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Now For a Different Kind of Fic..
Apr. 30th, 2023 05:31 pmI'm pretty sure that I will lose my readership in droves, but it occurs to me that I have been unfair to my Star Trek: The RPG group. I've posted a bit about them from time to time, but mostly in general. I've never posted the fic that I've written for that group. So, I thought I'd start.
Lo, a new icon for you to ignore! If you see the Star Trek logo and don't want to read RPG fic, please skip!
About us: we started playing together (according to the session logs) on January 19, 2019.
So, that's been a long time. Especially since we've always played online via video conferencing, so we played throughout the isolation of the pandemic without a hiatus.
We only play once a month, so it's not quite as intensive as it might seem. It has been, however, one of my favorite groups. We are all crew members of the USS Alan Turing, NCC-74659 an Intrepid Class scientific and survey operations starship currently deployed in the Shackleton Expanse. We are playing in the post-Dominion War era of the Trekverse (so, think: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine-ish).
When we started, I was playing a supremely chatty Bolian Chief Science Officer named Ardon, who, despite coming from a polyamorous culture, secretly longed to be monogamous. Of course, he ended up in a threesome with the Cardassian ambassador and the ship's counselor, until eventually he jumped ship (literally, he went AWOL) for what he imagined to be his one true love, a Romulan space marine. He has not been heard from since.(Maybe. There may have been messages sent from the Romulan Star Empire that appear to have information only Ardon would know, but that mystery is still in play.)
I replaced myself in the role of Chief Science Officer, with a human named Rochester "Ro" LeRoux who was raised on Andor, as part of a Starfleet military base. I tend to like to play characters who go against type. So, Ro managed to become a Science Officer despite only having expertise in "soft" sciences. Previous to the Dominion war, Ro served as a a ship's historian... and then later taught watercolor at Academy. (I blame the actual play mechanics here. When I discovered I could have expertise in something inane like watercolor, I was like, "YES, this is the skill we will most need while fending off Orion slavers in an alternate universe!) When war could no longer spare any of its soldiers, Ro reluctantly entered the battlefield only to accidentally distinguish himself and become a lieutenant commander. His main value is: do whatever is necessary to get to retirement.
Ro, when I picture him in his head, looks and acts a bit like Ian McKellen at his most flamboyant.
Ro is, by chance, one of the few humans on the bridge/senior staff of the Turing. Our captain, Ayla Taryn, is, of all things, a Deltan. Our first officer is Commander Delara, a Betazoid who grew up on Vulcan. The Chief Engineer is the incomparable Li Meru, a Bajoran. Our Chief Medical Officer is a Napean named Eliva.
Our group is interesting because we all pick up various NPCs and play them as player characters. I think this has something to do with the fact that when you're playing on a ship, you need more than six people to do all the things. Why not give the helmsman some personality? It feels much more like it's part of the Trek franchise when everyone has a strong and unique personality/backstory.
So, for instance, I also created the replacement ship's counselor who left after the disaster with Ardon. He's technically an NPC, but the new counselor also fits my mold of playing against type: a Vulcan psychologist, Sular. Like all my characters, Sular has a secret. He was raised on Vulcan, but among a tribe of dessert nomads, who practice V'tosh ka'tur (think: Vulcan raised by an emotion cult.) He initially rejected their lifestyle and submitted to Kolinahr (the purge of emotions) in order to join the Vulcan Science Academy and pursue a life among the stars as a communications officer. But, after a tragedy wherein most of the crew of his previous ship was lost, including a special person he failed to express his love to, he has been experimenting with a return to the practices of his youth.
Anyway, you don't need to remember any of these people in order to enjoy what I'm about to post, except Ro and Sular (who should be obvious in context, or I have failed being a writer.)
This is actually an older piece that sets the stage for a piece I started today based on last night's game (which I hope to post in a couple days, depending). I ended up feeling really crummy today, however, and didn't finish it. My stomach has been a little urpy, my nose runny, and my body achy. I've tested for COVID, and so far, I seem to just have picked up some other random bug. My body is NOT used to this whole being sick thing anymore, however, and so, even though I had a bunch of stuff I wanted to be doing today, including writing the fic, I face-planted and spent most of the day utterly passed out.
Without further ado, I offer this ridiculous fic, which is basically me asking the question: How would a Vulcan be a Ship's counselor?? Could they possibly be any good??
===
Sular, the person whose sole job it was to look after the emotional health of the crew, was a Vulcan.
He wouldn’t have this job if he wasn’t good at it, Ro reminded himself as he tried to close his eyes and join Sular in meditation. But, dealing with people’s emotions all day, every day? A Vulcan? It seemed… well, illogical.
Ro wouldn’t even think about it twice, but he needed serious help. His head still rang after the encounter with that malevolent presence on The House of B’Ling. In fact, he kept having the strangest physical sensations in the aftermath. His stomach suddenly lurched at the memory. HIs head spun. Ro thought he might throw up all over this very lovely Vulcan meditation rug in front of him.
In an effort to calm his wildly beating heart, Ro let out a long breath and put a hand on his chest. His hand shook; his breath came out ragged and uneven.
This was not going well.
“You seem to be having trouble concentrating,” Sular said, his flat affect and emotionless voice surprisingly comforting to Ro’s jangled mind.
Perhaps there was some logic to a Vulcan counselor, after all. It didn’t hurt that this young man was handsome in that way so many Vulcan men were, all angles and planes.
Sular arched a finely sculpted eyebrow. His hands rested flatly against his thighs. “I suggested mediation because quiet contemplation often helps heal a mind that has been forcefully invaded. Perhaps you have been more severely damaged than I initially assessed. Would prefer to talk instead?”
Ro wasn’t sure reliving the encounter would make him feel any better. He shivered at the mere suggestion that he discuss that vile Thing that had pressed itself into his mind. His stomach dropped again and he felt dizzy. Oh gods, what did he even eat today? Klingon bloodwine and sushi? This was going to be gross!
As Ro struggled to keep the contents of his stomach to himself, Sular pulled himself upright in a very fluid motion. The counselor had started to turn away towards a set of scoop chairs, when he noticed Ro’s distress.
With the ease of youth, he crouched back down beside Ro.
Peering deeply into Ro’s eyes, Sular appeared obviously concerned, despite his lack of expression. Dark eyebrows knit together briefly. ““Lieutenant Commander LeRoux, are you quite all right?”
Ro gripped his stomach which had begun to cramp. “It’s deeply disconcerting that something that touched my mind can hurt my body. It feels like it shouldn’t be possible. ‘Psychic Damage,’ it sounds… ridiculous.”
“Psychic damage is a known phenomenon.” Sular assured him as he reached a hand out to help him up. “I will make tea.”
Tea sounded amazing. Ro tried to smile at this delightful young man, but his smile faltered. He was, however, comforted by the strength in the cool, firm grip that lifted him easily to his feet. Upright, Ro’s sense of his own center of gravity returned. He felt more grounded. Despite that, he found didn’t want to let go of that steadying hand. He clutched to Sular as if he were an actual, physical lifeline.
Sular seemed to accept Ro’s reluctance to release his hand without any awkwardness or stiffness. He did not pull away or let go until he was certain that Ro was comfortably settled in the chair. Surprisingly, Sular knelt again beside him, letting his hand rest on Ro’s arm, until Ro focused enough to look him directly in the eye.
Such lovely gray eyes,too-- like a gathering storm at sea.
Sular nodded as if something had been decided. Finally letting go, he stood up. “Rest here. Tea will be only a moment.”
Ro sat in the surprisingly comfortable chair, focused on breathing evenly, and looked around.
The counselor’s office was full of the clean lines of the Zen aesthetic that Ro had come to associate with Vulcans, with a few notable exceptions. There seemed to be a large framed replica of a papyrus scrap that read in Greek: To Eros: You burn me. A poem attributed to Sappho, an ancient human.
“You burn me?” Ro repeated, a little shocked. “Fiery passion? An ancient sex god? Isn’t that… a lot for a Vulcan?”
Sular had requested a thermos of boiling water from the replicator, but otherwise seemed to be making tea by hand at a nearby counter. Over his shoulder, he asked, “Are you under the impression that Vulcans do not experience intense emotions?”
Ro blinked. “Yes? I mean, kind of?”
“It is understandable that it appears that way. However,” Sular said, handing Ro a steaming mug of something that smelled faintly of hibiscus and beremont, “You are incorrect. Vulcans have struggled with great emotion since the time of Surak.”
Ro couldn’t help the little chuckle that escaped his lips, “Really? Are you suggesting that right now, underneath that mask of cool composure you’re a hot, burning mess of uncontrolled passion and emotions?”
“Not uncontrolled,” Sular said, sitting down primly. “But yes.”
Was that sexy? It was kind of sexy.
Not a very professional thought. Well, at least he wasn’t thinking about mind monsters, he supposed. Perhaps he was feeling a little better already? Holding a hand out, Ro noticed it still shook. He let it fall to his lap with a sigh. At least he could manage a sip of tea, if he used both hands to steady the cup. Vulcan tea, if this was what this was, was quite good: sharply bitter, but with an undertone of a flora sweetness. “Shouldn’t we be talking about me?”
“Only if you like.” Sular settled back against the back of his chair, and crossed his legs lightly, loosely. This one was far more…languid than a lot of the stiff Vulcans Ro had known..
“But, don’t I need to process my trauma or whatever?”
“It is not strictly necessary. Often, when a person has experienced this particular kind of psychic damage all that is required to overcome it is rest. Having a pleasant chat is a form of mental rest. At least it can be, for some.”
Everything about this counselor was a lovely surprise, Ro decided. “So, you’re a counselor?” Ro ventured around a sip of tea.
The eyebrow quirk let Ro know he’d asked a rather stupid and obvious question. “I am.”
“What I mean is… the family proud?”
“You may be surprised to learn that my immediate family was quite pleased by my change in career.”
“Change?”
“When I joined StarFleet I was a communications officer.”
Clearly a story there, also clearly off-limits, Ro decided. Well, there were such things as professional boundaries Ro supposed. Not having much else to say, they sat in companionable silence for several long minutes, sipping tea.
Ro could feel his heart rate slowing.
Sular had piped some kind of soft music into his office. It seemed to be an instrumental version of an Andorian folk song. Bits of the original kept flitting through Ro’s mind. Some version of that grand old ballad of a cleverly ruthless Imperial guard. It was normally quite a bit more rousing when sung at the local tavern. The chorus was something akin to ‘Once more into the breach, you wild ice mountain warriors!’ Ro used to dream of being one of those when he was small.
Mmmm, that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?
After Sular had filled Ro’s teacup for a second time, Ro confessed, “There is one thing I feel guilty about. I was… mean to Roloo.”
“Can you further define what you are expressing by the word ‘mean’ ?” Sular asked. “The word you have chosen does not appear to align with any action that would result in guilt.”
Ro rolled his eyes a bit and let out a sigh, “That’s because I was being coy. I didn’t actually want to say what happened, that I was verbally abusive. I told the wee little thing that I’d ‘box him about the ears.’”.
Resting his tea cup in the saucer on his lap, Sular said, “I see.”
Even though Sular’s expression had not changed, Ro swore he felt waves of disapproval coming from those ridiculously gorgeous gray eyes. “Look, don’t judge. My mind had just been invaded by something so awful that it caused actual, physical harm! I thought I was safeguarding my ability to reason by refusing the hypo from Eliva, but I was wrong. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Your reaction was not outside of the typical response to such stress,” Sular said with such calm certainty that Ro almost believed him. “You did not actually harm the creature, correct?”
“I guess,” Ro said. “But, who knows what kind of abuse he suffered at B’Ling’s hands? I didn’t need to add to it.”
Sular took a moment to set his empty cup and saucer on the small table between them. He leaned forward and steepled his fingers. He tapped his fingers against his chiseled chin. “Why are you so certain that what you did harmed this person?”
Ro laughed. “Boxing Roloo’s ears would be terrible! It’d be like kicking a puppy.You haven’t seen him. He's tiny. Adorable. Like a weirdly attractive weasel. ”
That last bit made Sular pause to consider for a moment. Apparently, after erasing that mental image with an almost imperceptible frown, he continued, “Yet, if I read the reports correctly, he quite mercilessly infected his former shipmates with any number of pathogens that had been stored in The House of B’Ling’s medical bay. Viruses, I must point out, which do not distinguish between the slaver or the slave. He infected everyone on that second galleon.”
Ro felt his stomach tighten a bit at that. It was actually somewhat difficult for Ro to reconcile Roloo’s cuteness to both his brilliance and his capability for violence. “I suppose that’s true.”
“There is no supposition. It is irrefutable,” Sular said. He stood up and, after pressing some hidden button on the otherwise blank wall, produced a plate of treats. “Cookie? Or do you use the term biscuit?”
“I only say ‘biscuit’ if I’m being pretentious,” Ro admitted with a smile.
“Understood,” he said impassionately, but there was a ghost of a smile on Sular’s lips for a moment as he set the plate on the table. After helping himself to a cookie, Sular returned to his own seat. “If I may confess a frivolous consideration, I have long wondered how the Universal Translator approaches dialects, particularly those of English, but really, of anywhere. If one is raised with the American English spoken in the Southern United States, does the Universal Translator add the occasional ‘y’all’ or other idioms or vocal tics?”
Ro laughed and mimed the computer’s voice, “Red Alert, y’all! Red Alert!”
“Just so.”
Ro considered this for a moment as he tasted the cookie. Mmmm, was that cardamom? “I don’t know, but now I kind of hope so.”
“Indeed. Myself, as well.”
Charming. The young Vulcan was simply charming. Ro smiled to himself, enjoying the cookie. He reached for a second.
“There is one question I feel I must ask, Lieutenant Commander--”
“Ro, everyone calls me Ro.”
“Very well, Ro. Is there any part of your expression of guilt that is related to a concern that aggression from you might make you a target for extra scrutiny by Star Fleet’s Judge Advocate General?”
“You mean my ‘jailor’?” When Sular said nothing to that, Ro reached for a third cookie. What did they call it? Stress eating? After taking several bites, he said, “I see you’ve read my jacket.”
“It was only logical. I must be acquainted with the full context of your military career in order to--”
Ro waved off the rest of Sular’s excuses. “It’s no secret that I’m an extra-legal human. Starfleet has literally been monitoring me since my birth. But, rest assured the one and only augmentation that I have is a so-called ‘superhuman’ ability to withstand cold temperatures.” Ro paused because this statement wasn’t strictly true. He had also scored much higher than expected in reason and intelligence, but Starfleet had decided, in its wisdom, that those numbers fell within the ‘normal’ range of what could be expected from a relatively bright human being. He cleared his throat and went on, “Extreme temperature survival is the augmentation that the Denobulan doctor performed on me so that I might, in my infancy, survive along with my mother after her shuttle crashed during a rescue mission--which she would never have gone on so pregnant had there been anyone nearby, and time being of an essence.”
“It’s a noble story.” Sular agreed.
“But?”
“There is no ‘but,’” Sular said simply. “I hold no stake or vested interest in your status as an illegal human.”
“Extra legal,” Ro corrected. If he’d been deemed illegal, he’d have lived his life in prison. Or exiled on some hostile planet. Or put on ice. Or whatever Starfleet did with Augments these days.
“Extra legal,” Sular nodded in an apology. “My concern is as the ship’s counselor. It is possible that carrying the burden of Starfleet’s fear regarding augmented humans affects your ability to be aggressive and decisive when needed in command situations. When reviewing your military jacket, I noted that you spent nearly two decades teaching….” He seemed to either be searching for the subject matter or doing a Vulcan version of sheer and utter disbelief, “... watercolor. You hold expertise in xenobiology, human medicine, and history. Yet, you spent much of the Dominion War… painting.”
Ro couldn’t help the small smile when he said, “You sound like you disapprove, Counselor Sular.”
Both eyebrows went up briefly. “It is simply illogical that you would waste such prodigious talent teaching watercolor when there was a war to be won.”
Letting out a little sigh, Ro slumped back the chair. “You’re all but accusing me of being a coward. Aren’t you the least bit worried about reinjuring me, psychically-speaking?”
“Not in the least,” Sular said. “I have already determined that sufficient time has passed since your troubling encounter. In anticipation of this session, I reviewed all the cases of this kind of psychic damage in the past twenty years. No singular, short time exposure has needed more than distance and twenty minutes to make a full and complete recovery.”
“I could be an outlier,” Ro insisted grumpily.
“You most certainly are, Lieutenant Commander Ro, but not for that reason,” Sular said with the tiniest of smirks. “You are avoiding the question.”
“What do you want me to say? That I’m selfish? That my fear of spending the rest of what remained of my life in prison was greater than my sense of patriotic duty to StarFleet… to, in fact, all the living beings of the United Federation of Planets suffering during the war? As it happens, I came to that very conclusion myself before the end of the Dominion War and I left my husband and children behind to re-enter active service as a medic in the trenches, deep, deep in space, so far away from my family, with retirement just on the horizon.”
Ro let out a long frustrated breath.
“The work was horrible,” he continued. “It was frightening to be under fire, day in and day out, but what scared me the most was just how much I enjoyed it. How good I was at it. How easily I rose in the ranks. How natural it felt to be in command, to fight, to lead, to advance on an enemy, to conquer.” Ro took a deep breath. “That, dear Counselor Sular, is why I feel guilty over snapping at an oddly attractive weasel man.”
Sular made a little noise of… surprise? Amusement? It was gone so quickly, Ro could hardly believe he’d heard it. “Indeed. That seems like a notable place to end our first session.”
Lo, a new icon for you to ignore! If you see the Star Trek logo and don't want to read RPG fic, please skip!
About us: we started playing together (according to the session logs) on January 19, 2019.
So, that's been a long time. Especially since we've always played online via video conferencing, so we played throughout the isolation of the pandemic without a hiatus.
We only play once a month, so it's not quite as intensive as it might seem. It has been, however, one of my favorite groups. We are all crew members of the USS Alan Turing, NCC-74659 an Intrepid Class scientific and survey operations starship currently deployed in the Shackleton Expanse. We are playing in the post-Dominion War era of the Trekverse (so, think: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine-ish).
When we started, I was playing a supremely chatty Bolian Chief Science Officer named Ardon, who, despite coming from a polyamorous culture, secretly longed to be monogamous. Of course, he ended up in a threesome with the Cardassian ambassador and the ship's counselor, until eventually he jumped ship (literally, he went AWOL) for what he imagined to be his one true love, a Romulan space marine. He has not been heard from since.(Maybe. There may have been messages sent from the Romulan Star Empire that appear to have information only Ardon would know, but that mystery is still in play.)
I replaced myself in the role of Chief Science Officer, with a human named Rochester "Ro" LeRoux who was raised on Andor, as part of a Starfleet military base. I tend to like to play characters who go against type. So, Ro managed to become a Science Officer despite only having expertise in "soft" sciences. Previous to the Dominion war, Ro served as a a ship's historian... and then later taught watercolor at Academy. (I blame the actual play mechanics here. When I discovered I could have expertise in something inane like watercolor, I was like, "YES, this is the skill we will most need while fending off Orion slavers in an alternate universe!) When war could no longer spare any of its soldiers, Ro reluctantly entered the battlefield only to accidentally distinguish himself and become a lieutenant commander. His main value is: do whatever is necessary to get to retirement.
Ro, when I picture him in his head, looks and acts a bit like Ian McKellen at his most flamboyant.
Ro is, by chance, one of the few humans on the bridge/senior staff of the Turing. Our captain, Ayla Taryn, is, of all things, a Deltan. Our first officer is Commander Delara, a Betazoid who grew up on Vulcan. The Chief Engineer is the incomparable Li Meru, a Bajoran. Our Chief Medical Officer is a Napean named Eliva.
Our group is interesting because we all pick up various NPCs and play them as player characters. I think this has something to do with the fact that when you're playing on a ship, you need more than six people to do all the things. Why not give the helmsman some personality? It feels much more like it's part of the Trek franchise when everyone has a strong and unique personality/backstory.
So, for instance, I also created the replacement ship's counselor who left after the disaster with Ardon. He's technically an NPC, but the new counselor also fits my mold of playing against type: a Vulcan psychologist, Sular. Like all my characters, Sular has a secret. He was raised on Vulcan, but among a tribe of dessert nomads, who practice V'tosh ka'tur (think: Vulcan raised by an emotion cult.) He initially rejected their lifestyle and submitted to Kolinahr (the purge of emotions) in order to join the Vulcan Science Academy and pursue a life among the stars as a communications officer. But, after a tragedy wherein most of the crew of his previous ship was lost, including a special person he failed to express his love to, he has been experimenting with a return to the practices of his youth.
Anyway, you don't need to remember any of these people in order to enjoy what I'm about to post, except Ro and Sular (who should be obvious in context, or I have failed being a writer.)
This is actually an older piece that sets the stage for a piece I started today based on last night's game (which I hope to post in a couple days, depending). I ended up feeling really crummy today, however, and didn't finish it. My stomach has been a little urpy, my nose runny, and my body achy. I've tested for COVID, and so far, I seem to just have picked up some other random bug. My body is NOT used to this whole being sick thing anymore, however, and so, even though I had a bunch of stuff I wanted to be doing today, including writing the fic, I face-planted and spent most of the day utterly passed out.
Without further ado, I offer this ridiculous fic, which is basically me asking the question: How would a Vulcan be a Ship's counselor?? Could they possibly be any good??
===
The ship’s counselor was young.
Well, Ro mused, everyone seemed so young to him these days, and, really, that was not the most surprising thing about the person sitting seiza on the floor across from him.
Sular, the person whose sole job it was to look after the emotional health of the crew, was a Vulcan.
He wouldn’t have this job if he wasn’t good at it, Ro reminded himself as he tried to close his eyes and join Sular in meditation. But, dealing with people’s emotions all day, every day? A Vulcan? It seemed… well, illogical.
Ro wouldn’t even think about it twice, but he needed serious help. His head still rang after the encounter with that malevolent presence on The House of B’Ling. In fact, he kept having the strangest physical sensations in the aftermath. His stomach suddenly lurched at the memory. HIs head spun. Ro thought he might throw up all over this very lovely Vulcan meditation rug in front of him.
In an effort to calm his wildly beating heart, Ro let out a long breath and put a hand on his chest. His hand shook; his breath came out ragged and uneven.
This was not going well.
“You seem to be having trouble concentrating,” Sular said, his flat affect and emotionless voice surprisingly comforting to Ro’s jangled mind.
Perhaps there was some logic to a Vulcan counselor, after all. It didn’t hurt that this young man was handsome in that way so many Vulcan men were, all angles and planes.
Sular arched a finely sculpted eyebrow. His hands rested flatly against his thighs. “I suggested mediation because quiet contemplation often helps heal a mind that has been forcefully invaded. Perhaps you have been more severely damaged than I initially assessed. Would prefer to talk instead?”
Ro wasn’t sure reliving the encounter would make him feel any better. He shivered at the mere suggestion that he discuss that vile Thing that had pressed itself into his mind. His stomach dropped again and he felt dizzy. Oh gods, what did he even eat today? Klingon bloodwine and sushi? This was going to be gross!
As Ro struggled to keep the contents of his stomach to himself, Sular pulled himself upright in a very fluid motion. The counselor had started to turn away towards a set of scoop chairs, when he noticed Ro’s distress.
With the ease of youth, he crouched back down beside Ro.
Peering deeply into Ro’s eyes, Sular appeared obviously concerned, despite his lack of expression. Dark eyebrows knit together briefly. ““Lieutenant Commander LeRoux, are you quite all right?”
Ro gripped his stomach which had begun to cramp. “It’s deeply disconcerting that something that touched my mind can hurt my body. It feels like it shouldn’t be possible. ‘Psychic Damage,’ it sounds… ridiculous.”
“Psychic damage is a known phenomenon.” Sular assured him as he reached a hand out to help him up. “I will make tea.”
Tea sounded amazing. Ro tried to smile at this delightful young man, but his smile faltered. He was, however, comforted by the strength in the cool, firm grip that lifted him easily to his feet. Upright, Ro’s sense of his own center of gravity returned. He felt more grounded. Despite that, he found didn’t want to let go of that steadying hand. He clutched to Sular as if he were an actual, physical lifeline.
Sular seemed to accept Ro’s reluctance to release his hand without any awkwardness or stiffness. He did not pull away or let go until he was certain that Ro was comfortably settled in the chair. Surprisingly, Sular knelt again beside him, letting his hand rest on Ro’s arm, until Ro focused enough to look him directly in the eye.
Such lovely gray eyes,too-- like a gathering storm at sea.
Sular nodded as if something had been decided. Finally letting go, he stood up. “Rest here. Tea will be only a moment.”
Ro sat in the surprisingly comfortable chair, focused on breathing evenly, and looked around.
The counselor’s office was full of the clean lines of the Zen aesthetic that Ro had come to associate with Vulcans, with a few notable exceptions. There seemed to be a large framed replica of a papyrus scrap that read in Greek: To Eros: You burn me. A poem attributed to Sappho, an ancient human.
“You burn me?” Ro repeated, a little shocked. “Fiery passion? An ancient sex god? Isn’t that… a lot for a Vulcan?”
Sular had requested a thermos of boiling water from the replicator, but otherwise seemed to be making tea by hand at a nearby counter. Over his shoulder, he asked, “Are you under the impression that Vulcans do not experience intense emotions?”
Ro blinked. “Yes? I mean, kind of?”
“It is understandable that it appears that way. However,” Sular said, handing Ro a steaming mug of something that smelled faintly of hibiscus and beremont, “You are incorrect. Vulcans have struggled with great emotion since the time of Surak.”
Ro couldn’t help the little chuckle that escaped his lips, “Really? Are you suggesting that right now, underneath that mask of cool composure you’re a hot, burning mess of uncontrolled passion and emotions?”
“Not uncontrolled,” Sular said, sitting down primly. “But yes.”
Was that sexy? It was kind of sexy.
Not a very professional thought. Well, at least he wasn’t thinking about mind monsters, he supposed. Perhaps he was feeling a little better already? Holding a hand out, Ro noticed it still shook. He let it fall to his lap with a sigh. At least he could manage a sip of tea, if he used both hands to steady the cup. Vulcan tea, if this was what this was, was quite good: sharply bitter, but with an undertone of a flora sweetness. “Shouldn’t we be talking about me?”
“Only if you like.” Sular settled back against the back of his chair, and crossed his legs lightly, loosely. This one was far more…languid than a lot of the stiff Vulcans Ro had known..
“But, don’t I need to process my trauma or whatever?”
“It is not strictly necessary. Often, when a person has experienced this particular kind of psychic damage all that is required to overcome it is rest. Having a pleasant chat is a form of mental rest. At least it can be, for some.”
Everything about this counselor was a lovely surprise, Ro decided. “So, you’re a counselor?” Ro ventured around a sip of tea.
The eyebrow quirk let Ro know he’d asked a rather stupid and obvious question. “I am.”
“What I mean is… the family proud?”
“You may be surprised to learn that my immediate family was quite pleased by my change in career.”
“Change?”
“When I joined StarFleet I was a communications officer.”
Clearly a story there, also clearly off-limits, Ro decided. Well, there were such things as professional boundaries Ro supposed. Not having much else to say, they sat in companionable silence for several long minutes, sipping tea.
Ro could feel his heart rate slowing.
Sular had piped some kind of soft music into his office. It seemed to be an instrumental version of an Andorian folk song. Bits of the original kept flitting through Ro’s mind. Some version of that grand old ballad of a cleverly ruthless Imperial guard. It was normally quite a bit more rousing when sung at the local tavern. The chorus was something akin to ‘Once more into the breach, you wild ice mountain warriors!’ Ro used to dream of being one of those when he was small.
Mmmm, that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?
After Sular had filled Ro’s teacup for a second time, Ro confessed, “There is one thing I feel guilty about. I was… mean to Roloo.”
“Can you further define what you are expressing by the word ‘mean’ ?” Sular asked. “The word you have chosen does not appear to align with any action that would result in guilt.”
Ro rolled his eyes a bit and let out a sigh, “That’s because I was being coy. I didn’t actually want to say what happened, that I was verbally abusive. I told the wee little thing that I’d ‘box him about the ears.’”.
Resting his tea cup in the saucer on his lap, Sular said, “I see.”
Even though Sular’s expression had not changed, Ro swore he felt waves of disapproval coming from those ridiculously gorgeous gray eyes. “Look, don’t judge. My mind had just been invaded by something so awful that it caused actual, physical harm! I thought I was safeguarding my ability to reason by refusing the hypo from Eliva, but I was wrong. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Your reaction was not outside of the typical response to such stress,” Sular said with such calm certainty that Ro almost believed him. “You did not actually harm the creature, correct?”
“I guess,” Ro said. “But, who knows what kind of abuse he suffered at B’Ling’s hands? I didn’t need to add to it.”
Sular took a moment to set his empty cup and saucer on the small table between them. He leaned forward and steepled his fingers. He tapped his fingers against his chiseled chin. “Why are you so certain that what you did harmed this person?”
Ro laughed. “Boxing Roloo’s ears would be terrible! It’d be like kicking a puppy.You haven’t seen him. He's tiny. Adorable. Like a weirdly attractive weasel. ”
That last bit made Sular pause to consider for a moment. Apparently, after erasing that mental image with an almost imperceptible frown, he continued, “Yet, if I read the reports correctly, he quite mercilessly infected his former shipmates with any number of pathogens that had been stored in The House of B’Ling’s medical bay. Viruses, I must point out, which do not distinguish between the slaver or the slave. He infected everyone on that second galleon.”
Ro felt his stomach tighten a bit at that. It was actually somewhat difficult for Ro to reconcile Roloo’s cuteness to both his brilliance and his capability for violence. “I suppose that’s true.”
“There is no supposition. It is irrefutable,” Sular said. He stood up and, after pressing some hidden button on the otherwise blank wall, produced a plate of treats. “Cookie? Or do you use the term biscuit?”
“I only say ‘biscuit’ if I’m being pretentious,” Ro admitted with a smile.
“Understood,” he said impassionately, but there was a ghost of a smile on Sular’s lips for a moment as he set the plate on the table. After helping himself to a cookie, Sular returned to his own seat. “If I may confess a frivolous consideration, I have long wondered how the Universal Translator approaches dialects, particularly those of English, but really, of anywhere. If one is raised with the American English spoken in the Southern United States, does the Universal Translator add the occasional ‘y’all’ or other idioms or vocal tics?”
Ro laughed and mimed the computer’s voice, “Red Alert, y’all! Red Alert!”
“Just so.”
Ro considered this for a moment as he tasted the cookie. Mmmm, was that cardamom? “I don’t know, but now I kind of hope so.”
“Indeed. Myself, as well.”
Charming. The young Vulcan was simply charming. Ro smiled to himself, enjoying the cookie. He reached for a second.
“There is one question I feel I must ask, Lieutenant Commander--”
“Ro, everyone calls me Ro.”
“Very well, Ro. Is there any part of your expression of guilt that is related to a concern that aggression from you might make you a target for extra scrutiny by Star Fleet’s Judge Advocate General?”
“You mean my ‘jailor’?” When Sular said nothing to that, Ro reached for a third cookie. What did they call it? Stress eating? After taking several bites, he said, “I see you’ve read my jacket.”
“It was only logical. I must be acquainted with the full context of your military career in order to--”
Ro waved off the rest of Sular’s excuses. “It’s no secret that I’m an extra-legal human. Starfleet has literally been monitoring me since my birth. But, rest assured the one and only augmentation that I have is a so-called ‘superhuman’ ability to withstand cold temperatures.” Ro paused because this statement wasn’t strictly true. He had also scored much higher than expected in reason and intelligence, but Starfleet had decided, in its wisdom, that those numbers fell within the ‘normal’ range of what could be expected from a relatively bright human being. He cleared his throat and went on, “Extreme temperature survival is the augmentation that the Denobulan doctor performed on me so that I might, in my infancy, survive along with my mother after her shuttle crashed during a rescue mission--which she would never have gone on so pregnant had there been anyone nearby, and time being of an essence.”
“It’s a noble story.” Sular agreed.
“But?”
“There is no ‘but,’” Sular said simply. “I hold no stake or vested interest in your status as an illegal human.”
“Extra legal,” Ro corrected. If he’d been deemed illegal, he’d have lived his life in prison. Or exiled on some hostile planet. Or put on ice. Or whatever Starfleet did with Augments these days.
“Extra legal,” Sular nodded in an apology. “My concern is as the ship’s counselor. It is possible that carrying the burden of Starfleet’s fear regarding augmented humans affects your ability to be aggressive and decisive when needed in command situations. When reviewing your military jacket, I noted that you spent nearly two decades teaching….” He seemed to either be searching for the subject matter or doing a Vulcan version of sheer and utter disbelief, “... watercolor. You hold expertise in xenobiology, human medicine, and history. Yet, you spent much of the Dominion War… painting.”
Ro couldn’t help the small smile when he said, “You sound like you disapprove, Counselor Sular.”
Both eyebrows went up briefly. “It is simply illogical that you would waste such prodigious talent teaching watercolor when there was a war to be won.”
Letting out a little sigh, Ro slumped back the chair. “You’re all but accusing me of being a coward. Aren’t you the least bit worried about reinjuring me, psychically-speaking?”
“Not in the least,” Sular said. “I have already determined that sufficient time has passed since your troubling encounter. In anticipation of this session, I reviewed all the cases of this kind of psychic damage in the past twenty years. No singular, short time exposure has needed more than distance and twenty minutes to make a full and complete recovery.”
“I could be an outlier,” Ro insisted grumpily.
“You most certainly are, Lieutenant Commander Ro, but not for that reason,” Sular said with the tiniest of smirks. “You are avoiding the question.”
“What do you want me to say? That I’m selfish? That my fear of spending the rest of what remained of my life in prison was greater than my sense of patriotic duty to StarFleet… to, in fact, all the living beings of the United Federation of Planets suffering during the war? As it happens, I came to that very conclusion myself before the end of the Dominion War and I left my husband and children behind to re-enter active service as a medic in the trenches, deep, deep in space, so far away from my family, with retirement just on the horizon.”
Ro let out a long frustrated breath.
“The work was horrible,” he continued. “It was frightening to be under fire, day in and day out, but what scared me the most was just how much I enjoyed it. How good I was at it. How easily I rose in the ranks. How natural it felt to be in command, to fight, to lead, to advance on an enemy, to conquer.” Ro took a deep breath. “That, dear Counselor Sular, is why I feel guilty over snapping at an oddly attractive weasel man.”
Sular made a little noise of… surprise? Amusement? It was gone so quickly, Ro could hardly believe he’d heard it. “Indeed. That seems like a notable place to end our first session.”
#
It was only hours later, when his PADD informed him of a scheduled appointment, that Ro realized that Sular had said “first session,” as if he intended that this one was just the first of many….
