USS Surefoot, Deck 1, 2315 Hours:
Captain Hrelle moved briskly down the corridor, grateful that they were sparse of crew so that no one could see the cheesy grin on his face, and grateful that Lieutenant Abed generously agreed to take over for him earlier than expected, allowing Hrelle to prepare for his date with the delightful Professor Gianopoulis. He wondered how many of his crew would have known or guessed about his plans. Probably everyone; with the size of his crew, it would be easier to reach Warp Ten than keep a secret around here.
He entered his quarters, his mind thinking ahead to what he would wear, only to find someone had already visited, and left out a set of clothes - a fetching white silk V-neck shirt, black trousers and matching shoes - on one of his chairs. Who the hell did this-
He smiled. Thank you, Kami.
He stripped off and hopped into his shower stall, opting for a sonic setting rather than his preferred water, not wanting to waste time having to dry off and groom his fur. He wanted to try and dampen his enthusiasm - after all, Barbara might have changed her mind, or be busy, or he might have been completely wrong about her feelings towards him. Then he remembered their last moments together, earlier that day. No, he wasn't wrong. He let his enthusiasm glow.
But the glow dampened as he emerged and saw himself in the full-length mirrors surrounding him. He normally bypassed these, not caring much, or pretending not to care much, or just simply finding excuses to look elsewhere. Now, however, he couldn't ignore them. He looked.
And he hated what he saw.
He was certainly healthier than a year before, when he escaped from slavery: his strength and mobility had returned, he'd put weight back on, and he could eat and sleep most times without difficulty. His overall life expectancy had been reduced, he was told, but for now, he felt good.
It was how he appeared that mattered to him at the moment. He was covered in scars, in burns and permanent bruises that his fur not only couldn't hide, but which seemed to recede from those many places, as if beaten down by the evidence of his ordeals. He looked like some rag doll crudely assembled and kept together over time, or the artificial monster from that old Terran Gothic novel.
And he knew each and every one of them like an old enemy, a bookmark in the dark chapter of that life: the ringed scars on his wrists and ankles from the chains he wore in the Breen pergium mines; the electrical burns on his thighs and hips when that faulty generator had exploded, killing four other slaves around him; the knife cuts on his belly and arms from the many fights he'd been forced into, and the black scar tissue when a heated poker had been driven into his sternum as punishment for refusing to kill a wounded opponent; the whip marks on his back, from far too many occasions to recount.
And then there was the base of his spine, and the ugly black place where the Bel-Zon had cut off his tail and cauterised the wound with an energy weapon, for no other reason than to hurt him and make him beg and plead for a mercy they were never going to show him.
Had he been crazy? Was he really going to show off *this* body to Barbara? He'd give her nightmares!
He reached for his robe in disgust and slipped back into it, his heart racing, his breath shallow and rapid as he left the bathroom, stopping by his bed. He felt dizzy, and missed the side of the bed as he slid down to the floor, unable to catch a breath. He reached out to his bedside table before he passed out, grabbing the combadge he had left there earlier and tapping it. "Capt- Captain Hrelle- Counsel- Counselor-"
Thankfully the computer was smart enough to interpret his ragged words, as Kami's voice replied. "Captain? What's wrong?"
"H-Help-"
"I'm on my way!"
Hrelle nodded to no one in particular, dropping the combadge and curling up, focusing on his breathing. Seconds later, he heard his door slide open, and smelled the Counselor as she raced in, kneeling beside him, touching his cheek as she helped him back into a sitting position, murmuring softly, "It's okay, just breathe in through your nose... slowly, deeply, gently... now let it out through your mouth... count to five... breathe in again..."
He nodded weakly to her, remembering the techniques for managing panic attacks, but grateful for her presence nevertheless. He never had attacks like this until he had escaped, when his mind could finally process what had happened to him and he had to deal with the effects rather than just focus on surviving. But they had eased in number and intensity in the months since he had started counseling. This one, however, was as strong as it had been unexpected.
"That's it, good, good," she said. She was clad in a sweat-soaked vest and shorts; when she saw him looking, she remarked, "I was taking advantage of the cadets being planetside to get some intense exercise in at the gym; usually when they're around and see me there, they get... distracted." She smiled. "Another few minutes, and you'd have caught me in the shower, and that wouldn't have done either of us any good."
He nodded. "S-Sorry to have called you-"
"Save it, I'm not onboard this ship just to look sexy." She rose, entered his bathroom and returned with a small glass of cool water, squatting down again and offering it to him.
He accepted it gratefully, drinking deeply. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." She leaned back on her haunches. "So... ready to talk about it?"
"It just- I was overwhelmed-"
"I guessed what happened. I want to know what triggered it."
He started to reply, but then found himself saying, "I- I don't know. I'm probably just overworked." He was helping himself back to his feet. "Would you please call Professor Gianopoulis, explain to her that I have to cancel tonight?"
She rose as well. "Well... I could. Or you could just tell me the truth."
He stiffened. "I've told you the truth. Something happened, that's all, and I can't let her see me tonight. Maybe the next time we're in orbit. Tell her something. Tell her anything you want, I don't care."
She nodded back. "Ahh, that makes sense."
"What does?"
She drew closer. "What you just said. 'I can't let her see me tonight'. Not 'I can't see her tonight', what anyone else would have said. I should have anticipated this."
Hrelle shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
In response, she reached out and tried peeling open his robe.
He pulled back.
She nodded to him. "Take that off."
"What? Why?"
"Why not? We're Caitians; what's nudity to us?"
"I don't want to."