They Tried to Make Me Go to Rehab

Posted on 11 May 2012 @ 6:16pm by Lieutenant Commander Chauncey Remington III (KIA) & Lieutenant JG Brayden White Ph.D.

2,562 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Episode 01 - Project Sienna
Location: USS Galileo: Deck 2 - Mess Hall
Timeline: MD05: 1200 hours

[ON]

Will sat at a table by himself, though he seemed quite content to do so. In his right hand he held a fork which fed him macaroni and cheese, occasionally moving to pick up his mug. It was almost an automatic function. His attention was focused on the activity of his other hand, holding a PADD up and scrolling with his thumb so that he could read its contents. He payed little heed to the rest of the room and seemed content to eat by himself.

Brayden exited the back of the kitchen as the lunch rush began. Ansen hadn't been kidding about that; the Australian laughed quietly to himself. The chef might have an inflated ego about his cooking, but he didn't seem to be wrong about it. At least not from the tasting he'd just gotten. He felt as though he might be able to roll back to his office. Crossing through the mess hall, he paused at the sight of a man sitting alone at a table. The room wasn't full by any means, but most of the crew were chatting amongst themselves, socializing in the impromptu break in the middle of their shift. The fact that the man was alone wasn't anything too strange; solitude was healthy. But it did draw his attention. And that made him notice who it was. The commander had been perfectly reasonable in his replies to Brayden's messages, but he'd also stealthily avoided setting an appointment time. It was entirely possible he was just busy, but Brayden didn't relish having to track him down some other time. And he didn't look very busy at the moment. Crossing to the table with his take-away carton and a cup of coffee in tow, Brayden smiled. "Mind if I join you?"

Will did not look up right away as he replied. "Of co-" he paused for the briefest moment as he realized who it was. Dear Lord, they were stalking him! "course. Um, have a seat." He quickly picked up his drink, it was cranberry juice, and went back to looking at his PADD. Maybe if he looked engrossed enough in his novel, the man would forget to talk to him.

"Ah... Lieutenant?" Brayden tilted his head to the side. "Do you have a minute?"

"Commander," Will replied, looking up from his PADD, all serious. "I am on duty. What can I do for you?" Positive outlook... maybe his replicator was broken and he wanted it fixed. Yeah, that had to be it...

Brayden winced self-deprecatingly. "Right. Commander. This is why I deal in first names. All the ranks and files bewilder me. I'm Brayden White." He searched the other man's expression. "Down to business then. I just finished a meeting," he pointed towards the kitchen, "And saw you. Thought - maybe it would be easier to have a sit down with you rather than trying to get you into the office. Seems like you're usually pretty swamped." Or extremely averse to talking to a therapist, Brayden thought, but that wasn't anything new. He'd yet to meet anyone who didn't find the idea of talking to him distasteful; if he'd been the sort to take things personally, he'd have wondered if he smelled funny.

"I have been extremely busy," Will replied in a polite tone. He had nothing against the man, really... except that he was a counselor. "Maiden voyage and all."

"I completely understand," Brayden assured him. "Everything seems to be going smoothly. Well, except for that lengthy hiccup yesterday. Never have been on a ship that stalled out before. Not that I've been on many ships. Still, exciting stuff in a yikes-we-could-have-died sort of way. Have you?"

Will looked up at the man. He was familiar with every trick in the counselor's book. First he'd be talking about something perfectly innocuous like a warp core malfunction and next thing you know you're spilling your guts about how terribly your father treated you and all that. "I've been in Starfleet for a while," he said, "that sort of thing happens for a while. You get used to it to a point, but there's always that little bit of fear deep down. Natural, I guess, and a good instinct."

"The instinct to not die," Brayden said thoughtfully. "Yes. Pretty handy one, that. I hope it didn't complicate anything for your department - the hiccup, not the instinct."

"Ah, no, not at all," Will said, "I'm quite sure things went as good as could be expected. I don't suppose it earned you a few more patients?"

"Only because a few people found themselves at loose ends with not much to do," Brayden shook his head. "It's funny; no one seems to want to come see me. So they put it off." He shrugged, "I'm not used to playing the role of ship's counselor. I trained for it, sure, but mostly I've served as a doctor and just taken the clients who wanted therapy outside the regulation provisions. It's an interesting change. Under unfortunate circumstances."

"How did you end up on the Galileo?" Will asked.

"I saw the ship dock, heard a rumor you all needed medical personnel, and offered my services. Fairly straight forward. What about you?"

"I was assigned," came the simple reply. Will went back to eating his lunch after replying.

Brayden smiled slightly, running his thumb around the rim of his coffee cup. So much for that little run of conversation, he thought, amused. "You strike me as someone who's not overfond of therapists," he said, almost to himself. "I don't blame you for not wanting to talk to me about... well, anything. I'm a complete stranger with a degree. I don't know anything about you. Why should you?" he asked, completely unoffended.

Will looked up at Brayden with a smirk. "A question I wish more counselors asked themselves on a regular." He tapped his fork against the side of his plate, watching the other man expectantly.

"I can't speak for other counselors, or other therapists," Brayden said with a shrug. "Tell you what; since you're really the expert on keeping these ships running, what do you think my job should be?" he asked, interested. "Not what other counselors have been like, but what you want out of someone in my position."

"Oh, I don't pretend to know anything about your job," Will replied, "It's quite necessary I'm sure, for when you have traumatized ensigns and stuff. I'm only qualified to run ships, not people."

Traumatized ensigns, indeed, he thought. "And ships are run by people, are they not?"

Will smiled. "That's what you're here for, isn't it?"

"Right on the money," Brayden agreed. "And since you're a person who runs a ship, I ask you: what do you want out of your counselor?"

"Someone who counsels the poor traumatized ensigns in the operations division." He let that sit for a moment and then continued in an even, clear voice. "Doctor, I was given an early commission and shipped straight off from the Academy to fight in the Dominion War. I was aboard the USS Galaxy in every battle she fought during that War. I escaped during the retreat at the Battle of Betazed in a broken-down runabout with one Starfleet engineer to help me keep it running and and a bunch of frightened civilians. I've faced Jem'hadar, Klingons, Cardassians, Romulans, and species you've never heard of. I've seen more horrors than you, doctor, and I assure you, my brain's been thoroughly examined by many counselors and they've all declared me mentally sound. The maiden voyage of a Nova-class vessel crossing through Klingon space isn't nearly enough to send me into a mental breakdown."

Without waiting for a reply, Will picked up his PADD and his drink and headed out of the mess hall, sipping the cranberry juice and reading his novel as if nothing had happened.

Brayden listened to the speech with a thoughtful, but otherwise enigmatic expression. Because it was a speech. A nice one. Very dramatic, very gritty. It would have done well on a podium in front of a bunch of eager recruits. Inspirational, in a way. a sort of 'keep your wits together, kids; if I can, you'd damn well better' rousing pre-battle cheer. He was exceedingly well-spoken. And, Brayden thought, standing up with a slightly sigh, rigidly controlled. Why are you making me chase you? he wondered, following at a normal pace. He wasn't about to go running after the man like a hero in a holonovel, but neither could he let Remington think that this was actually going to work. "That," he said as he wandered up behind Remington, waiting at the turbo lift, "was a great speech and a better exit," he complimented the man, earnestly. It had been. Leaving aside - for the moment - the fact that the reaction had been so hugely out of the context of normal reactions to what they'd been talking about.

"Thank you," Remington said without looking up from his PADD.

Brayden slipped his thumbs into the pockets of his gray slacks and considered the other man seriously. "Normally, when one person in a conversation shares a lot of information, the other person gets to have a response; that's the balance of power. It sounds like you've seen a lot of terrifying, awful things," he continued, calmly and honestly. "I get the impression that all those counselors you mentioned weren't a lot of use to you. Maybe they didn't want to know about the horrors that you had to live through. Maybe they didn't care. I don't know; I wasn't there. Either way, you ended up with the impression that counselors are incapable of being useful to you as anything more than a rubber stamp to keep you on active duty. The interesting thing is, if you'd just answered my question, had a conversation, been direct, we would have been done in fifteen minutes. Instead, you told me a story about the war. A few of the things you've seen and survived. Maybe you thought that you could shock me into being as useless and unhelpful as the others. But you weren't interested enough in seeing that happen - maybe you didn't want to - so you walked away. I get that. I do. There are a lot of shitty therapists out there; I've been to a few. Regardless, this," he shook his head, "this attitude you've got on right now? It's unnecessary. You already have my attention; you don't need to put on a show." He tilted his head to the side, "I asked you what you wanted from your counselor. And your first answer was that you want someone to counsel the traumatized ensigns in the operations department. What rank were you during the Battle of Betazed?"

Will regarded the other man calmly, with an expression that a Vulcan would be proud of. As they stepped onto the turbolift, he gave a reply at last. "I was an ensign. But let's not dig into my past, hmm? That area has been thoroughly examined and I'm not a traumatized ensign, even if I may have been at the time. There's nothing more to be done outside of my recent history, and I believe that's what your're really interested in? But I think I've made it clear, counselor, that the only thing which concerns me is that stamp of approval. So unless you have evidence that I am not mentally capable of performing my duties, I suggest you stamp away." It seemed that he was intent upon making things as difficult as he could for the poor doctor.

"Brayden," Brayden reminded him. "My parents had no idea this was what I'd end up doing, so they gave me a name instead of a title." The other man's stony expression was almost enough to make him laugh, but he held it back. He'd gotten that exact same look from his daughter Ayati when he'd told her he wasn't taking her deep sea diving until she was thirteen. Moody, arrogant, and annoyed. Priceless. His lips twitched into a smile. "The thing is, William - or do you prefer Will? - the thing is: I can't. You won't let me. Because you're insisting on this... avoidance, instead of letting me get on with it. See - that sort of thing gets my attention. No one wants to talk to the counselor - yes, shockingly, you're not the only one who's expressed that sentiment - and yet. You have to. Me, I'm not such a fan of mandatory counseling. I think it kind of goes against the basic premise that you have to want to feel better before you can. But it's part of the gig you signed up for. No one wants to do it," he repeated, "but they do. They come in. They sit for a little while. We talk. And then they go on their merry way with hardly a mark on them. You," he pointed, his expression slipping back into a well-trained receptive neutral. "You ignore me, lecture me, and run away. Not exactly the way to get what you say you want. You know?"

"Bridge," Will called, putting his PADD away as the lift sped off. "I've heard it all before, counselor. I know you're quite capable of giving me a clean bill of health anytime you want, so long as you've done your brain-picking in some form or another. So what do you want? To see me sitting in your office? If you need me sitting in there before you're willing to decide if I'm of sound mind, then it has to be either at the start of Beta shift tomorrow or after we depart from Starbase 152. I won't have any time before that." The doors of the turbolift opened onto the bridge, but Will did not get out yet. he waited for Brayden's reply.

Brayden cocked his head to the side. "If you like," he said calmly. He'd been entirely prepared to stamp Remington off after a short conversation in the mess hall, just to make sure that Drusilla's notes - what there were of them - were correct. The last thing she'd written was that she was monitoring him, but not overly worried. Brayden had thought a quick hello and chat would have been enough to cover that. However, it seemed that what Remington thought he wanted and what his actions were leading him to were two very different things. "Sixteen hundred tomorrow, then? I'll block off about forty-five minutes. They usually don't go that long, but it gives us some wiggle room." He leaned against the wall of the lift, casually, one hand in his pocket and the other balancing the take-away box against his side. "Nice to meet you, William," he said and meant it. For all his jabs and attitude - maybe because of it - Brayden found him really interesting and looked forward to their next meeting.

Will gave a polite nod. "It's a date. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm duty." The ops officer turned and headed onto the bridge. He'd give the counselor what he wanted and then be done.

--
[OFF]

Lt. Cmdr. Chauncey William Remington III
Chief Operations Officer
USS Galileo

Brayden White Ph.D.
Counselor
USS Galileo

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