Session One (TBC)

Posted on Thu 2nd Mar, 2017 @ 1:33pm by Commander Paul Graves PsyD & Colonel Horatio Drake

2,045 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Wrongs Darker Than Death Or Night
Location: Deck 83: Chief Counsellor's Office
Timeline: TBC

Starfleet was a beast built on procedures, protocols and regulations. There was either a procedure, a protocol or a regulation for just about any eventuality one could imagine. What was the procedure for charting a gaseous anomaly... Starfleet had it covered. What was the protocol for waiting for a turbolift with a Senior Officer? Starfleet had it covered. What was the regulation for being relieved of a shift? Starfleet had it covered. It was these rules that kept the machine going... everyone had a place, knew what they were doing and how they were going to do it. Truth be told, it was what attracted Drake to the service in the first place. If you want to be a soldier with an interest in Starship design history, there were more institutions to join than Starfleet... especially after the Dominion war. They may be smaller but would probably be better oiled. However none afforded quite the same rigour towards rules that Starfleet did.

As Drake found himself sitting in Graves' office, awaiting his requested cup of coffee he found himself hating a particular rule:

'Starfleet Medical Regulation 124, Section B - Any personnel relieved of duty for compassionate reasons, for a traumatic event directly relating to the loss of a relative/spouse, for a period of six months or longer, will have to undergo psychological assessments by a Starfleet Counsellor before returning to duty.

Starfleet Medical Regulation 124, Section C - Upon reappointment to posting, all personnel will have to undergo three follow-up grief counseling and readjustment sessions from a Starfleet Counsellor, upon being cleared to return to duty. These must take place in the first six months after reappointment.'

"Here you are, Colonel," Paul said as he set Drake's mug of coffee in front of the station CO along with his own cup of steaming chai. They sat at Paul's desk, which Paul had cleared of everything but his stylus and PADD. "I'll need to take brief notes while we talk, but I'll do my best to be unobtrusive with it." He seated himself at his desk. "How can I help you today, Colonel?"

He had considered offering Drake the choice of sitting at the desk or at the sofa and had decided not to make the offer. He typically sat with patients at his desk and only used the sofa for group counseling, the implied message being that counseling was work, a joint endeavor between the counselor and the counseled. It was not a time to sit back and relax.

"Thank you, Lieutenant" He put his hand around the mug and could feel the warmth coming through, it felt good. His dealings with Counsellors, up to the point of actually being required to see one, had been minimal. He knew that generally they were referred to as 'counsellors', some were addresses by their title, such as a Chief Medical Officer... Drake, being a Marine, always used rank. However, there was something about Graves' general demeanour that he ever so slightly had warmed to.

He hesitated, "Do you... prefer being called Counsellor?"

"Counselor, Doctor, Lieutenant; it makes no difference to me, Colonel," Paul said with a slight shrug. "Use whichever one you prefer. At some point I hope you'll feel comfortable enough with me to call me Paul, but until you do, any of those titles are fine."

"Very well... Lieutenant. With regards to what you can help me with, I thought we could perhaps get my first follow-up session stowed away." He was careful with his words... of course the session had been booked in so he knew why he was here. He had no doubt that asking why Drake was here was some sort of counselling method.

Paul nodded and brought up his brief notes of the things he wanted to cover. "All right. As I understand it, you were on extended leave following the death of your husband, Patrick. I don't know if your marriage was happy or not, and I've often found that that doesn't really make a difference, when it comes to grief. I'm very sorry that you've lost his companionship. How are you feeling?"

Companionship, the word struck home with Drake. He had never viewed their relationship like that but, in hindsight, that's exactly what it was. He had not only lost the person he loved, but he had lost his companion.

He smiled, after the momentary lapse. "Thank you. In fact, we were very happy together. It's true that for a time I took it quite badly, worse than what I expected. I'd be lying if I said I still didn't miss him but I've come to terms with the fact that he is no longer here and life must go on." He picked up his mug from the desk and brought it to his lips... still too hot.

And there, Paul thought, was the reason why telling Lt. Michaels to lie to him had worked so well--because the patients always lied to themselves, anyway, to varying degrees. The trick to counseling was to sift through it all, to winnow out what the patient was truly feeling. Drake and his husband had had a happy marriage, he saw--at least Drake had felt happy in it, and Paul felt he was on reasonably firm ground in believing that Patrick had shared Drake's feelings.

Paul nodded. "Coming to terms with it is the unpleasant but necessary thing we have to do to remain functional, to survive. But what matters is how you are feeling. Can you tell me about that, at all?" Paul gave Drake a direct look. "With grief, Colonel, any feeling or lack of feeling is acceptable. No two people experience it in the same way."

Drake shifted in his chair and tightened his grip on his mug, ever so slightly. "I feel remorse, from time to time, but as the weeks and months march on this feeling lessens. I've redoubled my focus towards Starfleet and feel content that my duty on this base is my number one priority."... and now my only priority

He wondered how much of that Graves was going to accept. Whilst it wasn't true, he had gone over it so many times in his mind that he now believed it himself. If someone believed a lie so much that they accepted it as the truth, could an empath see through that? He wasn't sure.

Paul gave Drake his full attention. "What I'm understanding you to say is that you feel regret for something you did or didn't do with regard to Patrick, and you are now concentrating solely on your work. Is that accurate?"

"Lieutenant, you misapprehend me." He said, smiling. Graves was to counselling as a hammer was to a nail - indeed at this very moment he felt like the first layer or two of his armour had been prized off without effort or hesitation. "I feel remorse for his death, for his loss... but, as a Starfleet Marine, that has always, and always will, come first. My focus towards this didn't change when we were together and haven't changed since... I am simply focusing on what's good in my life, on what I take pride in." The smile returned, bigger and better this time.

"What about Patrick's death or his loss do you feel remorse for?" Paul asked. "Remorse is something we feel when we believe we are or were responsible for something that we failed to follow through with. This is a common thing for grieving people to feel. I've felt it myself after the death of a good friend. People always think, "I could have, I should have done more--or less--of whatever it is. When you feel remorse it can be very difficult to let yourself feel anything else. So what happened?"

He's smiling at me, but he feels dead inside, Paul thought. So let's work with the truth he is telling me.

"Well that's just it, Lieutenant... I simply felt I could have been there more. But... as you say... it's a common thing to feel after the death of a loved one. It's something that, as time goes on, I feel less and less." He had answered his question with little more information than he had been given to qualify the original question. How much longer was this going to go on?

Solid brick wall, Paul thought. He can't even get close to speaking about what's bothering him.

He decided to ease off for now; some doors had to be opened slowly. "We can cover it in more detail later, Colonel; these things take time. For now, I'd like you to think about how you want to proceed, going forward. We can discuss that more in your next session. It might help you to write down the question, 'What am I feeling?' on a scrap of paper, and put it in a place where you'll frequently see it. I know it sounds ridiculously banal, but it's been known to help. The answer might be, 'I feel guilty.' or 'I feel lonely.' or 'I feel nothing.' for days. That's fine. The thing is for you to recognize what you're feeling, no matter what it is, and to be able to admit it to yourself."

"I understand, Lieutenant - no doubt a sound counselling technique, proven to work and something I will commit to." The smile disappeared, he could feel his inner demon start to tickle the lower depths of his stomach... that was stage one. Stage two, three and four usually happened in quick succession... the demon growing and making it's way up his oesophagus before being released. That is why he always tried to keep it in check at stage one. There was something about the calmness that Graves was approaching this with that annoyed him. He seemed to be acting as if Drake had come to him and wanted to get something off his chest. think about how you want to proceed... I want to grab a phaser and...

"However, you must remember that these sessions are compulsory for me. Sometimes, there isn't a deep wound or complex story underneath a traumatic experience." He paused, knowing that his lack of composure hadn't been as bad as he thought it had looked.

Now what was that flash of anger about? Paul wondered. He could feel it seething in the other man, tightly coiled, like a reptile about to spring. He could also feel that lip-service had just been paid--but that was, frankly, Drake's problem, not his. You could lead a patient to helpful techniques; you couldn't make the patient use them.

"When sessions are compulsory and not routine, there is a complex story," Paul said. "You have 'complex story' written all over you--and that's to be expected. Officers don't make it to Colonel in the Marines without having considerable depth to them. It's one of the reasons I much prefer working in Starfleet than in a private civilian practice."

"Quite so, Lieutenant... quite so." Surprisingly the coffee was still ever so slightly too hot, he downed the remnants regardless. "If it's all the same to you, I think we'll call it a day with this session. It's been... enlightening and I'll endeavour to adhere to the techniques you've suggested. On a different note, may I see you in my Ready Room in one hour, please?"

Paul gave Drake a look; they still had a good fifteen minutes in the session. But counseling was not a power struggle, and he could also feel the sense of anger welling up from somewhere deep in the man. The inner snake was raising its head, trying to open its jaws. Paul itched to uncover why Drake suddenly felt so threatened. "No, Colonel, not a problem at all. I'll extend your next session so you aren't shorted on time."

It wasn't a power struggle, but there were requirements, and Paul was not about to permit himself to be manipulated by a patient trying to weasel his way out of his session.

Col. Horatio Drake
Commanding Officer

Lt. Paul Graves, PsyD
Chief Counselor

 

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