"We are products of our past, but we don't have to be prisoners of it."
2254.55
The voices rang loudly in her head as she remained locked in a cage, a prisoner in both mind and body while the smooth gray walls closed in on her. She could still feel the touch, the needle that had been rammed through her arm when he had tried to turn her back around to face him.
The feeling of his body against her knuckles had been the only painless thing she felt as she fought memories, fought her past…and fought an innocent man. Or, at least, that is what she had been told when the cops intervened, pulling her off of him, restraining her much in the same way as she was used to.
There had been a brief moment of despair in her panic and resignation where she foolishly thought that she was back in that facility again, that the testing was going to start back up again. Only when she had been thrown into the back of the cruiser did the despair vanish, replaced by horror at what she had done. Again.
Joe must be getting tired of having to replace his furniture and windows so often because of her.
He used to keep a tally on the wall behind the counter, above the liquor. A running score of sorts for the number fights that broke out in his bar. The title on the antique chalkboard read "A vs. EE." Joe eventually took it down, though. In a gentle joke, he told her that it was because he ran out of room on it; but in reality, it was because he got to know Alice well enough to figure out why she took on Everyone Else.
Alice didn't like to be touched.
It always struck Joe as odd, though, that she would still come into a bar even when she was clearly aware that the likelihood of someone touching her increased when men and alcohol mixed inside a single room. Perhaps it was an innate desire to be part of something socially eve if she secluded herself from everyone else. Or maybe she just really needed the alcohol herself. He had no way of knowing what she tried to drink to forget.
Alice's skin crawled as she sat alone in the cell, her body firmly wedged into the corner that gave her full view of the room beyond the reinforced glass walls that closed off her freedom, a chokepoint for imprisonment. Trembling hands rubbed fiercely against her arms, trying to chase away the cold of being alone and of hopelessness.
With the amount of fights she got in, Alice wasn't surprised she was here. In fact, she was more surprised that she didn't end up in a cell more often—the perks of being damaged Starfleet property, she supposed. Her frequency in places like this didn't mean she would ever find the experience pleasant or comfortable, though. But who was she kidding? She didn't even feel comfortable in her own skin.
Heavy landing footsteps collided against the voice of memory that clamored in her head, inciting their wrath as phantom pain lingered once they were extinguished. Alice knew who it was, and in that moment, she couldn't determine what hurt her more: the pain from her past or the shame she now felt for her actions as he was forced to clean up after her. Again.
"Don't you ever get tired of ending up here?" came the hushed disapproval of Captain Pike. And because she cared so much about what he thought of her, it ended up being a draw in the contest of what hurt more.
Alice didn't answer his question out of fear and a desire to keep him from being disappointed further. Instead, she let her head sink lower towards her knees, a silent ad childish form of an apology.
Pike sighed loudly, running a hand through his graying hair. It had been some time since he had gotten a decent amount of sleep. Bureaucracy and paperwork having no manners and refusing to let him rest for any adequate amount of time. But he knew, he understood why she was back in a cell.
The poor girl had been through horrors that people couldn't even imagine, and life just kept throwing more and more at her before she had time to fully heal from her trauma. It was a miracle that she was put together at all. Especially after Jason.
Pike motioned for the guard to open up the cell, and with a loud buzz, the glass slid away, giving Alice back her freedom. Physically.
"It took a bit of time," he told her as they began to make their way out of the station, "but I managed to smooth things over. It just took some convincing since he was an off-duty cop."
"I'm sorry," she breathed, her voice weeping with loss and isolation.
"No, Alice," Pike reassured her. "You have nothing to be sorry for." But he knew better than to think that she believed in the platitudes.
There was a time where she was doing better, when she spoke much more freely, quiet happiness accompanying a whispered smile. It had taken years for Pike to build it up in her, nurturing it, but there was laughter and music, a spark of light that made her glow. But Jason had taken all of the from her. Now all that was left was the same little girl with listless eyes, lost and all alone as he had found her at that testing facility far too late to be able to actually save her. Now all he could do was pray that Alice could find a way to pick up her shattered pieces and heal, smoothing out the road in front of her as best as he could so that nothing tripped her up, causing her to drop them all over again.
Looking at her now, though, Pike felt like he was failing. "What happened this time?" he asked carefully, hoping to get her to at least look at him as they walked through the station, the glares from the comrades of the officer she had beaten to a near pulp following them as they went.
"I told him not to touch me," Alice shrugged, her voice somber and full of defeat.
"I'm sorry he didn't listen, baby girl."
Baby girl. It was the first thing he had called her when he found her. It was a nickname he only reserved for when something bad had happened; when there was a large price behind what he was asking or an especially bad day. Today was not nearly as bad as it had been in the past.
He had to call in favors, Alice realized, the guilt gnawing at her insides nearly as painfully as the needles that ripped through her skin.
"It's alright," she breathed, not expecting Pike to buy it. "You've done enough for me already, father."
Father. A title she had only just begun to use a few years ago, one she only ever used to placate or distract him from the truth or from whatever else she might want to keep hidden. Pike couldn't know that she meant it when she called him that. He was the only father she had ever known, and she was thankful for that. But she never told him about it. She never talked.
"A father can never do enough for their daughter," Pike argued back gently.
"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not your biological daughter," she countered, though there was no malice in her voice. There wasn't any emotion in her voice.
"Miracles do exist," he teased her, holding out his arm to motion her through the door ahead of him.
The soft huff of amusement from her was enough to tug a smile out of his weary features. It was a muted response, but he would take it. Better than having her remain sullen and unflinching, like a victim going through the shock phase of a traumatic event.
"Let me take you home, Alice," he offered, phrasing it so that it sounded more like an order rather than a suggestion.
It was the first time she looked at him that morning, probably the first time she had looked at anyone since the previous night when she was first arrested. Those intimidating eyes of hers, so intense, like they were seeing everything, every molecule, and missed nothing.
It always took him by surprise, the chaos of her eyes that always seemed to be in complete control of the situation as if Alice was already seeing what came next and had every outcome, every response already planned out. A weaker man might find her gaze unnerving; Pike found it hopeful. If her eyes could hold so much within them, then maybe Alice would someday exhibit what was reflected within those icy forests filled with gold leaves.
Like the old gentlemen he was, Pike held the door open on his cruiser for her, though in truth part of the reason he did so was to make sure that she didn't bolt on him. It had happened before, the first time being two months after he adopted her—three months after they had rescued her. Ended up taking him three days to find her again, and it turned out that she was on the roof of the building he lived in. 150 stories up, laying down, facing the sky as if it was holding secrets that only she could see with those vibrantly dangerous eyes.
When he confronted her, lecturing her about how it was dangerous and how he had been worried about her, the scared little girl didn't shrink away from him, trembling in fear as she did the months before.
Instead, she had looked at him with doe eyes and told him, "I wanted to see it closer. I've never seen it this close."
It was the first time she had ever spoken.
Pike had known in an instant what to do next. With honest promises that he would take her to see it closer, he had managed to get her off of the roof and cleaned up before he took the haunted looking little girl to one of the observatory shuttles. Once there he had to inform the terrified ensign that Captain Pike required the shuttle with no crew and one passenger accompanying him. There had been no question on whether or not the ensign would bend to the request despite regulations.
Alice had been glued to the window in front of the pilot and copilot's seat, being careful not to hit any of the buttons in front of her as she had been warned. Her big eyes took in everything, and for the first time since he met her, Pike saw the innocent little girl that had been trapped beneath s much scar tissue.
"There's so much blue," she had breathed in wonder.
"There are a lot more colors when the sun sets," he told her gently.
"I've never seen it…"
"Would you like to?"
There had been a look of complete disbelief written across her face. "Can we?"
"Of course, baby girl." The smile he had given her was warm and endearing as he quickly shut off all communication frequencies except for the one for sky traffic since he had no doubt in his mind that the news of him hijacking a shuttle would get to someone who outranked him eventually.
But the way Alice was behaving? More human, more child-like than a victim of trauma? Pike didn't give a damn about possible reprimands.
Lost girl and distinguished Starfleet Captain had sat in the observation deck of the shuttle in complete silence for hours as they waited for the sun to begin its descent below the horizon; and the closer it crept to line that marked sky from land, the closer Alice scooched forward on her seat towards the edge of it.
"Orange," she had breathed as quiet as a prayer. "I learned that it could do that, but I didn't really believe it."
They remained where they were as orange melted together with red, darkening deeper and deeper as the lower the sun sank beneath the horizon. Purple clouds were peppered around them and the sky faded to match, grower darker as it faded to a midnight blue. It was only as the first stars were able to shine through, the giant Sol in the sky no longer overpowering them, that Alice finally looked at Pike.
"Can we go higher?" a childlike innocence that had been ripped from her make the words more confident.
"We won't be in the sky anymore," Pike warned her as any parent would.
"I know that," she had reassured him, bobbing her head in a light nod, making Pike wonder if she was trying to reassure him or himself.
"Of course we can go higher, baby girl," he smiled. "Do you want to stay here or come with me to the cockpit?"
There was a long moment of hesitation as there was every time she was given an option as to what she could do. To an observer, it would seem as if she were just terribly indecisive. Pike, however, knew better. Alice wasn't sure she believed that she was being given an honest option, that she wasn't honestly being allowed to make a decision. Her hesitation was her waiting for her freedom of choice to be torn out of her hands as it had been all her life.
Pike wondered what had brought that memory back to him in such vibrant clarity as he steered his cruiser down the freeway. Alice was seated on the passenger side, silent and closed off with her arms crossed as she sat as far back into the seat as she possibly could. No longer the little girl but just as damaged.
"Do you remember that time you ran away and ended up being camped out the roof?" he tried, hoping that maybe she would find the memory as pleasant as he had.
He looked over at her hopefully, but Alice continued to brood much like a teenager would, but over things far darker than any could comprehend.
"You had been missing for three days, and I'm pretty sure that marks the moment my hair started turning gray I was worrying so much," he chuckled lightly. "But there you were, lying down on the roof, not even trying to hide, really."
"I wanted to see the sky," Alice added, her voice no longer lost but tinging with fondness at the memory. "And you stole a shuttle to take me higher."
"Yeah," Pike laughed. "Marcus gave me hell about that. An abuse of power and unbecoming of a Captain to use rank for frivolities." He caught ahold of her beautiful eyes for a moment before returning his attention back to the road. "To see the look on your face and the light in your eyes when you saw that sunset and were amongst the stars, though… I'd do it again."
Out of the corner of his peripheral vision, Pike was able to see the soft-spoken smile tug at the corners of her lips. "Orange is still my favorite color," she told him in playful confidence, causing Pike to hum in amusement as he remembered how almost everything Alice had needed to be orange for a few months after the sunset.
Miles passed by, and by now Alice had figured out that her father was taking her home instead of back to her apartment.
Recalling that memory, the first time she spoke, her first sunset, the first time she saw the vastness of space with little shimmers of hope so far off in the distance; it made her nostalgic and slightly bitter. That memory marked at moment in her life when things were supposed to get better, where the was supposed to be an improvement in her quality of life. And while the things around her, her environment was better, Alice hadn't changed much at all. There was a time when she believed she was doing better but…
Jason had marked a moment in her life. Two moments, in fact. He marked the moment where Alice was doing well enough for herself to open up to someone and be with someone, trust them as she trusted Pike. But after the sweetness and innocence of their relationship wore off and as years passed by, Jason's kindness and understanding wore out as he became more agitated with her aversion to copious amounts of touch and contact. The verbal abuse had been relenting at times, and when she left him, there had been a violent fight; and it marked the sudden decline in how well she was doing.
Like a drug addict, remission was difficult and painful to all those around them. But it was Alice who felt like the failure for no longer being as tolerant as she once was before the locked room and the white dress.
"It's not getting better," Alice said in a pain filled whisper.
"I know," Pike replied solemnly.
"And I'm not sure what to do." A shaky breath. "I don't know how to get better."
Pike nodded but remained silent for a moment. "I have an idea," he offered carefully. "Something I've been working on for a while. The pieces have been set in motion, but I'm sure it's something you'll agree to."
Alice frowned at him.
"There is a chance that the Vulcans could help—"
Alice's scoff cut him off. "They can't help, father. The psychological strain of my emotions and memories would be too damaging and dangerous to them."
"Not through their telepathy," he continued, his voice a slight growl to get her to stop interrupting him. "But they could teach you to control your emotions, your mind, and your body."
"The mind, body, soul theory was disproven centuries ago," she shook her head.
"The causation, not the connection," Pike responded strongly. When Alice didn't argue further, he continued. "If you could control your emotions much in the same way that they do, perhaps it could help."
"If they would even agree to help," she countered meekly.
"There's a new Commander teaching at the Academy. Our first Vulcan officer. His name is Spock, he is Ambassador Sarek's son, and I'd like for you to talk to him."
"I don't do shrinks," Alice shook her head, her voice quiet yet firm. "And I certainly don't do Vulcan shrinks."
"It's not a psych eval," Pike assured her bluntly, but those damned eyes of hers. "Not completely a psych eval. It's more like an interview."
"An interview for what?"
"The Vulcan Institute of Defensive Arts." And here came the part he was most certainly not looking forward to disclosing. "I allowed Commander Spock access to her file," there was that sheer panic dancing in her radiant blue, "the moderately redacted version. He was only able to get a general overview. He doesn't know the specifics." The panic eased away, but Alice remained tense. "Spock believes that being instructed at the Institute would be…beneficial."
"Because I was already taught how to fight." It may have sounded like a question, but Alice knew the reasoning behind the Vulcan's assessment of her file. There were times when she closed herself off so much and spoke so coldly, that Pike would swear that she was part Vulcan herself.
"Yes. He believes that the physical discipline and control might also help you with the mental and emotional," God he hated saying it, "disorders as well."
Alice nodded faintly in understanding, but she was fading away from him fast, the uncomfortableness of the conversation driving her back within herself. "They have never let a human in that Institute."
Pike nodded. "Commander Spock would be willing to work with the Ambassador to get you admittance if he thinks it would be a suitable placement."
"After I speak with him."
"After you speak with him," he agreed.
There was the reminiscent hesitation from Alice that never failed to remain unchanged in her over the years, though Pike believed it truly was a combination of indecisiveness and unease rather than only unease as it had been when she was younger.
"This is your decision, Alice," he reassured her.
"I know."
Pike allowed her to consider her options for a moment longer before he decided to steer her gently along the path he knew she would come to want. Eventually. "Do you remember what you asked me when we stole that shuttle and broke atmosphere?"
She noticeably relaxed, huffing in slight amusement. "I asked if this was where you worked."
He chuckled fondly. "Yeah. Then you told me that you wanted to work out there, too."
"I remember," she breathed solemnly.
"I don't know if this will help, baby girl," he told her, admitting a weakness that most parents shied away from. "But I have a feeling it will help you get there if you still want to work in the stars."
"I'm not a kid anymore, father," she chastised him gently. "You mean enlisting in Starfleet."
"Maybe I'm a little biased," he chuckled lightly.
"Maybe," she agreed lightly.
They had finally pulled up to the building, and Pike parked the cruiser, shutting it off before he turned to his daughter, expectantly; but didn't pressure her into speaking. He knew that she was. Every time Alice was thinking about speaking, she always got this tiny frown, a slight crease between her eyebrows.
"Alright," Alice said in resigned determination. "Alright," she repeated to make sure she knew her own decision. "I'll talk to this Vulcan Commander."
~~.O.~~
Alright, so from now on, flashbacks will be denoted with a Stardate and probably some cheesy quote about time. If there is no Stardate and quote, it's not a flashback.
Now, I'm not quite sure if the next chapter is going to be a flashback or if I'm going to go back to my pattern of rotating to Leonard's POV. I guess you will find out next chapter. ;P
Anyway, please tell me what you think. As always, I love hearing from you guys.
Thank you for reading.
See you next chapter!