Remembrance - Part I

Posted on Fri 22nd Feb, 2013 @ 3:26pm by Colonel Horatio Drake

1,458 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: http://sb109.sim-station.net/index.php/sim/missions/id/3
Location: Deck 27: Drake's Quarters
Timeline: MD-03: 0350 Hours

OOC (Jamie): This post starts as a flashback! Hopefully it'll give you a bit more of an insight into who Patrick was and what happened to Drake after his death! I wanted to settle Drake into Protector before I revealed too much about his history. So the Senior Staff briefing finished at about 0100 hours on MD-03... this is set a few hours after it.

ON:

"Take care of yourself Chief, it's been a pleasure" Ashton spoke with a wide smile on his face.

"I wish you'd reconsider this Ashton, a lot of people here are going to miss you!"

"We've been over this one Graham! You know that I can't, I need to concentrate on what’s important in my life now. That’s why I’m leaving!”

The Chief Warrant Officer didn't reply, just simply smiled.

"We'll keep in contact mate, don't worry about that... our drinking sessions are far from over!"

Whilst the two officers had very little in common they shared a love of scotch - many a night they could be found finding the bottom of one bottle or another!

"Well they better not be" he replied in his harsh scottish accent "I'll see you around Ashton".

With that said the shook hands and embraced each other with their free arms. The Chief produced a mock salute, smiled again and disappeared out of sight down the corridor back into the USS Ronnau.

Ashton took one last look at the interior of the Nebula Class ship and knew a large part of him would miss is badly, afterall it was his first command. But the time had come to now start concentrating on life itself. Starfleet had played its part and Ashton had given them some bloody good years. But now he was going to give the rest of his years to Patrick… someone infinitely more important than Starfleet.

Walking down the docking corridor he felt alive and invigorated - he had booked a month shore leave now, followed by a quick few weeks wrapping up affairs and then he’d hang up his uniform for good. Many a night he and Graham had discussed his predicament, until eventually he had decided that enough was enough.

He emerged into the main arrivals area and searched for his family and whatever friends had come to greet him. After a few minutes of searching he spotted his mother and father near a wall on the far side of the disembarkation area.

He walked quickly towards them with a big grin on his face!

"Mum! Dad!" He made sure his hand luggage was securely on his shoulder then hugged his mum first then his dad.

"Ashton!" She said, with what seemed like a forced smile "how have you been?"

"Not too bad" he said with a suspicious tone "looking forward to the next month, that's for sure!"

Neither of his parents smiled, but instead looked uncomfortable. Something suddenly dawned in him,

"Where's everyone else?"

"They're back at the house" his father replied.

"And where's Patrick? I would have thought he'd be here to see me arrive!" Ashton's grin returned.

His parents once again looked uncomfortable and sneaked a look at each other, which he had rarely seen before.

"What's wrong? What’s happened?" Ashton was now incredibly interested in their suspect behaviour.

"Listen... Ashton... something happened..." his father started, just to be cut off by his mother.

"Sweetheart" she said, putting a hand on his shoulder "it's about Patrick... there was... an accident... two days ago..."

"What? What sort of accident? Is he alright?" Ashton's heart started racing.

His mother squared him straight in the face, "Sweetheart... he... the accident was severe... he... he didn't make it"

He froze.

A tear ran down his mother's face, something he had seen only once or twice, "he's dead".

At that precise moment... a moment that would haunt him for the rest of his life... his entire world came crashing down around him. He didn't feel his bag fall of his arm, or here the crash that it made.
He stumbled into the wall and braced himself against it, before resting his back on it and sliding down to the ground. He couldn't cry, he couldn't speak, he couldn't breathe - it was as if somebody had just stabbed him in the heart, reality seemed to freeze. A million and one things raced through the logical parts of his mind, urging him to discover what had happened and obtain as much information as possible in order to reason with what had happened. But the emotional part of his mind had frozen him, utterly and completely frozen him.
Five minutes ago he had been a young, promising and relatively experienced career officer with what could have been a glittering career ahead of him. Now he was a broken man, the rules and morals that he had lived his entire life by had just been erased in a singular stroke.
For the first time in his life he felt disgusted to wear the Starfleet uniform... the decisions that it had forced him to make... the way that it kept him away from home for such long periods of time... kept him away from the man that he loved.

==

Ashton sat on the floor leaning against his bed with music playing that Patrick used to like, he felt drunk but it wasn't a nice feeling as it had once been. He looked down at the bottle he was clutching in his right hand - it was half empty - then looked at the glass in his left hand - it was completely empty... he refilled the glass and downed it in one.

Over a year had now passed since the shuttle accident that had taken Patrick away from him. Starfleet put him on compassionate leave and for nearly six months he went into seclusion, drinking more and more until his friends and parents forced him to get help. For the last month he had been in a series of intensive counselling sessions... he had told the counsellor what he had wanted to hear... the sessions came to an end, a psychiatric review was carried out and Ashton was deemed as fit to return to duty.

Something had changed though... something deep... something sinister.

He had always held Starfleet in the highest of regard; he had always seen them as the absolute good guys. Everyone was aware of the decisions Starfleet had to make during the Dominion war... everyone was aware of the morally grey areas they entered... some disagreed with the actions they took... Ashton thought he understood though... despite being too young to be involved in the war, he agreed with every decision and course of action they had taken. He stuck up for them whenever the subject arose... Starfleet was very much his life... them and Patrick.

He would go on assignment or a tour and promise Patrick time after it... that time rarely came in the abundance that was promised. He had never meant to, but had always seemed to put him second to Starfleet – despite the fact that they had never forced him to delay or cancel shore leave, they had never forced him to put the hours in that he did, they had never forced him to do anything – he felt duty bound to do so... he enjoyed what he did, he thought he was making a real difference.

This commitment, this pride, this passion had now turned – he now felt hatred, despise and anger. He had convinced himself that the accident was inadvertently Starfleet’s fault... he had convinced himself that if he had gone on shore leave when he had originally planned to, that Patrick would never have boarded that shuttle and the fateful accident would never have taken place.

Deep down – somewhere in the deepest of crevices inside him, he knew that this was not true – but the alcohol, mourning and sorrow had buried the truth... he had utterly convinced himself that it was indeed their fault. The uniform that he once felt proud to wear, he felt nothing but disdain towards now – he took a sideways glance and saw his tunic slung over the floor to his left.

The wound that loosing Patrick had caused was not healing – it hurt as much as it did the day he found out. He felt cold and numb – the duties which, at one point, gave him meaning and purpose now gave him nothing – he was as autonomous as a computer. He felt the sorrow swelling inside of him again, finding it hard to breathe... with a fresh set of tears running down his cheeks he looked at the glass... it was once again empty... he refilled it.

OFF:

 

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