Amelia Fairchild
Amelia has to fight back a smile as she looks at the couple sitting in her office. Straus and Abrams are participating in another session after Straus's revelation of her pregnancy and termination nearly a year ago.
"How did you feel about what Ensign Straus told you, Abrams?" Abrams looks over at his girlfriend and takes her hand.
"I feel okay. About the termination. It was her choice to make, and I don't think either of us were ready to be parents. But I wish she'd felt safe enough to tell me before now. It makes me-"
"Try to steer away from 'so-and-so makes me' statements."
"Oh, right." He clears his throat. "I feel like I'm not a good enough boyfriend."
"It's not you, John." Straus shakes her head. "I was putting my personal fears on you. What's that called, Counselor?"
"Projecting."
"Projecting. And I do feel safe with you. More than I've ever felt with another person before."
"And why is that, Straus?"
"Because he's done nothing but prove that I can trust him. He respects my feelings and allows me to be myself without making me feel… sorry, I mean judging me."
"How do you feel hearing that, Abrams?"
"Good." He chuckles and squeezes Straus's hand. "Like I'm doing something right, especially since Evie always makes me feel… sorry, Counselor."
"I'll allow it this time." Turning to his girlfriend, he tells her,
"Evie, you make me feel like I have a home even though I'm God knows how many lightyears away from Earth."
"I love you."
"Not as much as I love you." Her PADD dings, interrupting the besotted couple.
"I believe that's all of our time for today." She stands at the same time they do and walks with them towards the door.
"Do you want to see us at the same time next week?"
"I think we can push it back to every two weeks." They exchange excited looks before bidding her,
"Thank you, Counselor."
"Thanks, Dr. Fairchild."
"Don't thank me. You're the ones who are putting in the work." The doors slide open, revealing-
"Captain." Something changes in their posture.
"At ease, gentlemen. I'm just here to speak to the Counselor." Exchanging a questioning look, they walk away, leaving her with Captain Kirk.
"Would you like to come in?"
"Thank you, Counselor. This won't take long." The doors slide shut behind them, but she remains standing. Kirk has no such issue and settles into the chair closest to the door. "Counselor, I won't mince words. I've been reviewing your work since you arrived here sixteen months ago as well as the comments from your superiors on Deep Space Seven and Six." She forces herself to keep a neutral expression. She hasn't done anything wrong. So why does she feel so guilty? "You're to be commended. No one has anything but good things to say about you, myself included. With that being said, there is one issue with your service record."
"What is that, sir?"
"You haven't been promoted in years. I think it's time we fix that, don't you?" Not particularly, but she can't say that. "I put in a recommendation to Starfleet for a promotion to the rank of Lieutenant Commander a few weeks ago. It should come through soon."
"Why?" She internally winces as he frowns. "Forgive me, Captain, but what have I done to merit a promotion?" She's only been with the fleet for eight years. Usually, the rise through the ranks takes much longer.
"Because you do excellent work, and I believe that you've earned it. Besides, I'd like for my senior medical staff to have the same rank so that no one can pull rank on the other." That's only happened twice, and it was with good reason both times. "Can I safely assume that this wasn't the news you were expecting?"
"No sir. It wasn't." Standing, he tells her,
"Take some time to wrap your head around it. And may I also suggest you talk it over with another person of that rank?" She knows who he means.
"Yes, Captain."
"Then I'll leave you to your next session." Actually, she doesn't have another session for an hour. This is her time to review from this morning. She might've even corrected his assumption if her mouth wasn't so dry all of a sudden. Seemingly content that he's made her day, Captain Kirk walks out the doors, leaving her standing there, PADD in hand. For now, she can't do anything about the news. She has reports to write.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of activity and she resolutely pushes any thought of her impending promotion from her mind. That is, until it's time for mess. She wasn't planning on meeting with Leonard for the noonday meal (usually she spends that time with Nyota and Christine), but all things considered, it seems like the best option. So, powering down the PADD, she heads towards sickbay.
Her luck seems to be holding out. Christine has already left, but her partner is still present, disposing of a used hypospray. He looks up at the sound of her footsteps and offers her a smile.
"Chapel's already left-"
"I assumed as much. I was actually looking for you."
"Jim said you'd be along." Crossing his arms, he gives her an appraising look. "A promotion. That's big news."
"I suppose so."
"You don't seem exactly overjoyed at the prospect." She sighs.
"I am. It's just that I'm not sure it's the wisest course of action."
"Why is that?"
"I've only been with the fleet for eight years. Usually, it takes nine to eleven to reach the rank of Lieutenant Commander."
"It'll be nine years in six more months. But you feel like he's jumping the gun."
"I just fail to see what brought this on. If there had been some sort of crisis I had handled, then maybe it would make sense. But as it stands, all I've done is my standard job."
"Amelia, not everything has to be a battlefield promotion."
"I know that." Still… "It doesn't make sense."
"Is your self-esteem really that low when it comes to your work? You're good at your job. Jim recognizes that, and so have your other superiors."
"I don't doubt my capabilities. Just the timing of this promotion." With a glance around to make sure no one's watching, he takes her hand.
"You know what they say about looking a gift horse in the mouth."
"I believe the consensus is negative."
"So don't do it. Just accept that your commanding officer thinks that you deserve it. And for the record, so do I."
"You'll have to excuse me if I don't think your opinion is the most objective."
"You don't think that I can be objective?"
"When it comes to making medical decisions, I don't doubt you, but when it comes to the personal, I think you're as compromised as I am." That provokes a smirk.
"You tell a woman you love her once-"
"You tell me every day."
"Well, I haven't had the chance to do it yet today." Giving their joined hands a squeeze, he tells her, "I love you, Amelia. Now hurry up and get to mess before Chapel and Uhura ransack the ship looking for you."
"I love you too, Leonard, and you'd better take a break too, or else I'll recruit Christine and Nyota to help me physically force you into it." She starts towards the door only to hear-
"And Amelia?"
"Yes?"
"Take the damn promotion." She doesn't really have much of a choice.
_Leonard McCoy
There's a lot of things Leonard expects in the course of an afternoon. Patients with conditions ranging from the unavoidable to the stupid. Chapel glancing longingly at Spock. Amelia stopping by with something to sign. Even a call up to the bridge. What he's not expecting is for, out of nowhere, the ship to shudder, reverberating with what feels like an explosion. He's knocked forward from where he was examining an ensign, nearly bumping heads with him.
"What was that?" He opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, the claxon sounds.
"Red alert. General quarters." He frowns at that. Those two orders usually don't go together.
"You heard the captain, Ensign." The ensign hops down and starts towards the door. Chapel emerges at the same time Amelia does.
"Doctor, what-"
"Kirk to McCoy." Mouthing, 'I don't know' at Chapel, he presses the comm button.
"McCoy here."
"Bones, there's been an accident in engineering. Some sort of explosion. They've got it under control now, but I want you to assemble a team and go down there. Expect severe casualties. Is Counselor Fairchild with you?" Placing a hand on his arm, Amelia leans towards the comm.
"I'm here, Captain."
"Counselor, I want you to be part of the team. We're still getting reports, but there are at least three dead and others who appear to be gravely injured. If this is an end-of-life situation, I want you there to walk beside them."
"Yes, Captain."
"Kirk out." When he looks away from the comm, he sees that Perez, Andres, M'Benga and Chapel are all wearing different expressions of fear and grief. As for the woman by his side, she appears perfectly serene.
"Alright. I want Perez and Andres with me. Chapel, you and M'Benga stay here and look after the casualties that we send up. Someone alert the orderlies that we need them. Prepare hyposprays for burns, smoke inhalation, and pain relief. A lot of this is going to be triage and palliative care. And put on your protective gear. We don't know what the air is going to be like down there" A chorus of 'Yes, Doctor' reaches his ears. "Counselor, any advice?"
"Listen to the patients' wishes, particularly in the case of end-of-life care. Some might want to die with their boots on, so to speak. Keep a mental list of their wishes for what to tell loved ones and be ready to answer uncomfortable questions."
"We meet back here in one minute. Dismissed."
Sixty seconds isn't a long time unless you happen to be injured and potentially dying, but it's the minimum time necessary to collect what's needed and to steel themselves for the task ahead. A minute later, his nurses appear, hyposprays in hand, as does Amelia with her PADD. No one says anything as they sprint towards the turbolift. The closer they get to engineering, the harder it is to breathe even in their protective gear. Finally, they reach the blown-open doors and dart inside.
"Perez, Andres, assess and tag. You know the system. Red for immediate care. Yellow for delayed. Green for minimal. Black for dead or expectant. Counselor-" He swallows hard. "Look for still breathing black tags." Content that they have their orders, he kneels next to a mangled ensign who's clearly a red tag.
They work quickly, assessing the damage and treating those with a red tag while sending the yellow and green up to sickbay. There's several dead on arrivals and at least half a dozen expectants. One of them is a young woman whom he can barely recognize beneath the soot, severe burns, and blood. She coughs, making her wounds bleed even more, and offers him a weak smile.
"Hi, Dr. McCoy."
"Hello, Menendez."
"I'm getting a black tag, aren't I?" Instead of answering, he tells her,
"The counselor will be here shortly."
"That's good. I really like her, though probably not as much as you do."
"Probably not." Her wheezing eases as someone kneels next to her. Amelia.
"Look at that. The gang's all here."
"Hello, Elena." Amelia offers Menendez a smile. "Would you like for Dr. McCoy to give you something for the pain?"
"No. I want to be myself when I go." Then there's not much that he can do. Moving on, he leans over the next patient. He appears semi-catatonic, but his injuries are minor. Leonard pulls out a green tag and ties it around the patient's wrist. "What do you think happens when we die, Counselor?"
"I don't know. I wish I could tell you."
"Does it hurt?"
"No. It's just like going to sleep." As he assesses the next patient, out of the corner of his eye, he can see Amelia pushing Menendez's hair away from her face. "Do you have any wishes? Anything messages you want me to pass on?"
"Tell my moms that I love them. And I don't want to be launched into space. I want to be cremated and have my ashes sent home. Will you make sure that they get them, Counselor?"
"I will." Menendez coughs and clutches at Amelia's arm. "Do you think you can sleep now, Elena?"
"I think so. You're sure it won't hurt?"
"I'm sure." Even from a distance, he can tell the moment that her body goes limp. Reaching down, Amelia closes her eyelids. "Goodnight, Menendez." She stands and, looking around, walks towards the next black tag.
"Doctor-" He turns back to the lieutenant junior grade that he's examining. "-what color is my tag?"
"Yellow." He presses a hypospray against the woman's neck. "You'll be okay, Lieutenant. This'll just help you breathe and jumpstart the healing process. Someone will bring you up to sickbay shortly."
It goes on for what feels like hours, but finally, the last patient has been delivered to sickbay and the black tags have been taken to the morgue. He's sweating profusely and when he looks down at his hands, they're shaking. His team members are all in much the same state, soot stained and covered in various bodily fluids. This time, as they make their way towards the turbolift, they walk instead of run.
"All of you sterilize before entering sickbay. Counselor, I'm guessing you'll want a list of the injured for follow ups?"
"Yes, Doctor." With darkened fingertips, she presses the power button on her PADD. "With your permission, I'd like to report to my office. Get started on the deceased's final wishes."
"Go ahead, and send a copy of those reports to me." He needs to know who he's cremating and who wants to be launched into space in a burial pod.
Sickbay is a madhouse. Chapel and M'Benga have done the best that they can, but without anyone to help them, the green and yellow tags are lining the room. He sets to work on a few already stabilized red tags, pushing all other thoughts from his mind other than who he's attending to. It's going to be a long night for all of them and an even longer one for those who are keeping a vigil for their deceased friends and loved ones. Mopping at his brow, he orders another ensign to return to quarters. And then the process starts again.
Amelia Fairchild
Amelia's just returning from a sleepless night in her quarters when she sees the man in a yellow uniform shirt standing outside her office. True, she sent a message to the captain saying that she wanted to see him, but she wasn't expecting him to arrive this early in the morning. As she approaches, he offers her a tight smile.
"You look exhausted, Counselor."
"If you'll forgive my impertinence, so do you, sir." He chuckles and follows her into the confines of her office.
"You wanted to see me. About the survivors, I'm guessing?"
"That was one of my reasons." She settles behind her desk and powers up her PADD. "Dr. McCoy compiled a list of the injured, and I've done my own research to narrow down those affected both directly and indirectly by the accident. I estimate that we're looking at upwards of fifty people in need of some kind of psychological intervention."
"Fifty?" She nods.
"There's the twenty-five injured, the ten who were either in engineering, nearby, or part of the rescue and repair teams, and then another fifteen who knew and were severely impacted by the injuries and/or deaths." He sighs.
"Those numbers make sense. So how do you suggest we proceed?"
"I would like to set up three support groups. One for survivors, another for the rescue team and those who witnessed the event, and a third for anyone who's feeling the impact."
"How often would these groups meet?"
"The first would meet twice a week at first, the second once a week, and the third biweekly."
"And for how long?"
"I can't say for certain, but I estimate for at least three months."
"Do it. And set up individual appointments for the survivors. I want them all assessed, as well as the people in group two."
"Yes, Captain." He turns towards the door. "And Captain?"
"Yes?"
"I think you should be assessed as well." That provokes a frown.
"Do you think I need my command capabilities examined?"
"No, sir. I think in the wake of what happened, you may be in need of intervention. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, so to speak. And it's my observation that you feel everything that happens to your crew keenly."
"I'm fine, Counselor."
"Forgive me, Captain, but you're not. How could a man in your position be?" He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at her.
"You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"
"No, sir." To her surprise, he laughs.
"Bones told me months ago that you're stubborn. Stubborn and good at your job."
"I hope to live up to his assessment."
"You do, and I'll report back here for that counseling session. Just sent me a message when you have time to schedule it."
"Yes sir."
"Oh, and Counselor?"
"Yes?" He offers her a grin.
"That promotion came through. In light of recent events, there won't be a ceremony, but as of today, you're officially Lieutenant Commander Amelia Fairchild." So, it's done. It can't be undone unless she's demoted, and she most certainly isn't angling for that.
"Thank you, Captain."
"You deserve it. The way you handled the crisis in engineering proves it."
"I was just doing my job."
"As were the others, which is why I've arranged commendations for all of you."
"That's very generous of you."
"Well, good work should be rewarded. And speaking of good work, how well did you know Ensign Menendez?" She swallows hard. Since holding the young woman's hand as she died, she's tried not to think about her.
"I knew her well, sir."
"Scotty reports that she was one of the ones in engineering who worked to protect the warp core even though it put her in the most dangerous position, effectively sacrificing herself to save the ship. Does that sound like her?"
"It does."
"I've sent in a request for a posthumous promotion to Lieutenant Junior Grade. Does she have any relatives that should be alerted?"
"Her mothers. She wanted her ashes to go to them as well." He sighs.
"It's one of a captain's most difficult duties, performing funerals. And now we have ten to carry out."
"How do you feel about that?"
"Save the psychoanalysis for our session, Counselor."
"Yes, sir." This time, as he walks away, she doesn't stop him, instead waiting until the doors close to rest her head in her hands. It may be a captain's most difficult duty to perform funerals, but it's a counselor's to carry out the deceased's wishes. For the next four hours, she writes messages to the families of the deceased, recounting their final moments (albeit a whitewashed version of them) and relaying messages. For most, it boils down to three simple words: I love you. Finally, she stands on unsteady legs and makes her way towards the doors. It's time to take her lunch break. She won't be any good to anyone if she burns out. Speaking of…
Christine is a shade paler than normal and still changing out sheets when she steps into the ICU. The head nurse looks up and offers her a weary smile.
"He's in his office."
"Alright." She approaches and, pressing the button for the buzzer, waits. Thirty seconds pass, then a minute. Finally, she decides to just walk in.
He's at his desk, head resting on it, and as she steps closer, she hears the familiar sound of slow, rhythmic breaths. A glance at his desk reveals that he was going over a list of the wounded, uploading information into their medical files. She knows he didn't return to his quarters last night, and from the looks of things, he still hasn't. Reaching down, she removes the PADD from the desk and, saving his last page, powers it down.
"Goodnight, Leonard." As she says it, a memory floods back. One of telling Menendez the same thing as she closed her unseeing eyes. The ensign worked so hard to improve her mental health and she cared about her job far beyond what Amelia's heard expressed by most people. And now she's gone. Tears prick at the edge of her vision, and she blinks them back. Menendez wasn't the only one to die. Not even her only patient. So why does she feel it so acutely? Shaking her head, she starts back towards the doors. She'll have to sit with what happened yesterday eventually, but not now.
Leonard McCoy
Leonard's not sure how long he's been writing out death certificates when he becomes aware that he's all alone in sickbay. Well, almost alone. As he steps out of his office, he sees that the doors to the counselor's office are open, and light is peeking out. It's to be expected. After any sort of ship-wide trauma, Amelia keeps her doors open, allowing anyone to come in without an appointment and talk for as long as they want. He steps closer and glances inside. She's alone now, studying her PADD, forehead wrinkled. She doesn't look up until he's practically on top of her, and even then, she's wearing her professional mask.
"Leonard, what are you doing up?"
"I could ask you the same thing." There are dark circles beneath her eyes and her skin has taken on a sickly pallor. As she places the PADD on the desk, her hands shake. "Amelia, you're exhausted."
"So are you."
"Which is why I'm leaving for the night, and so should you."
"I just have to put the final touches on my notes for the first support group-"
"And a lot of good that group will be if you collapse in the middle of it."
"I'm not going to-"
"No, you're not. Because you're leaving." She's not moving. "Now."
"Is that an order?"
"Do I need to make it one?" With a sigh, she stands and, powering down the PADD, follows him out the door.
"What time is it?"
"Zero one hundred hours."
"I didn't realize it was that late."
"Neither did I." The sickbay doors slide shut behind them. It's a short walk back to their quarters and they don't say anything, only breaking the silence once they're a few feet away from their doors. "Your place or mine?"
"You'll sleep better if you're alone instead of crammed into a bed with someone else."
"I'll sleep better knowing you're nearby." Reaching out, he takes her hand. "Stay, Amelia." For a second, he thinks he's going to have to convince her further, but eventually she nods and follows him through the doors.
It's a routine at this point. She gets the bathroom first, coming out with her hair undone and teeth freshly brushed. Then it's his turn. By some unspoken agreement, they both change in the same room, and then he pulls her smaller body against his in bed.
"Goodnight, Amelia."
"Goodnight, Leonard." It only takes minutes for her breathing to become heavy. Usually, she's one to toss and turn, so she must really be worn out. He idly wonders if she's slept since the incident in engineering (he's not completely certain of it, but he thinks he caught a catnap in his office sometime today), but that's when his thoughts become blurry around the edges, and he knows sleep isn't far off.
He usually doesn't wake up during the night when she's with him (when he's alone is a different story) but for some reason, he finds his eyes popping open without the assistance of an alarm. But why? It wasn't a dream, and he's gotten to the point where even noises from sickbay don't wake him. On instinct, he reaches out for Amelia, only to find her side of the bed empty. Well, that's not entirely accurate. She's still there; just as far away as she can possibly get. It's dark, so he can't see much, but his hearing is just fine, so when she sniffles, he's fully aware of it. Reaching out, he grasps her shoulder. She startles but doesn't pull away.
"Amelia, what's going on?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"That's alright, but why are you way over here?" She shifts, and that's when he feels it. A teardrop. Now it makes sense. "Come here."
"Go back to sleep, Leonard."
"The hell I will. Now, come here." The mattress shifts as she rolls over and, pulling her towards him, he tucks her head under his chin. Now he can really feel the teardrops as they wet his shirt. She's been like this for a while, then. "Darling, you don't have to do that alone."
"I woke up and it just hit me."
"That seems to be going around." Earlier this afternoon, he found Chapel crying in the dispensary. And if he's honest- "It hit me when I was signing death certificates." He didn't cry. Or at least, the tears didn't fall. It just struck him that there are ten less people on board this ship. Ten physicals he'll never perform again. Ten families who will get the notification that their son or daughter, husband or wife, died in the line of duty.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because I still had a job to do, and you wouldn't have let me do it if I told you, now would you?"
"No." They lie there like that for a while, and finally he has to ask,
"What part of it hit you?"
"Menendez." A fresh volley of wetness soaks through his shirt. "I don't know why, Leonard. It's not the first time I've lost a patient. Not even the first time one has died in front of me."
"You were attached to her. We both were." As a medical professional, it's your job to maintain a certain level of detachment, but sometimes you meet one who somehow manages to get under your skin. The young woman with the sad eyes whose uniform was hanging off her and looked like she hadn't showered in a week took up his attention, and as she slowly came back to herself, becoming vital and bright and buoyant, he felt like he was actually doing something right. Considering all the times Amelia mentioned Menendez to him, smiling like a proud parent when she recounted the strides she was making, it's safe to say that his partner felt the same.
"She had so much life ahead of her. A good one. And she'd worked so hard to get where she was. I just keep thinking that it's such a waste."
"It always is." He could remind her that Menendez died saving the ship, that she committed the greatest act of sacrificial love possible, but she already knows that. So, what can he do? "What do you need, Amelia?"
"Just…" She sighs. "…keep holding me."
"For as long as you want me to."
The minutes tick by, and slowly the flow of tears is stemmed. Eventually her breathing evens out and he's certain she's back under. But he doesn't let go of her. Maybe it's because, after the events of the past two days, he's a little raw and needs to be held too. Maybe it's because he's encountered so much that he can't control, and this is one thing that he can. Or maybe it's the fact that, in sixteen months of knowing her, he's never seen Amelia cry. No matter what it is, this feels like an act of trust. He's seen her at her most vulnerable now, and while he never wants her to feel this way again, he knows it will probably happen. But he's going to keep offering her comfort, whether that be his words or his actions for as long as she'll let him because in the end, she's his safe place too.