Permission (a Star Trek TNG Fanfiction)

Chapter 1

"Scolded"

Emptiness is a complex thing. The meaning of it never truly hits you until you've seen the opposite end of the spectrum. I mean, there's a reason that absence makes the heart grow fonder; Human beings can only understand things to the point of their relative significance. It's just our nature. We've built our entire self on our experiences and what we've been taught- We're just not capable of fully comprehending beyond that.

Think about it. On a shelf, is a glass really void of something? Or do we only notice it's empty once it's been filled and drained?

Did we really hate being alone before we had our first relationship? Or did we only feel that dull, stinging pain after we knew what it felt like to be loved, only to lose it?

Hell, maybe I'm wrong, but it's hard not to think about that kind of thing when you're floating in a tin can through vast amounts of pure, black, depressing, empty void. I mean, how do you even wrap your head around that much space? Light years and light years of just nothing. Everything I'd ever know; each face, each vast plain of seemingly endless land, or awe-inspiring spaceship- nothing, nothing could even come close to comparing to that amount of just absence of anything.

Really makes you think.

And not in a good way.

The familiar 'woosh' of the door brought me out of my thoughts, and I quickly straightened from my position against the glass to face its source.

A dark haired, medium sized woman entered the observation room. I recognized her. Deep, chestnut curls were done above her head, and her soft but structured face held seemingly pupil-less orbs.

She donned a lavender jumpsuit that complimented her slightly olive complexion nicely, and her posture screamed professional. That is, until her eyes found mine. Then, she hesitated in her steps, before giving me a sharp, seemingly unconscious nod, and her stance slackened to a more friendly one. The smile that grew on her face, though small, seemed wholeheartedly natural. I chalked that up to her just being overly-nice by nature. A characteristic which I was probably just lacking enough of to find her demeanor a little silly.

Nonetheless, I tried to return her smile with a half-pleasant look.

"Counselor Troi," I spoke. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Deanna's top lip curled slightly, showing me a flash of pearly teeth. She then responded in an accent I had never really placed down.

British maybe?

That was probably it, but I didn't know her well enough to actually ask or confirm what accent she'd based her English off of.

"Doctor Crusher sent me, actually." Her words had been spoken in the slow, melodic tone that one would use while amusing a child.

I inwardly winced. Doctor Beverley Crusher was more or less my boss. The disdain must of shown on my face because Troi paused for a moment. Then, the corners of her lips quirked up be-musingly and she casually paced towards me, stopping about five feet short of where I stood and continued.

"She seemed to be under the impression that you've been," Her brow arched slightly. "Purposefully avoiding your duties recently?" The words were spoken as more of an inquiry than a recollection.

My jaw set in place. The motion was more out of defeat than frustration, but both were somewhat prevalent. "I suppose you're here to deliver me to her then?"

"Not exactly." Deanna took two short steps up to me, resting her hand on my upper arm. "You haven't been making any of your appointments, Rheid."

I tensed at the contact, and then even more so at her statement. I mouthed something along the lines of 'ah' before averting my gaze. I didn't want to face the concern that rested on her features. Her eyes always did that little softening thing when she was worried, and that level of genuine emotion tended to make my resolve falter.