Suffering from Success

Posted on Sat Oct 12th, 2024 @ 2:08pm by Lieutenant Commander Odin Cawley & Lieutenant Billson Portillo & Chief Petty Officer Chip Lauder CPMV

3,719 words; about a 19 minute read

Mission: Boys of Summer
Location: USS Vigilant, Captain's Quarters
Timeline: MD1, 0900

ON

Awaking from a restless 2 hour nap in her uniform, Billson stretched and freed herself from the cramped bunk. Not even the commander of a Defiant Class vessel was afforded the luxury of space and comfort while aboard. The whole ordeal made the promise of her own bed even more enticing.

The Lieutenant dragged herself out of the cramped confines of her bed and sat on the edge of the mattress for a moment and rested her head in her hands. She took a few deep breaths as she tried to stretch and tense her muscles to relieve some of the aches given to her at the hands of a mattress as hard as a Ktarian sugar cookie.

"This isn't what I signed up for when they told me I'd be commanding a ship," Billson mused, carefully massaging her sore neck.

The computer gave a chip, "Restate inquiry."

"Nothing," Billson smiled. "Actually, computer, can you replicate a hot chocolate and give me a rundown of my calendar today?"

"Processing," The Vigilant's computerised female voice answered, taking a moment to sync her calendar, "Scheduled relaxation time until today at 1200 Santiago Bay Time. Lunch with Ensign Todd, Baker Street Bakers, Santiago Bay at 1215 hours. Today at 1330 hours, meeting with Doctor Odin Cawley regarding Chief Petty Officer Chip Lauder. Today at 1400 hours, consultation with Chief Petty Officer Chip Lauder. 1500 hours until 0800 hours Sagan Bay Time, mandated relaxation."

"Thank you, Colonel Fletcher!" She said with a sigh of relief upon hearing she had been given some mandated time to rest when her duties resumed back on the base. It wasn't just the detestable bed that had worn her down, but the three-day bender that was the repair of the mining freighter that she survived only with stimulants, a can-do attitude and the awareness that she had to set an example for her crew.

Standing, every joint in her body clicking and popping like a bag of microwave popcorn, Billson trudged toward her replicator, collecting the steaming cup of hot chocolate which she carried to her computer terminal. "Computer, show Starfleet personnel record for Chief Petty Officer Chip Lauder. Patch in medical database and provide associated history."

The computer took a moment to retrieve the information and displayed the official record of Lauder. The basic information accompanied by a portrait of the enlisted Starfleet posterboy; chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, immaculate operations gold Class A service dress uniform, confident smile and slicked-back hair- though she noted his parents were still alive. The service record made every effort to inform the reader that Lauder had received a Christopher Pike Medal for Valor- even his name carried the official 'CPMV' post-nominal.

As the Counselor read, sipping on the sweet, chocolatey hot beverage in her mug, she could see nothing other than a crewperson who presented as a model member of the fleet; a man whose fairly dull career led to a moment of greatness.

"Hey, I've heard about this guy," She mused, continuing to read through his file. Her brow wrinkled as she pawed at the question she vocalised, "Why would he need to see a counselor?"

Her line of questioning was brought to an abrupt halt when the bridge contacted Billson, telling her that she was able to disembark and begin her day on the Bay. Eager to get away from the claustrophobic surroundings of the Vigilant, she grabbed her duffle bag, stuffed what little she had brought aboard inside and made haste for the docking port.

She ducked through the corridors of the Vigilant like a mouse escaping a laboratory maze. Anyone who tried to stop her- officer or crewman- was referred to Chief Malik and Lieutenant Silon until she was finally free, stepping foot off the Vigilant and straight into the chest of--

"Chip Lauder!"

"Uh... yeah?" The burly Chief replied. He looked down, his uniform was covered in fluid. "Oh."

"Oh, I'm so, so sorry!" Billson winced. She looked down, seeing that she was still holding the cup of hot chocolate; the contents now embarrassingly all over the Chief. It was then, too, that she realised she'd blurted out the name of the man she'd just been researching for her appointment.

"Really, it's, uh," The Chief stumbled, eventually working through his own startling to let out a little chuckle, "It's okay, Lieutenant. Really."

"Can I get you something to clean up?" Billson asked.

The Chief began to take off the grey-shouldered black coat that formed the regular Starfleet working uniform. He draped it over his arm and smiled, "It's okay, I've just finished my shift in Orbital Control. I was just heading to beam back planetside."

"Sure," Billson smiled. "Actually, I was leaving myself. Can I at least walk you to the transporter room?"

"Very well, ma'am," Lauder replied, following the Lieutenant's lead.

The two traversed the orbital docking complex above Sagan Prime in awkward silence, both looking out the transparent aluminum windows to the planet below to avoid making conversation. A couple of times a crewman from the Vigilant would pass them and give Portillo a quiet acknowledgement of 'Captain'.

Lauder finally gave in, wanting to address something that had been bothering him about their run-in. "I guess, uh, you know my name from the news?"

Finally, the Counselor realised she'd called the Chief by his name, the two having never met. Averting her eyes from the vista of the blue marble and the Excelsior Class starship pulling into orbit outside, she nodded with uncertainty. "Oh, uh... yes, yes I did."

"Figures," Lauder replied with a harumph, "Since last week, with all this Sagan Remembers business, I've been knocking back calls for interviews and appearances like an eight-armed springball player."

"Right," Billson chuckled with relief, as though she'd been let off the hook for murder. "Actually, I saw a profile on you-- on uh... Channel Four," She said, the last bit almost sounding like a question.

"That Joers guy is enamoured with me. He's been calling me for weeks," Lauder replied as the pair entered the transporter room. They joined a group of other officers and crew clocking off for the day. The two began the zombie-like shuffle towards the pad as they waited for their turn.

"Well, Chief, it was a pleasure," Billson said with a smile.

"Likewise," Lauder replied, gesturing for Portillo to skip ahead and beam down before him with the next group out.

Stepping onto the pad, she gave him an awkward wave, before being digitised into shimmering light.

|Office of Doctor Odin Cawley, Hunnicutt Memorial Medical Building, Santiago Bay Starfleet Facility
|MD1, 1330 Hours

After a refreshing shower and uniform change in her base apartment, Billson had enjoyed a lunch with her colleague Ensign Todd. The two shared a lunch platter of delicable pastries including Cornish pasties, sausage rolls and miniature party pies. Being an Argelian, she of course had enjoyed similar treats on her homeworld, but it was only though the humans around her that she discovered these peculiar delicacies.

Over the human food, she and Todd discussed Todd's counsellor training and also the usual office gossip that had suggested that Lieutenant Williams from medical was seeing Ensign Prak from engineering after Commander Tobias and Lieutenant Collins had introduced them. It seemed to Billson that the senior officers had created an unusual, but enticing, pairing.

She then headed into the base to the Hunnicutt building, heading through to Dr Cawley's office and waiting for him to arrive. He was slightly late, per the fashion of a medical doctor, however it gave Billson some time to check her messages and catch up on her social feeds. Indeed, she found herself again looking at a few posts about Chief Lauder, who the media were simply salivating over as they clawed for any story related to the Breen attack a couple of years prior and Sagan Remembers occurring the next day.

While Billson hadn't been around for the catastophic attack, she had certainly seen the aftermath. The construction that continued to occur in the city and the ruins that remained were testament to that; just as it was for the psychological ruin and rebuilding that she had dedicated her career to in the time since arriving on Sagan Prime.

"Hey, Billson," The familiar and friendly voice of Doctor Cawley called, dragging her away from her ComPADD. The MD and Starfleet Lieutenant Commander closed his office door behind him and gave her an apologetic look and took a seat at his desk. "Sorry I'm late, my last consultation ran overtime."

"Quite alright, Doctor," Billson smiled. "How are the kids?"

"They're well," Odin replied. He grinned proudly, "Actually, I took the morning off to see Kylie's tennis game."

"Aww, sweet!" Billson cooed. "How did she go?"

"She got flogged," Odin replied with a laugh. "She bloody hates playing, but she's made a commitment to see the season out, since she said she'd play."

"Very responsible of her," Billson smiled, "Takes after her dad."

"Ah, give it a rest," Odin dismissed with a wave of his hand. He sighed as he sunk into his chair a little, "At least I got to see her play. I've missed a lot recently."

"Comes with the job, Doctor," Billson said.

"I know," He nodded. He pulled up his caseload on his screen and shook his head as his patient's names scrolled by. "Y'know, Billson, they pulled me off theater rotation this week to do all these medical evaluations. With the magistrate coming into the sector for the court circuit, they've put me out to pasture writing report after report. Bloody joke."

"Those reports don't write themselves, Doctor," Billson reminded Cawley.

"Surely they could be put in the hands of a GP," Odin grumbled. "Look, I don't want to toot my own horn here, but I'm a surgeon specialist. I do my best work when I'm holding a scalpel, not a biro."

"Have you mentioned this to Commander Tobias?" Billson asked.

"He's got bigger fish to fry, the bloke's trying to run two whole service divisions." Odin shrugged. "He did take it up with that Owens bloke from JAG some time ago, but Owens wanted his reports whether some week-out-of-the-Academy kid was bleeding-out on the operating table or not, my concerns on the matter be damned."

Billson considered what Cawley had said and gave him a nod, "I see."

"So, how was your time out on the Vigilant?" Odin asked. "I see a few folks from that ore freighter went into surgery this morning after you docked. Eventful?"

"To a degree," Billson shrugged. "Fairly routine repair, a few injuries. More time consuming than anything."

"I'm getting the feeling you didn't enjoy it," Odin replied. Averting his attention from his readout to address his concern.

"Should I?" Billson replied. "I mean, what's to enjoy about that freighter crew being stranded and injured, and those horribly cramped conditions on the Vigilant--"

"I don't mean that, Billson," Cawley sat forward a little, "Something is bothering you."

"They gave the ship back to Eastwood," Billson admitted with a sigh. She seemed to get a little smaller in her seat as she watched Odin interrogate the moment.

"Oh," Odin replied slowly. "Well, you know how it is."

"I do. He's a superior officer... a tactical officer--"

"We are in the middle of a cold war."

"I know."

"The starship commanding is your side hustle."

"I know."

"You're also a valuable member of the medical staff here."

"I know."

"I know."

Billson smiled when Odin threw that back at her. "I just worry that they didn't think I did a good enough job."

"There might also be something going on that we don't know about," Odin acknowledged. "The right people in the right place, and all that. Maybe that bastard lawyer Owens wants you back writing reports too."

"Maybe," She chuckled. "Whatever it is, they obviously don't think I can handle it."

"Or maybe they think you just need the rest," Odin suggested. "How many hours- days- were you working on that freighter?"

"Three days," She replied.

"Well, it wouldn't just be a medical opinion that suggested you needed a break," Odin said. "Common sense, maybe?"

"Sure," Billson replied, remaining unconvinced. "I hate how pokey those little ships are anyway."

"Ship for ants," Cawley replied wistfully, stroking his beard.

"Exactly," Portillo agreed.

"Anyway."

"Anyway."

"Chief Petty Officer Chip Lauder, I assume you know him?" Odin asked.

"Um, yeah," Billson said. "From the news."

"Federation hero. Great guy. I've been his doctor for donkey's years. However, as you know, I've also referred him to a counselor to talk over a few things. Seems he's not thrilled by being public friend number one, the whole hero thing doesn't really fit for him, it seems. Despite that, everyone from Candice McCarthy to Alan Joers wants a piece of him for continued press coverage of his heroics. I guess, if you want me to put it plainly, I'm worried about him. His cortisol and norepinephrine levels are elevated, serotonin is in the can, he's experiencing sleep disruptions, and I don't know if its just because I'm used to seeing him dolled-up for the cameras, but he's got eyebags that look like he's packing for a visit to the Delta Quadrant."

"Has he previously presented to you with any of these symptoms?" Billson asked.

"Never." Odin shook his head as he passed a PADD across the desk. "In some ways, it's like talking to a different guy. His medical history is on there."

Billson read the PADD over, taking in many of the more basic details from her computer inquiry aboard the Vigilant, but she also noticed that his neurochemical levels were horrifically unbalanced. She considered the report for a moment and unconsciously said, "This doesn't make sense."

"Why not?" Odin asked, watching Portillo closely.

"Okay, so I bumped into him at the orbital station this morning," Billson admitted. She continued, "He seemed quite chipper, maybe annoyed about the attention he's getting, but he seemed... okay."

"I don't need to remind you that people, especially people like Chip Lauder, are experts at masking and disguising their psychological needs." Odin said.

"Do I tell you how to use a scalpel?" Billson jibed.

"No, of course not. Sorry," Odin relented. He smiled a little and let out a sigh, "Those scans speak for themselves, though, Billson. We need to dig a little deeper."

"We do," Portillo agreed. "I guess I had my captain's hat on when I bumped into him. Surface judgements can be easy to make. Looks like we're about to find out."

|Counselor's Office, Crane Building, Santiago Bay Starfleet Facility
|Subsequently

"Wait," Lauder said, standing at the entrance of Portillo's consulting suite, "You're Billson Portillo? The shrink?"

"I prefer the term 'Counselor', Chief," Portillo replied, sitting on one of the plush grey couches in the room. "Why don't you come in?"

Lauder cautiously entered the office, "Aren't you the captain of the Vigilant?"

"My regular position is that of counselor on the base. The assignment to the Vigilant as it's commander was... temporary." In a way, it killed her to say that. She offered him a kind smile. "It looks like we have something in common."

Lauder thought about that for a moment, mulling over her words, he laughed quietly, even dismissively in a way that was far from arrogant. Like the idea he could consider himself a 'commander' was a joke. Finally, he took a seat opposite Portillo. He considered her for a moment, as she considered him.

Portillo sat forward a little, as she opened her conversation with Lauder. "What brings you here, Chief?"

"I still don't really know," Lauder replied. He leaned forward himself, clasping his hands, "The referral from Doctor Cawley?"

"He mentioned he's been your doctor for some time," Billson said, "Do you trust Doctor Cawley?"

Lauder nodded, "Implicitly. Best doctor in the fleet."

Billson nodded, her face lighting up with a smile, "I entirely agree, Chief. He seems to share the same sort of admiration for you."

"Seems to be a common thing," Lauder muttered.

"When you say that, what do you mean by it?" Portillo asked. "While I'm reluctant to mention our conversation from this morning, or what I know of you, it seems that people's admiration bothers you."

"Why wouldn't it?" Lauder shot back, as calmly as it could. A darkness seemed to overcome Lauder, an admission followed. "I'm no hero."

"What's been happening to make you say that, Chief?"

"Aside from having some grinning idiot in my face every time I turn a corner, or some dogooder giving me a pat on the back and wanting a fistbump or a damn autograph." There was a pause as Lauder remembered the daily interactions with admirers. "I'm just a guy, y'know. Then I get this medal and my name is amongst all these other recipients; Benjamin Sisko, Elizabeth Shelby, Rachel Garrett, Saavik, Captain Solok of the starship T'Kumbra-- he got it twice--"

"Twice, mmm," Portillo nodded.

"All these brilliant officers, Captains, doers of amazing deeds. And then there's me, some dipshit petty officer who served on one of the most insignificant ships in the fleet in an insignificant position. I make a decision in the moment, save a few lives like anyone would and now everyone wants to shake my hand and interview me for the news."

"It's understandable to feel overwhelmed, Chief, you seem to place less value on your actions than others do." Portillo moved her head to the side a little, "Why did you join Starfleet, Chief?"

"I left school when I was a kid, became a carpenter," He laughed, "I didn't enjoy that as much as I thought I would. My parents were both in Starfleet, both senior non-commissioned officers. My mother was Command Master Chief of Starfleet before she retired, y'know?"

"You seem proud of that," Billson smiled.

"I am," He nodded. "How could I not be?"

"Interesting that you have reverence for her, and yet you refuse to do that for yourself," Portillo observed. "She would've done many heroic things in her career to rise to such a prestigious position."

Lauder shook his head, already seeing what Portillo would suggest, "Before you try to compare me to her, don't."

"Why not?"

"She served in the last Klingon skirmishes, the Cardassian War, the Tzenkethi conflict, the Galen Border Wars, she was in Starfleet for over fifty years. She's far more than I could ever be. Same for my father."

"That as it might be, it seems that in serving, you've honoured her legacy," Portillo suggested.

"Honoured it, perhaps."

"How is the relationship with your parents?"

"The same it seems to be with everyone," Lauder shrugged, "I'm the favourite son. They went from wondering why I wasn't more dedicated to the service, questioning my decision to join Starfleet, to thinking I was the greatest member in the service. You know, four years ago I was considering leaving Starfleet. If I did, I'd have been a nobody, a drifter."

"What if you left now?" Portillo asked.

"I'd be inundated with job offers, there'd be more interest in what I'm doing next than what I'm doing now. Hell, Jim Mazlish has put it in writing that he wants me to be his running mate in his 2394 presidential bid."

"Most impressive. Would you leave now?"

"Never, I couldn't," Lauder smiled. "You'd never think it, an Orbital Controller. I'm right where I want to be, I find my work fulfilling. No one can understand that."

"You keep thousands of people safe, it's a very important job," Portillo acknowledged.

"No-no, it's more than that; I'm out of the way, insignificant again," Lauder said. "I love it, just another member of the team. Out of reach. I almost got there, then Sagan started remembering again."

"When people recognise you, or when you get that attention, how does it make you feel?" Portillo asked.

"Undeserving, like I should've died when others deserved to live," Lauder said. "I'm lifted up, made out to be virtuous. I'm anything but."

"You're probably being a bit hard on yourself."

"Hardly, my entire life is defined by one moment," Lauder said. "And now it's defined by a camera in my face or a dude going through my rubbish; not to find dirt, but to make sure it gets outside and collected. I just can't feel like a normal person. It gets to me."

"How do you know that, Chief?"

"I can't sleep, I can't eat, I went and saw a guy do a standup routine last week and I didn't laugh once."

"Who did you see?"

"Andy Australorp."

"He's shit."

"Fair, maybe I would laugh at someone else."

"Maybe."

"Mmm."

"Anything else?"

"The memories."

"Memories?"

"Memories of my friends and superiors dying. Memories of that month I spent in command of that ship, the things we had to do to survive, the worry that everyone I was responsible for would be killed. If you had seen what I'd seen..."

"No one expects you to forget, Chief," Portillo said with a soft, reassuring smile.

Lauder sat there and nodded for a moment, nodding in acknowledgement.

"Chief, it's important that we establish some techniques for you to manage these feelings in the short-term. I would like to make some recommendations," Portillo said. "It will take some time for us to unpack this, and I am going to recommend we meet tomorrow. However, I would like to offer you a challenge for tonight."

"What's that?"

"Find a comedian you can actually laugh at," Portillo laughed.

"Sure," Lauder smiled.

"Next, and more seriously," Portillo began, "Set boundaries with people around you, especially the ones who want to congratulate you in a way that infuriates you. If someone wants to interact with you in a way that makes you uncomfortable, ask them to stop, and don't take calls from any media people-- especially Alan Joers."

"Okay, we'll give it a go," Lauder nodded.

"Next, I'm scheduling our next session for tomorrow morning, 8am," Portillo said.

"But that would be during Sagan Remembers-- oh."

"Doctor's orders," Billson smiled. She stood, Lauder following. "This will all take time, but we will try our best to make coping with all this easier. And, if I can make a suggestion, take the transporter home, to dodge any harassment."

"Sure," Lauder smiled. "Hey, thanks."

"Any time," Portillo smiled.

OFF

 

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