Love Hurts

Posted on Fri 6th Jul, 2012 @ 6:38pm by Commander Brian Windsong & Commander Paul Graves PsyD

3,205 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: http://sb109.sim-station.net/index.php/sim/missions/id/2
Location: Counselor's Office
Timeline: After Briefing

As the counselor's Office was in a part of the station he had not explored yet, Brian decided it best to bring Wicker with him. So after feeding her then himself, he got directions from the computer, took hold of her harness and headed to the man's office.

There were of course issues that he was still dealing with, he had had THE nightmare again last night for the first time in months, but he felt he had his situation under control. Colonel Drake on the other hand was a wild card. Brian didn't feel comfortable in bringing up his concerns in a casual conversation, but he did need to talk to someone.

Besides he needed to have his boarding evaluation anyway, so he could kill two birds with one stone.

He hadn't made an appointment so he hoped Lieutenant Graves would be free.

He pressed the chime and waited.

Inside the chief counselor's office, Paul hung up his diplomas and was selecting a painting or two from the replicator to add some more interesting decoration to the room when he heard the door chime. Luckily, the place was in a suitable condition now for receiving guests; his crates of supplies were now emptied and stood neatly by the door.

The office was a combination of workspace and sitting room, with a desk and two chairs at one end and a sofa, loveseat, and coffee table closer to the door. It was carpeted in a warm beige color, and the furnishings were of wood, upholstered in matching earth tones. Paul had chosen the paintings, both close-ups of arched stone bridges bedecked with flowers, specifically to add color to the surroundings. If he was going to work here all day, he at least wanted it to be pleasant to look at.

"Come in," he said, wondering who had come to see him. At his words the door slid open, as he'd programmed it to.

Lt. Commander Windsong stood in the doorway, Paul saw with some surprise, along with his guide dog. "It's good to see you again, Commander," Paul said as he walked over to greet the diplomatic officer. "What can I do for you?"

Brian walked in carefully and took a moment to get hie bearings. He picked up from Paul's surface thoughts the general layout of the room. He then walked closer to where the Counselor was standing. He took a deep breath then said, "I needed to to speak with you about a personal matter. Not about me, but about someone else. And if you have the time, perhaps we could get my evaluation out of the way. In a way the two are interconnected."

Windsong seemed...very concerned, Paul thought, lightly sensing the other man's surface emotions. "I have time," Paul said. "No one's scheduled any appointments with me yet, so yes, I'm available. There's a sofa and a square coffee table in front of it about five feet in front of you, at two o'clock," he said. "Might I get you something to drink? This office has a replicator."

"Thank you," Brian said as he moved towards the sofa. "Some Ginger Ale would be great." He released Wicker's harness, stretched out his hand til he found the sofa and sat down, Wicker curled up on the floor on the far side of the sofa.

"I believe we are both Empaths, so that should make things easier."

"Ah, you noticed my greeting probe," Paul said as he directed the replicator to produce a glass of iced ginger ale and a cup of steaming Earl Grey with cadamom. "I've not had a chance to do more than skim your file, so I didn't realize. If I came on too strong, let me know." He had no doubt that Brian would. Empaths were, if anything, dreadfully honest with each other.

Paul brought Brian's ginger ale to him and set his own teacup down on the coffee table. He took his PADD from his desk and sat down on the loveseat. "So, what's on your mind, Commander?" He observed Windsong's posture and facial expression as the other man spoke.

Brian slowly let out a breath. Now that he was here he wasn't sure if he should go on, but he was one to back off once he had started something. "The Colonel and I have something in common. A few things exactly, but one thing that could affect the Protector.

"We both lost someone that was very close to us. The Colonel lost his husband Patrick about a year or so ago, and I lost my fiance Morgan about five years ago. It was in that same attack that I was blinded. I still miss him a lot, but I think I have dealt with my loss as best I can. I am coping.

"I'm concerned that Colonel Drake has not. We met at a grief counseling support group some months ago and he was stand-offish then and I haven't seen any change. He is angry at Star-Fleet and the world and I think that is affecting his judgment."

Paul paused for a moment to think long and hard before he spoke. "It might well be," he said at last. "In what way do you believe Col. Drake's judgment is being affected? What do you observe him doing or ordering that disturbs you?"

And, if the flare of sadness just before the words, "I am coping" had not told Paul what Windsong really felt, the tiny pause-and-swallow Windsong did at the same moment would have.

Brian had to think for a minute before replying, "Nothing overt; he is hardly Captain Bligh or Queeg. But I invited him to dinner, just dinner, mind you, and he declined, then I made what I will admit was a smart-ass answer about how he was turning down an offer from an incredibly attractive man. I was just trying to be funny and break some of the tension I felt.

"Well what he said seemed innocent enough, he just repeated his polite refusal, but there was a lot of anger and animosity that I sensed. If it had just been directed at me I wouldn't be bringing it up. It was more of an anger against the world in general and Star Fleet in particular. I'm just concerned that he is not going to be able to manage that anger and it's going to get someone hurt.

"So you see that's why I'm here." he sat back against the sofa, shoulder sagging slightly as the steepled the fingers and looked in the Couneslor's general direction.

"It might simply be that Drake was pissed off at being flirted with before he was ready for it and did feel anger not just at you but at the world in general," Paul pointed out. "It doesn't have to mean that he's likely to lose control at a critical moment." He shrugged. "On the other hand, grief is a very individual and unpredictable thing, and it can hit acutely, without warning because of the most innocuous things."

He looked directly at Brian. "I'll talk to Col. Drake and keep an eye on him. I didn't know he'd suffered a recent loss, and that's information I need to have. For now, I'll just do my best to get to know him as much as he'll let me and take things as they come. I appreciate you letting me know about possible problems."

"Thank you Doctor. I appreciate it. You are probably right, it's nothing to worry about but I thought you should know."

"Oh, I don't _know_ that it's nothing to worry about, Commander; I didn't read Drake's emotions. I'll just have to observe him during a stressful situation and decide then." Paul smiled at Brian. "And it's just Mr. Graves for now; I don't have my doctorate yet. Still got to finish the dissertation and defend it."

Brian stood to his feet and looked as if he might be leaving, even taking a step away from the sofa. Wicker rose to her feet and moved towards him. Then he stopped and sank back down. "There is one more thing. I have been having a recurring nightmare. I thought I was done with it, but it came to me last night. Maybe it's because tomorrow is the anniversary of Morgan's death and my being blinded.

Paul winced. "I can imagine how disturbing that would be. What do you remember of your dream?"

Brian leaned back against the back of the sofa and gave an involuntary shudder. He hesitated before he answered. "It starts out pleasantly enough; we are making love and I am looking down in his face and I can see it just like it happened this morning. Then someone grabs me from behind, I can't see how who they are. They tie me up and then they torture Morgan in front of me.

He looks back at me as he is bleeding out and says "You were supposed to protect me. What kind of husband are you. What kind of man are you? I depended on you and you let this happen to me?"

Then they blindfold me and start to slap me around I even feel it like it was real not a dream."

"How much of that dream is real memory, and how much of it is your mind talking?" Paul asked quietly. He suspected he could answer his own question to some extent, but only Windsong could tell him for sure.

He kept his gaze on Windsong's face--the dark, short-cropped hair, the almost-beard tracing his jawline, the sharp lines of his face. Any other time, Paul thought, he would have considered the man attractive. Right now, though, his attention was riveted by the haunted look on Windsong's face and the depth of still raw, if carefully buried, suffering.

"The scene about our making love was real, it happened almost exactly the way the dream starts out, But the attack happened later. We had showered together, talked about the bonding ceremony and the marriage, had breakfast. Everything was going perfectly. I thought it was going to be the best day of my life.

"I had a man I cared for, the Akadians were going to sign the treaty to join the Federation, and then." He paused taking a deep almost ragged breath, "Then it all fell apart, in an instant. We were on our way to the ceremony for the treaty when we were attacked.

"They grabbed both of us, and they..... they.... then the bastards shot him at close range with a phaser. They literally cut him apart in pieces an..."

He stopped, unable to continue. He had no tear ducts so he could not cry, but he sobbed quietly.

There were rare moments when Paul hated his profession, and now was one of them. His job was not to comfort, even though everything in him insisted that he go to Windsong immediately, embrace him, share in his grief, and let him cry himself out. But even on Betazed, where everyone was an empath, mindhealers did not do that. Mindhealers observed and kept their distance, both for the sake of objectivity and for their own safety.

"That is horrible beyond words," Paul said--and let Windsong feel the depth of his caring; it was as much as he could professionally do. He slid a box of facial tissues toward Windsong, unaware that the man wasn't actually shedding any tears. Paul waited until Windsong had calmed somewhat before speaking again.

"I'm sorry for asking you to relive that," Paul said, "but I did it for a couple of reasons." He fell silent for a moment before continuing. "I needed to know what parts of your dream were real and not real, and you had to see it, too, so you could take a second look at what you're feeling."

Brian nodded fractionally. "I understand," he said at length, "You did what you had to do. I thought I had things under control, it's been five years, but it is why I joined the Traditionalists, why I carry this sword and not some modern weapon and why I have refused corrective surgery or implants. The people that did this are still at large, still free and until they aren't, well, I wear this blindness as a reminder of what they did, and until they are brought to justice, I will continue to wear it. I don't know if that makes sense to you, but it does to me."

"It's grief," Paul said. "There's not really any such thing as getting it 'under control;' it will hit you at odd moments, when you least expect it. You don't stop missing someone just because time passes; you simply adjust to the absence enough so that you can function. But in cases like yours, where your loss was traumatic, it's much, much harder for the pain to fade because you live with it every day. And, as you said, the fact that you can't see is a constant remeinde4r of your loss. You're grieving for your sight as well as for Morgan."

Paul studied Brian's expression for a moment. Somehow, the man had gone from being 'Windsong' to being 'Brian' in his thoughts in just that instant. "You seem to have adjusted to the loss as well as anyone could. But you clearly feel immense guilt. Why?"

"Because," Brian replied, his voice flat almost emotionless, "Because it was my job to protect him. I was the strong one, here in my mind. I should have detected them, I'm the super-powerful telepath, and I should have detected them, but I was too busy with other things, I wasn't paying attention. It was my fault he died."

"It's the fault of terrorists that Morgan died," Paul said firmly. "I realize you don't agree with that, and you might never agree with that, but it's true. Had they not decided to attack, you and Morgan would have been in no danger." He thought a moment. "Why do you feel it was your job to protect Morgan? Is that a part of your culture, or was it a decision between the two of you? Was that a specific quality of your relationship?"

"Of course I know it was the terrorists that killed him, " Brian replied, "But it was my efforts to get Akadia to join the Federation, and it was my family's politics that made us their target and put us in harm's way.

"It was my job to protect him, because my family was what Humans would call nobility and his family was not. It was my job because I was the stronger one, and, and it was my job because that's just who I am, how I was wired."

"Ah," Paul said. "That's the puzzle piece I was missing, the noblesse oblige, the unspoken understanding between you, whatever it was that made you feel personally responsible for Morgan's safety." He went silent to think. "It's odd...I was just thinking that, if I were in a relationship, I would likely feel responsible for my lover, too, but I wouldn't want him or her to feel responsible for me. It occurs to me to wonder if my lover would feel the same way and if Morgan felt the same way about you and himself."

"You know, you sound a lot like Morgan he didn't want me to worry about him, that's the one thing we would really fight about, but protecting people, especially someone I love, well I just can't help myself."

Paul nodded. "It's a natural part of loving someone. You want to protect them, even if all logic says you can't. You still want to try, and you still feel destroyed if you fail. Had you been the one they phasered, and Morgan had lived, I'll bet he would feel a lot like you do now."

"That could well be, but I was not the one to be phasered. I'm the one that was left alive. Since I could not prevent his death, then there is only one thing left. I have to avenge it."

Paul listened to him and nodded. "What person worthy of the name wouldn't?" he agreed. He eyed Brian. "Just don't get in over your head. There is more to life than vengeance."

Brian nodded, "I never get in over my head Paul," he replied

Then he sat without saying anything for several seconds. He cocked his head to one side as he looked in Paul's direction. Something that had been nagging at the periphery of his senses shifted and came into focus. A slow, small, but genuine smile crossed his face. "Counselor, you find me cute? I'm flattered. Assuming I'm picking up what I think I'm picking up. I do like the sound of your voice and your mind. If the session is over, I guess that I'm no longer a patient then perhaps it would be appropriate for us to have dinner or....." He let the comment hang in the air without filling in the blank. He was going to ask him what he enjoyed in the bedroom, but decided that would be a bit much, even for him.

"Cute?" Paul echoed, the comment from Brian coming out out of the blue. What a juvenile idea. But belatedly, he did recall liking Windsong's looks. He snorted at Brian. "I am hardly a teenage girl, Commander. I find you attractive, handsome. There's a vast difference between that and 'cute.'" He leaned back against the loveseat cushions and laid one elbow on the armrest, lacing his fingers together as he picked up on other fleeting emotions from the man who sat across from him. "I'd enjoy dinner with you very much. But since you're senior staff, you are still my patient. And I don't sleep with my patients--or men I've just met."

Brian's right eye-brow quirked, "You never struck me as the schoolgirl type, Counselor. If you did I wouldn't have said anything; I'm attracted to people with strong personalities, not weak ones. And I'm glad you find me handsome, I take it from your tone that attractive is superior to cute."

Paul chuckled. "Very much so--to me, anyway."

"And I didn't say anything about sleeping with you. Okay, I might have thought it, but I didn't say it. I can respect your not sleeping with men you just met, though that is not frowned on in my culture, but everyone on the Starbase is your patient. You're going to get awfully lonely."

"I do have staff--or at least, I will," Paul pointed out. "But I don't have them yet. Until I get an assistant, attraction will just have to remain...attraction."

"Well, why don't we start with dinner and take it a step at a time. I think attraction will take care of itself."

"I'd be delighted to, Commander," Paul said. He shot Brian a smile. "Whenever you're ready. I'll eat just about anything but gakh."

"I don't think you'll get any argument from me there. I would never touch that stuff either."

OFF

Lt. Commander Brian Windsong
Chief Diplomatic Officer

Lt.(jg) Paul Graves
Chief Counselor
SB Protector

 

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