round 7 LtCmdr Liam Frost - Scrub Down

[Kali Nicholotti]

((Transporter Room - USS Apollo))

:: The air that Liam breathed in as he materialized in the transporter room of the Apollo was as fresh as an ocean breeze when compared to the dank, stale atmosphere of the Canduc. He had only spend a total of a few hours on the ship, but it was more than enough of that type of environment to last him for a long time. Most of the crew fled out of the room made their way out and to the turbolift. Liam allowed himself to fall behind them, catching the next lift and taking it up to deck three. A short walk down the hall and he found himself in front of his own door.::

:: The lights of the room came on as he entered, enjoying the slow transformation that was taking place as he and Cayden slowly made the otherwise unremarkable room feel slightly more like a home, though he had to admit it was more by her doing than by his. He appreciated the effort none the less, as he had little talent for it himself. After a few moments of admiration, he made his way to the bathroom. He began running water into the sink, splashing and wiping his face in an effort to remove what felt like a fair layer of general grime that he had accumulated while aboard the freighter. He toweled off and took a moment to examine himself in the mirror.::

:: His memory drifted back to his first away mission on the Victory. He remembered how it felt to step off the shuttle for the first time after their rather spectacular landing. He remembered the strangest mix of pride and guilt. Pride at having gotten the shuttle down without any serious injuries, and yet guilt for not having been able to prevent the crash in the first place. He was just an ensign then, fresh out of the academy, and far less prepared for what the galaxy had in store for him than he had believed he was. ::

:: He looked down at the collar of his uniform. Two gold pips and one black one. They were, to him, more than a simple denotation of rank, an indicator of his status within the hierarchy of Starfleet rank. each of them was a symbol of something he had experienced, something he had seen, something that he had experienced, something that he had lost whether he had prepared for it or not.::

:: They each sat on the collar of his dark red shirt. It wasn't any different from the collar he'd worn when he first came aboard the Victory and first taken his seat at her conn. They'd soon rushed off onto a situation more profound than many officers had experienced in their entire careers. He'd worn a gold one too, as the Chief of security for an entire Starbase and it's 118,000 residents and countless visitors. And there too he'd seen more than he could have imagined when a terrorist organization had bombed the station. He's never even found the time, or the nerve, to read the final count of lives lost in the hours of the attack and the days after. He'd had to contact a few families of security officers that had made the ultimate sacrifice in the line of duty. And not once had it gotten any easier, though he supposed that was proof that he hadn't lost his humanity.::

:: And now he was back in red. The colour was like having come full circle. He had stepped aboard wearing it, expecting so much of himself, and the rest of the crew uncertain of what to expect from him. He had been the outsider then, joining a crew that had already established itself, and he had worked hard to find his place in it. Now he was wearing the colour again, but the expectations were somewhat reversed. This time they represented everything that the crew expected of him. They expected him to be a leader, a guide as they ventured boldly into the unknown, and to do his best to balance their interests with the mission. the Captain expected much of him too; a bridge between him and the crew, a voice of reason, someone to bounce ideas off of, and, if need be, to tell him when he was plain out of his telepathic mind.::

:: And underneath it all was Liam. Not the pilot, the security officer, or even the explorer. Just the man, the son, the brother, and the friend. History would judge him by those other things. But the ones closest to him, his parents, his brother and sister, and Cayden, would all judge him simply by what measure of a man he was and had been. And that was all he could demand of himself, was to be a man. Not the man that they saw him as, or as the man he wanted them to see him as, but simply the man the he wanted to see himself as.::

:: And in that moment, he had, for the first time, a clarity that he had not had before. A clarity of expectation and of purpose. When it had mattered, and been expected of him, he had been the leader that his team needed. And he had brought them all back safely. No one could have expected any more from him, not even himself. He looked at himself in the mirror once more, with his new found clarity and knew that he was, in that moment in time, exactly where he was meant to be.::

:: He stepped out of the bathroom, crossing his quarters to the bedroom and retrieved a fresh uniform, and discarding the dirty one for reclamation. He pulled the shirt over his head and pulled the jacket over his shoulders. He looked down at the pictures on the desk as he walked back into the living room. The picture of his family, the one of him with Sidney and Oliver on some adventure, and he smiled.::

Frost: Computer, begin recording.

:: The computer chirped at him in acknowledgement.::

Frost Hey mom. I have to get back to work in a few minutes, but I thought I should let you know how I've been...

LtCmdr Liam Frost

First Officer

USS Apollo