Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde - The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

[David Hemming]

  ((USS Arrow - Sickbay))

Regan and Commander Traenor had escorted the drunken Crewman Thomson back to the ship, where he had made a nuisance of himself at the gathering on the base. They'd administered an anti-intoxicant and a sedative and let the man sleep it off, as it were. Regan was horrified that the man's descent into alcohol abuse had not been spotted, or reported sooner, and that the crewman's journey was taking seriously similar steps to his own. Still it was not that much of a surprise. Thomson had killed one of their own, not by his own actions, but a small crew tends to react one way or another and through no fault of his own, Thomson had become shunned, outcast. 

They stood watching the man. He was broken, alone, and fearing the worst. Regan swallowed and told Maxwell Traenor to check the sleeping man's boots. He needed proof that the situation was as bad as he feared.

Wilde: I know what I'm talking about! Check his shoes. He's alone. Alone on a ship of forty people, his friends and his colleagues have abandoned him. He needs safety. He needs protection.

With a sudden loss of temper, Regan forcefully stepped toward the bed and scrambled for the man's shoes. In the struggle there was a metalic clang as the makeshift blade hit the carpeted deck. Regan stooped to pick it up and held it on display for Commander Traenor, who looked as if Regan had just sprouted another head.

Traenor: How... I don't... How could you have possibly known he had that blade concealed?

Wilde: This man was me, Commander. Only this is just starting. How long has it been since Gonzalez died? A few weeks? I was in a worse state than this for nearly three years! Lost, alone and desperate, I lived on the rotten streets doing just about anything to keep myself numb! I didn't care. I'd steal it if I had to. You learn to adapt. So many beatings from the street gangs makes you a little wise.

How many months had he endured the brutalisation of the various gangs seeking control of particular sections of streets and territory? He couldn't recall. Time had no meaning in the void of alcohol. They weren't beatings out of hatred or spite, rather warnings to stay away or to mind his own business. If you were smart, you'd stay away. In those days Regan wasn't smart for a long time. The Ferengi administrators weren't that kind either. 

The planet Lakata, located on the bad side of Ferengi space, made Nimbus III look like Risa. A populated and commercial planet, the neon lights and street vendors had made it seem exciting when he first got there, but the rain was heavy and the people not that friendly. The Ferengi Alliance cared little for the planet, it was a latinum paradise on paper, but an administrative pitfall more trouble than it was worth. Lawless and dangerous, it was left to run by those unlucky enough to fall foul of the FCA, and those ruthless enough to exploit its resources to gain enough profit to get off the planet and therefore a better standing in the Alliance. Being Governor of Lakata was as much a punishment as a promotion. Regan was just another 'Hu-mon' resource. When the Ferengi didn't pay him attention, he was at the mercy of the gangs who vied for real control of the streets.

Regan knelt down carefully and slipped his own blade out of his boot easily and swiftly. He held it up for inspection but the Commander didn't seem to be worried about the fact he had a concealed weapon on him, even though, like with his mek'leth, Regan had a permit for it to be on the ship as a 'collectors piece'. He didn't have permission to be carrying it on his person. He placed it on the biobed tray next to Thomson's.

The parallels between his life and the steps Thomson was taking in his life frightened him. He knew he should be more concerned for the welfare of the other man but the past haunted Regan now more than ever. He was lucky to be alive, very lucky, but he still felt horrible. Letting the hopelessness of his past come to the front, he began to cry. Long buried pain came to front in soft, warm tears as he cried. 

Then out of nowhere big arms embraced him, as Maxwell brought him into a protective hug. Regan's first instinct was to retreat, to pull away from comfort he felt he didn't deserve, and pity he definitely didn't want. No one should see him like this! He was a goddamned Starfleet officer and he would not be seen this weak.

Traenor: ::muffled in Regan's hair, whispering so only he could hear:: That's it. Let it out. No, don't pull away. Everything is just fine.

Regan closed his eyes. The arms of the other man protected him, made him cling to the moment. Maxwell Traenor was an older man, well-liked on the ship. Not really on Regan's radar as someone to spend a lot of time with, although not in an unkind way. He figured they just wouldn't have that much in common, but at that moment was a comforter to him, a father-like figure. Regan's own father hadn't hugged him in about fifteen years. Hadn't spoken to him properly for... how many years? Maybe a note at graduation or on his birthday. The last time he'd truly spoken to his father was that awful day at the hospital several days after he'd been retrieved from the hellhole of Lakata. A few cursory words of comfort but ones Regan couldn't even recall now then a long and difficult conversation about where his life was going and what Marcus Wilde was going to do to get him back on track. He'd complied, because he believed he was an embarrassment to his father. A failure. That's when it hit him. And he sobbed even more, the floodgates truly gone now.

His knees almost buckled and he wept openly now, too emotionally tired to even try to stop, but Traenor held on to keep him steady. He clung onto Maxwell as fervently as he was being held in the embrace. He'd stop when he couldn't cry anymore. After a few moments which felt like an hour, he stopped, and wiped his eyes with his sleeves.

Wilde: Thank you, sir. I'm feeling better now.

Before he spoke to Regan, Maxwell turned to the nurse.

Traenor: Please arrange for Crewman Thomson to be transported directly to his quarters when he is safe enough for it; hail me and let me know so I can meet him there. Thank you.

The nurse nodded in assent, and Maxwell gently led Regan with a guiding hand on his shoulder out of the sickbay, he slipped the Reman knife away from the tray. 

Traenor: Let's go and chat. Is there anywhere on the ship where you feel safe and comfortable to do so?

Wilde: I feel totally safe on the ship, Commander. ::He sniffled, his eyes still puffy and red.:: but I'm hungry. Are you hungry? I could really go for a huge steak and double cheese sandwich, with everything on the side. 

Traenor: ::smiling:: That's not a problem at all. I may not be any good with advice, but I think you'll find I can listen plenty well.

Regan gave a small, but appreciative smile. 

Wilde: Thank you. ::He paused.:: You're a good man, Commander. I hope you know that.

They left sickbay together, to talk and to try and make sense of all the wrongs currently happening in the universe.

END

((OOC: I'm a big believer in utilising what's not said, as well as what is said ;) That being said.... TBC...))

Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde

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USS Arrow

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