Arc Structure

Posted on 23 Feb 2013 @ 1:23pm by Lieutenant Dawn Meridian

6,084 words; about a 30 minute read

Mission: Episode 03 - Frontier
Location: USS Galileo: LTjg Meridian's Office
Timeline: MD 3 0645

ON:

He'd overslept. That hadn't happened in years. Liyar sat straight up in bed, calculating the time internally. 0645. An hour over the limit he normally set for himself. This was not good. There was no time for meditation. His shift began in an hour, and he had a counseling appointment. He stood, dressed in uniform, and decided if no one knew he didn't eat, no one would care, skipped it entirely and made out of Deck 2 as promptly as possible after snapping on the two bracelets around his wrists that were designed to keep his abilities under control.

Tarinol was taking more out of him than he remembered it did. Was it age? No. He was only fifty-six. He was practically young. Was he really being irrational? He did not think so. He could feel how skewed the perception of his environment was. Things were different. No. They were flat. People were two-dimensional, they seemed fake. He was stumbling over his thoughts, he couldn't grab the numbers any more, he couldn't hold a conversation, he barely remembered one moment from the next. He was spending more time in his head, but it wasn't the Good Kind. The productive kind. It was the kind that gave his steps an added shuffle, made him nauseated, and caused oversleeping.

If it weren't for the fact that his replicator usage was now being moderated, he would have damned it all, but he knew from his many years of living that doctors always found out one way or another, and it was illogical to assume otherwise. Only his own continued assurance in the logic of the situation kept him from openly expressing his dissatisfaction at it as he walked down to Medical and into the counselor's office. There were chairs arranged and he had no time for games. He sat down in the closest one with as much abruptness as possible, posture straight and demeanor inscrutable, Vulcan to the core. "I am Liyar." The introduction was curt, but it did show that he at least knew that it was appropriate to introduce one's self, even if the person in question should already be in possession of his name, it was considered polite.

Dawn looked up from her coffee for a moment, let out a quiet breath, and then took a long sip. She didn't really like coffee, but at some point, it had become part of her morning routine. It soothed her somehow, even though the bitter taste always made her wince on the very first taste. Still... it did help wake her up, and that was all she could ask for. Finally, she looked up again, grey eyes studying the Vulcan with a not-entirely-awake curiosity. She rolled her chair out from behind her desk, still holding her coffee, and moved in Liyar's general direction. "I am Dawn," she replied, putting surprising sincerity in what would have been a mocking response from anyone else.

Liyar was an interesting case. The information she'd been forwarded had been... overwhelming, and some of it had gone right over her head. Anything that had to do with Vulcan psionic abilities was completely beyond her. Worse, she wasn't entirely sure how to approach counselling a Vulcan. Counselling was about dealing with emotions healthily, not suppressing them. It was possible that the Vulcans were entirely able to deal with their problems themselves, and she'd only be a barrier to that.

"Would you like anything?" she asked, taking another small sip of coffee. "From the replicator, I mean."

Liyar blinked at her. "Negative." He had to wonder why that seemed to be the first question counselors asked him. He folded his hands in front of him, whatever his opinion of her was, hid behind the emotionless veneer. He decided to focus on something internal, but the numbers were coming too slowly, through a fog of Tarinol and fuzzy exhaustion, but he offered no further commentary on the woman in front of him.

Dawn couldn't help but be reminded of her meeting with Stone. He had seemed to avoid saying all too much for the first little while, and only really said anything when she asked direct questions. It was... a logical way to approach a conversation. She could already tell this was going to be... difficult. "You've seen a lot of counsellors recently," she said. "Why?" There were too many reasons to count in the file she'd been sent, but she suspected Liyar would sum it up easily.

"I am told that it is standard for Starfleet to conduct psychological evaluations," Liyar responded curtly, to his feet, leaning forward and bracing himself on his elbows. "Due to the fact that I am Vulcan and therefore uninterested in discussing my emotions, I failed to adhere to Counselor Carlisle's limited perception of what constitutes an adequate state of mind."

Dawn blinked once and then tilted her head. "Ah." That made some sense. "To be fair, it is a bit hard to counsel someone without discussing things like feelings and emotions. On a Federation starship, at least." She let out a slow breath. "So you reached an impasse." She peered at him, bright eyes suddenly interested. "And has that changed?"

Liyar certainly thought that it had. "Affirmative. You now have access to information that previously I considered to be private. I believe that is a definitive change," he responded a little emptily. He didn't appear to be paying any attention to her the entire time he had been sitting down, even when she spoke directly to him. It was only now that he looked up, as though trying to determine who she was, her reactions.

So things haven't really changed, she translated. He didn't seem too happy that she'd been given any information at all. He probably didn't want to be here, she decided. That made a lot of sense; she didn't get the impression that Vulcans got a lot of emotional counselling. "I see," she said flatly. "So do you think you're in an 'adequate' state of mind?" If it seemed blunt, Dawn didn't seem to notice.

Neither did Liyar, who nodded once. "I am fully capable of doing my duties," he said, and let out a breath that was longer than a simple exhale. "I am competent," he repeated again a little unnecessarily. "I am adhering to the conditions given to me." He didn't, however, answer her actual question.

Dawn's eyebrows rose. "Conditions?"

"Affirmative. You are aware of them." Liyar knew that she would be. Sekhet had compromised his privacy in everything else. Surely she would know that. "Medication. Visiting these sessions." He made a small gesture to his feet. She was so young. He could not understand how this was productive. There were so many things she could not understand. How could Starfleet expect some girl to properly ascertain his mental status? Dissect his life, judge his experiences. He didn't know anything about her. She drank coffee. She didn't like it. She didn't know what to do with him. Liyar looked at his psi-cuffs unconsciously. They were doing a poor job.

Right. Those conditions. Dawn closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. Liyar's colours were... odd, she decided. He shone much brighter than other people, but was somehow less vivid, less saturated, all greys and muted blues and purples. She didn't know what to make of him, still. He was Vulcan, she was human... but that didn't mean she couldn't hope to understand him, right? Couldn't hope to learn, to grow?

She let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, her eyes wide and grey. "You don't like this," she said, as if she knew - although to her, intuition might as well have been fact. "These conditions, these... chains. Counselling, medication." She tilted her head, watching him. "You say that you're able to do your duties. I have no reason to disagree with that." She pursed her lips. "But do you think that's enough?" Resistant to counselling, the file had stated flatly. And why wouldn't he be? She wondered if she would be the same, in his position. Annoyed, perhaps insulted. If someone had been given all the details on her past, about her parents, the anomaly... and decided she wasn't fit to counsel because of it? Dawn sighed softly, but not at all in frustrated sort of way. "There's more to a person than how well they can function as part of a machine. I'm sure there are people on this ship that care for you, that don't want you to shoulder everything on your own."

Liyar breathed out of his nose slowly. "I am a Vulcan. I do not subscribe to like, nor dislike." Liyar looked down to his feet again. He didn't say the answer that was really on his mind. No. But neither could he lie. "I am opposed to limitations on my individuality," he offered as compromise. Chains, she categorized them as. Yes, it was an apt metaphor. The majority of his life was spent in chains, physical and mental. Medication, Ka'veya, healers, instructors. "I am Vulcan. I handle my problems on my own." That wasn't exactly true. The bond, one's family. They were a buoy. They were a lifeline, they relied on one another. But it was true now. He was alone, and he managed his concerns by himself. He tensed his jaw a bit. It was true now, and it would be true - he cut himself off mentally. He looked up and over to Meridian's desk, pressing his lips together.

"That's fair," she said. He was Vulcan. It was possible that he could handle his own problems. But... hadn't she been given far too much information for that to actually be the case? Someone wasn't convinced that Liyar was all right. And the man's words, flat as they were, were crafted, careful, dancing around her questions. He was not supposed to 'like' or 'dislike', but she was positive he did. She spun slightly in her chair. "You don't have to handle it all yourself, though." That's why I'm here, she wanted to say. I... need to help. Dawn looked right at him, her eyes clouded. He was as alone as she had ever been, even with people all around him. What was the... logical way to put it? "It might even be more efficient that way, even if it seems a bit tedious - a temporary limitation that might prevent worse limitations in the future." She didn't like how that sounded. It was too twisted and complex for what it really meant. 'If we can work through this, you won't have to worry about it later.'

Liyar weaved his fingers one through the other, a faraway look dulling his eyes. "It is the Vulcan way," he said quietly. "Our concerns are integrated into our consciousness by way of contemplative meditation. To rely on anyone other than one's family is an unconscionable breach of privacy. I am capable of handling myself."

"People sometimes see their crew as their family," she ventured. "Maybe not Vulcans... but in the absence of family, I don't think it's too bad to confide in others who care about you. It doesn't even have to be me." She cocked her head, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind an ear. "Breach of privacy or not."

Liyar blinked away something Other that flashed through his eyes and looked downward. "This crew is not my family," he said, cold and emotionless as ever.

Dawn looked away, biting her lip. That had stung a little bit. "Right," she said quietly. "But it could be something like one. And... it would help." But it didn't matter. The fire had gone out of her argument. After a moment, she shook her head. "But something like that doesn't just happen. You have to be open to it." She let out a slow, resigned breath. "Don't... don't worry about it. It was dumb of me to bring up."

Breathe. Breathe. The sharp jolt like a mild static shock hadn't been missed. Even with the psi-cuffs. Even with the Tarinol making everything in his head turn to mush and grey where it should have been gold and warm. Hated hated hated it. He met her eyes, letting the coldness dissolve in his features a bit as he let the air out of his lungs slowly, moving to balance his head on his fingertips again. He didn't mean to be abrupt, but the anger kept rising like bile. He forced himself to let go of the anger burning through him, heat and fire and rawness. This was just a child. She could not possibly understand the meaning her words held to a race like the Vulcans. "My family is dead," he met her eyes emptily. He didn't mean to jolt the pain from her, but his own pain often made him... unkind. "I do not want a replacement family. I do not want to confide in others. I do not want to talk about my feelings like your Terran patients might, because I am not a Terran, Counselor Meridian, and I do not require anything else but functionality. I do not care about satisfaction because that is an emotional state and I am a Vulcan. Which means that I do not indulge in emotional states such as satisfaction, enjoyment, fulfillment, nor anything else. They are to be resolved through meditation. Which I shall do. On my own, in my own time, in my own way," he stood up, eyes blazing, even if his expression and bearing were completely and utterly placid and at ease as Vulcans oft were, "Without the input of others who deem it necessary to pass judgment on how I, as an adult four times their senior, ought to conduct myself." His hands were beside him, held loosely, and he was hunched over slightly, the tension line in his head the only sign that this wasn't just an inflectionless commentary, a perfectly rational argument, as it sounded like to any normal listener. It was a tirade.

Dawn's grey eyes stayed glued to the Vulcan throughout his entire speech. At first, they reflected a mixture of empathy and hurt, but slowly, they grew dark, thoughtful. After a while, she folded her hands on her lap and simply stared at him. Her face went blank, her sharp features uncharacteristically expressionless. She rose deliberately, the back of her rolling chair bumping gently into the wall behind her. Her eyes never moved from his. "Do you think," she began, her voice soft but unwavering, "that I want to judge you, to get some sort of satisfaction out of... consoling you?" Her hands pressed against her desk hard enough that her knuckles went white.

"I do not know, Counselor," Liyar challenged, still standing.

"I'm not here to make a circus out of you, Mr. Liyar." Her voice began to rise. "I may only be a child to you, but at least I'm still willing to learn, to try. If that's what it means to be a child, I wouldn't give it up for anything."

"To try what?" Liyar spoke out before he could stop it, staring her down. On Vulcan, a dynamic like this just wasn't something Liyar knew how to integrate. Even taking advice from Sekhet was difficult, and Sekhet was his kinsman. It was a societal hierarchy from ages past. The deference always, always went to the Elder of any gathering. He inhaled calmly, tried to find the crack in his shield, gather this up, throw it out. It was unvulcan to react this way. Even in his mind. He closed his eyes, still standing up in the middle of her office and breathed.

Her breath shook as it rushed from her lips. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't need the help. Others have decided that for you, I know. I hate that. I wish I could understand better. I wish I was someone you'd take seriously." She ran a hand through her hair, and the darkness began to fade. "I didn't mean to insult you or your family." Dawn sank back into her chair and looked down at her desk. "I'm not going to remove you from duty or anything like that. I'll write that the session went well. I'm not going to chain you here so you can tell me how wrong I am for being who I am and doing what I can." She flicked idly at a PADD. She felt connected to the Vulcan, even though it really made no sense. He must've known his family much longer than she'd known hers, even though that had been almost half of her life. But they were gone now, like his. She looked up. "You can go," she said blankly. "You'll have to come back, though. Not right away, of course. I hope that helps."

The eyes blinked open. "And then what?" he asked, quietly. Whatever he had been trying to rid himself of still lurked in the shadows, buried in the golden-green flecks that distinguished his eyes from almost-black. Liyar gestured, shaking his head slightly, but otherwise remained impassive. The word she'd used before, circus. That was what it was. That was his life. Right in one word. Two words, really. "I have had it dictated to me for nearly most of my life," he told her, as though discussing a weather report, but the Unkindness from earlier dissolved. "How I must live. Because I am damaged. With limitations that must be imposed. Because I do not meet the acceptable margin of logic." He pressed a hand into his chest, eyebrows drawn together. "Because I am insane." It was the first real inflection he'd actually used, subtle, but there. "What do they call me, riyeht-kashik abru'klon su'us-ek'tal. Because I do not see the way that others do. Whether or not that reflects a modality that you consider to be undamaged is irrelevant. I am not taking this anymore." He took the hyposprays out of his pocket and placed them at her desk. Weakness. Fuzziness. Distortion. It took him from himself. It took his control away. He couldn't even contain the telepathy, even with the psi-cuffs. Had him crawling through corridors and chasing phantoms and frightening people because he could not avoid picking out their thoughts. "I do not want it."

Dawn looked from the abandoned hyposprays and back again so many times that she lost count. Somehow, she was happy, and she couldn't place why. "You might be insane by Vulcan standards," she said softly, "but you sound perfectly reasonable to me, Liyar." She slid the hyposprays out of sight. "You shouldn't have to be altered like this, contained, because I don't think you are a danger to this crew." She looked up at him. If you are, I'm making a horrible mistake.

Liyar paused, mid-way between taking a breath and speaking, lips parted for a moment before he shut his jaw, tensing curiously toward her. Was this some sort of game? Or was she sincere? He could feel the tiny splattering of emotion raining against his consciousness in droplets, couldn't detect a ruse. Wishful thinking? He remained standing over her desk, watching as she collected the medication and disappeared it, as she watched him. As a Vulcan, of course, it was certainly true that he could pose a threat if he chose. But he rarely made that choice. Just as any being rarely made it. When they were threatened, when they had to survive. "I am not dangerous," he said quietly. "At least, not when it is within my power."

"I'm trusting you, Liyar," she said quietly, glancing down at the desk. "Your abilities are part of who are you just as much as anything else. I don't understand them very well, and I'm not sure I ever will, but I don't think hiding them behind a veil of medication will solve anything. I won't ask anyone to chain themselves like that, not just out of fear of the unknown." Dawn peered up at him from her desk, offering him a slight smile. "You'll have to keep meeting with me, though. I'll be held responsible if this is the wrong decision, so I'd like to know if I helped, at least. I don't think... Sekhet, was it? I don't think he'll agree with me. But I'd like to know you, even if it means my mind is an open book. I don't mind."

Trust. In him. Why? Liyar said nothing, listening to her explain. Of course, counseling was a profession like anything else, but people were people. People were malleable. People were different. Even so, he usually had an understanding of their motivations, their thoughts, their reasoning. This time, he didn't. He wondered to himself if this was how other people perceived him. The Vulcan looked at her sideways. Me, he thought to himself blandly. What was that? Many different things ran through his mind. Most of them were related to an occupation or a duty of some kind. Things that he'd done, rather than things that he was. Liyar was cautious, even in his body language. Like he was already one-foot out the door and only barely staying in the room. For some reason he was. He didn't know what she meant, or why. Counselors did not want him to be. They wanted him to do. "It is unlikely Sekhet will concur with your conclusion," he said instead. Sekhet didn't concur with anyone but himself most of the time.

"That's fine," she said. "I'm not seeking his approval or validation. His answer to your problems seems to be to try to contain you." She smiled at nothing in particular. "But if that answer means giving up who you are, I'd rather avoid it. I'm not opposed to putting that on hold if there's a better way." She paused. "I'm not just going to throw a solution at you when all I know about you comes from a file someone else wrote."

"What else is there to know?" Liyar asked, his expression unmoving from the severe and stoic mask that it had settled into after the apparent lapse of earlier. "What do you require to know in order to formulate a solution?"

A frown tugged at Dawn's lips. People weren't just something that could be accurately transcribed into text. Even logical people weren't always predictable. They didn't react the same way to the same things, even from day to day. "I can't really understand a person without spending time with them," she said at last. "The words one person uses to describe another can paint different pictures from person to person." Her frown deepened. That had made a lot more sense in her head. "So I feel better painting my own picture using the other one as a reference."

Liyar wanted a clear explanation. Something he could say, something linear. But she was referring to Terran exo-empathy, evolved in place of telepathy. Something he didn't understand that well at all. Qualia. "And there is no way for you to expedite that process," he deducted with the barest hint of a frown. "Terran empathy is confusing to me. If you are capable of explaining this concept of 'understanding' further, I may be of more assistance." Solution was a good word. Solutions. How do you solve a brain?

Dawn made an odd little sound, something between a breath and a quiet sigh. She had no idea how to explain something most humans understood as part of... being human. "It's something that just... happens," she offered with an apologetic shrug. "You can't really give understanding a deadline." She pursed her lips. "It's something that happens as a human learns to predict another being... the thoughts and feelings behind their actions. It's a connection that grows through conversation and shared experiences." She sigh-breathed again. "It's not something I've had to try to explain before. I'm not very good at it."

Liyar unconsciously straightened some of the things on her desk. They were set at odd angles. Placed haphazardly. "Yes. Motivation, intent. I will endeavor to make my meanings clear." He spoke a little distantly, as though distracted by the PADDs and odds and ends in front of him. "Psionic societies do not need to observe these rituals," he said almost under his breath. "I am not proficient..." he trailed off with a small gesture and righted a fallen tiny carved statue, placing it beside its friend and turning them both to face outward.

What was it about her office that brought out the redecorator in people? It was getting to the point where some people were engaged in an invisible organisation war against others, unchanging and rechanging changes she'd had no hand in. "You're probably better at it than you think. Understanding isn't really a conscious thing, usually." Telepathy would make it boring, mechanical. It was a shortcut that would take all the fun out of meeting people and learning about them for herself. She made a face. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. I think you're doing really well so far."

There was that word again. Boring. Yes, that was the word most people used to describe his species in general. And to outsiders, it was largely true. That she considered telepathy to be boring was intriguing to him. "I had often thought that the experience of psi-nulls would be dull," he said, almost at random, since she hadn't spoken it aloud. Even with the psi-cuffs around his wrists, he didn't notice the difference, not right away. "I believe your terminology for occurrences such as these is irony." He continued straightening.

Dawn tilted her head so quickly the movement was almost instantaneous. Now that was interesting. "I wouldn't know about psi or psi-null," she said distractedly. "I only think reading someone's thoughts directly instead of learning about them would take a lot of the joy out of what I do. I'd think that whether I was telepathic or not, I hope." She nodded to herself. "Yes, 'irony' is right."

"I don't mind if you read my thoughts, though. That's what you're used to, so it would be silly of me to expect you not to. It's part of your identity." I'll get used to it eventually, even if it's a bit strange at first. She smiled brightly. "I suppose it would be interesting to try out some time. Reading minds, I mean. Not that it's something a person just... does."

It was still bizarre that people referred to it as reading thoughts, as though they were a book. For him, it was more than just an add-on, or an extra way of perception. It was perception. "It is something I do," he reminded her dryly. "However, it was not my intention to do so purposefully. I would not seek to violate your privacy." He stacked two PADDs on top of one another and placed them off to the side. "That is unethical. I am attempting to accustom myself to the psionic monitoring device. It is meant to curtail psionic input that cannot otherwise be filtered." And it wasn't working too well. "For my people, telepathy is another way to learn about someone."

Dawn shook her head. "I meant... someone who isn't telepathic doesn't just read minds to try it out." She waved a hand to dismiss the thought. "Ethical or not, it doesn't really bother me. That's what I was trying to say. If it's a way you learn about people, it's a bit selfish to tell you not to, especially if it's accidental." She raised an eyebrow at the stacked PADDs. "The... 'psionic monitoring device'... is a bit like sunglasses, then." Mindglasses. That was a strange thought.

"Sunglasses is not a concept I am familiar with," Liyar admitted. He finished arranging everything. "They are for protection. The law is quite clear in that matter."

"They... lower the amount of sunlight that gets to your eyes. Make it easier to see on bright days." She peered at him curiously. "I guess they are for protection, too."

"If you would compare the concept of sunlight to telepathic activity, then yes. As you say, it would be like that," the Vulcan nodded and backed away from the desk a little, standing with his hands behind him. Having regained his sense of internal balance after the verbal outburst from before, he had reverted back to his less than forthcoming manner.

That made a bit of sense, although she didn't know what being telepathic was like, exactly. The way Liyar described it made it sound like it was a sixth sense, somewhat outside of his control at times. Sekhet had written something about Liyar's telepathy... although she had a hard time making sense of 'psi-levels', even after she'd done a bit of reading about it. It annoyed her that it intrigued her.

"It's not working very well," she observed, her tone falling somewhere between 'nice weather' and 'what's for dinner?' She poked a PADD with her finger and then looked back up at Liyar. "Why?"

Liyar made an unconscious gesture of his hand, a near shrug. "When I was tested at the Vega medical center, I was told that it was likely my mind had been tampered with. I could not tell you why it has manifested now, the event in question happened approximately fifteen years ago. I did not experience this until..." he blinked again, scanning the swirling wood patterns on her desk intently. He distracted himself by formulating a non-specific reply. Even while the exact, precise amount of time swiftly calculated itself. "A few months ago."

Dawn's eyes widened. His mind had been tampered with? His calm tone made it hit her even harder. Her face fell. She remembered parts of his file had dealt with his stay at a psionic treatment facility of some kind after the Dominion War - she realised now why they had been so extensive. He hadn't just been attacked. This wasn't something she knew how to handle. Was psionic tampering anything at all like psychological damage? She doubted it. "I..." Try. You owe it to him to try.

"That's..." She took a deep breath. She had to clear her mind. "Do you remember when it first happened? Anything that could have triggered it?" He'd said he didn't know why. Still... she didn't like that. If something hadn't triggered it, the initial 'tampering' - as he so coldly put it - was responsible. That wasn't something she could help at all.

"I recall the incident, yes," Liyar answered. He recited as much as he knew, as much as they'd pieced together at Ka'veya, in the same dull, detached tone, as though he were giving an interview or had practiced explaining it repetitively. "During the incident in question, I had been sent to retrieve fallen soldiers. For us, it is not the body, but the -" he made another gesture, "The katra. When we are close to death, this gets -" another pause, "Given. To a family member who is prepared to receive the experience or to an Adept. I was neither. After they fired the weapon at me, I discovered I was capable of taking on more than one pattern. So that is what I did. It took months to reverse the damage done. I am told that due to the changes in my mind, it is unlikely they expected me to leave the compound. That were to take me elsewhere, to study it," he clarified distantly. "The building we were in collapsed before that could occur. They focused upon gaining entry to the orbital defense network instead and took others for their purposes." He continued following the etched patterns along her desk with his eyes. "As for what has triggered it again now," he looked up, idly rubbing his back teeth together, "I am told shattered bonds have an unstable effect on the mind."

He stopped there, watching her, keenly aware of the tiny sparks of emotion and sensation spraying against his shields like metal hitting metal, bright and gold in the dark. How could she help? He did not know. Why would she wish to help? Why was she so focused upon that? He did not expect help. It was a fact of life. Kaiidth. Why did it cause her pain? It was not hers. He could not understand why she felt this way. Why she needed to help. But she was at a loss, and the loop of empathy wrapped around him like a fist. He breathed out, unconsciously mimicking her rhythm. "It was not meant to distress you," he spoke quietly. "It is what it is." He rubbed his wrist absently behind his back as if reminding himself to turn it off, shut it down.

Dawn was quiet for a long time. Shattered bonds. The words hit her with surprising force. He was talking about his family. The family that had been torn from him. She hadn't fully understood before, but there was a different kind of bond in a relationship between telepaths. When they lost someone... shattered bonds. Maybe that wasn't just an emotional effect. Maybe it actually... touched your mind.

She shivered, slowly rubbing her arms. She'd asked a horrible question. To have to deal with that kind of wound, when your culture expected you to simply think it through and move on... as if it were that easy. Losses like that changed people. Her parents' deaths had changed her, and she'd been too young to fully grasp it. But to lose a lover and a child...

"I know," she breathed at last. "I know." No wonder Liyar's colours were so vivid compared to other Vulcans. They were being pressured, held back. Boiled. "You're... a very strong person, Liyar. It's... a bit scary. In your position, I... don't know if I could be the same."

"I am not the only Vulcan to survive such circumstances. We - what do you say - move on. Life calls to life." He dug the edge of this thumb under the nail of his opposite thumb, trying to erase the razor sharpness that wanted to cut. It has always been your choice, the Kir'shara said. Choose now. It wasn't a discussion he wanted to have. But he wasn't going to let it twist him. He wasn't going to let it change him. Not into this Thing that preferred others to bleed and suffer before he himself could. "I believe it is time for me to leave. I must prepare for Alpha shift."

Breath rushed out of her like a pressure had been lifted from her chest. Relief? Or regret? It was true. Liyar wasn't entirely unique in his circumstances, she was sure. But that didn't make her feel any better about it. She wasn't sure it made him feel any better about it, if feel was the right word. She nodded once, her head barely moving. "Thank you, Liyar," she said, her tone firmer than her gaze. "You're an exceptional person. It's been good to talk to you. I hope it helped, even a little." She had a lot to think about. Too much to think about.

ON:

Lieutenant (JG) Liyar
Diplomatic Officer VDF/SDD
USS Galileo

Lieutenant (JG) Dawn Meridian
Counsellor
USS Galileo

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