It’s all Rol’s fault

Posted on Wed Jul 10th, 2019 @ 2:35am by Lieutenant Commander Carolyn Corrigan MD

651 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Episode 98 - A Raid on Peace
Location: Dr Corrigan's quarters
Timeline: MD3. 2345hours

Page after page, each one torn from her sketchbook, littered the floor where Carolyn Corrigan sat. Each one depicting slight variations of the same image. One from her dream that made no sense, as dreams so often failed to do.

In a pleasantly surprising twist, there were no horrific or frankly traumatic imagery. If anything it was positively serene by her standards. Or as her sister would say ‘very Disney’.

Yet they troubled her just the same, albeit for a very different reason. The scene depicted her childhood bedroom down to the Celtic knot pattern engraved on the windows. But the view from the window... it was wrong. Desert terrain where there should be trees and flowers and beautiful gardens.

Devoid of colour on the page, in her dream it had been a rich shade of burnt orange. A dust storm raging just beyond the pane of glass. Decidedly Vulcan-esque.

It was, she decided, Rol’s fault.

His visit today had clearly messed with her head. It was the most logical explanation. Or maybe all the delicious food Kalani has made meant all those calories were messing with her.

With a sigh she began picking up the pages, setting them down on top of the table so she could recycle them later. Climbing to her feet, she ran a hand through her hair, debating if she should go for a run. Instead she curled up on the edge of the couch, picked up her grandmother's letter and began to read it again.

Just like the first time her attention centred on the final paragraph for the longest time before she set it aside. Deliberating as she stared at the bag sitting just inside the door.

She was torn.

After the mission she had an endless list of things to do, an even longer one of things she would like to do if given the chance. She did not have time to pack everything up and go home. But at the same time...

She asked for you.

Her mother, a woman who could barely understand what century she was living in or remember her own name. It had been about nine years since she had ever mentioned her children, let alone remembered a name. But she did it now, when she was already surpassing even the most optimistic expectations of her doctors.

Even if she went, by then she'd probably have forgotten again. She wouldn't recognise herself in the mirror most days.

Carolyn's father used to say it was ironic, having a daughter who could never forget and a wife who could never remember. Put them together and it would be perfect. Separately they were opposite ends of a spectrum.

What she needed was someone to tell her to forget the plans forming in her head and focus. But her options were Mr Complicated and, oh, Mr Complicated. Maybe not even him. Because she still had no idea where that friendship stood.

Today, during his brief visit to Sickbay, it had been like the away mission had never happened. But it had.

Deciding staring at walls wouldn’t help, she got changed, pulling her hair into a tight ponytail and pulling on her running shoes.

Surprisingly, she was not the only person out running at the dead of night. She didn’t care though, it was an unwritten rule - at least of hers - that you did not speak or otherwise engage with another runner unless they injured themselves. Instead her company was music blaring through her ear buds, her own personal soundtrack to run to.

Yet, as she fell back onto her bed over an hour later she knew she was tired, but nowhere near close to falling asleep. Cursing under her breath she hauled herself into the shower, deciding if she was awake she may as well do something useful and attack the paperwork waiting for her.

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