Star Trek: Starbase 777

As soon as Twelve materialised with Vara'l and Mavna, they immediately launched into further work as she declared. "Patient is a xB Romulan male, numerous injuries to upper body, chest and arms, phaser burns burns, cranial injury." And listed the litany of injuries the CTO had sustained as she proceeded to get straight to work!

Mavna too was immediately on it as soon as the materialization was complete, “Dermal regenerative has been applied, neck brace secured,” She was moving. Vara’l was put onto a biobed as soon as he was able to be, and the moment he hit it Mavna felt so much weight on her body. The lights of the medbay, the air conditioning, the relief of actually being back aboard a friendly ship…she stepped away from Twelve and any other medical staff currently aboard and let them work on patching the CTO up as she stumbled backward into a seat. Her gaze lingered on Vara’l, hoping for the absolute best. He led the entire team through all of this…he can’t just die, not after all of this.

Vara'l materialised still on the stretcher with his head immobilized. A mess that still remained still and unresponsive bar that whisper of breath that whispered in, then whispered out. They looked bad, scans likely indicated that all they had on board prior to the work of Mavna and Twelve might be best described as the painkiller and other efforts of a officer who had attempted to keep him going until they reached something better. It likely also ended up apparent that Vara'l's implants cried out for regeneration right now. He was exhausted. All of that was likely spotted by people who worked on him as they did. It'd be tough going and at times it likely looked like the end had arrived for the Romulan but in time. Vara'l stablized.

As the officers worked, Twelve initially worked with them. Constalty moving as Twelve battled alongside her colleagues to keep Vara'l alive. Battled to pull him back when he slipped away at moments before, as things improved and all that had occurred finally pulled upon her, Twelve tapped out and was replaced. Replaced as she headed over to Mavna and settled down next to her. "He'll pull through, we're sure of it." Declared what she'd declared and had watched the work then.

Mavna’s adrenaline was draining out of her body so fast. She had slouched in her chair by the time Twelve came to sat down, having watched everything as closely as she could from her vantage point. The young doctor’s eyes slid over to her superior, the light of the medbay accentuating just how tired and pallid she looked after a week stranded. She managed a small little, “Thank you,” Her voice was soft and tired, almost hoarse. Everything was catching up to her now.

Twelves eyes fixed upon the other then as she nodded and then proceeded to say. "You're welcome, now we see to your treatment, Lieutenant." And waved to a medical officer. Waved to them as Twelve watched the other and stated. "You are exhausted, we want you checked over and anything that needs treating treated, we've seen to the CTO now w-I see to you."

The doctor was in no position to protest. She took in a deep breath and let it out with a slow hiss, “…fine,” She relented, a sleepy and defeated smile on her face as she was helped to her feet.

Twelve smiled a bit at the doctor then and nodded to a bio bed as the El-Aurian helped whoever helped the doc to her feet. "Lets get you situated, Lieutenant." The El-Aurian declared then.

Mavna was put into a biobed, given fluids, given some time to rest…though she abhorred the idea of having to stay put and do nothing aboard the cube after waking up from her sedation, this was welcomed. This was so, so needed. Color had begun to return to her skin, no longer a sickly dehydrated and overheated green but the nice, rich verdant color it usually was. She sat in the biobed with her eyes closed, breathing in slowly. Her brain wasn’t putting her to sleep just yet, far too many thoughts still abuzz in her head (chief among them being that she needed a shower), but she was getting rest.

Being one of the last ones to beam into the medbay due to emotional compromise, Essen found herself in a simple chair. She didn't necessarily need a biobed, so she appreciated not having to appear as injured as everyone else. The change in scenery also brought her some comfort -- finally, a place where she knew she was safe, and a place where she knew everyone would be treated, some way or another. Essen kept her jacket off, however, and held it in her lap. As she looked around the room, she noticed the faces of both the Eventide team and the away team -- and anytime she made eye contact with anyone, she broke it in shame. 'They hate me,' Essen thought. 'They really... really hate me... they suffered because of me... all of them...'

Vesta was beamed onboard the Eventide and was immediately ushered off to the showers. She ended up taking 2, a water shower and a sonic shower. At last she physically clean. When she exited the stall she was expecting to find a uniform or at least a starfleet sanctioned off duty outfit, instead she found a patient gown. She didn’t hesitate to put it on before practically stumbling her way to the medbay where the medical staff onboard promptly sat her in a bed and promptly stuck her with an IV to deliver fluids and poly-nutrient solution. They promised to come by later and finish healing up her bruises, but they had more dire patients to attend too first. Vesta didn’t fall asleep yet, her mind tortured her and she was beginning to think she’d need a mile sedative or sleep aid if she wanted some proper rest. She’d ask for that when they came back around to finish healing her. In the meantime she was relishing in her cleanliness and letting her IV do its job. She also found herself in the bed next to Mavna. She had her visor and hand cybernetics off however, they had made the trip to somewhere else on the ship for cleaning and a recharge. She didn’t mind too much, she could still sign, and an orderly had given her a paddle to use to communicate with if needed. She looked to Mavna and reached over, hand just barely able to brush against the doctor on her own bio bed, to get her attention. “Hey.” She signed.

Mavna’s eyes slowly slid open, the dark circles beneath them having faded just a little bit and the bloodshot red around her green irises a lot less angry-looking. Her eyes floated down to her hand, and then floated over to Vesta, and she couldn’t help but offer a small little smile in the officer’s direction. In the back of her mind, beneath all the buzzing and stress, Mavna quietly committed herself to learning standard sign language. “Hey,” She signed back, “Okay?” She was running on a limited vocabulary, but she was going to do what she could. Her expression was soft, and Ato’s words of reassurance to both herself and Vesta were ringing true. She’d just have to find Ato as soon as she could.

Vesta recognized that Mavna’s limited vocabulary. She looked better than she did on the cube, but still clearly not fully better. Hell neither was Vesta, some of the deeper bruises that she had received only now coming to the surface. Mavna had done what she could, but the wounds would benefit from the fully equipped sickbay. “Ok, you?” It was only somewhat of a lie. Mental healing could only come with help from a professional back at the starbase. When she finished signing, she handed over the PADD she had to Mavna so they could communicate better.

She let out a little laugh at herself when Vesta handed the PADD over to her. She prayed to the Prophets that the she did in fact just say ‘Hey’ and ‘Okay’ and not any number of other words. She took it and signed, “Thank you,” before beginning to type an answer to Vesta’s question. When she finished, she held up the screen in her direction. It read, “Better. My body really aches, but I kinda expected it.” Her face contorted in thought for a second. She held up a finger to pause Vesta in any response as she swung the screen back to herself, quickly typing something before holding it back toward the Trill, “Held onto my promise in a way, didn’t I?” She smiled just behind the screen.

Tarsek was definitely not a medical priority, far from it. A simple check up, a dermal regenerator to take care of light burns from grazing shots, some fluids, a decent meal and proper rest would be more than enough to ensure that his health be restored. Aware of this fact, the Vulcan decided to allow the medical team to focus on the possible emergencies and take care of what he could by himself. A hearty bow of soup, 2 liters of water, a sonic shower and 6 hours of sleep later, followed by an hour of meditation, and he was entering the medbay for his full check-up.

She at first didn't even notice Tarsek coming in. But once she did, she briefly looked up at him, and then averted her gaze... If Tarsek was on this mission, and saw what he saw, plus going to the Vinculum, he had to believe that Essen was to blame now. At least, that's what she thought inside her emotionally compromised mind... "Hey sir," was all she could even manage to muster a greeting to him. "How're you feeling?" (edited)

He was welcomed by the sight of a busy room. Several of his teammates were getting checked or lying on the medical beds, resting. It was definitely a satisfactory view, knowing that they were safe, that they were going home. He had several tasks he would need to complete upon arrival, the first ones being contacting Cpt. Neto and Garcia. Good thing they would have time of leave after the cube ordeal. As he passed a roll of chairs, he heard a calling. Essen. “Lieutenant, it is good to see you. I am adequate.” Her voice had been shy and low, her posture even lower he noticed, holding onto the jacket in her lap with a firm grip. “Are you in pain? I am sure Medical can spare you a biobed or at least an analgesic.” He asked.

A long moment, with a deep breath in and out... As tears rolled down her face. "It's... It's good to see you too, sir," Essen replied, finally looking at the man. It felt like a labor to be able to even make eye contact. Essen overthought what Tarsek was thinking. "I'm glad you're doing okay, sir, that... That makes me genuinely happy to hear that you're alright and safe. And to see you here... Makes me feel even better." Although there was a bit of temporary relief on the Tarsek side, Essen's dark pattern of thought returned as she answered his question. "Not physical pain, sir... Although I'd rather have physical pain right now than the pain I'm feeling." Maybe -- maybe if she absorbed everyone's pain... Maybe then, no one would feel--- that clicked in Essen's mind. She wasn't necessarily hyperventilating nor was she absolutely sobbing. It was a more calm, defeated, hopeless state than anything. "Yeah, I... Thank you, I might not need a biobed. I might need something that isn't really tangible."

Vesta smiled as she reached over and took the PADD back, typing was their only way of thorough communication currently, as the PADD, being a basic PADD, could not translate sign language live. “Not quite.” She typed out, showing it to Mavna briefly before typing some more. “We still need to get coffee.” Not having her accommodations, Vesta was blissfully unaware of the conversation going on between Essen and Tarsek.

She chuckled as she took the PADD back in hand. She had a point, they still need to get coffee, and she was a woman of her word. She typed and turned the screen to Vesta, “Fair! Well, when we’re cleared, we can go get some coffee.” A date? She…wasn’t sure, but it was a word that lingered in her head. After everything that had happened, a coffee date would be like a balm to her soul. She needed to make sure Ato was okay first, and typed something else, “I wanna check on Ato beforehand, though.” (edited)

Her answer was… troubling. Her state was of clear distress. Emotional distress, from what he could see, and considering what had transpired in the cube, he knew she had been compromised on that end far more than physically. In his mind lingered heavily the duty to help. She was a Vulcan and he was her elder. Admittedly, he found himself… lacking the abilities he believed she could benefit from. Had she been another follower of Surak, the answer would be simple: logic and discipline reasserted by several rounds of guided meditation. However, that was not the case for Essen. She would find no comfort in mental exercises. He elected to seat on the chair next to her. Talking in the company of another could be good for some people, if she chose to trust him so. “And what is it that you might need?”

Essen thought for a second before giving her response, her head hung low... She didn't even know why Tarsek sat down next to her, not that she didn't mind it, but she didn't know why he trusted Essen that much -- she didn't know why anyone trusted her this much to even be on the Eventide. "For everyone's pain to go away..." Essen replied meekly. "F-for those who were assimilated and almost died because of me, to heal and live normal lives again." As she took another second, she breathed in deeply, and then exhaled before she continued. "For me to make things right." Another pause. Some really deep soul-searching in a short period of time, and she didn't really know how else to put it. "For me to ensure no one else ever gets hurt again because of me." Before she turned to him directly. "I tried, sir... I tried the clear mind, clear objective mantra, and I tried to remember what you told me. I tried so hard, and I got so far, but in the end, it didn't even matter. Everything kept piling up and piling up... More evidence pointing to one weak link... Me." (edited)

The first thing that hit Paco the moment he was beamed into the sickbay was not the bright lights, not the Eventide's crew still being here alive and well, and not the little cute scene between the les beans not too far away from him, but the fact he was in a comfortable, WELL AIR CONDITIONED ROOM. Paco chuckled softly to himself, well... actually cackling almost like a mad man, as he felt the cool hair finally hit him. A nurse tried to put an IV on his arm, but he gently swatted their arm away and apologized profusely before he got up and made his way to wash himself up with a very long cold shower. After he got off and donned his patient gown, he happened to take a glance at a food replicator. He staggered his way over to it. and with hands trembling from disbelief from whatever he had thought up, typed up something... Lo and behold, a wrapped, rather large pastrami on rye sandwich with extra mustard and a rootbeer appeared before him. He held the sammie in his arms, and took a bite. Tears streamed down his face "Thank the Sisko..." He muttered to himself Fuck ration bars man..." He said to himself, laughing softly as he wiped the tears from his eyes and limped back to his biobed to rest and take in an IV. As Paco reached over to crack open his rootbeer, he finally noticed his commbadge next to it. Without missing a beat, he frantically reached over to it, took a deep breath, and spoke to it. "u-umm... Paco to Mai... in med bay.... thank you..." Paco placed it back down, and went back to scarfing his sandwich. Food was probably not allowed, sure, but he ain't letting anybody take it away from him.

”Just for record, you listed multiple needs.” He started, straight through, simple cold fact. “The first one is indeed intangible. We cannot eliminate pain from the universe. The second seems to hold several flawed premises.” He looked at her as he spoke. “First that you hold responsibility for the assimilations and failures of our team. Collective work, collective failure. We all failed, but in the context of unpredictable danger. And we also all succeeded, as we are now here, alive.” He paused to consider the rest. “The last one is proof of character. You will fail, but there is a difference between a light failure and a critical one. Has anyone ever told you that you are an idealistic, lieutenant?” (edited)

Essen had to avert her gaze briefly again before she looked back to Tarsek. "Yeah, they're...multiple needs, yeah," she agreed with him. A bit of a breath here, a defeated sigh there. But she was listening -- if anyone had wisdom to impart from a Surakian standpoint right now, it was Tarsek. Essen looked to Tarsek with genuine confusion. "With all due respect, sir, I ask genuinely, how...how did we collectively fail? No one else made mistakes like I did," she replied. "Especially those in executive positions. Their strategy was perfect, they know what to do. They know way more than I do." When Tarsek mentioned proof of character, Essen did nod in agreement with him. "I like to think I have a positive character," she commented. "I... I've never really been told that, no, sir. My personality has gone through a huge shift." (edited)

Meanwhile in Engineering... Maya had been working on things significant magnitudes more important than getting Captain Lawson his AC back, which she had already brought online way before at this point. It's been a while since the away team was sent out, with no updates coming down from the bridge. She was getting worried, not just for the new away team and the success of the mission... but for her cousin Paco. Was he borg'd? Was he... dead???? all that was uncertain. Just as she was tapping away to an LCARS panel, Paco's message broadcasted on her commbadge and she just froze. There was no space in her mind for words or thoughts, only action. She smashed her PADD against a console as she sprinted off to the med bay, not allowing anything to stand in her way to see if he was actually there. One of the turbolifts had already had closed its doors as she arrived, and the next one was taking too long, at least for her. However, she had a brilliant idea, breaking off once again to a sprint "Sorry! Official Acting Chief Engineer Business! Urgent shi--stuff!!!" She yelled out very apologetically as she straight up shoved people out of the way until she found the nearest access panel. Visually, the whole sequence looked something like this. Maya hurriedly climbed and crawled through each jefferies tube and service tunnel like she was at war until she reached the medbay. She punched a vent grate straight off the wall across the room before she crawled out. "Paco?" She blurted as she looked around the room. The first thing Maya saw was Mavna and Vesta"...Besties." She said like a confident guess, a snap of her fingers and a supportive thumbs up before looking around and finally seeing her cousin. "PACO!" She cheered as she ran to him, giving him the tightest hug of his life. "Thank God and Space Jesus!! You're okay Paco! AHH!" (edited)

Since beaming aboard, Eicran had immediately set to work on treating everyone who had arrived within sickbay. Far, far smaller than the entire hospital unit that 777 possessed, the area had become crowded quickly. Every biobed was occupied. Almost every chair was occupied - not with visitors, but with patients not unwell enough to require their own bed. There were officers from the initial away team, dehydrated and exhausted, never mind psychologically wounded. There were those who had been injured during that time too, held together only by the fantastic ministrations of the other Medical officers under the circumstances. And then there were those injured during the final away mission - including injuries that had almost been fatal. Eicran worked in near-silence. His approach was methodical, constantly evaluating and re-evaluating when it came to which patient was in need of help first. He offered explanations of his actions as he went - "fluids to help with your dehydration" - along with brief, quiet reassurances. That was all. With adrenaline fading and a haze seeping into his mind, it was the best he could do. Any more communication required a concentration that he couldn't spare: it was strictly reserved for clinical treatment. ...Until Maya Umali quite literally crashed into the room, that was. The sound of the grate clattering against the floor reverberated through his skull. Instantly he swivelled in the direction of the noise, taut like a coiled spring ready to be unfurled, expecting the worst- But it was only an engineer looking for a friend as opposed to a hostile attack on the medical bay. There was a beat while he forced himself to ignore the sound of his own heartbeat hammering in his ears, and then he all but stalked in the direction of Maya Umali. Still wearing his white combat armour - smeared with blood of different colours - he likely looked more imosing than he intended to be. divider

10:12

"Keep it down," he warned his fellow Lieutenant Commander, trying to keep the bite out from his tone and only sound cautionary. "Please. I appreciate you being worried for your friend, but this is still a medical bay. We have people resting properly for the first time in a week."

Twelve, who had disappeared off to go regenerate and came back, stiffened as she entered to the sound of the grate. Stiffened and then blinked a bit before she recovered and went to check on patients, on Vara'l who still happened to be asleep. Not that that surprised them given the battle to ensure be remained on this side of deaths door. They lingered a brief bit longer on Vara'l than other patients. Most of their friends happened to be of the Cooperative. They didnt regard themselves as someone who happened to have many friends outside it. Acquaintances maybe, but still. Twelve was...glad this friend remained operational.

"I used to be--" She started, before Maya interjected with her greeting Paco. Huh... At least someone was happy to see someone else in the away team who didn't do anything wrong... A dejected sigh as her head drooped down in shame briefly, before she continued. "I used to be a prankster. Rebellious, arrogant, and self-centered to the point of being boisterous. Then, when I met my girlfriend, and disobeyed orders for the first time on the station, my whole mindset shifted to, I guess, as you say, an idealist. I never wanted to rebel again. I never wanted to be arrogant again. Because I knew what harm it could do if I rebelled. It became much more fruitful and constructive to see the world positively, and to care for people. I... Care too much. Because I saw for the first time how much I could actually hurt people if I wasn't careful. I promised myself and others that I wouldn't hurt anyone else. And now, two years later... This mission happened." (edited)

”The only mistake I am aware was your momentary hesitation on shooting Lt. Roode.” Tarsek said. “Which would be a normal reaction upon shooting someone you considered a close comrade. Not logical, but understandable.” He listened to her testimony about her own character, her growth while serving. “You idealize others. You idealize what you should be. Do you really think no other person is second guessing everything we did in that place? None of us were able to stop the assimilations and if the Evertide crew had not arrived at the time they did we would not be here. Collective failure.” He paused, his blue eyes looked at her. “What you describe is normal character growth in the formation years of a person. We fail, we learn, we adapt. You are not more at fault than any other member of our away team. Do you believe we all should…” He elected to use the word even if it did not apply to him. “Feel the way you do?”

Khamlet had not yet removed the toy-armour of the Federation, he smelt still of sweat and phaser fire, and he was in a fine mood. The battle was won, the glory and honour of victory was theirs, yet he could not find any of the warriors celebrating. There was no feast and singing in the mess or upon the bridge, there was nothing like what he knew would follow a battle. There was so little joy and it confounded and puzzled him. They had achieved a victory which surely must satisfy their strange notions of not giving comrades good deaths? Yet everywhere there was this palpable air of grief. He had come to learn what was honour in the ways of his peoples’ allies and he knew that it would be different, but to know and to experience it was something else. He walked the halls of the ship attending to his duties, looking to this passing crewmember or that one, waiting for them to clasp his shoulders and roar in victory and laugh as they retold the battle from their perspective. But nothing happened, it was almost enough to make his joyous heart sad. It was strange too to think of all the warriors he had fought with who now resided in the medical bay. Khamlet wasn’t sure what to do for warriors in medical, but he could only imagine how suffocating it must be to be forced to stay in that sterile room! They had won the battle, they should be celebrating, those who had earned scars most of all! So, he collected a bottle of Bloodwine that he had brought aboard with him and made his way to the med-bay. The Klingon warrior entered the room with a grin on his face, sharp teeth bared, and eyes dazzling with a lightness and happiness of being, and he looked around and spotted the quiet officer from the runabout.

12:48

They had wrestled one of the Drones down, injecting them with something, not what he expected of a doctor or whatever that uniform indicated. Khamlet's smile didn’t leave his face as he walked over to the seated figure. “qavan!” His voice a gruff growl, inevitably not soft nor quiet, and yet with the musicality that the quiet officer must know is in it from his singing. The universal translator rendered the word as: I salute you! He placed the bottle of bloodwine down on the desk with a thunk, a wordless invitation: drink with me.

After telling Maya off (and feeling guilty about it, given she was only happy to see a friend or family member alive), he had stalked off to the nurses' station. Just a moment of quiet, he thought to himself; he could dull the lights in this side of the room against the headache that still pounded against his skull, hopefully ignore the noise, keep an eye on people's obs via the consoles linked to the biobed... But quiet moments weren't to be had. Only minutes after he had taken a seat there was the sound of footsteps approaching. Another patient, he presumed. He didn't expect a bottle of blood wine to be thwunked down onto the console's surface. It belonged to the shuttlecraft pilot, he noted; the one who had been far more alive in battle than the rest of them... Except from that horror-show of what he presumed was a malfunctioning Android based off a Trill. Lieutenant Khamlet - did he have the name right? - had actually done very well in combat, calling the shots when everyone else was uncoordinated. They could have been doing with more of that. He looked up at the Klingon and raised an eyebrow. "Qapla', I think?" Hopefully his pronunciation wasn't too awful. His dark eyes skirted the Klingon's shoulders, taking in the singe-marks on the armour. "I hope you're not using this to cope with any wounds instead of actually getting them patched up. Sit-" he nodded towards another chair at the nurses' station "-and I'll take care of it."

Essen's breath hitched at hearing that Tarsek indeed labeled her action of hesitating to shoot Maggie -- indeed, technically disobeying a direct order -- a mistake. As tears flowed from her eyes again, she responded. "Which led to her hurting people and almost being killed," Essen replied to Tarsek. "A position she wouldn't have been put in if it wasn't for me. If I didn't hesitate... She would have been fine... We could have saved her... And she could be able to live a normal life again..." Essen listened as the man explained what others could have felt during this mission. If they felt any regret. Being the overthinker she was... The only conclusion she could come to was the one her mind beckoned her to follow, like a carrot on a stick. "Yes, I do think they second guessed themselves, I know they did, and here's how I know..." Essen replied to Tarsek, genuinely. "Because they second guessed themselves, in reaction to Maggie, in reaction to Five, in reaction to Ato. But Maggie, and Five, and Ato, wouldn't have been in the positions they were in... If it wasn't for me." Her attempt to see what Tarsek saw was genuine -- she simply saw no other reality, despite trying desperately. As she blinked away more tears, Essen sniffled and responded to Tarsek's next question the best she could. "No... I don't think you all should feel the way you do... Because you all didn't do anything wrong... You all followed orders, you all didn't get people hurt, you all didn't cause any suffering... It may have been a collective failure like you say; but at the same time you all... You all suffered. The assimilated crew members, they are still suffering. And none of you deserve to suffer." As she looked into his eyes, her voice shook with a self-hatred that rattled through it. Healing was non-linear, after all, and this was a valley. "Someone has to pay for this... And that someone... Is me." (edited)

Khamlet barked out a laugh, good natured and warm, at the qapla’ from the softly spoken officer, he had never caught their name, something he would need to correct now. “Qapla’!” A finger went to pop off the cork of the wine but stopped as the officer noticed that he had been shot. Khamlet turned his head a little and chuckled as he looked over and down his shoulder, “It’s nothing, a painstick leaves a worse mark!” He laughed happily and genuinely, it stung a little of course, but it did not trouble him - he had had far worse - and the idea of having it treated had not even crossed his mind. “The Andorian drone missed on the first shot, but the second struck true, but I did not stop! I rose and fired back, it was glorious, it didn’t even…” He stopped himself from continuing on with the tale, readily falling into a familiar habit of sharing tales of a battle after, when he heard the quiet officer tell him to sit and have it looked at. He chuffed out an amused snort of hot air, “Bah! Don’t trouble yourself, it’s nothing, celebrate a victory with me…” The cork on the bottle popped off with a push of his finger, his smile joyful and dangerous, his eyes open and honest - he was nothing he did not appear to be. “… I saw you charge at one of the drones, such courage! You must tell me what it was like? That charge and wrestling the drone down.” He held out the bottle of bloodwine, the scent rising from it already, it was a very fine vintage.

The sound of a metal bloodwine bottle hitting of a table roused Aoife from her drug slumber. She was in a better way now after being looked at, the risk of serious brain damage from her concussion had been eliminated but her blown pupil would remain like that for a couple of days. The sound and smell of bloodwine roused her not unlike Father Jack in the old earth TV show father ted. Drink! Drink! She yelled in her mind. Despite her general distain for Klingon warriors she gave credit where credit was due and they for sure knew how to drink. "That had better he real bloodwine and not made just now from a replicator." Aoife croaked as she held out her good arm from her biobed asking for the bottle.

He might not have really been in the mood for the Klingon's enthusiasm, but even he couldn't deny that it was infectious. It made him feel a little more like things had been a success instead of a giant fuck-up: that at the end of the day, even with severe casualties, they had still completed their mission and everyone was almost home. Maybe he had helped by managing to jab the drone with the hypospray, even if he didn't do any 'wrestling' as Khamlet thought. He might have even indulged and shared in the bloodwine had this not been a medical bay and him not been on duty. "No no no," he scolded and promptly plucked up the cork of the bottle again. It was then placed back into the neck of the bottle, stopping it up once more. He shot a look over to Aoife who was in the nearest biobed. "No alcohol for you, Commander O'Rielly; and if you want to drink, Lieutenant Khamlet, then you need to go to the mess hall. But you're going to let me take a look at those wounds first. I don't care if a painstick does worse: what's the point of being in pain? Besides. I don't think there would be any honour in that ending up infected."

”Lieutenant, are you familiar with the concept of infinite regression?” Tarsek asked. “When it comes to history, is something we must have in mind. I am not sure if you knew but I am an anthropologist and historian. For every event there is a trigger, and every trigger is an event in itself, with another trigger, and so on. Only, this is a rather simplistic view, so in place of one event and one trigger, think about at least a hundred for each. A net of connections of the highest complexity.” He started to explain. “The events that led us to that mission and everything that followed are ruled by the same pattern. By resuming you as the catalyst of everything that went wrong, is incorrect.” What he would say now, could invoke a rather strong reaction, so he prepared himself. “Lt. Roode and the rest of us accepted the risks of the mission. We are responsible for ourselves and for our decisions. We are all at fault in the sense we chose to go into the cube. You cannot be responsible for our choices, that predate your actions in the cube.”

"You're no fun doc." Aoife replied to the all around devastating scene of the bottle being closed up and the sweet rich aroma of blood wine being unceremoniously snuffed out. What would she do for fun now? She laid back into the mildly uncomfortable biobed annoyed she couldn't drink!

"I'm well aware," he grumbled back in response.

Paco was mostly accepting the very tight bear hug from his cousin, he was about to drift of to sleep because he was so tired when Eicran literally said everyone else was trying to rest. But then he heard the sound of a cork and the a familiar scent wafted to his nose. "Drink?" Paco quietly said perked up a little as he lifted his head off Maya's shoulder to try and find where the source is from. "Drink!" Paco declared, more like a quiet whisper shout that was audible, but not too disruptive. "Klingon Bloodwine. 20% ABV." He announced, finally identifying what it was after a moment when his drink senses kicked in. "Hi Aoife." Paco waved with a smile.

Essen blinked as she took in the guidance from Tarsek, not really sure what the term meant. "Infinite... Regression, sir?" Essen asked. But then as he explained, it lined up exactly with what Essen had outlined in her head -- and her breath hitched again. "A chain reaction... An endless, uncontrollable chain reaction..." She realized -- was Tarsek finally starting to agree with her? Was he blaming her and was the infinite regression an explanation as to what was going on? But it seemed not -- Tarsek was still supportive as ever. Upon saying that Essen being the catalyst was incorrect, Essen's eyes shut in shame. What did he know? How could he prove that? He wasn't on the team she led. He wasn't there to see Five get assimilated, or Ato get scooped and then assimilated. Although, as she started to think about it... But as soon as Tarsek went into his last declaration that Maggie and everyone else accepted the dangers of what could happen on away missions like this, her tears started back up. She didn't know what to say -- everyone had signed up for Starfleet knowing they'd be in danger somehow. But physical, emotional, psychological torment? She wasn't sure anyone had wanted to endure that. Just as Tarsek expected, the Vulcan girl burst into tears again, although quietly.

Hearing the ‘that had better be real bloodwine’ murmured up from a bed, Khamlet turned to look at the warrior who had hurled the grenade, he barked out a laugh and grinned, “2309! A great vintage.” Before he could hold it out to the injured warrior and tell them to drink, the softly spoken figure from behind the desk had put the stopper back in. Khamlet glanced from the bottle and to the figure, puzzled at why they had done it. Surely the Federation hadn’t banned drinking in celebration?! They were strange but not that strange! There was a murmur from the warrior who had seen back in the hangar similarly delirious and muttering all manner of things. He greeted it with a chuckle, low and rumbling, amused and glanced back down to the bottle clearly considering ignoring the instruction of the quiet figure behind the desk. ‘Go to the mess hall.’ Prompted a low grumble from Khamlet, “How could I leave the warriors with the worthiest reason to drink without good bloodwine?” He asked with genuine curiosity and puzzlement, and an obvious earnestness to him - he truly did not think it right to leave these ones here without good wine and without hearing the songs of their victory and scars. As the quiet officer insisted on looking at the shot regardless, Khamlet gave a shake of his head, not understanding the reasoning at all, and let go of the bottle. “If your honour demands you look, then fine…” He didn’t understand it at all, but he recognised the medical uniform and figured this must be some matter of a doctor’s honour. He’d not insult it, even if he couldn’t understand it. He walked over to the chair, taking off the armour as he went, not a sound or hiss of pain as he stripped it off. “… You fight better than any doctor I’ve seen.” He observed honestly as he sat down on the chair, his voice growling like always, but though it didn’t seem to be a question there was an intonation amongst the low sound of it that suggested curiosity.

He gave her time. He gave the tears space to fall. Her emotions clouded her judgement, of course, that was the nature of emotions. He allowed her to feel and did not reprimand the lack of control. It was not logical to expect it of her. It was not fair to hold her to the same rules he held for himself. After a few minutes of silence and quiet drops, he resumed the conversation. “Tell me what is on your mind, young one.” The change of vocative a reflection of the moment. He was not a commander and she was not a subordinate, at least not then, not there.

Essen finally looked up from her sobbing -- her hands, now soaked from her tears, as well as her face. The bags under her eyes that were already there were deeper now, and the makeup that ran down her face made it look like hardened black tears of anguish. A moment where she had to collect herself. "My father is so disappointed in me right now," Essen feared. "Wherever he is in the afterlife. He couldn't be more ashamed of me. That's what I'm worried about. And when I get back, my mother is gonna disown me, and Vara'l is going to demote me and have me court martialed, and my girlfriend is gonna leave me... At least... that's what I'm afraid of..." It wasn't just despair and devastation in Essen's mind. It was cold, hardened fear.* "I don't want to become what my aunt told me I was nothing except," *Essen said. "She looked after me when my mom was assimilated and my dad was dead. My aunt said to me, time and time again that I'm a nuisance. I like to call myself, and excuse my language, a little shit -- but for my aunt to actually be right about me..." As she sniffled again. "That--that's what I'm feeling sir, t-to answer your question. I'm trying. I'm really trying." (edited)

Now Paco was also looking for the bloodwine, Maya was quite literally contacting the bridge about more alcohol, and now Paco was shouting even louder. "Keep it down!" Eicran barked, somehow looking more frustrated than he had done for the entirety of being aboard the Borg cube. Raising his voice back only resulted in a further jolt of pain through his head. His concussion symptoms were probably starting to kick in a little more - not that he could tell, given that it meant he felt distanced from his understanding of his own body. All of his concentration was going on trying to sort out everyone else. "None of you are drinking any alcohol until you've passed full evaluations and I say you can. You can all go drinking after we're back on the station." He stood, placed his hands on the back of his chair, and breathed out slowly. Everyone was allowed to play about and have some banter. They deserved it after everything they had been through. He probably wasn't thinking straight. Forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand - meaning he had to push any silly emotions aside - he went off to find equipment to tend to Khamlet's shoulders. When he returned, hands gloved, he started disinfecting the wounds. "Let me know if that stings too much - I can give you something for the pain." Not that he expected the Klingon to ask, but it was polite to offer. "...I don't know about fighting better," he commented while he worked, going back to what he had heard the Lieutenant say just prior. "I managed to get shot twice - and I'm not sure if a single shot back hit any of the drones. I should have my eyes checked. I used to be better." How useless he had gotten in just over a year. He needed to spend more time training with Kavish.

The barking around -- from everyone else, no one in particular -- only added to Essen's despair. It felt overwhelming. Almost sickeningly so. Why were people so set on drinking?! What would that accomplish?! Given her emotional overload, the combination of the sensory stimuli made this a living nightmare. As she used her hand to wipe away the tears... (edited)

Twelve moved over to Essen after a brief pause in which she retrieved a bottle of water. At a glanced look at Tarsek before their gaze returned to Essen, Twelve offered her the bottle of water. She'd checked on Vara'l and some other patients, now the xB wanted to check up on Essen. "We have come with water for you, given the stimuli within this environmental space, we also come with a query as to if you'd like any form of noise cancelling headphones or if you're okay with the present noise level."

At first Essen didn't really know what to do with the water when Twelve approached. She took the bottle, and nodded. "T-thanks," Essen replied meekly, as she opened the bottle. But she didn't take big sips -- they were small. She didn't really want to take big sips. If she took bigger sips and had more water, she wouldn't absorb the pain from others. Only enough to keep me conscious, she thought. Only enough. She did take sips, though. "Maybe something that can let me still talk with Commander V'hgai and you and anyone else, please," Essen asked politely. "Thank you." (edited)

Twelve glanced to Tarsek then then back to Eseen. "You are welcome, please be sure to drink plenty of water." The El-Aurian responded then before, at Essens response, she nodded once. "Understood, we will acquire some for you and return with them." Twelve then looked the other over with careful eyes. "Further, we wish to inform you that we will be alerting counselling to your current state, further to expected mandatory counselling given the mission and recommending you are assessed for further counselling post-mandatory period."

Mandatory counseling... Of course. Of course that's what was going to happen when she got back. Alin was going to break the bad news to her, wasn't he? He was going to tell her she was a murderer and that she needed to be locked away, wasn't he? He was-- as Essen found herself ruminating in those thoughts, she stopped them briefly. That isn't true, Essen tried to tell herself. Alin wasn't like that. He was much different, much kinder, supportive. For that time she was zoned out, and when she returned she blinked and flinched. "Er... Alright," Essen replied to Twelve. As Twelve said, Essen did take another sip of water, a little bigger this time. (edited)

Twelve nodded slightly then before they proceeded to say. "Lieutenant Essen." Paused a moment and then stated. "If you wish it, after this, you'd be welcome to join myself, Rakim and a few others for our coffee mornings." The El-Aurian lapsed into a moment of silence then, unsure if she'd ended up making it in part plain that she wanted to ensure Essen had a eye kept on her. That and from what she'd ended up hearing second hand, the El-Aurian had somewhat warmed in her opinion of the other. "We will go acquire what we promised, for you, now." The El-Aurian turned and headed off to go do just that.

Khamlet might be a Klingon but he wasn’t a fool, as the quiet officer snapped and shouted he knew enough to know it wasn’t normal for them. The hunched over posture grasping ahold of the chair, they looked to be in pain? Surely they would have tended to their wounds first, if their honour seemed to demand they tend to Khamlet’s too, so why would they be in pain? Brown eyes scrutinised the figure with a surprising perspicacity - if you expected Klingons to be mere beasts, as many did. He had seen them pause, almost frozen for a moment, in the fight. Had it been their first? No, they had fought too well for that. Cowardice? But they charged the drone so surely it couldn’t be that either. Khamlet let out a low growl of concentration as he tried to figure out what was wrong while the softly-spoken officer had gone off to get things. “yIn DayajmeH 'oy' yISIQ.” Khamlet said in answer to the comment about receiving something for the pain. The words translated as: to understand life, endure pain. He chuckled as he said the aphorism, amused by the thought of denying himself understanding, even this little piece of pain barely noticeable still was a lesson. More than a lesson, it was part of life, it was a warrior’s joy and price, and he’d welcome them. The mention of getting their eyes checked earned a warm and loud laugh, rolling like rocks down the mountainside, Khamlet grinned and looked back, “A warrior with glasses, that would be a sight!” He was in fine spirits, he was content and in his way calm - there was no roiling storm of grief or suffering or blame; he had fought well, he had lived, and that was all he needed. (edited)

14:32

“You were shot twice? Ah!” That must be why they were annoyed, they hadn’t done as well as they thought they should, an understandable reason to be annoyed. Khamlet was glad he had pieced together the answer. “You are standing still, and your foe is beaten, you can learn and fight better next time. No need to trouble your heart and spirit over blood spilt in an honourable fight, even if you might have landed blows better or avoided them.” It was said in his gruff voice but it was possible to hear conciliation in those tones - of a Klingon sort - he was encouraging a fellow warrior to look to the next battle and learn from the last. It was a kindness, whether it was one that non-Klingons could recognise who knew.

A dejected sigh when she realized just how much she had ruminated and Twelve addressed her. She blinked again, and then nodded meekly once more. "Oh, I--thank you," Essen replied to Twelve. "If you all have hot chocolate that would be great. I haven't had coffee that much but I am willing to try it. Could help me out." Essen -- a non-coffee-drinker -- was willing to give coffee a try?! Something was definitely up now.

"We do have hot chocolate." The El-Aurian confirmed over their shoulder before they added. "We're also willing to facilitate your trying coffee, we have access to multiple blends." And disappeared in the crowd in search of noise cancelling stuff.

”Your aunt was out of line and that is unacceptable behavior for a caretaker and an elder.” Was his immediate response. Cold and serious. It had been clear that Essen’s family was far from traditional, but to act like this towards a child in one’s care was inadmissible and in his clan would have constituted grounds for guard transference. Seeds cannot grow on hard stone. They need soft soil to fix their roots and warm sun to bathe their leaves. “The commander is not going to demote you. I believe he will be more focused on dealing with his own mind. If he had wished to reprimand you, he could have done so in the cube. Did he?” He asked. “Your girlfriend, your mother, those conversations will come and you cannot control their reactions, though in my eyes there is no reason for them to take those decisions. You are assuming this is what they will do, as if you could predict the future. As for your father…” He took a pause. “You cannot know that as he has passed. He is not here to accuse or diminish you.” Noticing the agitation and with Twelve’s intervention, he did not interrupt. The doctor seemed to know what they were doing.

"Yes, she was," Essen agreed with Tarsek about Inneth. "As evident by the fact that Aunt Inneth is locked up in solitary confinement at the ShiKahr prison after trying to murder me and Mom on the station." But she didn't stop there. "But during this mission, sir... And I'm just stating what I felt at the time... I started to think that Inneth had a point. She had only looked after me in the most minimal of ways as she hated my mother. So for her to basically see me as a nuisance and for all of that to happen in front of me, the signs of me hurting people -- it's really hard to fight against, although not impossible." She ended the phrase with that. Before she looked to him again. "Sometimes I feel like I almost have to predict the future so that I can ensure no one will feel pain -- physical or emotional. If that makes sense? I think? As a preventative measure. Because I was completely the opposite back then. But I guess -- I guess you're right. I am assuming that's how girlfriend and my mother would react -- and dad. If he was still alive." It may have been a small part of it, but this started to sink in! (edited)

A quiet hum of assent was given at the Klingon phrase. While Eicran couldn't understand Klingons giving into needless suffering - not having genuinely painful wounds treated, for example - he did have some understanding of what was meant. Sometimes it was better to face that bit of pain. To feel. He kept going with his work, glad that things had calmed down in the background. Khamlet's voice might have been somewhat gruff, but Eicran felt it created a deep, reverberating timbre that was quite pleasant. "Does no one in the KDF wear glasses?" He enquired as he moved from one shoulder to another, careful in each touch. He wasn't here to inflict any more unnecessary pain after all. "Some people in Starfleet do instead of having their vision corrected medically. Sometimes they can't have the procedure done for whatever reason, but I've found that often, it is down to personal preference. Not everyone is as fearless as you and your Klingon comrades: there are many people who would rather die a dishonourable death before having procedures done on their eyes." There was a pause as he picked up the dermal regenerator. Thankfully the sorches across Khamlet's shoulders weren't too deep: it was enough for a few passes with the regenerator to fix rather than having to go deeper to restore muscle, for example. Starfleet's armour might have looked like something you would put on an action figure, but evidently it served its purpose. "And you're right, of course. We are here. We are all alive, even if not in very good shape. The mission was completed. ...I think that we Starfleet officers could be doing with learning some optimism from you."

Vesta was tired. Dead tired, and though she was thankful that she was Deaf and all of the conversations in the room didn’t bother her too much, there were still other reasons she couldn’t sleep. She quickly apologized to Mavna that she was cutting her conversation short, and then tried to get the attention of a doctor. She waved her hands in the air or pressed the call button if one existed.

Twelve, as she passed by Essen and placed the requested noise reducing headphones next to her with a parting. "Here is what you requested." Noted the waving of hands in the air and beelined straight for Lieutenant Kuzeed. Once there she glanced at the information on the biobed, looked the other over and signed in SSL. "Hello, I'm Lieutenant Commander Twelve of Twenty, how may I be of assistance. " Effort expended to drop the we, given the circumstance the others had ended up going through.

"Ah--thank you," Essen thanked Twelve with a nod, before she put in the headphones and adjusted them accordingly. Ahhhh... Sweet relief... Finally, she'd be able to focus without all that extra noise. She turned back to Tarsek.

He paused. That was all he could do. Her aunt had been arrested for attempted murder and yet Essen would think her sane enough to evaluate her own character? “Your aunt was an unstable individual not fit to access character. You allowed her words to take root in your mind. I do not blame you for that, as you were a child, impressionable.” And Surak was his witness of the control it took to suppress the anger at said Inneth. No matter, she was already paying for her crimes. Focus. Focus on Essen. “Feelings are not facts. Do not take what you feel about yourself as truth. Access. Because as I see it: I see a young woman with much to learn, who cares for others and as my former captain would say “with a heart too big for her own chest”. Metaphorically, he meant, of course.” He hoped she in time would see that too. “There is a difference between deduction and supposition. Right now there is no data enough to deduct, you are simply… anxious. Normal, I believe.” (edited)

“Perhaps in the fleets of some Houses…” Khamlet admitted with a thoughtful growl of ‘hmm’, it wasn’t something he could say he approved of personally - if a warrior was not fit for a fight then what was the point of them? Still other houses were more… Touched by the Federation and its ideals and view of the universe. Jorn was not such a house. “… Never in the House of Jorn.” Khamlet had to turn around as the quiet officer mentioned some would rather die than have their eyes repaired, his surprise and confuse palpable on every muscle in his face, “Why?” He growled out the question openly, not minding that he did not understand the willingness to die a dishonourable death. Even considering it made every part of his spirit enraged and his whole body uncomfortable. The officer continued, more subdued as they acknowledged his words, not disagreeing but Khamlet knew when a warrior’s heart hadn’t truly embraced the words. They were things that the quiet officer knew, but they weren’t things that they felt yet. One could know something, but if you did not feel it, if it did not stoke the fire in your blood and it didn’t feel like it was part of your spirit, then knowing it mattered not at all. “I can hear the ‘ach that you’re not saying.” The universal translator provides the translation for ‘ach: but, nevertheless, even so, however. He said it all in that low and resonant voice of his, like thunder far off between mountains, and he glanced up eyes wide in a challenge to speak more openly - but also an invitation to do so as well. Speak as a warrior to me, speak what you feel or don’t feel, do not show anything less than your heart. That was the way of a Klingon, to feel, to say, to do nothing less than what was in your spirit with honour.

Vesta glanced over at her IV, it was still doing it’s things, so it didn’t need to be taken out yet, and Vesta was feeling its positive effects. She turned to the doctor. The doctor was ex Borg, but she didn’t mind that, she really had nothing against the Borg. Her gripes were with herself. “Medical staff earlier said they’d heal the rest of my bruises.” She signed, gesturing towards the ones on her arms and unfortunately, still around her neck. “Also if it’s possible, a mild sedative or sleep aid?”

Essen was going to respond right away to Tarsek but had to take a moment and mull it over. He did have a point. "I mean, yeah," Essen replied to him simply. "Unstable is an understatement given she first got arrested for arson with my grandparents in the building that she set on fire to get back at my mom, so. If that tells you anything about her. Not to get off topic, but if that gives you a better insight as to who I used to be because of her." As Tarsek explained that Essen had a heart that was too big for her own chest, Essen looked over at him with eyes that widened in surprise -- but filled with hope again. "You--you really think so?" Essen asked him. "I... I've never heard anyone in your position and experience describe me like that except for my mother. She's a lieutenant Commander too, but -- you really think my heart is that big?" She asked genuinely.

Twelve glanced to one side to check to see if the doctor assigned was around, frowned at what they saw then turned to the other and smiled a bit. "I am sorry you've not been seen to earlier, I'll see to your bruises now." At the query about a sedative or sleep aid, Twelve checked to see what the other had already had administered, confirmed a few things then signed to them. "I can provide you with a mild sedative, that's also fine." The El-Aurian then started to work as she proceeded on about the task of getting the rest of those bruises treated properly. They worked with clean efficiency of motion as their focus locked in upon the task before, once she was completed in that she signed. "How are they now, the bruises?" The El-Aurian inquired. "No more pain?"

From Maya's many years of being in Starfleet, there are many unspoken rules of working in a starship. One of them is to not, under any circumstance, piss off the fucking ships doctor. And she and Paco, but mostly Khamlet for bringing the alcohol, did. And that was enough to shut Maya up for a little bit as she just sat by in his bed to just enjoy the reconnection time with Paco, still keeping him in the hug as she looked over to Eicran. "Mhm... my apologies, doctor. I--"

"I was also shot twice." Paco piped up, not shouting or anything, just stating it plainly. He was still loopy from all the things and is currently between deep sleepy time and 'telling my glorious war story because that's what you normally do when a Klingon's around' time. "Fired shots at the OctoBorg and they landed. Didn't do much because the petaQ moved and they landed on its useless legs... would've kept shooting if I wasn't shot in the back and knocked out... I'm glad I both got in and out of that." Paco chuckled before he paused and closed his eyes for a bit to contemplate " ...Dujeychugh jagh nIv yItuHQo'... tIqDaq HoSna' tu'lu'...'." 'What Paco said in Klingon essentially translates to. There is nothing shameful in falling before a superior enemy, real power is in the heart.'

”Your physical heart must be of normal size for a vulcan female of your age, otherwise you might have been facing health problems.” He clarified “The metaphorical heart, used often as a synonym for a place where your emotions are originated and felt, is indeed big.*

Vesta shrugged, when the doctor apologized for not getting to her sooner. She had gotten to shower and was in a bed with an IV, that was more than some people had gotten. She was also somewhat surprised at how clinically the doctor had healed her. She’d obviously experienced it before, but she had gotten used to Mavna’s more tender movements. “Yeah, much better.” She signed, bringing her hands up to her neck. Her poor neck had gone through so much. At least it hadn’t been sawed through with the buzzsaw though. She sighed, the pain was gone, everyone had survived, and they were on there way back to the starbase. “Thank you.” She signed, and waited for the sedative so she could at last get some proper sleep.

Essen nodded, and -- was that a SMILE? Barely, but it counted as one! A broken smile, nonetheless, but it was there, and one of the first real times that Essen came even close to smiling. It didn't last too long, but it was there, and that's all that mattered. "Don't worry, sir, I know what you mean," Essen reassured him. "My heart's physical size should be normal, yeah. But my emotional heart -- even with all this... You see my emotional heart and you think that is... Metaphorically too big for my own chest?" Essen asked. "I--- thank you, I-- you're s-so nice to me..." She said that almost as if she didn't think anyone being nice to her was ever going to happen again.

Twelve looked down upon her then as the other stated they were much better and smiled briefly. Showed what had once in a far gone time, before a doctor had looked upon the Borg and expended a last futile and now unremembered effort to defend patients, been a warm smile. "Emotions are...hard for me." Twelve signed briefly then. "..But, we feel we should say, if we could heal ills of the mind like ills of the physical we would do so." The El-Aurian paused briefly again. "Rest well, Lieutenant." Twelve administered the mild Sedative to Lieutenant Kuzeed, as she'd requested.

”I am exercising my duty to you, young one.” Tarsek said. “You need not to thank me. It is the responsibility of an elder to guide the young when they wrongly deviate from their path.” A duty he would hold until he died. A duty he would hold for as long as he was around her. (edited)

The words were unexpected, but comforting. Vesta didn’t quite know how to react to them. Besides, the sedative was starting to take effect, and Vesta didn’t want to fight it when it offered her the sleep she wanted so desperately. “Ok,” She finally signed, and then drifted off into a deep, safe, sleep.

At the sight of Vesta waving for help in the background he paused, but Twelve got there first. Eicran was grateful that he wasn't the only other medical officer still standing. He continued slowly moving the dermal regenerator over the skin on Khamlet's shoulders, the device restoring healthy skin to the burned areas. "Why? I mean, it was just a figure of speech, I suppose... But some people really do have fears that they would rather never face. People who have a fear of anything to do with eyes would take a lot of convincing to have any eyesight problem medically corrected. Some would never agree. I reckon that both of our worlds have the same view on fear - that it should be conquered - but some people aren't willing or able. And that's okay." Onto the next shoulder then - and those dark eyes met Khamlet's own. There were a thousand things that Eicran could have said. There were a thousand things that echoed around in his brain that he pushed away; buried beneath work that he threw himself into. Most days these were things that he did manage to push aside, having gotten better at that since his very last tour with the MACOs. On other days it seemed to replace every other thought in his mind. Today, in the wake of everything that they had been through on the Borg cube, feeling the swell and surge of guilt and disappointment and concern inside, was going to be one of those days. Something about Khamlet almost tempted him to open up, the Klingon's voice sounding like a bass or a baritone seeking for another voice in harmony. Eicran almost found it ironic. Not so many years ago he had been fighting against Klingon officers - to the death, oftentimes - and now there were two of them who had somehow drawn him in like a moth to a flame. And he might have spoken if Paco hadn't; which for Eicran, the anti-Betazoid who was not open with his emotions and truths unlike his peers, was a relief. divider

15:29

From over the top of Khamlet's head he regarded Paco for a moment. "I'm sorry that they managed to get to you too, Lieutenant Umali - but it's good that you managed to fire back. Your aim must be better than mine. You'll have to teach me. You can teach me some Klingon, too." A click and the dermal regenerator was turned off. He turned his focus back to Khamlet. "How does that feel? Hopefully, that should be you good to go."

Essen nodded again, and wiped away a few more tears as she looked at the man who made it a point to help her back onto the right path. "You're very kind, sir, I will put in a great word for you with the CTO when he wakes." As she took a second... And then, in an effort to maybe... Feel a little better. "Sir... Would you ever want to meet her? My mother. Or my girlfriend, or both." It was an act of bravery. Plus, it made sense in her mind -- she associated Tarsek with comfort and relief. Maybe if she saw Tarsek and Erra or Tarsek and Kaylee in the same space, she'd feel that same relief again too.

"Paco's a better shot than me, somehow" Maya said with a grin

"That's 'cos, you're blind." Paco joked with a laugh as he readjusted his glasses, which were cracked and scratched brutally from the ordeal of the past week, before he turned to Eicran. "I'd be very happy to, Doctor... the Social Sciences Lab is always open for you.... a lot of cursing and fighting are involved though, Paco learned that the hard way..."

”If you wish to introduce me to your family, I have no objections.” She seemed calmer, which means he achieved his objective. There was satisfaction there, but ,of course, of a task well done, nothing further…. Of course.

Khamlet tried to understand the answer that the officer was giving about those who would let fear define them, even to the extent of accepting a dishonourable death, but he simply was reaching the limits of his whole conception of the universe. Fear he understood, he had been afraid, there was no shame or dishonour in that, only fools had no fear. But to let fear define you? To let fear shape your spirit? That was unthinkable, it simply would be like dying twice - once in your spirit and then again in your body. He simply couldn’t fathom it. That lack of understanding, of the fact that their words were beyond the boundaries of Khamlet’s world, was not hidden as he listened. “That’s okay?” He repeated the last but in a disbelieving question, and growled instinctively, violent at the idea of it being okay to accept fear. “ghuy’cha’! They die twice over, and damn their spirits, no I can’t see how it is.” He shook his head in genuinely shocked disbelief. Khamlet had watched those eyes of the quiet officer intently, not breaking his gaze, the challenge offered - and the invitation too - with the total sincerity of a warrior’s heart. He saw what he thought to be a battle in them - a whole universe lived in the eyes of someone, he considered at least - one side fought for courage and openness, the other for silence and deception - of self and of those around - or so the Klingon imagined. But the bubbling up words of the barely conscious officer saw those eyes - as black as space, and as enticing as the void - flicker away and the battle in them vanished. Khamlet's attention shifted, but he would not forget what he saw and he would not let the silence be an answer in the long term.

15:54

He listened as in the recently returned to consciousness state Lieutenant Umali told their song of battle. He laughed open and true, and if he had the bloodwine he would have offered it without hesitation, but it sat on the desk and he suspected the quiet medical officer would object if he went for it. “You will have fine scars then!” He said with a grin that was as joyous as anything else about him. “When we reach the station, you will tell me the tale again, and we will drink - you all will!” He gestured outward with a sweep at the little gathering near him, an invitation, “We have won, there must be good food, good drink, and we must tell and sing our songs! I would not have my first fight alongside the Federation go without celebration…” He looked back to the quiet officer, “… You will come.” It was not even an imperative, it was declarative, he would see them there. At the Klingon from Umali Khamlet barked a laugh of surprise and agreement, “Well said! But your enemy fell in the end, a warrior does not fight alone after all, and you share in the honour of victory!” As he couldn’t reach the lieutenant he settled for slapping his knees instead of the lieutenant’s shoulders, probably for the best. Eicran’s mention of learning Klingon earned a brow rising from Khamlet, “You’d not learn from a Klingon?!” Almost sounding insulted, but those brown eyes danced with a dangerous mirth more than insult if attention was paid to them. He snorted a laugh at the lieutenant's observation about the manner of learning Klingon - how else would you learn anything if there weren’t some broken bones, Khamlet mused.

Essen nodded again and granted Tarsek another broken smile, although for a little longer this time, as it seemed -- for now -- that it was working!* "Sir," *Essen asked him. "I'm... Curious about something. You say you're an anthropologist and a historian." Before she moved a little bit of her hair to the side so she could see him a little better. "Where did--" she started, before she rethought her question on the spot. "Where did you learn to just... Know exactly what to say? Was it from being an anthropologist and historian? You just... You have the right words every time for me."

He considered her question. “My answers come from my logic, my logic comes from Surak.” He stated. “Ever since I was born, I have been trained in his discipline. Though my time as a professor did teach me more about patience and hearing.”

She nodded in hearing his answer -- that made sense. Of course she didn't understand Surak but that was beside the point -- the logic he was grounded in, the logic that Surak taught, the way he knew what to say -- it felt familiar. As she pulled out her PADD. "I understand, I ask because, well..." Essen pulled up a photo of a Vulcan man that didn't really 100% resemble Tarsek, but didn't 100% resemble any other Vulcan man either. But the regality, the posture of this Vulcan man in the photo seemed to resemble Tarsek. "What you say to me, it sounds like, from what my mother recalls, what my father used to believe and how he used to think. Besides just Surak and logic. This is my father, named Senutt. For a minute there it -- it felt like hearing him speak again through you." (edited)

He observed the man, looking for ways in which he might resemble Essen. “Was he a follower of Surak?”

With the photo pulled up, Essen smiled a little more this time, and then scrolled to an old picture of both Senutt and Erra, her mother. Erra held a baby wrapped in cloth in her arms. "Yes, in fact," Essen replied to Tarsek. "Dad followed Surak, and actually Mom did too until she got assimilated. Once she was liberated she renounced Surak. Her reasoning was -- I think she said 'logic won't save me now' or something like that. But they used to both follow Surak. Mom tells me actually they followed a logical method of choosing my name. Erra and Senutt. Eh, Sen, Es-sen. It solidified the bond they had with each other." As she zoomed into the photo a little more. "This was, I think, right before the Borg attacked and killed Dad, and assimilated Mom. And there's me right there. So you can see why this mission was real personal." As she zoomed back out. "But I digress. Long story short, yeah, he followed Surak. I imagine he had the same wisdom you have with me. While I was very young when I knew Dad, the wisdom you gave me now and during this mission really, really reminds me of him." (edited)

He nodded looking at the new picture. ”Do you believe, if I were to meet him, we would concur in our views of logic and the functioning of the universe?” He asked.

No hesitation this time. "Oh, absolutely, sir," Essen replied. "You two would get along so well, in fact. Dad wasn't ever a professor, but he had honestly, from how much I've learned about you in the short time of knowing you, the same amount of passion for learning and helping others through teaching. Not necessarily just being a professor like you, but guiding and being a sort of beacon light to follow. If I'm assuming correctly, that is." As she looked at the photo again, and for a moment, really let it sink in that this mission was personal. "If he were still here today he'd really commend you, sir," Essen continued. "He'd admire your resolve, your tenacity, your perseverance. He would have done the same. He sees that as true strength, even for Starfleet away missions that have the potential to be like this one. He would still see what you did to help me and others and deeply admire you."

While Eicran wouldn't deny that he had pondered the meaning of the universe and all of that now and again, he would hardly say he was a philosopher. He had no idea of how to convey the nuances when it came to differences in culture. He could understand the Klingon side: it was easy to see why they would think that never facing your fears was something dishonourable. Eicran had probably just explained it poorly. Alongside a philosopher he had never been a master orator either, and given the slightly frazzled state of his brain right now, it wouldn't surprise him if he was making less sense than usual. Once again he found that Khamlet's enthusiasm genuienly was contagious, though. He gave a faint smile and a nod - plus an internal note to himself that his head really was getting worse, especially when he moved it. Drinking wasn't usually his thing, never mind in a group... But perhaps it would be nice to see the Klingon way of things. It was very easy to get wrapped up in the negative like the majority of his fellow officers here had done. Seeing the positives and celebrating the success of their mission - their 'victory' as it might be put - could do everyone some good. "I'll do my best to be there..." He then lowered his voice to a whisper so Paco wouldn't hear. "And I would learn Klingon from a Klingon - from yourself, of course. Lieutenant Umali has simply been through a lot. I'm just trying to make him feel better: that he's smart, skilled. Important. Now," he took a few steps back so Khamlet could stand. "Stand up, move your arms, roll your shoulders. How does that feel? Don't go hiding any other secret injuries, now."

The trap had been laid, and Essen walked right through it. Perspective really could be a funny thing, and oh how emotions could cloud you to facts you already knew… “If so, you now can deduce that your father would not think you a failure.” He said, looking at her and the way she observed the photo fondly. “I do not find you a failure and If you are certain we would agree, neither would he.” Simple, logical enough for her to absorb.

It took a moment... And Essen briefly revisited those negative emotions in her mind when Tarsek mentioned the possibility of Essen being a failure again -- but then, given what she just explored... What Tarsek just went through with her... Perhaps he was right. Perhaps Senutt wasn't ashamed of her. "Wha...wwwwell... You-- you're right..." As Essen's mind finally clicked the gears into place. As she looked back and forth between the photo and Tarsek, she made the connection that Tarsek was trying to spur on her. "You don't think I'm a failure... Nor do you think I'm a murderer, or that I'm weak," Essen reasoned out verbally. "And because you think and reason so similarly to Dad -- you're right... He might not be disappointed in me after all..." *Her demeanor shift spoke volumes. It was working!*

Twelve worked on patients for a bit, ensuring all had what they needed and had been seen to. Once that time passed, Twelve settled into a seat with a View of Vara'l. Settled there and just allowed themselves to be with their own thoughts for a time as they considered someone they called an acquaintance, perhaps tentitively.. a friend.

He nodded. Her sudden shift reassuring him that she had listened, her words showing that she was willing to think this over, to reason against her fear. “I am not a mind healer.” He said. “I cannot cut the roots of your fears, I lack the tools.” It was an admission. If he really thought about it, he would not consider a Vulcan mind healer the best option. Essen was different, and as someone with free emotions, a counselor would be the appropriate choice. “I can give you support. I can listen and I can soothe. But I cannot stop those thoughts from coming back.” He looked at her, his blue eyes were piercing. “Lt. Cdr. Twelve of Twenty is right, you need a councilor, young one. You need to work towards healing.”

Khamlet gave a nod of approval, and small growled ‘mhm’ with the slight hint of gladness that the quiet officer hadn’t attempted to refuse the statement that they would be there. As they leaned in to whisper he disciplined down the instinctive urge to bristle and demand the words be spoken loud and openly! But he did what he could to recall that his honour was not this doctor’s honour, so even as his muscles showed the tension being held in them he didn’t growl or vocalise anything. He listened and glanced at the lieutenant contemplating the words of the quiet officer. They were trying to encourage a warrior to continue to fight? That was worthy. It wasn’t how he would do it but still he could recognise the inherent worth in the goal. “Your Klingon is well said, you will show me your singing when we drink!” He said with a grin, his words genuinely meant, but also offered because he wished to aid the quiet medical officer in their goal. As the medical officer stepped back and then chastised him for hiding an injury Khamlet laughed, it made his shoulders roll, his chest rise and fall, and as threw back his head his braids flowed in the motion. “HAH!” The quiet officer had clearly seen the intention in his challenge earlier, and Khamlet appreciated the boldness in throwing it back at him - even if he wasn’t hiding the phaser in the same way that this one held back their heart and spirit. He rolled his shoulders as instructed, and he couldn’t deny even the light annoyance of the pain was gone, “Like I had never been shot.” His voice slightly disappointed at that fact, he hadn’t endured and survived the pain, it had been removed, and so the understanding, the sense of realness in the world and what had happened, was in some way diminished. Still for the sake of honouring the quiet officer’s own honour, and his courage in the charge in the battle, he would accept this.

17:06

“Don’t forget Khamlet, son of Eral, of the House of Jorn expects you to drink and celebrate with him when we dock.” He said it firmly and properly introducing himself and laughed in anticipatory excitement for what was to come. This quiet officer was strange to him, but interesting in a way he couldn’t quite explain why. Those eyes hid a universe that had the courage to charge a foe without any weapon, and yet also hid itself from others and seemingly could accept fear in others, how strange… Like staring into a luSpet - Black Hole. Khamlet gladly and openly stared, his heart and spirit could never hide itself or its passions and interests.

In that moment, when Essen previously felt like nothing could save her from the consequences of her actions, finally, for the first time in an entire week, she felt relief. And it wasn't even from a counselor - it was from a concerned member of the team. One that, in Essen's mind, carried the very message that her father in the afterlife hoped for her to hear. Essen's mouth finally curled up into a bit of a smile now, and maintained that shape. "Heh... That's something dad would say too, sir," Essen replied. "Especially about talking with my counselor." Before she was about to say something else... And then... "You know what?" She said rather rhetorically, but instead of finishing the thought... She looked back and forth between Tarsek and the water bottle. A moment of pausing... Of reflection... And a nod moreso to herself than anything. "He would want me to do this too." Essen opened the water bottle once more, and took larger sips from it -- giving herself the much-needed hydration she was deprived of on the cube! Tarsek's words weren't just working -- they convinced her to drink water again! An act that symbolized, in Essen's mind that she was allowed to be kind to herself, and that maybe... *...she wasn't a murderer after all.* (edited)

The Vulcan watched as she took rather excitedly the bottle and took avid sips. He did not understand the importance of this act or why it would be called upon with her euphoria. Still, he did not question it. It must have had some meaning to her, and she needed the hydration anyway. He stayed quiet now, simply watching.

Essen at first looked upon the Vulcan man with confusion for him not having as much of a reaction -- but then she realized. "Oh yeah... I didn't explain." She said apologetically. She took another sip, and then spoke again. "I was thinking that... Earlier, when I was really upset with myself, that I would need to suffer to make up for others' suffering, assimilated or not. So I... Told myself I wasn't going to drink any more water than I had to keep myself alive. So that I could suffer..." But then, another sip, which pretty much signalled her shift in thought, even if it was temporary and the healing journey wasn't complete, like Tarsek said. "But like you say, sir. If you don't think I'm a murderer or a failure, and dad wouldn't think I'm a murderer or a failure... And dad knew that I didn't want to drink water so that I could suffer for others. He -- and you -- would tell me to drink water again. So that I can be kind to myself. And, really, that's... Not drinking enough water was the start of what I was going to do in this 'penance.' But right now... It feels really, really good, to give myself the same kindness that you're giving me. By drinking this water, honestly, I--I don't have to suffer..." Another sip down the hatch! And she hasn't even gotten a quarter of the way into the bottle yet, but she was getting there. "And... I'll be eager for counseling. So I can, like you say, cut off the root of these fears and give myself the tools I need to heal." (edited)

”I see.” Another sign of the momentary victory then. Along with her enthusiastic acceptance of working her issues through therapy. “Well done then.” (edited)

The girl smiled a little more, feeling quite proud of herself, and especially upon hearing the 'well done' that set in motion the pride she had to take care of herself again. She knew that, most likely, she'd hit another valley, possibly even worse than this one, but for now, it was time to celebrate this little win. "T-thank you, sir," Essen replied. "Truly, thank you." And with that she took another few sips, this time, a few uninterrupted, so that she took in a larger volume of water. And right away, she started to feel like there was less heat in her veins, that there was a shimmering sensation flowing through her body. It felt so, so rewarding. Finally, after taking in a generous few sips of water, Essen took a break and then, her curiosity piqued again. "I'm curious, sir," Essen remarked. "What areas of anthropology and history do you know or have you taught? I'm wondering as maybe, when I get back, I can cross check it with Mom to see if Dad was involved with any of it. But also, I guess... I am just really curious about you in general. Might help take my mind off things, you know. Are there any topics in anthropology and history that really interest you?" (edited)

”My primary field was the research of pre-Surakian societies. All of my work in the VSA, where I received my formal teaching, revolved around Vulcan culture.” He revealed. “Much due to my clan’s influence over my career. I worked with this theme for twelve years, comparing said societies to post-Surakian way of life. The new ways in which we would organize ourselves with the influence of the philosopher.” He recalled the days surrounded by sand, in the heart of the desert lands. “I worked among excavations for 6 years. After that I focused on applying the data I had collected theoretically and went back to the VSA as a professor and author.”

As Essen listened, her eyes widened in further curiosity. Huh! She didn't think that word, pre-Surakian, even existed. Well, it had to, as Surak himself didn't exist until a certain time, but it was hard to imagine that. "Pre-Surakian?" Essen asked, intrigued, and leaned in a little towards Tarsek, although of course not too much to invade his personal space. "What was that like? Learning about it, and just... The pre-Surakian times in general? I don't remember ever hearing too much about pre-Surakian times in school."

It was amusing that Khamlet found it funny when Eicran told him not to hide any more injuries. It hadn't been intended as a joke, but alas; he would much rather a colleague find something funny than upsetting. Something that the medic did note was how the man's tone shifted just a smidgeon after he tested out his movement. It had taken Eicran a long time to identify people's feelings based on what they said or how they said it, from their body language, or facial expression. It had taken him far longer than it should have and it always felt like something he had yet to master. But after the optimism and enthusiasm, the change in tone that accompanied the Klingon's speech - however slight - was something that he picked up on. Maybe he should have just left Khamlet be when it came to those wounds, he thought to himself; but it was also his duty to treat such a thing. If the Klingon had outright refused then that would have been his decision as the patient... Ach, never mind. Eicran could only hope that he hadn't frustrated the fellow officer or accidentally insulted Klingon culture at all. It truly was the last thing that he wanted to do. He almost went to apologise but stopped himself. Something told him that if Khamlet was deeply upset then he would have spoken his mind. Besides, Eicran didn't want to make the conversation any more depressive. The air of upset throughout the medical bay was already enough. divider

18:47

Instead he gave a brisk nod - and bit back a wince at the jolt of pain that accompanied it. How many times was he going to forget that he was likely concussed - that explained why he had returned to consciousness on the ground at one point during the mission. He'd do something about it once he was finished treating everyone else. "Well, Khamlet, son of Eral, House of Jorn." With Khamlet being an entire foot taller, Eicran looked up at him - and when their gaze met it didn't put him off like it often did. He found himself offering a smile instead. "Remember to send an invite to Eicran Kehal, and then I won't forget."

Twelve sighed slightly as they looked at Vara'l. Sighed as they looked over the Romulan then slipped up to their feet.

Khamlet smiled when he finally learned the quiet officer’s name, it was a curious smile still as bold and wild as anything about him, but it was coloured with a different hue - a different gladness to that which he shared with all in this room, or so he thought. Not the gladness of the victory in battle, but something more personal and yet it was a fleeting and quickly present and vanished hue in that sharp and dangerous smile of his. “I will make sure you can’t!” He said with a laugh and reached for his armour, collecting it in one hand, and then standing in front of Eicran he seemingly watched him for a moment longer. Trying to place where that wince had come from, where the tightness in the jaw and the tenseness which still to the Klingon seemed to urge Eicran to shout or snap had come from? Was it from him? No, he didn’t think so. He let out a thoughtful and low growl, “'etlh QorghHa'lu'chugh ragh 'etlh nIvqu' 'ej jejHa'choH.” The universal translator stripping away the poetry and leaving the phrase as: even the best blade will rust and grow dull unless it is cared for. He wasn’t sure entirely how it was the case, but he suspected that Eicran was neglecting his own self somehow. He couldn’t see a particular limp or favouring of one hand over the other, or anything that might suggest an obvious physical injury. And injuries to the spirit of Federation officers he was beginning to gather he had no real basis to judge if they were there or not. But he suspected something, so in his fashion he showed a care for a fellow warrior, honest and open even if unexpected. (edited)

20:01

A hand patted Eicran on the shoulder firmly as Khamlet stepped by, “Keep the bloodwine, drink it with your fellow warriors in tending wounds…” He glanced across the med-bay, he didn’t understand it, but he could admit that perhaps there were other battles and other honours for these people - if not for Klingons. “… You have won the day I think, these warriors will fight again. Qapla’!” Another pat on the shoulder, firm and forceful (what about him wasn’t?), and then Khamlet departed from the med-bay.

Twelve resumes work then as they then started to try and work out how to break what had happened to Elohae and by extension Telim. The emotional response to that was documented then by her and filed for later reference.

”I imagine the general teaching is of how before Surak we were a violent species divided in houses at constant war.” He started. “That is true, but not all of the truth. Im sure you learned about the wars that nearly wiped our species out by the 4th century, and how Surak was a primordial force in the achievement of peace and our following reconstruction. However…” He paused. “Surak was not the first to turn to logic. In fact, there is evidence of our people attempting to purge emotions more than 3000 years before that.” He eyes acquired a strange light, almost imperceptible, and Essen got the feeling he was no longer seeing her, but rather a painting of a past long gone. “You were probably not taught about the many polytheistic cults we once had. About the different craftsmanship and arts developed by the many tribes. Before Surak there was still culture to be learnt, appreciated and passed down.”

Essen's eyes popped open in absolute SHOCK. She thought for sure that Surak was the only one to ever explore managing emotions as Vulcans did. "Surak -- wasn't the first??" Essen asked in awe. "Yeah, we learned about the wars and how Surak came to be and what he did on Vulcan. But anyone before that? My school must have not gotten into that. Huh!" Maybe it wasn't as cut and dry as avoiding Surak. Maybe emotional regulation was something she ignored in early life to begin with altogether... And she needed to rediscover it, maybe with the 3000-year-old philosophies. Essen's focus was now on Tarsek, not on her faults, not on her mistakes, not on her emotional compromise -- but on the implications of all of what Tarsek told her. "We had cults??" Essen asked. "Yeah, there was life before Surak, I assumed as much, but I never assumed it would be like that -- school never taught us that!*

”Surak did not invent Vulcan culture. His contribution to our modern way of life is immeasurable, and many choose to only look at him when it comes to what makes us as we are.” Tarsek’s focus was back on her. “However, infinite events and infinite triggers. We still hold some parts of our pre-Surakian past with us. Marriages, coming of age ceremonies and even cults. Yes, some Vulcans still choose to honor the ancient gods. There is much to look beyond Surak to understand who we are and who we aspire to become.”

Essen was honestly stunned at hearing what she heard from Tarsek -- not that it was necessarily bad, it wasn't bad. Still, for a Vulcan girl who basically rejected Surak in the hopes of becoming the next punk rock icon back in the day, this was Earth-shattering. "Huh! So it isn't just about managing emotions," Essen replied. "Well -- I kind of knew that, but... That's the only aspect I've ever really given thought about." As he continued, Essen listened in what seemed to be complete focus now. Her mental breakdown abandoned for now, this deep dive into the history and anthropology of Vulcans was captivating her. "S-so even though most kids in my class chose to follow Surak and I didn't," Essen reasoned. "That didn't automatically make me an outcast... It didn't mean I was--" as her eyes popped open. "It didn't mean I was less than anyone else. It just was different." That realization hit her like a freight train. "O-oh, just to clarify, sir. I did pay attention in pretty much all my other classes, math, science, language; but history, I assumed was all Surak and nothing but Surak. And at the same time, for years I've thought that rejecting Surak in the middle of my classmates made me stick out like a sore thumb. Maybe I... Never really needed to rebel how I did knowing that Surak wasn't the only other option. This--- this is blowing my mind, sir." (edited)

He was not about to claim he understood why anyone would choose to not follow Surak. The philosophy, for him, was as clear and sating as pure water. His entire upbringing had logic as its setting stone, discipline as the foundation for the construction that was Tarsek the Vulcan, Tarsek the Teacher, Tarsek the Diplomat. It was him. It made him. Along with all the knowledge he acquired while uncovering the past that led them to Surak. Why it was needed, why they had felt the need to embrace it, to live it. He was not a hypocrite. Some decades ago, Essen would have been a prime example of all that his parents and clan members had warned him about: how Vulcans were losing their way. How they were quickly coming back to their violent nature. He would have distanced himself from her on sight. But not now. Not after all his research. Not after the countless debates he had had with his mother, a historian herself, on how there was pride to be had and teachings to be learnt before Surak. “Surak is a choice. For some the obvious choice. For others not so much. Tell me, why did you think you had to defy his teachings?” No reprimand in the question, only simple curiosity.

Well, if this was anything to help Essen from another emotional breakout and from bursting into tears again, this was the thing to do it. Besides, Tarsek was curious, and maybe he had some insight -- Essen realized this. "Oh yeah... I never told you why I rejected Surak, did I?" Essen replied. "It's... complicated. And it's led me to living like this." She took a breath in, and out. "I never really wanted to 'blend in,' so to speak. Inneth told me that, instead of my parents being killed or assimilated, they died from incurable disease. Come to find out later of course she was lying so that I'd never see my family again, but that's besides the point. The point - I was skeptical to accept anything as the truth. So, when history class started and everyone was talking about Surak, I just... thought it silenced my true self. I thought at the time, and honestly, thought until a couple years ago, that following Surak made me weak. That by falling in line with everyone else, that I'd lose my sense of individuality. So..." she shrugged. "I became a punk. And by punk, I mean, I played pranks, I was crafty, my behavior intimidated my friends and teachers." As she took another moment, Essen continued. "I rejected Surak really because I didn't want to feel limited in who I was. Inneth limited what I knew about my family in that way, and it seemed history class was trying to limit who I could be, or at least, that's what I thought. I wanted to be unleashed and live freely. So, I became a punk, even listening to punk and rock music too. I felt Surak was basically the equivalent of classical music when I was on the full rock 'n' roll and heavy metal side, so to speak. Musical terms, but I digress. I wanted fun, I wanted energy, I wanted liveliness." Before she paused. "But I never realized just how strong my emotions could get if unchecked. Saving my girlfriend from death by disobeying orders to do so, and this mission, are both proof of that." (edited)

He listened and then elected to speak his mind. “You were failed by your elder and your teachers. To put it in musical terms, since you chose this analogy: to learn classical music is not to deny one’s individuality, otherwise we would not know the names Bach, Chopin and Mozart, as no artist would have ever stood out to be remembered.” What a surprise, Tarsek knew about earth classical composers. “Philosophy is a tool, as a violin or a guitar are. What you choose to do with it is who you are. By not learning it out of spite, you denied yourself the chance to identify parts of this tool that could be useful. This, I will state again, was a failure of those older around you as it was their duty to identify the source of your reluctance. It is not logical to force compliance, the way of Surak is of peace, of convincing with sound arguments.”

Holy fucking shit -- Essen wasn't expecting Tarsek to be as spot-on as he was. It was scarily accurate just how much he nailed it. "I... well... I guess... yeah, I was," Essen agreed in realization. "They did fail me. All of my teachers did try to get me to comply. Be it Surak or pranks or anything else, with the latter two being understandable. I guess I just went to a school that was Surak-heavy? I dunno. I never really questioned it until now." As she heard Tarsek explain that Essen indeed denied herself of the ability to identify parts of philosophy that could be useful, Essen had to do a bit of a double take. "Wha---whoa," Essen exclaimed simply. "Yeah... I was reluctant... and no one ever tried to find the source of it... they just tried to silence me instead... Which drove me further away."

”Yes. Quite unapt teachers you encountered. A proper mentor would have adapted.” He said. “In my province, Xial, my clan holds part of the territory in share with several others, and they all tend to the land. We were more traditional in our ways if compared to big cities. Our children would learn together from mentors and elders, as has been for generations.” To put words blunt: Tarsek had basically been “clan-schooled,” along with other children from the region. “We did have teachers for specific formal subjects, but a lot regarding our way of life was taught by our close family.” He stopped, a rare moment of hesitation. “I had a private mentor, for mental discipline. It was needed.”

Essen's eyes trailed off to the distant ends of the medbay as she realized all this, and took in Tarsek's diagnosis of her past -- indeed. Her teachers failed her. "You're right... a proper mentor, both in school and out of school... so I never really learned emotional regulation until a few years ago. And that is just... breathing and meditation and centering myself, nothing with Surak, nothing with ancient philosophy. W-wow..." She muttered. Essen nodded in trying to comprehend Tarsek's clan -- she wasn't in a 'clan' per se but it made sense that the teachings in Tarsek's clan were consolidated, it seemed. "A private mentor?" Essen asked. "You found that productive for you?" As she mulled it over, Essen then made another brave step. "Sir, if... if it's not too much to ask. If I ever had a private mentor for emotional regulation... would you want to do it with me?"

”It was a decision made when I was four. I believe we all found it productive.” He confirmed. With her question he paused. “I am unsure of the nature of your inquiry. Would you clarify?” (edited)

Essen took a second to consider, then: "Ah, I worded that kind of sloppily," Essen admitted. "A little more context. From the mission where I saved my girlfriend and disobeyed orders I originally was assigned a mentor to help me with emotional regulation and getting a grip on my mind. I was wondering, since you seem to understand me..." As she blinked. "Would you be willing to work with me? So I can learn from you?"

”You wish for me to be your emotional mentor?”

Essen took a breath, and smiled to Tarsek -- the biggest smile she had given him pretty much all week. The biggest smile she'd given anyone all week. "Well..." Essen replied. "If it's not too much to ask, and... if you think it would benefit me, then... yeah, I'd wish for you to be my emotional mentor. P-please?" Essen asked.

”Although I am honored by the request…” He started carefully, not wishing to shatter her hopes nor the bond they seemed to be forming already. “However, understand that I am not the adequate choice for this task. I am not someone trained on passing on mental discipline, and I am afraid my personal methods might not suit you, being strictly Surakian. If I accepted your request, I would also be failing you.”

Initially, Essen was a little disappointed by the response she got from Tarsek. But as he explained, she put the pieces together in her mind: indeed, his uniform wasn't blue, he wasn't in medical, and he admitted this wasn't in his wheelhouse. In the moment, Essen felt a little bit hurt by the denial of her request, but at the end of it all, she knew that critically -- and, in a way, logically... yes, logically... that didn't make the most sense to dwell on it. That's when she heard him say she'd be failing her. And given that she was so sensitive to feeling like she failed others... she understood. She understood fully what Tarsek was trying to say. "Hey, that's alright, sir, I understand," Essen replied. "I mean... you're right. Your reasoning, it's... it's logica--" before she covered her mouth and her eyes popped open. "Did I just say...?" The irony was not lost on her. It was actually kind of funny. (edited)

”You did. But it would have been peculiar if my line of thought was anything but.”

At this point, Twelve having slipped up from the chair next to Vara'l, had turned her focus back to the patients. Turned her focus back to work after all that had occurred to the others present and after she'd checked when she'd last regenerated and assured herself that she happened to have a lot of time to play with. Part way through that time, as she worked, Twelve availed herself of a small meal as her eyes fixed upon Essen. Twelve then started over toward the duo and quietly proceeded to place the meal down next to Essen. "Here is a meal for you, Lieutenant." Before she rapidly headed off to go work more.

As she looked back and forth between Tarsek and Twelve, her hand still over her mouth from a bit of shock -- comically so, by the way -- she realized what word she just said, unironically. "Did you just hear me say that?" Essen whispered to Twelve. "I said the L-word! I never say the L-word!" It was actually quite funny to see. "Am I feeling okay---well. I'm still recovering. But... the L-word, Twelve! The L-wo--" Before she looked at the meal that Twelve gave her. She took it and with a meek "Thank you," she looked down at it. Looked to Tarsek, then back to the meal. "You don't think I'm a failure. Dad doesn't think I'm a failure... so I... don't have to suffer. I can... I can eat." And with that... she took a bite of the meal... mmmmm! As she began to eat, she quickly picked up another bite, and then another. This was a very nice peak in her healing journey, she had to admit. She liked the peaks where she felt alright again.

Twelve turned and looked to Essen then. Looked at them with utter confusion briefly there and plain. "We do not understand." Lesbos? Lanthanite or what word? What L word had been referred to she wondered as she turned away. Turned away then paused and looked to Tarsek then glanced over to a medical officer before she pointedly looked to the Vulcan. That one needed to be checked over.

”Logical.” Tarsek clarified. There was a certain amount of pride blooming in his chest and he watched as Essen finally started to eat again. ”A good thing you came by, doctor. I have actually come here for my post mission check up.” He said to Twelve while Essen sated her hunger.