In the Quiet

Posted on Sat Dec 14th, 2024 @ 11:45pm by Lieutenant Ame Solis M.D. & Lieutenant Commander Savin
Edited on on Mon Dec 16th, 2024 @ 10:48pm

Mission: Pandora's Box
Location: USS Athena: Savin's Office
Timeline: MD3 - Following Uninvited Guest
3147 words - 6.3 OF Standard Post Measure

OOC Trigger Warnings: Emotional Distress, Pregnancy Loss and Miscarriage

Ame's boots echoed down the corridor, each step quickening as she neared the turn toward the counsellor's office. She had barely taken a breath since leaving Sickbay, the weight of Jackson's presence not leaving her mind, mixing with the turbulent emotions she had been trying so hard to deal with. She needed to talk to someone, and Savin was the qualified person who had an obligation to listen—no judgments, no expectations. She only hoped that he was available.

She keyed into the terminal on the wall, heart racing, eyes darting as the computer’s cool, mechanical voice answered her inquiry. Savin is in his office. He is currently unoccupied.

Good. Ame’s fingers hovered over the chime for a brief moment, her pulse thrumming in her throat. She could have waited, but the need to speak with him, to offload the frustration and confusion that had begun to close in on her, was too pressing. She pressed the button and the soft chime echoed through the hallway, breaking the silence. Twice more, just to make sure her presence had been noted.

Alerted by the strobe in his office, Savin couldn't help but notice how persistently it continued to flash. As the door opened to admit his guest, he was met with an emotional wave of confusion and frustration. It was so unexpected, it almost made him stagger in response. "Doctor," he greeted as he recognised her. "Come in, make yourself comfortable." As he expected her to do so, he went to the replicator and returned with a soothing and very fragrant tea. Pouring them each a cup, he handed one over as he waited for her to speak.

Before the door had fully opened, Ame slipped inside, her hands twisting together in a nervous rhythm, fingers interlocking and flexing like misaligned gears. “Savin, I’m sorry.” Ame’s voice wavered but her face grimaced in apology. “You know how we said I would even treat Jackson with the professionalism and care any patient deserved?” She accepted the tea from him automatically, her focus clearly elsewhere. The steam curled into the air between them, but sitting didn’t even occur to her; instead, she paced in short, restless steps, her weight shifting from side to side as though standing still might unmoor her entirely. Like her words, seemed caught between hesitation and urgency.

"Why are you apologising?" He queried calmly, "and yes you did say that." Shifting, he cupped her elbow with his hand and guided her over to a chair. "What happened?"

“Because I’ve just barged in here without warning,” Ame said, allowing herself to be guided to the chair. She sat, leaning forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she cradled the cup between her hands. The steam rose, uncomfortably warm against her skin, but she barely noticed. Eye contact evaded her; her gaze stayed low, though she faced him directly. “I was ambushed,” she admitted, her voice tighter now. “The Spruance requested medical assistance for their helmsman. A cybernetic issue.” Her eyes finally flicked up to meet his, the weight of her words landing between them. “Jackson is the helmsman of the Spruance.”

"I did tell you my door is always open to those in need," Savin answered soothingly as he took to his own seat. He settled back, cradling his cup between his hands. "I see. Did you treat him? His cybernetic issue, I mean. Or did you defer it to someone else, which you can do if you desire."

“I did the recalibration. I didn’t yell, I didn’t hit him, and I certainly didn’t…” Ame’s voice trailed off, her expression tightening as if the effort to maintain control was physically exhausting. Her words tumbled out with a disjointed rhythm, her nose wrinkled, and her brow knit together. “NVeid’s off-duty, Myra was on her lunch break, and Zorak—well, he’s not trained for something like that. He wouldn’t have known where to start.” She exhaled sharply, her grip on the cup tightening as though grounding herself in its warmth. “So it had to be me.”

"You did not..." He prompted, needing her to finish the sentence. "I have no doubt Doctor tr''Rehu would have come to assist, had you asked. Such is the nature of us medical personnel, we are never truly offended duty even if our shift assignments give us that illusion." He paused, studying her. "You say it had to be you, is it not more truthful to state you desired it to be you?"

"I didn’t kill him, and I didn’t tear him a new one.” Ame’s tone carried a flicker of dry humour, but the weight behind her words was unmistakable. She paused, absorbing Savin’s measured response, before adding, “Of course, they would have helped. But there has to be a boundary somewhere. It felt... calculated. A strategic request he knew I couldn’t turn down. I can’t keep brushing off people I’ve been avoiding for years.” Her gaze dropped to the cup in her hands, fingers tightening around it momentarily before she set it aside on his desk. “He brought a box of my things with him. Apparently, he specifically asked for a cybernetic specialist.”

Ame drew her hands over her face, her fingers brushing against her brows as she released a quiet sigh. “I don’t even know what I want, Savin. That’s why I came to you.” Her voice softened, a tinge of vulnerability slipping through. “He’s asked me to have a meal with him... to talk. About everything, I suppose.” She looked at him as though seeking clarity.

"You believe he picked a time where he knew no-one would be available to take over?" His surprise was genuine as he stared at her. "I do not know what you want," he finally spoke, "do you wish to share a meal with him because insofar I know, you are free to decline."

“I already said yes… only the Prophets know why.” The exasperation in her voice rose with a faint upward inflexion as she pressed her fingers gently against her eyes, attempting to ease the dull thud building in her head. She lowered her hands and met Savin’s gaze, her tone a mixture of frustration and plea. “I need you to ask me all the hard questions; the awkward, over-analytical ones you’re so good at as Ship’s Counsellor. We’ve got ten minutes before he starts wondering if I’ve gotten lost in the restroom on my own ship.”

Looking thoughtful, Savin leaned forward, setting his cup aside. "Do you still harbour feelings for him?" He finally asked, gaze never wavering, "do you wish for him to pursue you once more?"

Ame tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing in reluctant admission. She nodded, the motion almost imperceptible but enough to betray the vulnerability she was struggling to keep hidden. “Yes. I miss him and his stupid little quirks, the way they were sometimes the highlight of my day.” A wry expression tugged at her lips, but it quickly faded as her gaze fell to her hands. “I don’t think he’s ever stopped. I’m the one who stopped, who cut him down so harshly.” Her voice cracked, the dry rasp now unmistakable. “He tried... and I didn’t.”

"Why did you cut him off," Savin pressed gently, doing exactly what she had requested for him to do, "why did you not try to make it work?"

Her head tipped forward, gaze fixed on the floor as her fingertips dragged through her hair, the weight of the question pulling her inward. She tried to go back to that moment, to the decisions that followed.

The results were immediate and definitive: positive. A tidal wave of emotions surged through Ame as the PADD slipped from her trembling hands, clattering to the hard floor. She covered her face, her breaths shuddering as tears spilt freely, soaking the neckline of her undershirt. Seated alone in the sterile confines of her temporary Starfleet-issue quarters back at the Academy, she felt the weight of a moment that should have been joyful. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. A painful ache constricting her chest, making it hard to breathe. It had been meant to be a surprise, a moment of shared excitement when she caught him on leave. Sweet, tender, hopeful. But that wasn’t how it ended.

Barely four weeks later, she knew something was wrong. The persistent nausea that had plagued her began to fade, replaced by bouts of lightheadedness and a creeping sense of dread she couldn’t shake. She had dismissed the symptoms and told herself it was the stress of long hours buried in research. She even brushed off concerns from Mira and her father, offering them excuses she barely believed herself. Deep down, though, she knew. She had the training, the knowledge, and the tools to face it, and yet the idea of seeing it officially noted in her medical records filled her with cold dread. Not now. Not like this.

Ame handled it alone, quietly and methodically, as if addressing any other medical emergency. She told herself it was the logical choice. She was a doctor, and there was nothing anyone else could do that she couldn’t manage herself. But the silence of those long hours weighed heavily. There was no comforting voice, no hand to hold, no one to share the burden or the grief. She tucked the PADD with the test results away in a drawer she never opened again, as if burying the evidence would soften the loss. In the end, she leaned into the practicality of it all, refusing to let the pain breach the carefully constructed walls she was building around herself.

With a soft exhale Ame lifted her head to meet Savin’s measured gaze. “I cut him off because he lied to me. Because he hid things when I had opened myself to him completely.” Her voice, rough and tinged with bitterness, carried the sting of the memory. “We made a promise to each other. There was no mention of others being part of that equation. He didn’t give me a chance to understand, to discuss it, or even to prepare myself. So, I didn’t try.”

Her fingers brushed at her cheek, catching on unexpected wetness. She cleared her throat, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “I thought I might surprise him… with the news. I’d managed to convince Mira to let me go, to catch him on leave. But by the time I could have told him…” She paused, her lips pressing into a tight line. “It didn’t last. It didn’t carry through. I handled it. On my own.”

Her words hung heavy in the air before she finally looked back at Savin. “I didn’t want to add another failure to the pile, didn’t want to explain what we’d lost when I already felt so…” Her voice faltered, and she blinked rapidly. “Worthless. Unwanted. Broken was just the garnish on top.”

Savin watched her closely, a hint of concern in his eyes as he saw her posture change and a sense of near overwhelming grief washed over him. As this was a formal session, he resisted the urge to reach out. Touch would likely only result in himself being overwhelmed by emotions he had no experience with. Yet he did lean closer to her, without reaching out. "I cannot even begin to understand how you must feel," he offered quietly, "but I do not consider you a failure. What you went through is biology, but it grieves me to learn you had no support."

He paused, briefly turning to retrieve a box of tissues and offered it to her. "How long ago did this happen? Do you intend to inform him at this time?" Not that her former partner required to know but it may put things in perspective.

Ame took the tissue, dabbing her eyes before folding it with meticulous care. “I know I’m not a failure, and I know others have gone through this, too. I’ve treated so many who’ve experienced the same.” Her voice wavered but carried a tinge of self-reproach as she shrugged, dismissing her own right to grieve.

“It was a few years ago,” she admitted after a brief pause, her hesitation lingering over the second question. Her lips pressed together in thought before she continued, “I guess it depends—on the conversation, and where it happens. I’m not exactly going to bring it up in the mess hall and I don’t really want him in my quarters.” She exhaled softly, glancing at him. “Thank you.”

"You do not need to thank me," Savin said, taking another sip from his tea, which by now had gone cold. "It is up to you whether you inform him or not. He is not required to know if you do not desire him to "

“I know I don’t have to, but I feel like I should. Isn’t that what friends do?” She ran her hands over her face, the gesture weary but grounding, as if trying to wipe away the lingering tears and uncertainty. Letting out a soft sigh, she added, almost to herself, “I don’t know. I suppose we’ll see how it unfolds. Maybe next time, I’ll bring snacks and actually schedule it properly.”

"Indeed it is," he acknowledged, "and you do not need to bring snacks." He smiled as he gestured towards the device on the wall behind him. "I do have a replicator," he reminded her, "my office also has a bathroom, if you desire to freshen up before meeting with him."

In one sense, a weight had been lifted, but in another, it exposed a truth she had kept buried for so long; a private pain she had carried alone, marked by rituals no one else knew of. Ame let out a soft breath, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “We all have replicators, Savin. The point is to try new things, learn about each other.” She straightened slightly, as though bracing herself. “I’ll be okay. I’ve managed this far.” Her smile faltered, but the hint of determination remained. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

The words felt lighter than the weight behind them, and though she didn’t really want to know the answer, her mind conjured endless scenarios. Each one etched with the possibility of hurt, loss, and stolen moments. A small shrug rolled off her shoulders, as though trying to dispel the thoughts.

"In any other setting yes," Savin agreed, his keen senses picking up on her emotional turmoil. "However in here, it is about helping you. I have no doubt you will be okay, but will you let Jackson in, or will you turn him away? It may determine when you will be okay."

Ame let out a sharp laugh, bitter and hollow, the absurdity of it twisting in her chest. “How do you even start that conversation?” she asked, voice thick with frustration as she dragged a hand down the side of her face. The neatly folded tissue in her other hand crumpled under the pressure of her grip. “What do I say? ‘Hey, remember that time you were balls deep in someone else while I was hoping to surprise you with a pregnancy test for a baby that didn’t stick?’” Her voice cracked, her dry humour fraying into something harsher, rawer. “And then what? ‘So yeah, I threw your stuff out and decided I didn’t want to hear from you again’? Like that’s supposed to make sense.” Her rasp deepened into a growl, anger and grief intertwining in a way that made her chest ache.

“By the Prophets, how am I supposed to do this? Every time I think it’ll be okay, that I won’t make a scene, it just-” She gestured sharply, her hands rising and falling as if trying to contain the storm of her emotions. “I’ll listen to him. I’ll say what I need to say. But it’s not like he was blackmailed or coerced or even drugged, for that matter.” Her voice dropped into a tired growl, the weight of it pressing down on her words. “I made my choices to protect him from loss, from disappointment. But he made his own, and I guess he’s already familiar with both.”

"But who protected you?" Savin asked kindly, offering her the entire box of tissues in case she needed it. "You you believe that he is part of the reason that keeps you from healing?" The heartache he picked up on was familiar territory for him, but the raw emotion of losing an unborn child, that was unknown to him. "I am in no position to make recommendations, but do you really wish to meet with him? My recommendation would be to not open that old wound, not while it still festers and keeps you from healing."

“I did, by stepping back,” Ame shot back, her hand pressing against her chest as though shielding something fragile. “So much of what I do, who I am, has revolved around him. Things I’ve missed, things I still do. It’s always in the past tense.” Her brow furrowed, frustration deepening the creases in her expression. “I see his regret, his shame, buried under all that charm and swagger. But what reassurance would ever really prove it won’t happen again? A promise didn’t matter before, so why would another one?” She shook her head, the weight of her emotions pulling her into the same endless loop of sadness, anger, and grief. “If I don’t do this now, I never will. It’s time to rip the bandage off.”

Finally, Savin reached out and touched her sleeve, clearly avoiding skin contact. "You do what you feel is best to heal," he said quietly, "and I will be here when you want to talk about it."

She nodded faintly, ruffling her hair as the crumpled tissue brushed across her face before she discarded it. Her gaze lingered on the untouched tea, then shifted back to Savin. “I’ll do my best,” she murmured, a faint edge to her voice. “And no doubt, you’ll hear all about it.” She hesitated, the weight of her decision evident in her posture. Cleaning up had been suggested, but not this time. Jackson needed to see it all, the unvarnished truth of their choices and the scars they’d left behind.