Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - What the Waiting Does
Carter Schimpff
(( Bancroft’s Quarters, Deck 3 – USS Artemis-A ))
Richards: He’s gone Roy… Talos is gone. I don’t really understand all the details. But his shuttle went missing. ::Shaking her head slowly:: Without a trace. Just gone. They don’t know anything. I have more questions than answers. ::lowering her head almost ashamed:: The man I love is gone.
Roy felt the words land before their meaning fully caught up to him – the way truly bad news always did. Not sharp, not loud – just heavy. The kind of weight that settled into the chest and stayed there, daring you to pretend it wasn’t real.
He didn’t interrupt her. Didn’t reach for the reflexive questions that came so easily in Sickbay. No timelines. No probabilities or edge cases. No solutions.
This wasn’t a diagnostic moment or an opportunity for him to fix something. This was a human moment: a chance for him to listen and be present.
Bancroft: ::exhaling slowly through his nose:: That’s… terrible. No other word for it. ::a beat, softer:: I’m really glad you didn’t sit with that alone.
Richards: Oh I’m not alone. There’s two beautiful babies sitting in my quarters that may someday grow up and ask about their dad and I am not going to have an answer for them.
That did it.
Roy saw it happen – not theatrically, not all at once – the subtle collapse of something she’d been holding up through sheer force of will. The way her posture folded inward. The way grief, long managed, finally slipped the leash and attacked.
This wasn’t just loss. This was responsibility colliding spectacularly with absence. Love with nowhere to land, adrift in a sea of questions.
And suddenly, very clearly, Roy understood the shape of the fear she hadn’t yet said aloud: I have to be enough for all of us now.
He didn’t rush to fill the silence. He knew better than that. When he finally spoke, it was low and steady – something she could lean against if she needed to.
Bancroft: That’s… not a small thing to carry. ::gently:: Having answers isn’t what makes someone a great parent, Sam. Take it from me.
He paused – not for effect, but to make sure the next words didn’t tip into either reassurance or instruction, neither of which he could offer.
Bancroft: Being honest about not having all the answers… that’s when you really show up. Even when it hurts like hell.
Richards: There’s something inside of me that says to keep some kind of hope that he’s alive and okay. ::Angrily wiping away a tear that fell:: The logical part of me says he’s probably dead. ::Looking into Roy’s eyes:: You know the worst part? ::Her lip quivering:: I probably won’t ever know… This is my reality now.
Roy felt that one echo.
Not knowing.
He’d seen it before – felt it before – in families waiting on information, long-shot surgeries that turned quietly into memorials, in reports he’d had to write so clinically despite the ache inside him.
People often believed closure came from answers. Sometimes it did. More often, it was the absence of them – the endless waiting, the unanswered questions – that kept reopening the wound, refusing to let it heal.
Bancroft: ::measured:: You don’t have to choose which part of you is ‘right.’ ::a beat:: Hope doesn’t make you foolish, and logic doesn’t make you cold.
He took a slow pull from his own beer, more to ground himself than because he actually needed it.
Bancroft: This may be your reality right now. But it doesn’t have to define you. It doesn’t have to be the only thing that’s true about you.
Richards: I’m falling apart Roy. On the outside I am doing everything in my power to be the mom I am supposed to be. Giving them every ounce of love they deserve and more. ::Beat, then a sniffle:: On the inside… It hurts. God damn it hurts… Every thought I had for our future… Is gone.
Roy felt the instinct rise – an old one, the reflex to close distance, to offer physical comfort the way he might with a frightened child. His hand even twitched where it rested against his thigh.
But she didn’t need that kind of reassurance, and his instinct to offer it only arose due to the real void – that he had no other kind to give.
What she really needed was permission – permission to exist in the pain, not manage it. Not justify it, or turn it into something productive. She needed someone who was willing to sit with her in the hurt without trying to sand it down.
Bancroft: ::unwavering:: Being a good mother doesn’t require you to be okay all the time. All it requires is for you to love them. And you’re doing that, pain and all.
His voice softened just a fraction – not pity, not praise. Recognition.
Bancroft: That shows incredible bravery and strength.
Richards: Response
Roy simply nodded once – small and deliberate – acknowledging the truth as she’d laid it down.
Bancroft: ::gently:: Most days, that’s all real bravery looks like, Sam. ::a beat:: Surviving without hardening. Loving without numbing yourself to the pain.
He understood, too keenly, the temptation to mistake endurance for healing. He’d done it himself more times than he cared to count. But sitting here with Sam, he knew better. What she was doing wasn’t weakness or collapse. It was honesty – the beginning of healing.
Richards: Response
That one landed squarely. Roy felt it in his chest. He leaned forward just slightly now – not to close distance, but to signal presence – forearms resting loosely against his knees.
Bancroft: ::steady and certain:: You don’t have to fall apart all at once. ::meeting her eyes:: And you don’t have to do any of it alone. We take this in pieces, as they come. The ups, the downs, all of it.
Richards: Response
TAG/TBC!
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Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1