tear-streaked cheeks as she whispered, "Don't cry. Not here."

Aalin nodded but the motion was fragile, tiny. Her clenched hands rubbed red eyes. She jumped when a voice boomed from the principal's office. "… and where, may I inquire, was competent adult supervision when a fifth grader berated my seven-year-old daughter?"

The reply wasn't audible.

Catherine continued speaking to Aalin, "Don't let others see you are upset." She rose when her husband entered the hallway. An eyebrow lifted and her posture telegraphed displeasure and purpose as she approached him. Her hand reached for the knob of the door leading to the principal's office. "My turn."

William assured his wife, "Not necessary, the matter has been dealt with." Lowering his voice he added, "Metaphorically razing the building will only make this harder for Aalin and trouble her further." He crossed the hallway then smiled at his daughter and took her small hand into his large one.

In the school's front courtyard seven people waited. They stood in a circle, three stared at phones held in their hands, four engaged in vigorous conversation. When the family emerged from the building these aides separated into two groups, quickly approached, and were met halfway by William and Catherine. Familiar with the routine, Aalin sat on the lowest step and patiently waited. She hugged her knees against her chest.

The couple stood apart and focused on absorbing the information reported by their assistants and answering their questions, William caught his wife's eye. She mouthed, "Board," and held up a finger signaling her meeting began in one hour. He nodded and addressed his entourage, "Tell everyone to keep prepping. I'll drop Aalin at home then join them." He signaled to his driver before continuing, "Lisa, coordinate with the school staff. Retrieve Aalin's things and get her assignments for the rest of the week."

Once settled in the ground car, William debated how to explain this situation in terms understandable by a young child. Though she is perceptive beyond her years, he thought.

Aalin said in a soft voice, "I'm sorry." Before he could respond she continued, "If I hadn't cried … if I had pretended nothing happened, that what that girl said about me didn't hurt … just like Mother says … no one would be making a fuss … and wouldn't have bothered you and Mother at work when you're busy." Despite her best efforts, tears spilled from tightly shut eyes.

William handed Aalin a handkerchief and tucked her closer to his side, curling an arm protectively around her. "Do you know what a bully is?"

She shook her head.

"Someone who tries to make themselves feel good by hurting another. Another who has done nothing wrong. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"In this case," William paused and considered how his middle child differed from her older siblings. Today was a classmate repeating from social media. But If I explain I'm their real target, that they may use her as a tactic, Aalin will keep quiet about any future cruelty in order to protect me. And internalize the distress. She's already too inscrutable at times for such a tender age.

Instead he said, "It's okay to walk away when someone says something mean. Sometimes that's the best response."

"And not to cry like Mother says," Aalin added.

"If the bully knows they bothered you, which was their goal, crying can encourage them to continue. But when what they've said or done hurts a lot, keeping the tears inside might not be possible. And that's okay. The important bit is you always tell your mother or me what happened or, if we aren't available, another adult. As soon as you can. Promise?"

She nodded again.

"Use your words please," he reminded.

"I will."

By her tone of voice, William deduced the conviction behind that agreement wasn't full-throated and, in Aalin's mind, subject to caveats. She remained silent for the rest of the ride. He scrolled through messages, preparing for the afternoon's work.

Once home he placed her in the care of staff who managed the household issuing instructions, "Catherine and I will be late, don't hold dinner. Make sure Aalin eats, she'll try to skip it. And the rest of today and tomorrow are free days, let her read or play as she wishes."

Two Days Later

When William entered the room, Catherine was in their bed, propped against pillows as she skimmed reports detailing operations at the company she headed. He reached down and kissed her forehead.

"Did the motion prevail?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "We won. The Federation Supreme Court has agreed to hear the case."

Catherine laid aside the tablet she held. "Then we have decisions to make."

"I concur, Aalin shouldn't return to that school," he said. "I'll have one of the paralegals run due diligence for a replacement."

She hesitated. "I mean it's time."

After removing his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt's collar, William sat on the edge of the bed by her side. He answered in a firm tone, "No. I agreed to follow your family's custom of boarding school. Though I don't like the idea of sending my children away."

"This isn't the moment for our old disagreement. Nor letting sentiment cloud our judgment," she said calmly, in her crisp professional voice.

"Aalin is too young," he pushed back in a firm tone. "Seven is too young. Our deal was eleven for all the children."

"Yes. And although I've advocated for sending her sooner, this isn't about curing Aalin's shyness. But rather limiting the abuse she'll endure while this case of yours proceeds. Fringe groups already have begun spewing their hateful rhetoric. A few will have no compunctions against involving your three eldest children."

She spat out, "The cowards."

Then continued, "Bill and Charlotte can handle bullies repeating their parents' vitriol, Aalin can't."

William ran a hand through his hair, Catherine knew this signaled his resistance was waning and she followed with her closing argument. "I've already spoken with the headmaster at Le Rosey about the situation, and he's agreed to Aalin's enrollment. Members of the press are forbidden on the grounds and visitors are tightly controlled. And soon they'll be moving to the winter campus. Our next best option is keeping her at home with a set of tutors for the duration of this case, which you believe will be lengthy. That's worse."

"Beginning mid-term will be hard for her," William countered. He steepled his fingers.

"Yes," Catherine agreed. "But Bill is there, her older brother will provide a bit of home."

His eyes narrowed when a remembered fact surfaced. "Le Rosey begins at grade three. You are suggesting we push Aalin ahead a year? She's not ready for such a leap socially or academically. Doesn't that trade one problem for another?"

"I concede the situation is not ideal," Catherine replied. "But it can be mitigated with extra help which the headmaster has committed." She paused. "Their personalized attention may uncover why Aalin is less scholastically advanced than her siblings. Why she learns slowly."

He rubbed his chin. "I have a deeper concern. In sending her away from home to school at this moment, away from all she knows, away from us, what are we communicating? What message will Aalin internalize? That we are too busy for her, too busy to address what is hurting her? That our work is more important? That her problems are a bother?"

Catherine threw her shoulders back and her posture became rigid. Her tone was angry. "This is where we always end up when discussing our children's education. Your words censure hinting I don't want to see my children every evening. I make sacrifices for the benefit of their futures. So their talents are nurtured and honed by the best. So they can achieve. My daughter has been hurt and that bruises my heart. Don't accuse me otherwise."

"How long do you think this bullying has been going on?" William asked in a subdued voice.

"This wasn't the first occurrence, and it may stretch back before this lawsuit. Her reaction was too pronounced," Catherine replied.

"How did we miss it?" he muttered with a head shake. "I'm not looking for an answer. We missed it and shouldn't have."

"Agreed. Now our job is limiting future incidents while better preparing her to deal with them."

"Very well," William agreed. "Aalin should start Le Rosey after the holidays. We'll hire tutors for the six weeks before then."

ooooo

Present

Though the previous night was mostly sleepless, her conversation with Father Finn and the quiet introspection brought clarity. This wasn't the moment for hasty decisions regarding her relationship with Chris, nor permanent ones. Rather their situation begged patience and grace.

Aalin smiled as she dressed for her morning shift. Chris draws me out of my shell, has since the moment we met, few do, and I like that feeling.

But I'm leaning too much on him. For goodness sake, he's the commanding officer and much too busy for hand-holding a junior subordinate navigating a new home and career.

Several acquaintances felt like the beginnings of friendship. Matt, who had guided during her first deployment as a member of Starfleet. John from security, her teacher. As well as his colleague Nhan. Perhaps even Spock, they shared an appreciation of music and their experiences on Noohra had forged a connection. It's time I reached for a support system in addition to Chris.

She checked her reflection in the mirror. The uniform looked awkward and too big. As if she were unready for it. As if she still had to earn it.

No. Stop.

The past months were like those first weeks at boarding school. Too much new too fast. Feeling out of place. Now, as then, she followed a typical pattern of hiding in her room. Made easier on board the ship since due to limited space and cramped conditions her quarters doubled as an office.

I'm not working on anything classified at the moment.

With more resolution than confidence, Aalin gathered her work and left for the mess hall.

She purposefully chose one near engineering, smaller and typically filled with ensigns, junior lieutenants, and specialists rather than more senior officers. Though not always, the crew didn't adhere to a rigid hierarchy.

Today was about skirting the water while walking on the beach, not swimming in the ocean, or even cautiously wading up to her ankles. Today was about pushing past her natural shyness. Working quietly in a corner. Observing. Getting a better feel for her shipmates. Maybe striking up a conversation here and there.

The ship was in transit to their next planned destination. It was a week of less work and more personal time for the crew. Shifts had been cut to six hours.

And the day proceeded well. Midafternoon Aalin walked to the replicator for a cup of tea. When she returned, there was a folded paper lying on the table next to her PADD.

She opened it and skimmed the message. Her mother's admonishment echoed in her thoughts.

Don't let them see.

Aalin sipped the tea and kept her posture relaxed. A well-practiced and silent voice warmup exercise regulated her breathing. Her expression remained friendly, and eyes concentrated on the data displayed on the PADD in her hand. She didn't avoid eye contact with others in the room, nor did she initiate it.

Twenty minutes later the tea was finished. After gathering her work materials, she returned the cup to the reclaimator and exited the mess hall at a normal gait.

Once in her quarters she locked the door and dropped the PADD and data discs on the table with a loud thud. Then retrieved the paper from her pocket and reread it: Fuck the Captain. Get to play officer.