Post Number: 253 *Grief in the Stars*

Posted on Sun Apr 6th, 2025 @ 3:02am by Ensign Erin Couldis

891 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Secrets

On:

The artificial lighting in Starbase Obsidian's counseling office was dimmed to a soft glow, casting long shadows across the floor. Lieutenant JG Erin Couldis sat with her hands folded on the desk, watching the stars drift slowly past the viewport. Since the Synthulan attack, her office had become both sanctuary and battleground - a place where survivors came to wrestle with losses too enormous to comprehend.

The door chime sounded.

"Come in," she called, straightening slightly in her chair.

Ensign Harold Degraugh stepped through the doorway like a man walking against gravity. His uniform hung slightly loose on his frame, as if he'd lost weight in just these eleven days. The shadows under his bloodshot eyes spoke of countless sleepless nights.

"Ensign," Erin said gently, gesturing to the chair across from her. "I'm glad you came."

Harold moved mechanically, his boots scuffing against the floor. He didn't so much sit as collapse into the chair, his shoulders hunched forward. "Counselor," he acknowledged flatly.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken grief. Erin waited, giving him space to find his words. The hum of the starbase's life support systems filled the room.

"You asked to see me," Harold finally said, his voice rough.

Erin nodded. "I wanted to check in. These have been... difficult days for everyone."

A muscle in Harold's jaw twitched. "Difficult," he repeated, the word dripping with bitter irony. "Yeah. That's one way to put it."

She let the comment hang in the air between them, watching as Harold's fingers tightened around the armrests. His knuckles turned white with the pressure.

"I keep waiting to wake up," he said suddenly, his voice cracking. "Every morning, for just that one second when I first open my eyes, I forget. Then it all comes rushing back."

Erin leaned forward slightly. "That's normal, Harold. Your mind is trying to protect you from-"

"Don't." He held up a hand, his eyes flashing. "Don't tell me what's normal. There's nothing normal about this. About any of this."

She nodded, accepting the rebuke. "You're right. There isn't."

The anger seemed to drain out of him as quickly as it had come. His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Counselor. I didn't mean to-"

"No apologies necessary," Erin said gently. "This is exactly the place for those feelings."

Harold rubbed his face with both hands. When he lowered them, his expression was raw with pain. "They're gone. All of them. My parents in Vancouver. My sister and her family in San Francisco. Just... gone."

Erin felt the familiar ache in her chest - she'd had this conversation too many times in the past week. "Tell me about them," she said softly.

Harold blinked, as if surprised by the request. "What's the point?"

"The point is they mattered. They still matter." She met his gaze steadily. "And you loved them."

A shudder ran through Harold's frame. For a long moment, Erin thought he might refuse. Then, slowly, his features softened slightly.

"My dad... he was Starfleet too. Retired after thirty years." A ghost of a smile touched Harold's lips. "He hated that I went into engineering instead of command. Said I was wasting my potential pushing plasma conduits around."

Erin smiled slightly. "Sounds like he was proud of you."

Harold's breath hitched. "Yeah. He was." His voice dropped to a whisper. "They were coming to visit next month. My niece, Lissa... she'd never been in space before. We were going to..." His voice broke.

The silence that followed was heavy with memory. Erin let it sit, giving Harold space to collect himself.

After a while, he wiped roughly at his eyes. "I should have been there. I could have... I don't know. Done something."

Erin shook her head gently. "You couldn't have known, Harold. No one could have predicted-"

"That doesn't help!" The outburst startled them both. Harold immediately looked ashamed. "I'm sorry, I just... I need someone to blame."

"And you're blaming yourself," Erin observed quietly.

Harold let out a hollow laugh. "Isn't that what we all do?"

She nodded. "It is. But it's not fair to you."

"Fair?" Harold's voice cracked. "Counselor, nothing about this is fair. My family is dead. Earth is in ruins. And the Synthulans are still out there." His hands clenched into fists. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

Erin considered her answer carefully. "Right now? You breathe. You take each hour as it comes. And when it gets too heavy, you reach out." She held his gaze. "To me. To your friends. To anyone who will listen."

Harold looked away, his throat working. "What if I can't?"

"Then you sit here," Erin said softly, "until you find the strength to stand again."

The quiet between them now was different - not empty, but full of shared understanding. Outside the viewport, a distant star pulsed faintly.

After a long moment, Harold took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know how to do this," he admitted quietly.

Erin offered a small, sad smile. "None of us do, Harold. We're all figuring it out as we go."

He nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. It wasn't healing. It wasn't closure. But it was a beginning.

And for now, in the aftermath of unimaginable loss, that had to be enough.

Off:

Lieutenant Junior Grade Erin Couldis
Assistant Chief Counselor
Starbase Obsidian

 

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