The PKSP Archive - Mea Culpa by envoy (envoy@mjc1.demon.co.uk) --- Disclaimer: If you have seen it in any incarnation of Star Trek then (surprise, surprise!) it is not mine. I'm just borrowing it. Or something. --- I move swiftly along the contracting corridor; late, late, late for the briefing. Janeway would love it-another example of how unreliable I am. How could it have happened? I had slept through half-an-hour's worth of five minute alarm calls. Late, late, late. Slacker. Should know better. The door opens as I walk before it "My apologies, Captain, I ah.." You what? Slept in? May as well tell her your toast was burnt and you had to run a diagnostic to ensure it was an isolated problem. May as well tell her you were up half the night reliving all those 'should have done it differently' episodes. It was close enough to the truth. For her. But it would not be enough. "That's alright, Mr. Kim; I understand you were working late in Stellar Cartography last night. Please, take a seat,". I try to contain my surprise at her genial nature; very smooth, as though there was nothing untoward about a senior officer being late for a briefing without a valid excuse. Too smooth. I intercept the glance she exchanges with the Commander and then it strikes me; *why* does she know I was in Stellar last night? "Ensign, we would like to continue," she enunciated tartly "Please," she motioned to a free seat. My eyes narrowed; a free seat next to Paris. Silently, I sat down and glanced blankly at Paris; he gave a muted smile in the way one does when things are not right. I did not read his eyes- I could not; I could not let myself. ".. time for crew evaluations. The evaluations will be comprised of three parts: past performance, section leader report and simulation mark. Of these.." A week had passed since Paris and I had last spoken; I avoided any unnecessary contact with him, refused to attend any function where he might be and did not answer any of his messages. I read them though; I read them and so wanted to reply to them, but I could not. I would have before now; before this I would have. But I had to make him realise. Janeway blows on and I feel strangely ill at ease- as though everyone is scrutinising me. I put it down to over tiredness- why would anyone look at me? Only to laugh at me. Only that. I push my hair out of my eyes and rest my hand on my forehead; what am i doing here? I no longer know the answer. Once I would have said to do my best, to serve Starfleet and to make my parents proud. None of these seem to apply anymore; my best is never enough- I doubt I even have a best- Starfleet is as distant as my parents, but both are ever present in the rigid form of the Captain. I don't know what I am doing- there is no impetus, just the autonomy. I don't know what I am. A hand on my shoulder shaking me to. "Harry? Are you alright?" His eyes are direct and concerned. Everyone else has left. Everyone else will have noticed. "Just a little tired, Commander. I'm sorry; I know I have not been performing as well as I could... I don't know what to say; I just hope I haven't failed you- or the Captain, I know she expects a lot of me, but I know I am capable of it. I want..." He puts up a hand to halt me. "Have you convinced *yourself* yet, Harry?" he enquires. I drop my eyes from his and mumble: "I'm not sure I know what you mean..". "Things have not been 'alright' for some time. Before I was content to leave you to it, but when it starts to repeatedly to affect your duties I cannot. Are you going to tell me what is wrong?" "Nothing,". I raised my eyes to look at him; my eyes too wide and too earnest to be honest. But in a way what I was saying was true; all I had was a sense of unease and other than that nothing. Nothing. Nothing. *I* had nothing. He sighed. "You are trying to tell me there is nothing wrong? Not even between you and Lieutenant Paris- someone whom you were once inseparable from, and now can barely stand to be in the same room as?" "I guess I decided your opinion of him was correct. Sir,". I remember how simple things used to be; I remember when my opinions and decisions lasted longer than twenty- four hours. I just want to belong- to have people respect me- to be important for something; to be important for someone. But I am what I am; and that is what I hate most. Useless Weak Fool Useless "Come on, Harry! I know you're in there!" Paris' irate voice intruded into my quarters via the com system. It had been doing that for at least five minutes. "Don't make me override the lock!" Pulling rank. Again. Was I bitter about it? For all of Janeway's protestation about adhering to Starfleet policy- for all her crew evaluations- she had yet to promote anyone. But if nothing matters, why am I bitter? "Harry!" I give the order for the door to open. "Thank God!" he exclaims "I was beginning to think you had died in here,". "Thank you for your concern, Lieutenant Paris, but I'm fine. Can I be of some assistance to you?" I watch his face fall and feel the nip of guilt, though it soon disappears. I have spent most of the week considering what I want to say, how I want things to be; I have spent a week imagining Paris and I talking things through. And now I do not care. "Harry, don't give me that Lieutenant crap- you and I are friends,". I remain silent. "Look, I apologise if I have done something to upset you- I didn't mean to. Man, all I know is that last week was out of the blue, and when you wouldn't answer my messages..," he frowns "Harry?" "You apologise *if* you have done *something* wrong? What have you ever done right? Not that it seems to matter- you seem to get everything anyway. Maybe I should use you as an example of how to get ahead in Starfleet- or Janeway's brand of it! You and B'Elanna and Chakotay! Yes, be a criminal and automatically become a member of senior staff. Only I can tell you right now that it would not work for good old Harry. No, he does everything by the book and gets fuckall; he goes against the book- deviates by even a micron- and Janeway is ready to demote him to crewman status. But the real question is: would anyone notice? I can tell you the answer is no,". I bite off the last sentence in disgust. Paris stands before me speechless- probably as speechless as I am inside. I did not want it to come out that way; an incoherent, inarticulate mess of bile and vindictive. I did not want him to know. And in truth it was just an excuse for the problem- I was the problem. "Is this something to do with me?" he asks helplessly. "Contrary to popular belief, my life does not revolve around you," I spit. Harry is not even old enough to have his own problems; he is so young and carefree- he has his whole life ahead of him- but he should stop worrying so about others. A whole life ahead of me- in the Delta Quadrant. As for the others? I stopped worrying about them when it became obvious they did not give a damn for me. "Harry..,". I hit him. Even the pain- of the physical action and of hitting a friend- means nothing; somehow it seems so unreal. I swing again and he blocks me. I connect my other fist with his stomach. He stumbles- breathless- and I bring my foot up to connect with his chin. No one expected this from Harry Kim. Least of all himself. And he wants to stop it, but whoever is attacking Paris is not the Harry who wants to stop it; he is far away, cornered by thoughts and demands. He is far away. "Mr. Kim,". Tuvok's voice snaps me out of my violence. I stare, appalled, at what I have done to Tom. I am appalled at what I have done; appalled at what I have become. Another voice speaks harsh and deadly: "Let the log show that as of Stardate____ Ensign Harry Kim is relieved of duty. Indefinitely,". Harry Kim is relieved of duty. I wish I knew who Harry Kim is. I wish I knew who I am supposed to be. I wish someone would tell me I wish I "At ease, Ensign,". The order slithers out from taut and thin lips; it is issued from stern and unblinking bullet eyes. She does not invite me to sit. I do not expect her to. "Well, Ensign Kim, it has been an interesting few weeks; your increasingly erratic behaviour; your failure to properly attend to your duties; your failure to set the example senior staff should. And now this- an unprovoked attack upon a fellow crew member. Do you have anything to say?" So cold. So rigid. I suspect I am not the only one who has been turned inside out by our splendid isolation; or at least that is how I explain her attitude toward me. I- or part of me- some part- want to hate her, but I know I should not. How could I justify it? She has never done anything- just the burning looks and the tart rebukes. Rebukes for actions I have not even carried out. But no one notices, so it does not matter. It is only me. "How is Tom?" "*Lieutenant* Paris is fine; the injuries you inflicted were minor and the Doctor is more than able to deal with such things,". "I'm glad,". "Are you? Let me tell you, *Ensign*, if we were back on Earth you would be court martialled for such an attack upon a *superior* officer. It would not be the end of your career, but it may as well be; a forty year old Ensign is a somewhat sad sight to behold,". She rises from her chair. "Fortunately for you we are not on Earth,". She turns her back to me to gaze at the ever-present night stars. "We are here,". The irony of it is lost on her; so intent upon her tirade that she over-looked the constant lack of promotion, that if we had been on Earth there would have been no *superior* Lieutenant Paris to attack. To blinkered to acknowledge her favouritism. I sigh- but it does not matter. The truly scary thing is that I believe that. "I should suspend you from duty and mark that suspension- and the reason for it- on your permanent record. I *should*. But I won't,". You would not even give me that distinction. Distinction of punishment. "Thank you, Captain," I monotone. "Oh, don't thank me, Ensign- you will be punished for your violation. I expect you to apologise to the Lieutenant- a *written* apology, a copy of which I expect you to forward to me. In addition, I am fining you one years worth of replicator rations and revoking your holodeck privileges indefinitely. You are also confined to quarters outside of shift hours for the next six months and will work double shifts until further notice. An example has to be made,". "Thank you, Captain," I monotone. She looks at me sharply, queerly- as though checking to see if I am mocking her. I stare straight ahead; blank and motionless. I have heard her sentence, but I do not register her as giving it- I do not register her. All I hear is a voice from within my cocoon; a voice which is as pale as myself. "You are also to report to the Doctor immediately to undergo a compulsory examination," she informs me mutedly. "Yes, Captain,". She pauses: "You may leave,". I have permission to go. It did not matter at the time- I was ambivalent to its severity; now I am not, but I am not angry. I do not know what I am. I see it and feel its injustice, but nothing more. I stare at it like a mark on the wall in the dark; of no importance in the conditions. It merely is there. I wish I could feel *something*- even the despair of things slipping from me; of my intentions falling down. Hollow thoughts and empty wishes. Useless things. Like me. Empty spaces. I have permission to go. I wish I could feel something "Hmmmmm... Yes. A somewhat serious seratonin deficiency.. I'm surprised you did not bring this to my attention sooner; typically it induces depression which is very disabling to the individual you know,". "Yes,". "I'll have to build up levels slowly- too much and you would be as useless as when you have too little. Hmmm..yes, quite a serious drop considering your last recorded level. Take this now and return tomorrow for a further dose,". "Thank you,". I have permission to go. "Tom.. I've left this as long as I could.... It's not because I don't want to deal with it; it's because I don't know *how* to. I'm sorry for what I did Tom- it was nothing you did, it was what I did not. Hell.... it was all my fault Tom; it was to do with my inadequacies, my jealousies. The fact that you were my friend made it even worse; how could I feel such things about a friend? About my best friend? I was confused- I did not know what was expected of me, what I should do, who I was. You seemed to know who you were- you are- were- everything I wanted to be and was not; you seemed to have everything I wanted. I was jealous. I was jealous that against all the odds you had achieved *what* you have achieved. And here of all places. Maybe this was the only place you could achieve those things. Being here makes you realise... whatever. It's different for each of us. I know what it has made me realise... especially these past few weeks. I know what I should do now. I'm sorry Tom... mea culpa,". I end the message and it joins the queue of waiting messages which will be delivered in an hours time. I walk away from the computer to the table. On the table lies the hydrospray I took from medical I have analysed the contents- it is more than enough. I know what I should do. I know what I will do. I know what I have done. --- The End