Clipped Wings

Posted on Tue Jun 11th, 2024 @ 4:40pm by Lieutenant JG Freya Walker & Petty Officer 1st Class Mateo Wright

1,287 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Mission 1 - Project Concord

Petty Officer 1st Class Mateo Wright took a moment to run a hand over his face, slowly, as if it could wipe away the tiredness of a day's shift and the ache in his body from being curled up under a shuttle doing checks for hours. He had noticed the scheduled appointment when he woke up in the morning, a little light on his PADD telling him when and where to report. Counselor's office. Correction. Chief Counselor's office. He was walking there now, almost dragging himself there. His uniform was somewhat less than shiny, his hair untamed the way it usually was at the end of the day. At least his hands were washed, which was good for him straight after a shift. Usually he'd head home and stand in the shower until his head cleared. Didn't have time today.

He stopped outside the office, eyes darting to the side for a moment before he rang the chime.

Walker was inside her office area, cleaning before afternoon appointments. "Enter. Have a seat. Are you thirsty?" The place wasn't dirty, for her it was a respect thing for herself, her clients, and Starfleet. She wasn't messy unless it was time to be messy, then she was messy.

Mateo looked at her for a moment, giving a small shake of his head. For some reason, he was sure that she wasn't going to serve him a beer and a chaser if he asked. "No. Thanks," he added the last after a moment, as if remembering that it was what people did. Being polite. He sat down, rubbing his hands on his trousers for a moment before he met her eyes. She looked...young. He suspected truth was, he felt old and they were more of an age than he guessed at a glance. The hair was striking, it was the eyes that were different. Genetics. Fun.

Walker sat down, "Hi Mateo. I'm Freya." She briefly reviewed the padd and sat it face down. "Do you know the etymology of the name Mateo?" She wasn't going right at his PTSD and flight trauma. She was building a rapport.

His brown eyes met hers and he gave a small shrug. "Just a family name, never really...thought much beyond that," he admitted, following up with a small smile to soften the words that seemed almost like he didn't care.

"During Christianization of Europe, it was aligned with the Hebrew Matthew. Before that is was a Celtiberian Variation of Matthuinn, Bear Warrior. It relayed strength."

"Ah," Mateo let out a quiet chuckle at that before he sat back, smiling at her. "Well, it's just a name. Passed down, skipped a generation occasionally, but always comes back."

Walker grinned, "I understand. My middle name is Katherine. It is the name of at least one red haired girl a generation. My point is, it took a lot of strength to come start this process."

"Starfleet mandate," Mateo said with a chuckle. "Can't take any credit, not like I'd be any use anywhere else. And...well, Starfleet's sort of my..." he stopped, frowning as he watched her. "I don't have a choice. Nothing about strength, or courage."

"Follow orders or go to a penal colony. That is a choice. I'd prefer to not come see you in the brig."

"It was that or a discharge," Mateo admitted, meeting her eyes. "Never the brig. I save that for...shoreleave. You know, loads to drink, get a bit...out of control. To show you're around. That the pain is just...physical. Not mental. Thing is...I just want to fly. And I can't."

"Starfleet won't clear you do to an injury?" There were options and ways around it. She could help the mental and emotional issues that stem from that. Walker looked at him.

"No, it's not what I..." Mateo let out a breath, with frustration that he couldn't get his meaning across. Hell, did he even know how he felt? "I sit in the pilot's seat and...all I feel is pain, all I hear is...their screams. I can't help it. I freeze. I can't...." his hand became a fist and he took a slow, measured breath through his nose.

Walker watched him. She didn't seem scared of his anger. "Did you see the People who are screaming as they died?"

"I was trying not to get us all killed," Mateo said and met her eyes, taking a slow breath. "So I didn't watch. Just heard them until I...lost consciousness."

"I haven't read your case file and service jacket yet", Walker looked at him. "I didn't want any pre conceived notions. I wanted to learn about you from you."

"Hm," Mateo shook his head, sitting back as he watched her. "Not much about me, really. I was a pilot, now I manage the shuttlebay. And I want to learn to fly again. You sure you shouldn't look at my file?"

Walker smiled, "I am going to look at your file. I just didn't want preconceived notions. How do you feel about grief and PTSD support groups?"

"That I'd rather clean the outside ship's hull with a toothbrush," Mateo said as he shook his head, taking a deeper breath. "I don't do well in...groups."

Walker smiled, "I understand. I Really do. Have you tried Repetition Response Treatment?"

"Is that the one where they make you repeat the same thing again and again and you got to talk through every step?" he asked with a grimace. He hadn't been doing this for long and he was rubbish at remembering names for anything.

"Yes. Start small. Do external and internal preflight as an example. Focus on each step. Then maybe help out with pre flight training and certifications. I know mine is up for renewal." She had a couple of months, but the statement didn't have to be that accurate.

"Hm..." he nodded, swallowing at the idea. He felt the cold sweats just from the suggestion. "I usually do the external checks anyway, daily, as part of my current duties. Doing the internal preflight checks...I can give that a go."

"Did you learn to fly on the first day? Baby steps. We can start with pre trips and post trips. Then I have a program where you get to fly 20th century Earth planes. It isn't space, but it is something."

"Might be worth trying," he said, because he knew he had to be accommodating. He rubbed his hands nervously together at the prospect though. "It's just frustrating. It's stupid. I used to be a good pilot."

"I'm sure you still are. You just have to get past this trauma block. I believe the best way to deal with trauma is head first and with a sword. We are going to work on a few sword technique first, breathing exercises. Stuff you can do before the trauma wins for the day."?

He looked at her with some confusion. "Swords?" he asked, carefully. He had once held a sword. A wooden one. "I..." he laughed, a hint of self-consciousness and nervousness coming to him. "Can't we just do...firing range stuff instead?"

Walker smiled, "The sword was a metaphor. However, we can do range technique breathing."

"Ah..." he nodded with understanding, his thumb worrying his other fingers as he ran it up and down his fingers "Alright."

"In Warrior Cultures, swords and axes aren't weapons. They are an extension of you. In this case, your plane or shuttle is an extension of you. You just have to remember how to flex it."

"Just," he said, repeated the word as he watched her. He nodded weakly, taking it in. "Alright, I will try everything once."

Freya nodded.

 

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