A Tricky Thing

Posted on 31 Jan 2019 @ 3:42am by First Lieutenant Eleanor Hargreaves (Dec-Jan 2389 - TRNSFR After Gorn War)

Mission: Ka Hakaka Maikaʻi - The Good Fight
Location: 1st LT Hargreaves' Quarters
Timeline: Post-Marines - After Action Report

Tap tap tap -

'I write, with regret, to report the news -'

- tap tap tap tap -

'It is with sorrow that I report the loss -'

- tap tap tap -

'I regret to inform you of the untimely death of your son, Abraham Biggs -'

- tap tap tap tap tap tap -

A blank PADD, and Hargreaves was already through the single glass of brandy she'd allowed herself to get through writing the letter to Corporal Biggs' parents. Of all the obligations that had come with the bars on her collar, this was the one she liked the least. Sergeant Hargreaves had indeed contacted the bereaved of comrades lost in battle before, but it had been informal, when she'd thought she could help, usually when she'd had some relationship with the lost. But she'd never had so much as a conversation with Abraham Biggs before he died. Five foot behind her. In a narrow, smoke-filled corridor -

She grabbed the PADD. It is my sad duty to inform you of the death of your son, Abraham Biggs. Somehow the words spilled out this time, neither too formal nor ridden with emotion she didn't feel. Biggs was not the first Marine she'd lost under her command, and he would not be the last, and she couldn't pretend the sting was personal. She knew too-well that losing only one Marine in 4MSOT on that boarding mission was a damned good result.

But that wouldn't help Abraham Biggs' parents.

So she wrote. Once that first sentence had cooperated, the rest came easy enough; she gave a crisp, clipped account of how he fell, emphasising the rescue element of their mission and the necessity of a fierce assault to save lives.

Family always liked that. You never said, 'Your loved one was shot in the head by a sniper we didn't know was there at the start of a fight we weren't expecting.' Under those circumstances, it was best to just fudge the details and say they perished in a firefight. The truth was a tricky thing.

And Hargreaves was no wordsmith. She had excelled at the Academy, finding a love for research and study she hadn't expected as a veteran soldier, and knew her career was more likely to take her back there than through the ranks. She could sift through data for a searing insight and analysis, but her writing had never been described as anything more florid than 'workmanlike,' which suited her just fine. She could work her way through the letter.

It was left as a draft she transferred to her console, because it was best to sleep on that sort of work before sending it off to a family. And besides. She had a different family to worry about. She'd been trying to ignore the near-automated message in her inbox from some staffer in the counselling department, but it was time for a brisk response and then she was, at least, free. Free for different work.

The Marine Lounge was where she found her next burden of duty, Otero's element - minus, of course, Palacio in sickbay - gathered for drinks with Knorr and T'Kalla. Hargreaves wasn't sure if she was relieved these were the members of her team she ran into first; they were the ones she'd spent more time with, fought more alongside. The ones she was actually developing a relationship with. Would this all be easier with the Marines who were much more blank faces?

Then again, they were the ones more heavily mourning Biggs.

"L-T!" Staff Sergeant Otero kicked out a stool to make space at their round table. "Came to join us lesser mortals?"

"More like here to keep an eye on you reprobates." Hargreaves had been an officer for three years and still wasn't comfortable with the shift in relationships with her Marines from when she'd been a sergeant. "You get time off to recover, not time to party."

Gunnery Sergeant T'Kalla had a swig of her beer. "Little ray of sunshine, aren't you, L-T."

"I find partying helps my recovery," Otero agreed cheerfully.

Even at her most embedded in a Team, Hargreaves had never been a partying kind of woman. "You all doing alright?"

It was a clumsy way to check in on their wellbeing, so she internally sighed with relief when Master Sergeant Knorr leaned forward to weigh in. "Making the most of the time. We'll blow off steam, then be ready to get back to work."

"Job's not done, after all," T'Kalla chipped in.

"It's not. But we have a little time." Hargreaves looked across at the six gathered Marines. "Just so you know, this mission hit that threshold where the counselling department's come sniffing, offering a session if anyone wants to talk about what they went through. Non-compulsory."

Gruff Corporal Baranel, the Tellarite, scoffed. "What, we talk about how sad it is to get shot at?"

"I'm going," Hargreaves said abruptly, which made Baranel shut up. "It's there if anyone needs it, or even thinks it might be helpful. If you're not sure, give it a shot. The help's there for a reason."

She didn't actually think she needed it. She'd been through these processes before, had been equipped by counsellors in the past with the tools to get to grips with her experiences. But this was a new team she didn't know, and they didn't know her, and she'd be damned if she wouldn't set the example. If the team leader went, it was a whole lot harder for anyone to feel shamed out of seeking help.

"Nothing strong about bottling things up until you snap." T'Kalla somehow managed to sound disinterested in her support, however sincere it was. "Just surviving things isn't what makes you strong. The help you get and the people around you to get through it are what do that. Then you show you're over it by shooting up a bunch of Gorn."

Hargreaves looked over. "T, how do you manage to say stuff that apt and then ruin it all?"

"I know, it's apt we shoot Gorn, ruined by psychological wellbeing. Marines aren't known for that." But T'Kalla wore the faintest hint of a smirk, and Hargreaves' groan as she put her head in her hands was a show, and the Marines all laughed.

It was a companionable laugh, an acceptance of what had come and the hard times ahead and, above all, an acceptance of her and the message she'd brought. Because Hargreaves wasn't going to bring her Marines through a firefight alive and then let them rot from the inside over all they'd been through, and even if it took a joke over a beer to get the message, that was enough.