Gone

Posted on 06/15/2020 @ 12:01am by Captain Cian D'Anvers

Mission: S1E3: Visit to Starbase 375
Location: Captain's Ready Room, Deck 1
Timeline: Day 3 at 1430

"Commander," the man said. He sat stiffly, in dress uniform, with all the gravitas that came with bearing a difficult message. "I am sorry to inform you that your wife, Doctor Leonie D'Anvers, was killed in a shuttle explosion along with the members of the medical staff traveling with her."

The words washed over him and he tried, he really tried, to hold onto them, to listen to them, but they just wouldn't stay. His mind locked onto the salient point that Leonie was dead and just ... stopped there. He blanched visibly, closing his eyes against the pain, and willed himself to maintain his composure at least until the end the conversation.

Let that be soon, he thought.

"... we are deeply sorry for your loss, Commander," the man said and from his expression, Cian judged that to be true. There was something about the composure of his lined and drooping face that spoke of shared personal loss.

"If," Cian said and then stopped, spoke again. "If you could ... send me ... the report? I'd be appreciative."

"Of course, Commander," the main said. "Of course. We'll send it to you as soon as its complete." He recognized that. That desire to be helpful in the shadow of overwhelming grief. Had done similar things himself when he'd been the one to deliver the message.

"Thank you," Cian said, swallowing hard against the pain. "If you'll excuse me ..."

Of course," the main said again. "Of course. I'm sorry for your loss, Commander."

The face disappeared, mercifully replaced by the more familiar Starfleet logo, while Cian just sat staring at the screen. Memories collided in his mind caught up in the vortex of his grief. Leonie up to her nose in bubbles, making sculptures, while she chatted about her day. Leonie crying over the patient she'd lost, silent tears shed in the safety of his arms, where no one would hear. Leonie hiding under a blanket, barely peaking out, as they watched that ridiculous horror vid. Leonie dancing around their quarters, twirling a pair of the world ugliest scarves, while she emphatically stated that even the ugliest thing had value. Leonie telling him that she'd be back.

He closed his eyes against the pain, jaw tight, fists clenched. He understood survival. Hadn't he survived the death of his parents? The death spiral of his world? Hadn't he found a way to live in spite of all the loss?

But this ... this was a whole new level of pain as though someone had literally plunged a knife into his chest. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move. That's what happens when your world ends.

The great ships taking off. Leaving a world used up by their greed and incompetence, abandoning those that had served them faithfully. His parents withering away, great wracking coughs, fevered gaze filled with fear. Digging their graves with a broken shovel. A child himself, lacking the strength, and refusing to quit.

Vaporized in a shuttle explosion. His Leonie. Nothing left but the flotsam and jetsam of her life strewn about their quarters. That and the wealth of memories that were suddenly too painful to bear.

Gone.

How could someone so gentle and loving be gone?

It was supposed to be him that went first. That's how it went. He had the more difficult job and she was stronger than him. In her heart, she really was a lion.

Gone.

Gone.

Gone.

A Post by:

Commander Cian D'Anvers
Commanding Officer
USS Crazy Horse