The serenity of Nevar's Log Cabin was slightly disturbed as Dr. Tim Farmer, a commander and Director of Student Services at Starfleet Academy, beamed down to the surface.
Nevar Pol, former XO of the USS Cavalry, didn't seemed disturbed in the least. Even with the arrival of his one time counsellor and long-time friend, Nevar maintained the same blank look in his eyes, that he had maintained since that fateful mission on the Borg cube, now seven months ago.
Dr. Farmer turned to face his friend. "Nice Place you got here".
"Thanks," was the only reply Nevar spoke in a somewhat monotone voice, continuing to whittle away on a small branch.
"Mind if I join you?" Farmer said as he grabbed a log and set it on its side.
"Seems like you already have," said the owner of the cabin.
For a moment Tim sized up his friend. Over the ten years Tim had known Pol he had never seen him so sullen, so weary. Despite the pleasant surroundings and the leave of absence, Pol's eyes looked as if he hadn't sleep for weeks, which in fact he hadn't.
"Listen, Tim, I know why you're here"
"Oh really...," The Chief Counselor of the Academy replied.
"You are going to give me the old 'get back in the saddle' routine."
"Uh hah," said Tim, nodding.
"You want me to go back and carry on where I left off. You think that sitting out here in the middle of nowhere is getting me nowhere?"
"Ummm hhh," was the response.
"Well, were exactly did you want me to go to Doctor? Cause I can think of no place I'd rather be. In fact, right about now I don't even want to be here."
"Pol, we all go through this... its natural, you suffered quite a loss..."
"A loss?" Interrupted Pol, "A loss? Tim, it's not about loss anymore. It's about having had enough," Nevar said putting down the twig and turning towards his friend. "First the Cardassians, then the Ferengi, then Dominion, then the Borg. When does it end Tim. When do I get a break? When does it get easier?"
Tim Farmer thought long a hard and while he did so he remembered back when he first met the young Nevar Pol. He was scarred back at the Academy, scarred badly. But there was a key difference. Back then he was determined to survive and to flourish regardless of the odds, regardless of the hurtles, back then he was a campfire burning bright. Now he seemed more like the embers left over from the campfire the night before.
Tim had been a counselor in Starfleet for over 25 years, but this was the first time that he had ever felt so much as sadness for a patient. Sitting before him was a 28 year dynamo, left battered, bruised and laid low by not only the suffering that life threw at him but by the suffering he was now inflicting on himself.
"Pol, do you remember Judith?"
"Well, I only met her once, but I remember you going on and on and on and on about her, and how lucky you were to have her as your wife. How is she?"
Tim turned away and looked outwards at the lake "She died three years ago during a conflict with the Dominion"
"I'm sorry Tim, but why do you bring it up now?"
"Because for months I blamed myself for her death and that pain, self inflicted, was greater than any I had ever experienced. It was even greater than the loss itself."
Now both starred out at the lake.
"Nevar, you have suffered more than any man I have ever known, more than most could take, but you survived it all. The Cardassians, the Ferengi, the Jem'Hadar, even your fellow officers after Malor, but what you are doing to yourself here just isn't right. You are torturing youself and it's got to stop. If not for you, then for me."
Nevar looked up into his friends eyes. "You see, Pol, you were what got me through Judith's death. All the time I have spent with you over the years has not only taught me to survive but it gave me strength. All that time I kept remembering the Bajorian proverb you taught me."
Tim Farmer got up from his makeshift seat, reached into his bag and pulled out a PADD. He handed it to Nevar. Then Tim headed into the clearing beside the house, tapped his comm badge, and beamed out.
Nevar looked down at the PADD, it contained his next assignment and an order from Admiral Picard to deliver the Runabout docked at DS9 to SB901 by the next week.
As Nevar Pol resumed his wittling, he thought back to what Tim had refereed to. The proverb had been one his mother had taught him while they were confined to an internment camp:
"What ever doesn't kill you; makes you stronger".