Post 25 - Every Now and Then I Fall Apart

Posted on Sat Apr 3rd, 2021 @ 9:23pm by Captain Jocelyn Blake & Fleet Admiral Sturnack

Mission: Episode 1: Acta Non Verba
Location: Starfleet Command
Timeline: Day 18 0600 Hours

[Office of the Press Secretary]
[Starfleet Command]
[Day 18 - 0600 Hours]

The pile of PADDs that typically littered Jocelyn Blake's desk was surprisingly organized--a small stack situated in the upper right hand corner forming a "To Read" pile and a blank space next to them for discarded ones. Others had been hastily removed from her space, the work of busy hands used to keep their owner preoccupied with something trivial--to keep her distracted. She imagined that Frank, whose desk she was aware was typically fastidiously organized, was likely in for a surprise whenever he arrived.

"Computer, Time," she called out, standing from her chair to pace as though checking the time was the most serious business of the day.

"The time is 0557," the computer cheerily informed her.

Jocelyn slumped back into her seat letting her breath puff out of her in a loud gust that filled her cheeks as it went. Unable to stay in that position she sat up, selected a PADD from her pile, placed it in front of her, and stared at it as if the words might coalesce into some semblance of sense. Despite her best efforts she couldn't seem to read past the first one or two sentences of the details in front of her. Her brain felt like a filing cabinet that had filled to overflowing and then someone had utterly doused it with water making all of the files stick uncomfortably together and to the cabinet--a mess of gloppy unreadable pulp.

"Pull it together Joce," she hissed at herself. "There is an embassy opening today. This is not going to..."

The chime sounded dropping her into sudden silence as though the person on the other side of the door had caught her muttering to herself.

"Come," she exhaled turning the PADD face down and clasping her hands on the desk in front of her. She plastered the most normal expression she could think of onto her face--a mixture of tired and busy--in hopes that whomever was requesting entrance wouldn't realize just exactly how far down a rabbit hole of anxious nervousness she had fallen.

Frank Yaris, eyes slightly wide having clearly just been to his desk, walked in.

"Uh," he started, eying her extremely clean space.

"Just some quick organizing this morning," Jocelyn said, a forced smile on her lips. "Could you make sure those are taken care of appropriately?

The Lieutenant nodded his ascent still wearing a surprised expression.

"And a coffee," Jocelyn noted. "From Baristocracy, please. I think they're closest. It needs to be high test today and the replicators seem to like toning down the caffeine."

"Ohhkay," her aide replied drawing out the oh as if buying himself time.

"Is there anything else?" She inquired.

"Umm, no ma'am. Coffee from Baristocracy and file the PADDs. I'm on it." And then, thinking better of asking her more about her unusual behavior the aide to the Press Secretary beat a hasty retreat.

Jocelyn breathed an unreasonably large sigh of relief, untwisting her fingers from each other where they had begun to turn white as she gripped them tightly together.

I just need coffee she told herself. Coffee and to not think.

Frank's arrival, however, had put a crack into her focus and like water dammed up behind a pile of rocks the fear started to creep back in. Absently she stood and resumed her earlier pacing as the events of the prior night worried their way through a fresh weakness in her resolve. The night before she had made her report to Starfleet Security standing entirely in the hallway, unable to really process what she was seeing and struggling with a deep feeling of violation. This was her home. Someone had sought out her home and not only had they sought it out they had left her a message--one that, at the very least showed the message writer's deep rooted dislike of her, and at worst was a prelude to a threat.

She had waited then, propped sitting in the hallway, dinner forgotten, until two members of Starfleet's security arrived and assessed the damage as well as evaluated her apartment to ensure she was safe at home. Even then, when they assured her no one had entered her home and that it was alright to spend the night there, she couldn't bring herself to do so.

In the end she had called Jordan and asked if she could sleep on his couch to which he has readily agreed after hearing what had happened. She had slept poorly, dreams of shadowy figures wielding various sharp and bloodied implements rousting her from sleep heart beating out of her chest and drenched in sweat on numerous occasions. She knew, when 0400 had come around and she had woken for the fifth time, that sleep was simply going to evade her, so she had risen, dressed, and made her way to work--too numb still to really fully deal with the fear that was eating away at the back of her mind. Work was surely safer. There were security everywhere at work.

And so she had arrived, just after 0430, reorganized her desk, drank the poor semblance of coffee that the replicator provided and nibbled on a blueberry muffin, counting down the minutes until people arrived in full and she could focus her mind fully on the day ahead.

The chime sounded again, pulling Jocelyn from her thoughts. "Come," she said once more, wondering if Frank had forgotten something. As the doors parted, however, she was intensely surprised to see Fleet Admiral Sturnack instead, stopping in her tracks just in front of her desk.

"Captain Blake," the Vulcan strode slowly forward, hands clasped behind his back. "I hope you will pardon the intrusion -- I know it is an exceedingly busy morning ahead of the opening. However," his right eyebrow arched, pulling taught the age-lines of his cheeks, "I've just learned of the incident last night at your residence. Our work should never put you at risk in your own home. I... apologize," the word was carefully chosen, "if my selection of you for this position has jeopardized the safety of yourself and those you care for. Admiral Whitford has advised that I offer you the opportunity to resign in hopes that doing so will ameliorate the vitriol directed your way. I suspect, however," that eyebrow somehow arched even higher, "the Admiral has ulterior motives in suggesting such."

"Even so," Sturnack moved further into the office, "I do wish to make the offer at this time. You would retain your new rank and my office would be tasked with finding you a position that is less...incendiary," he intoned, "but nonetheless aligned with your interests. You are also welcome to stay, of course," the Vulcan nodded, "though if that is, indeed, the case, we will need to discuss how to secure your safety and adequately address this situation moving forward. What is your decision, Captain?" he asked, his posture more rigid than it had been when he walked in.

Jocelyn's mind spun, a blur of uncertainty and fear and shock coming from all directions at once. Resign? Did, Sturnack want her to resign? For a long moment she gaped as the Vulcan man in front of her waited for her reply. It seemed to stretch out as if the short moment since he had entered her office was warping, dragging her downward into what felt like a deep black pool. Her heart picked up the same rhythm of a scared hare running from a hunter.

Finally, after the rules of propriety were well breached she swallowed hard, a block in her throat making her feel as though she wouldn't be able to get the words out if she didn't do so in a hurry. "Is that what you want me to do?" Jocelyn managed, tears beginning to prick at her eyes now that the thought was out there. Her throat closed on the tears threatening to spill and she sniffed, trying and failing to surreptitiously swipe at the offending emotional response. Without thinking she crossed her arms over her chest as if doing so might somehow hold in the emotions that were beginning to exceed the limits of her control. It was just too much.

The Vulcan's demeanor somehow...softened? Was that possible in the face of Blake's emotional battle? The CinC's people were not known for their empathy or understanding, especially so when it came to humans, who so lived their lives according to their raw surges of emotion. Most Vulcans would narrow their eyes and close up tighter than before, as if doing so would ward the infectious emotions from somehow contaminating them. But Sturnack -- perhaps owing to his advanced age or many decades spent with other races -- actually seemed to open up more. His posture relaxed as he took several slow steps forward, standing then just a couple of feet away from the woman who was fighting but losing the battle to keep everything held in.

"I am cognizant that your ascension has been an unending string of difficulties, Jocelyn," Sturnack said, using her name for the very first time. The way it left his lips was soft, like a bubble being blown gently enough so as not to pop it. "It is not my decision to make. However," the Vulcan bowed his head respectfully, "I will support whatever decision you make. At this juncture, my only concern is for Jocelyn Blake and what she wants and needs. Starfleet will wait," he appended quietly, reaching for something on the desk behind the Press Secretary. Lifting the item into Blake's sightlines, it was her coffee tumbler -- the one Sturnack had given her a few days prior. "Perhaps we should caffeinate prior to the opening?"

It took Jocelyn a long moment to process everything Sturnack had said. It seemed like everything was taking her longer than it should to process, but she had been stopped by the use of her name, so utterly out of place in the halls of Starfleet Command where propriety demanded the use of ranks to denote respect. Something very deep down inside of her, a part that she had been holding together, but only just barely, cracked as he brought the coffee tumbler into view; another reminder of the kindness the man before her had afforded her in the last week even in the midst of mounting reasons to distance himself from her.

She sucked in an unsteady breath, knowing even as she did so that doing so would be the last piece, the pebble pulled out of the dam that would result in a failure of completely unprofessional emotional proportions. She felt the tears begin to spill down her cheeks, her eyes crinkling at the corners as if in a last bid to hold them back even as her lower lip quivered. A raw sob echoed through the space, the sound ripping from her as if something outside of her had gripped it and yanked, drawing it forth not gently, but in a flurry of taut pressure.

Embarrassed, but no longer in control of the tears, Jocelyn turned away, bringing her hands to her face, resting her pointer fingers at the bridge of her nose just underneath her glasses. Salt water met her hands immediately, running down to the space between her thumb and forefinger before spilling further down. Despite every professional urge screaming at her to pull herself together she gave up the fight, feeling the fear, uncertainty, and deep loneliness of the week spill out of her in massive sobs that made her shoulders shudder with their forcefulness.

The Vulcan stood there, watching Jocelyn lose the battle against her emotions, a bit unsure of what to do. Part of him flashed back a century in his mind, watching rivulets of moisture leak down cerulean cheeks, a face cradled in equally blue hands and wreathed in feathery-white hair. Then, he'd clasped hands behind his back and simply waited for the woman to calm herself. Sturnack had watched her cry and, on some level, felt satisfaction that he, himself, was not prone to such emotional frailty. But the Sturnack of a hundred years ago had been arrogant and elitist, despite protestations otherwise. The Sturnack of Now had learned so much since then. Which was why he took a step forward yet again...

"Turn around, Jocelyn," he said, her name even softer in his mouth than before. As she instinctively turned, eyes red and swollen behind her fingers, Sturnack inched closer, the warmth of her body mingling with his own as he stood close. He would not reach an arm around her; that was not his way, even if Sturnack was more empathetic compared to others of his kind. But he did reach out, an odd, serene calmness to his touch as the Vulcan's fingers touched Jocelyn's right elbow. "You are not an island onto yourself. People believe that Vulcans have no emotions. In fact, we have the most volatile of emotions. We have simply learned to not be ruled by them. Perhaps I could share something that may help how you are feeling?"

"Are you familiar with screen doors?" Sturnack asked without waiting, hoping the question would both distract Jocelyn from the emotional deluge but also focus her thoughts. "They were a new concept to me when I began visiting Earth. But now, I am quite used to them. In fact," he noted, attempting to draw Jocelyn's thought train further back onto the tracks, "I own a cabin with one. In Pinetop, Arizona," the Vulcan explained slowly. "It is very windy there, though some would consider the sound of the wind through the pine trees quite soothing. In any event," he said, "I discovered that, at a certain time of day in spring and summer, the front door of my cabin would shudder and groan under the air pressure. A neighbor told me that she experienced the same issue. And she suggested," Sturnack faded, "that I simply open the main door but leave the screen door closed instead."

Jocelyn's hands left her face of their own accord, coming down to rest on her shoulders, fingers curling around the back of her neck. There was something soothing about the way Sturnack spoke, and as he described screen doors and his cabin in Arizona she felt herself breath. Tears still rolled down her cheeks, but slower now, and she could draw a breath without bringing forth a sob. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that the story being told was not the sort of anecdote that the CinC shared casually.

Sensing that the woman had grown interested in the story, Sturnack continued. "You see, unlike solid doors -- which are buffeted relentlessly by the strong gales -- a screen door suffers wind quite well. Its frame may rattle under the wind's pressure and the screen itself may ripple but," the Vulcan intoned almost kindly, "it does not succumb to the buffeting pressure. The air simply blows through, with the added effect of bringing the smell of pine into the cabin."

As if sensing Jocelyn might be asking herself where the story could possibly be going, Sturnack then said, "Imagine yourself as a screen door, Jocelyn. Envision your emotions as the wind and yourself as the screen. As the air moves through, examine the emotions but do not be slammed by them. Simply take notice of the changes they leave in their wake without being ruled by them." Perhaps all a Vulcan could offer was a logical visualization exercise but Sturnack hoped that it might be enough in the moment.

Jocelyn gave a small nod, closing her eyes again and drawing in a deep shaky breath. She let it out slowly picturing the screen door to the back deck at her parents house. The smell of the lake and of warmth and greenery swirled in her mind's eye, a specific combination of energetic and peaceful scents that filled the house in that perfect window when temperature control was turned off and the distinction between inside and outside was broken by bare feet running from the porch to the dock and damp towels being slung over porch railings. She imagined the kind of gale that could kick up off the lake without much warning. The way it swirled the pages of her father's books and sometimes even knocked things over, but how the house still stood.

After a few moments, blue green eyes opened, taking in the man before her. The CinC. The Fleet Admiral. The Vulcan. The person. She realized, with a small shock, that his hand was still resting on her elbow. That gesture, soothing and steadying at first, suddenly highlighted just how close they were standing and she felt a strange twist in the pit of her stomach at the thought.

"I'm sorry," she said her voice rough from tears, "it's been such a difficult week and you've been so immensely kind. I don't want to resign, sir. If there is one thing I'm sure of, it's that. And..." she paused, hoping that her face adequately displayed the sincerity of the following words, "thank you."

"No apologies are necessary," the Vulcan nodded in response, recognizing that the technique he'd shared had restored some degree of emotional control. "As I mentioned, the choice is yours. But you make your choice with the understanding that things will continue to be difficult. I will, of course," Sturnack slowly withdrew his hand, bringing both appendages behind his back in a clasping motion, "be there to support you. Rest assured that as much of an...ass?" he raised a questioning eyebrow, hoping the word correctly captured the sentiment, "as Admiral Whitford is, know that as long as I have a job, so do you."

The CinC took a few steps back, turning to peer out of the woman's office. Had he just seen a face peeking through the window from afar? No one seemed to be there now, however, and so Sturnack turned back to Jocelyn. "There is so much to do today. So many things we must spend our energies on. Do not let the Admiral be one of them," he ordered before furrowing his brows in thought. "Now, what should be done about your physical safety? We can, of course, arrange for alternate lodging and extra security when off duty. However, I would also like a security detail member to begin accompanying you during office hours as well. Just as a...precaution," Sturnack stressed.

Jocelyn nodded, feeling strangely wrung out and awkwardly aware of Sturnack's physical retreat from her. "Of course," she agreed trying not to think about all of the potential complications a security detail could add to her day to day life, but also appreciative of the offer. She wasn't sure she could return home without some kind of extra assurance that there wasn't someone lurking there waiting for an excuse to take their misplaced anger out on her.

Stepping back around her desk, she settled herself into her chair, resituating the PADD that she had not long ago had so much trouble reading.

"Commander Glenn can assist with the details. If you would reach out to her before the event at the embassy, she should be able to arrange the security detail promptly," Sturnack advised before continuing, "I will leave you to your work," and then quietly letting himself out.

The door swished closed behind him leaving Jocelyn alone again. The nervous energy of several moments before had fled, leaving her painfully aware of how little sleep she had gotten. In the way of her fear she felt hollowed out, a cavern from which high tide had fled, leaving behind only a cold emptiness.

And yet, somewhere deep in that space she found an ember of hope and confidence had ignited. Small yet, certainly, but enough to begin to warm the space where her fear had reigned. She may be facing a wall of people who would happily have her removed, but she was not alone in doing so. That little knowledge gave her some hope that perhaps this was just a temporary struggle.

She picked up the PADD, resuming her reading which, thankfully, seemed to stick as she prepared for the day ahead. There was a press pool to wrangle and an embassy opening to attend, a crisis in the Chalvana sector, and who knew what else might arise as the day proceeded onward.

The door chime sounded again doors opening to reveal Frank Yaris, a large coffee in hand as well as a fresh set of PADDs containing the latest from the wires.

She accepted the drink gratefully, ran down the days events, and then, as Frank stood to return to his desk again added.

"Before either of us doing anything further, could you get Commander Glenn on the line for me?"

Moments later the other woman's voice entered the room through the disembodied medium of her speakers.

"Marlena, thanks for taking a minute..." she began, picking up her tumbler and turning it over in her hands, a memory of Sturnack's hand on her elbow and voice as he described screen doors and wind flowing through her and fanning that small hopeful ember.

It might not be ok now, but she wouldn't be damned if it wasn't going to be.

=/\= A Mission Post By =/\=

Fleet Admiral Sturnack
Commander-in-Chief
Starfleet Command

Captain Jocelyn Blake
Press Secretary
Starfleet Command