Posted by Ensign Caelian Weir (Engineer) in Side Sim [Counseling Suite]: Checking In… Because It Can’t Be Avoided, Can It?

Posted by Lieutenant Surra Almikaz (Chief of Psychiatry) in Side Sim [Counseling Suite]: Checking In… Because It Can’t Be Avoided, Can It?

Posted by Ensign Caelian Weir (Engineer) in Side Sim [Counseling Suite]: ChexemplaryeBecause It Can’t Be Avoided, Can It?
Posted by… suppressed (4) by the Post Ghost! 👻

—SNIP—

Caelian did his best to hold back a smile, maintain a modicum of professionalism. Setting his duffle and repair kit down, he offered a hand. “Mi scusi, signorina, I just transferred here from Starbase 187. Thought I’d stop here next on my way to report to my station, get cleared for duty. But if you’re busy…”

He gave her a soft smile, his gaze flicking suggestively to the half-finished plate of cheesecake. It was certainly an unexpected situation, but not the silliest moment in his career. After all, seeing his saurian superior tromp around his office aboard the Challenger like some ancient monster was difficult to top. That, and he honestly would rather be anywhere else. It wasn’t that he minded talking about his experiences; it was that it was all he’d been doing for the last six weeks. But Sophia had been right: this needed to get done.

At least the ice was broken, as it went.

“You have a, uh—” Caelian coughed and touched the corner of his mouth. “N-nevermind.”
—Caelian Weir, Engineer—

Surra put both her hands on her mouth and quickly tried to wipe away anything that was left behind then she briefly shook both hands at the same time.
“No, no it’s alright, come in, please. I will not shake your hand though as one, I have just touched my mouth and two apparently there is this virus going around that improves one’s vitals and put them in a pleasant state of mind.” She did the quote motion with her fingers to emphasize the last four words of her sentence. “Doesn’t sound too bad right? The thing is I have not learned what happens after the virus runs its course so …. you know.”

Caelian gave her a bewildered look, followed by a soft smile as he dropped his hand back to his side. “So it’s not airborne, then. That’s good, yes? Though I’m honestly surprised you’re on-duty being sick without a clear understanding. Then again, this is a medical ship so I’d imagine someone’s not far if things go sideways.”

Surra looked at him, frowned and said, “I am not infected, Mr. Weir, I was just saying.....” Not finishing her sentence and rolling her eyes,
She picked up the remaining cheesecake, dropped it in the waste basket, and then motioned with right her hand for him to follow her, “Come on. We will go into my office. What’s going on with you?” She was scrolling on her PADD quickly trying to read his file as they walked, “I see you have seen a lot of action AND close calls while on duty. How are coping with that?”

Almikaz, Psychiatrist

When they reached her office, she dropped the PADD on her desk and then sat in the comfy stationary swivel chair she requested be installed after taking the COP position. The old one had been worn and it had been time for an upgrade.

And there it is, right out the door, he thought bitterly to himself. His smile thinned a bit, but Caelian managed to hold onto it. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Injury was the first thing to address when a team member came back to the field in Engineering, so why not in mental health? The ensign looked about the office as he mulled the question over in his head. He sat where indicated, took an extra breath to get comfortable. He guessed that, when things really got rolling, he’d be there for a while.

“I’d like to say I’m coping as well as anyone else,” he replied finally, slowly. “These are the kinds of things Starfleet trains us for, after all. You can’t be aboard an organized ship in deep space without having a tritanium-coated spine. A hundred thousand things can go wrong during a mission, and people are counting on you to give your best. That’s why we have the Academy, career paths, practice drills, and all that: to maintain readiness.”

Caelian leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together thoughtfully beneath his chin. His eyes shifted to that unknown middle distance, that introspective space that held all the questions and none of the answers. “But all of that readiness flies out the airlock when things are actually happening. During those practice runs, you have a veil of safety; in the field that safety doesn’t exist. Years of practice and experience can just… vanish. And once those events are done with you, they leave their mark on you.”

He felt his left arm tense sympathetically, could feel the memory of jagged duranium gnawing at the interstice between radius and ulna. Wrapping his fingers about his wrist until the phantom sensation slipped away, he sighed. Even after going over the events repeatedly in his mind or talking to the psychiatrists on Starbase 187, parts of it still felt raw to him. Shaking his head again, Caelian smiled faintly.

“The nightmares aren’t as bad now, and it helps that my father was in service and had his fair share of narrow scrapes,” he continued, a little less rattled. “It helps to know that he understands, even if all we do sometimes is talk about the latest technical journals. Mama is more interested in discussing my future instead of my past—‘What happened to you and that pretty science officer, Cael?’ or ‘I’d like some grandchildren before I’m too old to take them on digs, Cael!’—but I imagine that’s what a mother does.”
—Caelian Weir, Engineer—

She listened without interrupting him, elbows on the desk and the fingertips of each hand touching each other.
After he finished talking, she placed both hands flat on her desk and said, “I have a few questions for you, but the first thing I would like to talk about is you said “The nightmares aren’t as bad”. What did you mean by that? More importantly how bad did your nightmares get?”

Almikaz, Counselor

“Well, when I wasn’t so loaded down with pain inhibitors that all I did was sleep,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair a bit, “I’d wake up in a blind panic, already on my feet in a cold sweat. Adrenaline pumping, waiting for the deck to rock under my feet or the bulkhead to blow outward and take me with it. Some nights it took me a few minutes of consciousness before I stopped seeing traces of my nightmares superimposed on my quarters. The ol’ lizard brain reflex, expecting the Bad Thing to happen again, I guess.”

He shrugged absently. “Lately it’s just been the quick jerk out of sleep, usually when I sleep wrong or something aches. Nothing too worrisome, I’d think.”
—Caelian Weir, Engineer—

“I’ll be the judge of how “worrisome” your situation is,” she said as she smiled and tapped her pad.
She looked at him for the first time noticing his unusual violet eyes, “You are clearly suffering from some residual trauma, PTSD even, but your easy-going attitude is allowing you to cope in your own way. However, I am worried, not because I think you are incapable of doing your job. Clearly, your service record is exemplary and you are the kind of officer with the skills we want and need in Starfleet, but I am worried about the impact these close encounters have had on your mental state. At any point in your career, you may have to relive all the trauma you experienced again. As you know, being an engineer in Starfleet is not much different from being a security officer. Your work is going to expose you to more danger than others.”
She stood up and walked around her desk, sat on the edge, and said, “Let me ask you this if you were to have another close brush with death, Mr. Weir, how do you think you would hold up? I have my own assumption but I want to hear yours.”

Almikaz, Counselor