"Fragments - Part 1""

Posted on Tue Nov 12th, 2024 @ 5:56am by Captain Samuel Woolheater & Lieutenant Tate Sullivan Ph.D.

Mission: Season 6: Episode 5: A church beyond heaven
Location: Counselling Offices
Timeline: MD3
2876 words - 5.8 OF Standard Post Measure

[ON:]

Private Christopher Corelli sat on the edge of his seat as he waited for Doctor Sullivan. There lay a kids picture book on the table off to the side. Along with coloring books and a very work out "Tipsy" doll. Christopher looked over on the table and read one of the kids books. The title intrigued him,

"The 10 DO's and
500 DONT's of knife ownership"

He picked up the book and opened to the middle. An image of Donny Don't, a red-headed boy about ten years old in overalls and a John Deere cheap baseball cap armed with a slingshot and a pocketknife ready to be shot from the sling was drawn. It started, "Don't do what Donny Don't does...". Christopher heard the door swish open to the waiting room, closed the book and set it down on the table.

Tate Sullivan entered the waiting area wearing her usual professional smile as she approached Private Christopher Corelli. Inside, however, she knew the circumstances were anything but usual for this meeting. The counselor had been quietly notified by the Marine medic on duty Christopher had been physically assaulted not long before, presumably by a couple of his peers, although details appeared to be vague or at least being intentionally withheld in Tate's view. The reasons for this could be many, she knew, but none of them were acceptable.

Besides attending to the Private's emotional needs, she was going to gently inquire into possible next steps for an investigation. Still, she knew she needed to tread carefully and focus on Christopher's well-being first and foremost. He needed the care and compassion here, and while preventing anything like this from happening was a worthwhile and necessary goal, that would never be accomplished if she approached the situation like an investigator with full force.

"Hello, Christopher. I'm Tate. Care to fell me into my office?" Even though they were alone, she would withhold any expressions of concern or apology until they were in her office, providing him the greatest opportunity to feel safe speaking with her.

He stood up, a bit too fast, and his back let him know it. He grimaced but the pain passed and he was able to straighten up, "Yes ma'am. Thank you" he said and followed her to her office where he stepped in. He was nervous and edgy. Anxious even. While mental illness was viewed no different than a toothache or a bad case of the Gibs, Christopher was aware that there were consequences for even getting sick, falling behind...or this. He waited for Tate to start.

Tate took notice of the grimace, but forced herself to keep her expression neutral for the time being. Every compassionate fiber in her body wanted to place a hand on his shoulder or put her arms around him after what he'd endured, but on top of being a stranger to him, she was afraid such a move would embarrass him as a man and as a Marine. Although he had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, she had an understanding of Marine culture and the expectations around maintaining a strong unflappable exterior. That he had been assaulted by two of his peers had the potential to only compound the mix of emotions.

Put simply, Tate was afraid if she expressed too much compassion too soon , the young Marine would bristle and then back away like a wounded animal. Of course, she knew these were all assumptions, but professionally, she knew it was better to be careful until she knew more.

When they were both in the privacy of her office and he was seated as comfortably as he could be under the circumstances, Sullivan offered, "I want to start off by offering assurances you aren't in trouble and have done absolutely nothing wrong. I am truly sorry for what happened to you, and just wanted you to know as soon as possible you don't have to deal with any of this alone."

He nodded but was silent. Then, softly, "Yes ma'am. Thank you. I appreciate you saying that. Uhm..." he said as he looked down at his hands and then the floor as he gathered his thoughts. Private Corelli, born on Fontallis, he was too young to remember Federation Day. The day when his home world, Fontalis, became a full member world. He never knew a day when Fontalis was not a part of the Federation. He looked, at first glance, very human. He stood at 178cm (5'8" tall) and had coffee brown skin. His thick, straight, jet black hair and dark eyes were by most people's accounts, quite handsome. He had no Fontalan accent. His parents sent him to the Federation school where he learned Standard. Everyone back home was proud of him and very proud that he is a Marine. He scored mid-range in all his qualifiers. So, his recent "dip" in performance and endurance was considered temporary.

"Uhm..." he said again after a pause. "I'm sorry Lieutenant, I don't know how this is supposed to work. My Platoon CO and Corpsman Charles, the medic, set this up. But...I don't know...what I'm supposed to do?" He asked. He was nervous. If he wasn't in trouble then why was he here? Worse, did they think he had gone mental? Or that he was now so traumatized that he couldn't function? Was he hurting inside? Yes. But, he learned how to just switch all of his emotions and feelings off. His job, as a Marine, was to survive. And never give up. He just learned how to disassociate his feelings and compartmentalize thoughts and feelings that he simply could not deal with in a military situation. But, there was a price to be paid for doing that.

"You don't have to do or say anything you don't want to," Tate assured. "Given what you've just been through, however, it is important to me, your CO, and the corpsman that you be given time and space to wrap your mind and heart around what just happened. I know in times of conflict, you're expected to put your own needs and emotions aside to take care of the challenges in front of you, but that doesn't mean your needs and emotions disappear, does it?"

"No ma'am. Of course not" he answered. Still unsure about what to say or where the conversation was supposed to go. He realized he was sitting on the edge of the comfy chair. He tried sliding back and it felt awkward and he didn't want to relax. So he scooted his bum back to the edge. He took a breath. A deep breath and calmed himself. He focused on just breathing. He could feel the anxiety, the fear just below the surface. In a flash, he relived a moment when the bag went over his head. He shook his head and realized he had stopped breathing. He took a deep breath in and then exhaled it out again. "I remember - that night - I mean, I can remember pieces of it. Not that I want to remember pieces of it. I've been hazed before. Everybody gets a little bit hazed in boot. You just learn how to deal and then you later learn that it was all for a purpose. To break down the individual; so you fit. In whatever hole they tell you to. And if you don't fit..." he thought about that a moment and then said, "Well...so...how confidential and private is what we talk about? I mean, who else will be in on our talks?" He asked.

Tate took note Corelli was obviously a bit fidgety, but that wouldn't have surprised her even without the current circumstances. Some people just were never comfortable in her office, at least at first, particularly those from security or the Marines - people who were conditioned to act most of the time rather than reflect. She listened carefully as he spoke, encouraged that he was already opening up even though it was tentative. Sullivan also recognized the glassy stare of someone taken over by a flashback, however momentarily, and she watched as he did his best to ground himself.

Sullivan listened as he attempted to make sense of that night, even to justify it to a degree. She resisted the urge to immediately push back, to point out he could have died, and that attempted murder and being "broken down" were different things. Instead, she calmly reminded herself to let him talk and to pick her moment. When he paused and asked about matters of confidentiality, she was honest, but also hoped to offer reassurance.

"Everything you say to me will remain between the two of us as long as I have no concerns you are a danger to yourself, others, or that information you possess is critical to ensure the safety and well-being of the crew. Just like always, the most your superior officers are entitled to know is that you're fit for duty or that you're still recovering. There's no shame in the latter status. Those of us who are aware of what happened detest the fact other members of the crew did this to you, and I'm sure you understand there will be an investigation into this incident, but none of us are looking to prioritize the investigation over your emotional well-being. I'm here to support you above all, and I will always be upfront with you."

At this moment in his life and career, he trusted Fleeters a bit more than he trusted Marines, at least that's how he felt today. He listened to what Doctor Sullivan had said and felt off-centered. He wasn't used to someone concerned about his welfare and second, he felt numb inside. He didn't feel anything and he didn't want to feel anything right now. He simply nodded once in a very polite way. A nod of his head in appreciation and respect and signaling that he understood that these sessions were private. What came out was a simple, "OK".

He flashed to being hit by the metal rod on the meaty part of his thigh, which sent him down to one knee and then the sole of someone else's boot landing in the center of his chest and he was on his back being picked up again. He made no outward reaction, other than a blank stare as the memory was relived. He sighed to himself as he let the moment pass, feeling nothing. Then, he surprised himself by saying, "When I was a kid all I wanted to be was in Starfleet. And when I heard about the Marines, I knew deep down that was for me. And I wanted that so bad. I worked out all the time to get my body in shape, I worked hard in school and I cut short my University in favor of getting into Starfleet and the Marines sooner. When I took the initial battery of tests, they found out that I had an aptitude for range calculations and mechanical aptitude. I could just see in my head how to range something and I could look at a piece of equipment and I would figure out how it worked. So, after boot I got an MOS for heavy-weapons. That's how I started anyway. I couldn't believe how lucky I was...I mean, how lucky I am to have been picked for Elysium. I was sure that there'd be some action on a starship. I know that sounds typical, that all we do is shoot stuff and blow up what we can't shoot. But, I was good at that. I didn't really have to think too hard, to do my job, it was just easy for me I guess."

He took a slow breath in and sat a tiny bit further back in his seat. "And I don't know what happened. Something changed after the crash, or filament thing...something happened to us. I could feel it. I lost a good friend. Crook...that was her name. Jill Crook. She did maps...uhh....the GIS stuff. We got on great, y'know? She was good to be around. She helped me not think about the downsides so much. She just was like...a sunny day. I miss her." He paused, "We lost people all over the ship and then the ice planet...then the arena...we didn't lose people there. I mean, we found out what was being done in the arena...and I don't want that to happen to us. Each time we meet somebody new out here...things get worse. Seems like to me anyway. More...I don't know...like futile?" He looked up at doctor Sullivan. "We just fragmented" he said and stopped. "I thought I am doing th right thing by being a Marine. Doing my job, the best I know how. Protect the ship and the crew. Y'know...help keep everyone safe out here. But we list thirty-Marines. And I'm still having a hard time...with that whole...thing." He took in a hesitant sigh. His shoulders slooped, as if a heavy weight was on him. "Anyway...I guess that's when I noticed that we were different."

Tate listened as Christopher reluctantly, but then with more ease, began to unburden himself. She knew this was just scratching the surface, but it was also a very good start. Of course, his words were all the more heartrending because she knew he had been attacked by his comrades. All any of them were trying to do was their best, to cope with loss, and to keep going. It didn't escape her notice this violence was only going to exacerbate his sense that bonds which kept him going had completely fragmented. Sullivan resolved to do whatever she could to ease his sense of isolation and implied defeat. "You and your fellow Marines have been through hell, and it's only natural you would struggle with such immense loss. I know I've said it already, but I'm wondering, do you understand and accept that what just happened to you is not your fault?"

He got agitated and sighed and then sat forward, "You don't understand Doctor. It is my fault. I know that over the past couple of weeks I've been slacking off. The gym is always busy. And sometimes I don't want to have to compete with the guy next to me. Sometimes I just want to work out and unwind. But, I stopped going. I slouched off some. More than some I guess. I don't know. I just didn't care anymore. I can't explain it."

"What you're describing sounds like depression," Tate replied, a completely normal reaction to what you've been through. It's an ailment no different from any other. Are you saying your behavior justifies physical violence?"

"No" he shook his head and wring his hands as he struggled with the emotion. "I heard rumblings...you know? Complaints, general bitching and talk. It's like nobody cares. I guess. About us, everybody, I mean. Not just Marines. Why hasn't Starfleet found us yet? And...what are we going to do? I feel like we're being hunted. All the time now. And...I'd rather just have at the fight that we know we're going to have to face up to. So, what do we have to look forward to? Just do out daily drills, training, workouts, inspections...and for what? Just so's one day the Tha'lia's show up and wipe us out? Or take the ship and make us all slaves? We need to get out of here. As far as we can from Tha'lia space. We should be heading home, as fast as we can get there. I'm not supposed to be afraid...have fear...but I do. Other people too. I can see it on their faces. That's why they beat me up. Because I'm afraid."

It was a response that was both heartbreaking and contradictory. On the one hand, he didn't believe his behavior justified violence, but everything he said after that simple denial seemed to say otherwise. Tate took a moment to consider her approach, finally deciding to ask a question. "What, if anything, were you taught about fear and its role in your work as a marine?"

Christopher was silent a long time. Finally he said, "We protect and defend. We keep civilians from harm; even if that means that we lose the battle or we lose our lives. We are the military force of Starfleet. So...when we have fear, we recognize that we are afraid and we go in anyway. Face it, face it head on and beat it. I hear what you're saying counselor. I know it. I know it in my head; but not in my heart."

Tate smiled wanly. "Building a bridge between heart and mind is at the core of the therapy process, so you've come to the right place. We just need to give it a little time. She paused then, offering, "It sounds like you were taught to believe fear is something to suppress because it is undesirable. I'm wondering, were you ever taught the benefits of fear?"


Continued in Part 2

[OFF:]