“There is nothing worse than having to agree to something you are unconvinced of. You leave the meeting with the nagging feeling that this is a mistake, and when things inevitably take a turn for the worse, you wonder if you could have done more to change people’s minds. Sometimes I ask myself if I’ve run out of arguments, or was simply tired of arguing.”

— from Dr. Trova’s personal log

Nichelle had been in a bad mood when the day started, and the meeting with Ceix and the other senior staff had done nothing to lift her spirits. The corridor seemed to grow more narrow with every step she took, and the air failed to fill her lungs with oxygen.

The approach of the lone Vaadwuar vessel had altered the situation drastically, and yet, it changed nothing at all. Not for her. Her sickbays and triage centers were still overwhelmed and understaffed, and new equipment didn’t just appear because she needed it now more than ever.

Nichelle would never admit it to herself, but under normal circumstances, she would never have made her way to the habitat ring, and towards the quarters that now housed Trovek Arys. At best, she would have delegated the task to someone else. Even though the woman had been judged ‘not guilty’ for her actions aboard the Asklepios, all of those who had experienced the cruelty of the Borg harvesting operation first hand still believed that she was.

But right now, it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

Despite Nichelle’s protests, Trovek had been granted civilian status on the station, and was now spending her days being a drain on their resources. It was, Nichelle decided, time that she contributed. After all, she was a trained medical officer.

“Butcher, more like.”, Nichelle corrected herself silently, getting the insult out of her system before she pressed the chime. She entered the apartment once the doors opened, finding herself in a sparsely decorated living area – though ‘dwelling’ would be far more accurate. It was almost sterile, and devoid of any personal items. No one actually seemed to live here.

“Doctor Trova.”, said a quiet voice, and Nichelle turned around.

Arys was looking healthier now. Counselling, medical attention and regular sonic showers did seem to help.

“Doctor Trovek.”, Nichelle replied, more coolly than she had intended. “I will make this brief. I am sure you are informed about the refugee situation aboard the DS-4, and can imagine the strain they are putting in particular on the medical department.”

Arys nodded slowly but didn’t respond, and Nichelle continued. “I’ve read your service record. “You were chief medical officer of a Canopus class station, instrumental in the research of Xenozym-17 and the cure to its effects on hybrid physiology.”

“That was a long time ago…”, Arys said quietly, and lowered her gaze.

As if suddenly remembering basic rules of hospitality, Arys gestured to one out four chairs around a dining table, and the first thought that crossed Nichelle’s mind was that likely, none of them had ever been used,

After an initial moment of hesitation, she took a seat.  It was the first time she’d sat since what felt like weeks, and for a moment, she was worried that she wouldn’t be able to get up again once she had settled in.

“Two years. That’s not that long.”, Nichelle remarked once Arys had finally joined her.

“But you know what happened in between those two years. What I’ve… done.”, the other woman whispered. “I no longer… deserve… to-…”

To what? Be part of Starfleet? Be a doctor? Be someone who was alive, rather than just not dead?

“I know.” Nichelle admitted after a moment of silence. “And it’s why I avoided you. I can’t imagine anyone doing something like that, but… I guess that’s the point. I can’t even fathom it. I wasn’t there. But I know you didn’t do it voluntarily.”

“I still did it.”, Arys insisted.

“It doesn’t matter. Not any more.” Nichelle tried to reassure her. There was another pause. “We… were friends on Asada. I don’t know if you remember.”

On Asada, where the telepathic influence of Naeric had manipulated them into joining his cult of worshippers, Arys’ past hadn’t once been on her mind. But it hadn’t been real.

“I remember. But we both know it wasn’t real.”, Arys replied, as if echoing Nichelle’s thoughts.

“I thought I.. could move on. That I was… forgiven. But I am not.”

“I think forgiveness can only come from yourself.”, Nichelle answered, gentler this time. There really was no use letting her frustration out on someone who held no blame at all, and resent her for a past that had turned her from an overachieving medical professional into… this.

“I don’t think I can.”

“This… I guess you could see it as your chance to atone. Starfleet needs you.”, Nichelle finally said.

“I don’t believe in Starfleet any more.”, Arys remarked bitterly. Nichelle understood. She knew not only of the woman’s stellar career, but also of the coercion that turned her into a spy on Miranda VII, rather than allowing her the break she clearly needed. Had she not been sent to the independent space port, she would perhaps never have fallen into the hands of the harvesting operation.

“Then don’t do it for Starfleet. Do it for the people that need you right now.”, Nichelle suggested.

“I’m not a doctor any more. Just a butcher.”, Arys said, once again echoing Nichelle’s earlier thoughts. They had been justified back then – in front of the door, before she had remembered their short-lived friendship – but now they seemed nothing but cruel.

“What you are is only something you can decide.” she said.

Arys shook her head. “The others… they think the same.”

At that, Nichelle laughed. A bitter sound, devoid of any joy. “I don’t think they care. We are so overwhelmed, right now all they would be is glad there is someone else helping. And our patients? They care about not being in pain. They care about news as to what happened to their families and homes.”

“I can’t… I can’t even imagine what it would be like to enter a sickbay again.” Arys admitted eventually.

“Believe me, what we are working with is far away from any sickbay you’ve ever seen. They’re field hospitals. At best. But you know how to make things work.”

For a long moment, Arys didn’t reply. When she eventually did, her voice was quiet and small. “I’m scared.”

“I am too.”, Trova admitted, surprised by her own confession. “And it would be nice to have the luxury of dealing with those feelings and working through them, but we don’t. ”

Finally, Arys met her gaze. “So what do you do?”

“I do it scared.”, Nichelle shrugged. Not a dismissive shrug, but that of someone who stated a simple fact. She had to keep working, whether she was scared or not.

And, to her surprise, that seemed to resonate with Arys. The woman nodded, and slowly, she rose from her chair.

“I’ll help.”