He watched her die, and in that moment, he cursed both Starfleet and himself for allowing it to happen. 

The Cupertino’s sickbay was eerily quiet if one compared it to the chaos it had seen in the past few days. With most of the patients treated and on the path to recovery, many doctors and nurses enjoyed their time off, leaving only minimum staff available to tend to the minor medical inconveniences shore leave brought with it. It was a nice change of pace for everyone involved. Doctor Nichelle Trova was, in theory, also enjoying her shore leave. In practice, she hadn‘t left sickbay in days. 

„Almost.“, she said quietly, and to herself. Her gaze slid over to the stasis unit she had been guarding, worried that a technical defect or misunderstood instructions would switch it off before it was time. Right now, it held one of the few people she held close to her heart – Ricarda Keller, a friend and colleague, who had been injured during the Cupertino’s last mission. Nichelle was still livid at Captain Nassar for failing to announce red alert and leaving the crew wholly unprepared for their descent into underspace. But Nassar was gone – transferred to some other vessel – and Keller’s scans had revealed that any medical intervention had come too late.

Despite the advances of modern medicine, survival was never a guarantee. If everything had gone according to plan, there would have been an emergency transport to sickbay and ample doctors and nurses to take care of Keller. 
But the whole ship had been in disarray, the surgical suites offline, and most medical staff spread throughout several triage centres.  Now, all Nichelle could do was to wait for Jonathan’s arrival, and to allow him to say goodbye. And that was out of character for someone like her, who was invested in her patients but wasn’t all too great with dealing with their loved ones. She found it awful enough in a long-distance-call or in writing, and considered it infinitely more awful telling them in person. Especially when she herself feared falling apart once the stasis unit was switched off. 

But of course Jonathan had taken a leave of absence from his own duties the moment he had been informed of Richard’s condition, and was due to arrive on the Cupertino any minute now.

Jonathan Keller hastily disembarked from the shuttle that had transported him, heading straight for the turbolift, and then sickbay. 
He hadn‘t been happy with serving on a different vessel than his wife, and he knew Ricarda hadn‘t been thrilled with the arrangement either. It had been a drastic change on so many levels, and despite their objective analysis and discussions prior to their separation, Jonathan found that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that his wife had gotten injured. 

Their previous work had been considered dangerous, and there was always a heightened possibility of not coming home. And while not coming home to each other was a horrible enough thought, not coming home to their children was a thought they couldn‘t bear.
So they had applied for other postings and Jonathan had ended up on the Callisto while Ricarda had been sent to the Cupertino. 

They hadn’t liked it, but it was meant to be a temporary arrangement, and knowing that Ricarda was relatively “safe” on a relatively meaningless California-class vessel had made it worthwhile. At least Jonathan had believed her to be safe until that fateful morning when he was notified that she had been injured as the Cupertino was dragged into Underspace. 

The doors to the sickbay slid open with a gentle hiss, but the Nichelle barely registered the sound. She stood at her station, her hands pressed against the console, steadying herself as she went over Ricarda’s latest scans one last time. She knew what they would say, but going through the motions felt like the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Doctor.” Jonathan called, his voice sharp and commanding, but tinged with panic. “Where is she?”

Nichelle looked up from the console and met his gaze. She had rehearsed this moment over and over in her mind. She motioned toward the stasis unit, where Ricarda lay, still and peaceful, letting the gentle hum fill the silence between them.

“She’s in here,” Nichelle began softly, walking closer to the unit. She stopped a few feet away, her eyes resting on Jonathan. “But Jonathan, you need to know… it’s not good.”

Jonathan’s expression tightened as he followed her. “What do you mean, ‘not good’? She’s in stasis. There’s still time.”

Nichelle took a deep breath, steadying herself. “We did everything we could. The injuries were… catastrophic. Ricarda’s brain was deprived of oxygen for too long. There’s no activity.”

He blinked, shaking his head. “That’s not possible. You- … you’re her friend. She talks about you all the time. There’s always another option. A transfer to a better facility, a specialist, something.”

“Jonathan, I… I’ve tried everything. I brought in every specialist in the area, ran every scan, pursued every lead. But there’s no brain activity left.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed hard to maintain control. “Once we turn off the stasis unit… there’s nothing more we can do.”

Jonathan took a step back. “No. No, that can’t be it! Ricarda is strong. You.. you have you even tried neural regeneration. Or synaptic realignment? You can’t just give up on her!”

“Jonathan… I’m not giving up. I would never give up on her, or on you. But neural regeneration only works when there’s *something* left to regenerate. Ricarda’s gone. Her body is here, but… she’s gone.”

Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists as he looked at Ricarda, his breathing becoming ragged, each inhale more desperate than the last.

“No,” he whispered. “You’re wrong. She’s still here. She’s still in there.” He slammed his fist against the side of the unit, his voice rising. “I can’t… I won’t let her go like this!”

Nichelle’s shook her head. She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but knew that her words wouldn’t do anything to ease his pain. She had seen this kind of grief before, but it was always different when it was someone you knew. Someone you cared about.

“I’m so sorry, Jonathan,” she whispered, her own tears beginning to fall. “I’m so sorry.”

Jonathan’s shoulders sagged, and he turned away from the stasis unit, wiping his face roughly with the back of his hand. For a long moment, he stood there, breathing heavily. When he finally spoke, his voice was broken.

“She can’t leave me like this. We… we have kids. This is just a temporary arrangement. She’s supposed to come to the Callisto with me. I spoke to the Captain, he agreed. How am I supposed to tell-… ”

Nichelle’s breath hitched as she walked closer, and she placed a hand gently on his arm, not as a doctor, but as a friend.

“I wish I could give you something more,” she said softly. “I wish there were answers, or a way to make it right. But right now, all we can do is give you time to say goodbye. She deserves that. You deserve that.”

Jonathan’s knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the chair beside the stasis unit, his head in his hands. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he whispered. Broken and small.

Nichelle stood beside him, closing her eyes for a moment. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.  And when the time came, when Jonathan would finally say goodbye, she knew that no words would ever be enough to ease the pain.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, Jonathan gave the smallest of nods. 

The soft hum of the stasis unit had always felt so steady, so constant. But now, as Doctor Nichelle Trova entered the final sequence to shut it down, the sound began to fade. The dim lights of the unit flickered as it prepared to release Ricarda Keller from its grasp. Nichelle didn’t look at Jonathan. Not directly. 

Jonathan stood beside Ricarda, his eyes glued to her still form, his hand wrapped tightly around hers. His knuckles were white with the effort, as if his grip alone could pull her back to life. The moment was too still, too quiet, until the stasis field disengaged with a gentle hiss.

Jonathan leaned in close, his lips trembling as he whispered her name. “Ricarda… I’m here.”

For a long, terrible moment, Jonathan waited. He visualised her eyes fluttering open, her gaze, unfocused at first, slowly finding him. But Nichelle knew that this wouldn’t happen, and instead focussed on the vital signs on her readout. Ricarda was breathing on her own, but that too was already slow and shallow. She watched her heart beating at first faster to compensate for the registered lack of oxygen, then slowing down until it eventually stood still. She registered the time of death, and turned to give Jonathan the time he needed. 

Jonathan continued to hold Ricarda’s hand.  He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. As if some part of him still hoped that this wasn’t real, that she might come back, that this wasn’t goodbye. 

Finally, he let out a long, shuddering breath and gently placed Ricarda’s hand down on the bed beside her. He stood, his movements slow and drained. He looked at her one last time, brushing a strand of hair from her face before stepping back.

“Goodbye,” he whispered, the word catching in his throat as he turned to leave the room.

“Jonathan”, started Nichelle. “If there is anything I can do… anything at all….”

She wanted to help, but at the same time, she too needed someone to lean on. Ricarda had been his wife, yes, but she had been her friend. She too had lost someone she loved. 

Jonathan turned with a cold expression. “Haven’t you done enough? Or rather, nothing at all?”, he hissed. 

Nichelle turned pale. She understood his anger, knew that it was normal, and should have expected being the one to be blamed. It still hurt. 

“I did what I could… the circumstances….”

Jonathan interrupted her. “What kind of doctor are you?! I want every report surrounding Ricarda’s injury and her treatment plan. And I swear to you, if I find the slightest hint that you could have done something but did not, I will end your career. I will end you.”

His voice was dangerously low as he spoke, and Nichelle knew better than to try and convince him that this wasn’t her fault. She simply gave a defeated nod, and watched him leave sickbay. 
 

The shuttle ride back to the USS Callisto did nothing to quench his anger. He had received the requested reports, but was no medical professional, and would have to consult their own Chief Medical Officer on an assessment. But what he did note was the Cupertino’s Captain’s failure to announce red alert when the aperture opened, leading to most of the crew being unprepared for what followed. 

And his anger extended. First, towards the incompetent Captain. Then, towards Starfleet itself, who had placed her into the centre chair. He hated all of them, and that hatred was palatable as he walked through the corridors of the Callisto, towards the Captain’s Ready Room, ready to hand in his resignation. 

He didn’t mind interrupting Captain Aldris Ceix in some important meeting, as a matter of fact he almost opened for that to be the case, but when the doors slid open, he found that the Captain was not busy. Instead, he was waiting for him.

Ceix looked to be middle-aged, but as a joined Trill had lived several lifetimes. He was an excellent Captain, capable leader, and compassionate friend. 

“Jonathan.”, he said quietly and gently, and Keller felt his hatred dissipating, simmering down to anger. “I am so sorry.” He led Keller to the conference table, and took a seat next to him. And for a long moment, neither of them said anything. 

Eventually, Ceix spoke. “I think it would be best if you took a leave of absence. Take time for yourself, and your family.”

Jonathan looked up at his Captain, and shook his head. This came as a surprise to him, too, considering that he had come here with the intention to hand in his resignation. But that that it was offered, even in the guise of a break, the thought of only being a grieving widower was unbearable. 

“No… no, I don’t need that. I want to work.”

The Captain watched Jonathan Keller carefully, his brow furrowed in quiet concern. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he considered his next words. 

“Jonathan, you’ve just been through something unimaginably painful. No one would blame you for taking some time.”

Jonathan shook his head more firmly this time, his jaw tightening. “I don’t want time off, Aldris. I don’t know what I’d do with myself. I can’t sit around in some house, just… grieving. I need to stay busy, I need to be doing something. I need to keep moving.”

Ceix nodded. “I understand the need to stay occupied, believe me, I do. But burying yourself in work isn’t the answer, Jonathan. It won’t make the pain disappear. And eventually, it will catch up to you.”

Jonathan clenched his fists on the table. “I don’t have the luxury of falling apart, sir. I have two kids who’ve already lost one parent. They can’t lose another.”

“You do,” Ceix agreed softly. “But being strong doesn’t mean pretending you’re not hurting. You’re not invincible, Jonathan. And those kids – your family – they need you whole, not a shadow of yourself because you refused to process what’s happened.”

Jonathan closed his eyes, and his shoulders slumped.  “What am I supposed to do then, Captain? Sit in my quarters and… and  just feel? I don’t want to feel any of it.”

Ceix’s gaze was steady but full of compassion. “I know you’re hurting. And I’m not going to force you to take leave if you truly believe staying on duty will help. But you can’t do this alone. No one can.”

Jonathan glanced up. “I’ll manage.”

The Captain studied him for a long moment before he leaned back in his chair, exhaling quietly. “If I let you stay on duty, it’s under one condition.”

Jonathan stiffened, sensing where this was headed. “What condition?”

“You will attend mandatory counselling sessions—three times a week. That’s not negotiable. For you and your kids. I’ll speak with Counselor Seta myself.”

Jonathan frowned, recoiling from the idea. “Counselling won’t bring Ricarda back.”

“No, it won’t,” Ceix agreed gently. “But it’ll help you figure out how to live with what’s happened. If you want to stay here and work, that’s my condition. “

The silence that followed was heavy. Jonathan hated the idea of counselling, of dredging up emotions he was barely holding in check. But he couldn’t deny that Ceix was giving him a way to stay on the Callisto. A way to keep his life from unravelling completely.

After a long, tense moment, Jonathan let out a slow breath and nodded. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll go to counselling. But only because you’re asking me, sir.”

Ceix offered a small, understanding smile. “I’m not just asking you as your Captain, Jonathan. I’m asking you as your friend.”

Jonathan swallowed hard, feeling the lump in his throat tighten. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

Ceix placed a reassuring hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, giving it a firm but gentle squeeze. “That’s all I ask. And when it feels like too much, know that you’re not alone. We’re here for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”, Jonathan nodded. “What’s our next mission?” 

He wanted to think about something else than his loss, if only for a moment. 

“We are headed towards Liraxa IV to try and negotiate peace talks between the two dominating tribes.”, Ceix replied, not wanting to go into too much detail. Distracting from ones grief never yielded any positive results – he himself had learned that the hard way. 

Jonathan nodded, remaining in the chair for a good few moments until he stood to leave. 

As he turned to go, Ceix’s voice stopped him. “Jonathan. Speak to Seta right away. Let her support you when you tell the kids.”

Jonathan paused, his back to the Captain, and for a moment, he let the words sink in. Tell the kids. He had to tell them, and he didn’t know how. So… maybe the support through a Counsellor was the right way to go. 

Then, with a quiet nod, he walked out of the ready room.