Chapter Text
San Francisco
Over the past week, Maya had proved herself to be unassuming and agreeable. She kept to herself, spending most of her time sleeping, studying, or willfully ignoring the physical therapy exercises she was supposed to be doing. Just as she had said in their first meeting, she seemed content to spend her time learning: delving into computer programming because that was what she wanted and remediating her fractured understanding of Earth’s history because that was she needed. However, La’an’s personal opinion was that Maya’s greatest area of need was her lack of experience and understanding of modern Federation society, but there was very little she could do to correct that so long as she was confined to her home.
La’an had been home from teaching at the Academy for an hour and had not yet seen nor heard from Maya since the evening before. That was normal. She was supposed to be monitoring Maya, but she was hesitant to disturb her some-number-of-greats aunt’s erratic and unpredictable sleep schedule when her body seemed to beg for rest at every moment. La’an couldn’t imagine living like that. So long as she kept a regular schedule she could trust herself to wake up and fall asleep at the same time. Then again, her body had never been wrecked by a virus engineered to target her genomes.
She stood outside the door to listen, hoping to hear something to suggest that Maya was awake. She could hear the voice of a male actor.
“Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue!” Maya was watching Shakespeare.
La’an stood outside the door and rung the chime.
“Come in,” Maya answered.
The door slid open, and La’an stepped inside. Maya reclined in the bed, her eyes fixed on a projection on the screen. It was a recording of a production of Hamlet. This was how Maya preferred to take in information: body at rest and mind active.
“I’m listening.” Maya’s eyes were still fixed on the projection. “I can pay attention best if I’m slightly distracted.”
“Am I the distraction, or is Hamlet the distraction?”
“That depends of what you want to talk about.”
La’an perched in the edge of the bed and twisted her neck to view the projection. “Nothing in particular.” It all seemed very silly: actors speaking in verse, wearing exaggerated makeup, and dressed in costumes that had some basis in old Earth clothing but were stylized to look bolder onstage. “Is this for entertainment or education?”
“Both.” Mays still didn’t look away. “I love this play. I’ve had it committed to memory for years, but I’ve never seen it as it was meant to be seen, and wanted to see how closely the version I was told is to the real one.”
“And?”
“Perfect. Too perfect, it’s bringing up memories I probably shouldn’t revisit.”
“If it’s reminding you of something painful, you don’t need to keep watching.”
“No, that’s the trouble, it’s reminding me of one of my favorite memories, but it’s not one I think I should look on fondly.”
La’an nodded. Her curiosity was piqued, but she would dare press the issue. “However much or little you want to share, I’m happy to listen.”
Maya sat up, a little too quickly, as she had to take a deep breath and close her eyes for a moment. “Computer, stop.” The recording paused. Hamlet was stuck on a mid-speech frame that made him look as though he had a painful expression on his face. “It’s been ages since I’ve been asked about my good memories, since I’ve been on Earth it feels like every interaction I’ve had is either analysis of or recovery from the painful memories. I would love so much to reminisce about something nice, but you can’t tell a soul about this.” There was a desperate fire in Maya’s eyes that made La’an fearful for what she wanted to share.
“I wouldn’t dare betray your confidence.”
“I know you speak with my case worker daily.” Maya still had that air of desperation in her voice. “I don’t want him to know either, I fear if it seems like I have any favorable opinions of my father it might set me back.”
“Maya, your trust is more valuable to me than any agreements I’ve made.” Her heart jumped as she braced herself for an uncomfortable disclosure.
Maya looked back to the projection on the ceiling. “Works of classical literature were passed down to us like honored oral traditions. My father, all of the original augments had enough wires to fill a library committed to memory. Recitations were one of the few options for recreation we had. A friend of my father’s organized a bare bones staging of the tragedy of Hamlet and wanted me to play the title role. He said it was based on my talent, but I think the real reason was because there weren’t enough men interested who were young enough to portray a student prince.” Maya shook her head. “That’s not what matters. For once in my life my father was proud of me. He coached me through it and was patient and pleased with my progress.”
La’an was relieved to hear that, and a bit ashamed that her assumptions turned so dark for no reason, that wasn’t fair to Maya to assume that every memory was stained with trauma. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I’m glad to hear you have happy memories.” She herself had to dig deep to find pleasant memories from her youth.
“I don’t understand why it is that I hated him so much and still miss him so much.” Maya looked away as she spoke, and her voice was soft and distant.
“Grief is complicated. And grief is complicated because life is complicated. You can have good memories about someone you hate and bad memories about someone you love. They can exist together, and one feeling doesn’t cancel another out.”
There was a heavy moment of silence. La’an thought again about the little boy from Toronto, how it was both true that he was a frightened child and a future tyrant. How he could be both cruel and kind to the same person.
Maya sighed and shook her head, “I supposed that if feelings made perfect sense, they wouldn’t be feelings, and we’d all be Vulcans,”
La’an smiled and shook her head. “I’ve spent more time with Vulcans than you have. I wouldn’t say their lives are any less complicated, just different. At any rate, I’m still going to keep this conversation private, and I’d encourage you to enjoy Hamlet without shame or restraint.”
Maya’s eyes lit up, “Would you care to watch with me? I don’t mind starting from the beginning.”
“No thank you, I read it ages ago and don’t see the appeal.” Some saw the theatre as an escape from reality, but La’an could never immerse herself enough to see anything more than actors on a stage. The whole concept was tedious.
“Don’t see the appeal?” Maya spoke with frenzied excitement, eager to draw a skeptic into her obsession. “A young man trying to grieve the loss of a parent and told by everyone around him that he’s out of his mind for a perfectly reasonable reaction, conspiracies, murder, paranoia, insanity, duels…”
“Maya, I have a lot of work to do tonight.” La’an rise to her feet and took a few steps toward the door. Before she left she turned back toward Maya. A small, yet uncharacteristically playful smile curled in her lips. “Goodnight, sweet prince.”
“And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”