A Counseling Session

Chapter Two
Wishes

When Ezri got off the turbolift at the Promenade level, the deck was already bustling. It was over two hours into Alpha Shift, 1000 hours, and between the full time residents and clusters of people from various ships docked, arriving and departing, all the shops on this level did a fairly brisk business at this hour. The Station maintained a regular ‘day’ and ‘night’, so when things were peaceful in the area this was a major hub of activity.

She knew she would have no trouble finding her ‘quarry’. Even if she had not known, from another consultation with the computer, his exact location, she was sufficiently well acquainted with him to recognize him immediately even in the moderately thick ‘crowd’. In fact, he was just exiting Garak’s tailor shop, turning away from her to stride down the path. Catching up to him, she spoke up as she came side by side with the taller man. “Hello, Tom.”

He stopped, looking down at her, surprised. Being so short did have some advantages, she thought. From his point of view, she had probably seemed to have appeared next to her out of thin air. “Hello.” He finally remembered to say.

“I was thinking; we don’t see much of each other. I was wondering if you would like to have some time to talk.” She phrased it in that manner for the benefit of passers-by.

“Talk?” The tall man asked. There was a note of caution in his voice, and a more pronounced note of desire. He knew what she was saying, and while his manner might show reserve, there was even more need than reticence.

“My office?”

“Sounds …” He hunted for a word to say, and finally just gave up. They strolled off together in the direction of her office.

In the time, she sized up her ‘companion’. He was several inches taller than she; no shock there! He had light brown hair, blue eyes, a build that showed a reasonable amount of time in the gym; hands that clearly were used to a lot of hard and heavy work. From his file she knew he was 23 years old, 2 years younger than her own age, barely a year out of Starfleet Academy. But his eyes had a heavy tension in them, and he carried himself like a tightly coiled spring, as though he was fighting a stress that wanted to rip out from within him. His movements were carefully controlled, but it was not the control of confidence; it was the control of stress that threatened to tear at him until either he, or the stress, won.

They left the Promenade together; her office was in the habitat ring, situated between two crew quarters. She felt it made for better privacy, rather than having a place in the public areas. She was not about to hang out a shingle.

When they reached the room, she pressed the button to open the door, letting him in first. As he entered, she wondered whether there was enough room inside for the man and his tension.


Following him into the office, she took a moment to size up the man while he looked around. The room was a converted crew quarters, so there was little to distinguish it. It had only three comfortably upholstered chairs and a brown backless ‘daybed’, about six and a half feet long and three wide, laid out completely horizontal with neither pillow nor elevation. Through one door was the refresher, through another to their right was a small room containing a table, chair and replicator, which was a computer controlled matter resequencer/transporter combination, capable of producing anything from drinks to a small wardrobe. She frequently had her meals here in privacy, and could change out of a uniform into a fresh one if necessary, the old being reduced to its component molecules for later use as anything that the computer was called upon to produce.

“So,” Ezri said brightly when Wilen had completed his ‘examination’ of the room. “Would you like to sit down?” He did not look at her, did not answer, and she tried to call upon her own training in self-discipline not to respond to his tension. It took a few moments, but when it was clear she was going to say nothing more, he stepped over to one of the chairs and sat down stiffly, all his muscles rigid. Adopting a reassuring smile, Ezri sat down in one of the other chairs, facing him. He did not look at her, keeping his eyes fixed at a point past the daybed to his right.

“So!” She tried to say as brightly several seconds later. “Tom. I may call you ‘Tom’. May I?” He nodded, still not looking at her. She supposed she should take it as some progress. The silence then hung in the air, and after several more seconds she decided she might as well bite the bullet. “Tom, I’ve heard you’ve been having some stressful times, and I was wondering if you’d like to have a chance to talk.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk.” He said very quietly.

“All right.” She left it hanging, and said nothing more. They could sit in companionable silence until he felt the need to say something. She would not push; she had her entire shift free, and knew very well that it was just a matter of patience. Eventually one of them would speak, and it would not be her.

When he did speak, however, everything that was said would be discretely recorded. She did not make use of PADD or anything else that might appear to distract her. Counseling sessions were recorded for later review, allowing her to quite clearly give her full attention to the client. The records were secure in hidden directories in the computer; one had to know the name in advance to access them, and then they required the use of both verbal and manual codes to decrypt. No one would know what was discussed in this or any other session, and she could show her client that he or she had her full, complete and undivided attention.

He sat half-facing her in body, but looking away from her past the daybed in what she was sure had to be a particularly uncomfortable position and a strain on his neck. It would not last long, she knew. “I want to talk.” He finally admitted very quietly, turning to look at her. He looked away again the instant his eyes fell upon her. “But I can’t!” He said tightly, anger and frustration flooding his voice despite his effort to keep it level.

“Why not?” She asked softly. He looked at her again, just as briefly before averting his eyes from her.

“I cannot talk to you like that!”

“Like this?” She asked to draw him out, having absolutely no idea what he was referring to.

“While you’re wearing that damned uniform!” The phrase was ground out with as much anger and revulsion as she had ever heard.

“I don’t always wear my uniform, even when in here. Just happens I’m on duty.” He started to say something, but pressed his lips together tightly, silencing himself. Finally:

“I cannot look at you while you’re wearing that uniform!” He ground out tightly in massive frustration.

“What shall I wear?” He turned to her, surprise almost as profound as his frustration had been overwhelming his inability to look at her.

“What?”

“I said I don’t always wear the uniform, even on duty. What would you have me wear?”

He was so monumentally surprised by her words that he forgot to be tense or silent, which was just what she’d hoped. While what she’d said might not necessarily be true, it did get him talking. And if she could keep him talking, eventually he would talk about what was really bothering him.

“What?” He asked again, unable to believe what she was saying. Here, she knew, was the critical point. If he got it into his mind that she was humoring him, or not serious, he would clam up and she would get nothing at all from him – ever. She had to be serious, as if she was actually considering changing, or she would lose him.

“If I don’t wear my uniform, what shall I wear?”

“I – I –.” He clutched his hands together, centering in them all his tension so he could find the words to answer her. “When I – when I think of you, it is not in a uniform.”

“How do you picture me?” She asked softly, actually very interested in the answer. This was all quite unexpected, but he was talking to her nonetheless.

“In … civilian clothes.” She gave him an encouraging smile, saying nothing that could guide his answer. “I see you … in …” He hesitated, actually embarrassed to be saying it. She held her smile, trying to assure him. “Well, in a white … blouse. But sleeveless. And it’s sort of, well, it’s trimmed in blue decorative stitching on … well…” He was actually speaking faster, more decisively as he continued. “It’s … well, elastic, around the … well, that is, it comes up right under your breasts, sort of held there by the elastic; no buttons; it’s just kind of, well, very short, just sort of clings to you…” His words died out with his burst of confidence.

“Go on.” She said encouragingly. When he saw that she was neither offended nor annoyed, he grew more confident again. “And a skirt; blue, kind of, well, short; very … mini. You’ve got great legs!”

She smiled, this time in real pleasure. “Thank you.” To her knowledge, he had never seen her legs – except in his own imagination – but she was grateful for the compliment.

“You’re welcome.” He said automatically before catching himself. He was just about to be embarrassed and withdraw, she could see, and she tried to head him off.

“What else?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I’m in a white blouse just gathered under my breasts, and a blue miniskirt; what else am I wearing?” He didn’t answer. She glanced down her own legs. “Black boots really don’t go with the ensemble.” He looked away, embarrassed; she was losing him. “All right, Tom, I’d like you to do something for me; would you please?” She caught his attention just before he left, stressing the ‘please’ just enough to get him to agree automatically. “All right, would you please sit back in the chair? Relax. Take a deep breath. Hold it. Now let it out very slowly. Close your eyes. Close them. Now, I want you to see me exactly as you’ve described me.” A few seconds later. “Can you? All right, I want you to take another deep breath. Hold it. Hold it. Now, when you let it out, I want you to say the very first thing that comes to mind. All right? Now.”

He let out the breath in a long gush. “Barefoot.”

“Huh?”

He did look at her this time. “You asked about the boots. I usually picture you barefoot.”

She could not help but grin. “All right, but let’s try it again. This time, I want you to think of what’s been bothering you these past few days, and when you breathe out, I want you to put everything about it into one breath. Okay?” He did not look happy. “Can we try this?”

He nodded, somewhat reluctantly. He closed his eyes, taking a few seconds to restore his mental picture of her in the non-threatening manner he’d come to view her and which she’d clearly accepted. He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts, opened his eyes to look at her and his breath exploded in a furious burst as he was out of the chair, stepping quickly away from her, his fists clenched in a fury that flooded the room.

“Tom?”

“It’s no damned good!” He grated, furiously. “It won’t work!” He started for the door. “I’m sorry, it won’t -!”

“Tom, wait.” She called just before he reached the door. He did not slow down. She stood up. “STOP!” Into that Command went three hundred years of experience and training, and he actually froze! He turned back to her, vastly surprised, and she toned down the force again, her voice and manner now gentle, invoking a human’s cooperation by its very gentleness and an asking, not a commanding. “Tom; please, give me five more minutes. That’s all I ask.”

“Five…”

“All I ask.” He wanted to leave, to get away from her and the madness his life had become, but was it so unreasonable a request? He nodded. “Sit down, I’ll be right back.”

Vastly reluctant, he sat down again, and watched as she touched the button beside the door across the room, letting herself in, leaving him alone with his silence and his conscience.