Bonnie

It took a few days for Bonnie to find the courage to return to the imposing metal door that hid Slate’s office.

She was furious with the commander. Mortified by the man. Ashamed of herself.

The professional relationship had been tainted. She needed to know where they stood now if they were to work cohesively moving forward. Not that they were working well before. He was a walking contradiction, kissing her delicately and passionately, then insulting her entire career and all she stood for in a single sentence.

It had been a hell of a kiss. Bonnie hadn’t felt her knees genuinely go weak since she was a teenager. She’d had a long day, though, so she couldn’t give Slate’s lips all of the credit. She had clung to him desperately. Her entire body burned with shame at the memory. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t let him do it again. If he wanted to. But they needed to discuss things first. Chaos was all around her aboard The Sentinel; the least she could hope for was to settle the chaos inside of her.

She requested entrance on the keypad and silently begged the universe to place Slate in the cafeteria. The gym. Anywhere but here to open this door. All of her courage had fallen out of her in the final steps.

The door opened.

“Dr Bonnie,” Slate drawled over the tablet he had propped up in front of him. His enormous metal desk almost overshadowed his ego. She reached it and halted in front of him, noting that the round clock-like device he’d previously had displayed was now gone. Bonnie had wanted to ask him one day what it was.

“Commander Slate,” she greeted as pleasantly as she could.

“How can I help you, Doctor?” His tone was awkwardly business-like.

“I think we should… discuss what happened in here.” She paused, but Slate showed no sign of understanding as to what she was alluding to. “Between us,” she added.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Slate said monotonously.

She felt her left brow twitch with irritation. “When I came here to inform you of Legacy’s death,” she reminded him slowly.

“I apologised,” he said dismissively. He could barely tear his eyes from the screen in his hands for more than a second at a time. It irked her.

“For being incredibly rude,” she retorted. “Not for kissing me.”

“Do you want me to apologise for that?”

“No. But if you regret it…” She folded her arms over her chest and gave him the sternest look she had in her arsenal. “Say so.”

Slate frowned. “I stand by my decisions. I don’t have time for regrets.”

“Well, that clears up absolutely nothing,” Bonnie huffed. Exasperation pinched her between the eyebrows. Slate was, and always would be, impossible.

“Nothing needs to be cleaned,” Slate rebutted. Bonnie did not correct his English slip. “Is there something specific you need, or can I return to my duties?”

“I would hate to think for a moment that I was taking you away from your duties.” Bonnie’s sarcasm twisted each of her words so hard they were almost venomous. It was utterly degrading that she sounded like a child begging for attention, getting snippy when she was brushed off.

“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” Slate said sharply.

She turned on her heel and stormed out without bidding him goodbye. Bonnie wished the doors weren’t automatic so she could slam it behind her.

She returned to her office to bury her head in work. There was too much to think about, sometimes she wished she didn’t need to think at all.

An autopsy was needed. None of the Ailu’t doctors would give their time to the officer who had taken his own life. They had survivors to care for. It broke Bonnie’s heart that there was so little empathy for a man clearly struggling. She was not qualified to investigate his body herself. Legacy’s body remained in the morgue, assumedly until she could convince someone to perform the necessary procedures.

In the days since bursting in on the officer’s hanging body, Bonnie had been dissecting every appointment she had had with the Ailu’t. He had come to her with little to say initially, as all Ailu’t did. They wanted support but entrusting their thoughts and feelings with anyone who could be classified as an outsider was difficult.

Legacy had been incredibly anxious. He was concerned for his conscience. He would ramble about right and wrong and good and bad, while Bonnie attempted to gently corral him into revealing a single detail. Something specific. They had a fair few philosophical conversations. Always circling around the topic of morality. Legacy was racked with indecision over his own moral code. But Bonnie has been unable to determine whether he had committed an immoral act and was attempting to justify his actions to himself. Or perhaps he has been the victim of an immoral act and needed to make sense of his place in the situation. Breaking down karma to understand his trauma. Her least likely theory was that he had an immoral intention weighing in his mind, a choice to make that he was avoiding, possibly.

Legacy’s roommate, Forest, had been declared MIA (presumed dead) in the days after his death. From what Bonnie understood, the two of them had been close enough to have chosen to bunk together - having swapped their partners with another Ailu’t duo on the first day on-board. Strangely, Legacy had not mentioned Forest in any of their sessions.

Bonnie’s assistant had also been MIA since the incident, but she had been reassured by the ward nurses that Effie had been putting in a great deal of time and effort in her studies of human biology. If Bonnie was to believe the tittered words of her colleagues, Effie had glued herself to Major Ellie’s bedside. Of all the patients on the ward, Ellie was in need of the most care. Whether Effie was actually caring for the marine or simply fussing over her was a hot debate at the nurse’s station.

Bonnie did miss her darling student’s vivacity, but she was also glad that Effie had found a distraction as Bonnie really didn’t have the time to work with her. Since the incident, her office was backed-up to high heaven with appointments. She had both Ailu’t and human patients flocking to her for support with trauma from the stress and survivor guilt of being on the mission themselves, dealing with grief from losing their friends, or coming to terms with a future of chronic pain caused by an injury they received on that disastrous trip.

Effie was supposed to be in charge of assigning appointments personally, but Bonnie had opened the system to the public when it became clear the need for care was hitting an almost insurmountable level. She had opened the floodgates to commence her own drowning.

Now she had only her mandatory lunch break to use for her food, water and bathroom needs. And her occasional crying sessions. Her mentor had once advised her that providing talking therapy meant acting as a sponge, and sometimes you needed to give yourself a squeeze to release all of the stress and hurt that has been poured onto you. Having a little cry in her bed was Bonnie’s cathartic squeeze. She was unsure how many more squeezes she could handle until a fresh sponge was required for the chore at hand.