Chapter Text
She couldn’t quite remember when she’d first come to realize it, other than that she was far too young for it, but her mother hated her.
While her father had always been there when Amy needed him, her mother was distant, cold, and standoffish. She often snapped easily, taking the frustration out on her through mostly verbal means, leaving Amy’s father, Taggert, to comfort her in the aftermath.
But Amy, being so young and stubborn to change that, had made attempt after attempt to win her mother’s approval and love. Doing everything in her power to make herself more ‘normal’, or ‘better’ so to speak. But her mother always managed to find some little fault, a crack in her, a flaw.
You’re too sensitive, had been her go-to. And maybe she was. Maybe she did need to grow thicker skin and suck it up. Her father had been adamant she didn’t, that her sensitivity was a perfectly normal part of her. But the more Amy looked at it, she found herself agreeing more with her mother than her father.
She could lose control over the smallest things. Something was too bright, or loud, or scratchy, or just that it was downright uncomfortable. She soon learned that these episodes of extreme emotional reaction to such forms of discomfort were called ‘meltdowns’. And she quickly got to figure out ways to deal with them; comfortable clothes made of fabrics she could tolerate, listening to music or noise, little fidgets made of knickknacks she found on walks or that her father got her.
Why can’t you be like your brother? was the second. Her brother Leo had joined Starfleet when Amy was seven, excelling in science and medicine. Amy always heard about the great things he did from their mother and it made her push harder, doubling down on herself. Things due in a week were done the same day and turned in the next, she’d stay up late until her father forced her to go to sleep working on homework. Often skipping meals to do so.
She needed to lose weight anyway.
Science and math had been her weakest points, so having a sibling who excelled in the subjects helped her along with fixing that.
No one wants to hear about that, had been her third. All she had wanted to do was share the thing she’d learned about or that she was interested in or show off something neat she’d found. And then it would loop back to her emotional sensitivity.
Don’t mope, suck it up, you should’ve seen it coming.
She’d always call up Leo to talk about it afterward. And he would always pick up. Leo and Taggert where always there for her.
The weirdest one by a long shot though had been around her teeth, specifically her outré canines.
They bend the wrong way.
They’re too sharp.
They don’t even look human.
So she found ways to keep them hidden. Her smile became smaller and less frequent. She’d keep her mouth small when she talked. Kept a hand over her mouth when she laughed. Anything to keep them hidden.
A couple of peers at school had ended up jokingly asking if she was ‘part Ferengi or something’ once when she slipped up in covering. Although that more or less unintentionally led her to discovering a new comfort food than make her feel more insecure.
“Tube grubs?”
“Please, dad! It’ll just be once.”
He quickly caved and managed to find some with Leo’s help. Everyone at school said they’d probably tasted terrible, like mud or a swamp full of chemicals, but that hadn’t deterred her. Leo managed to find a couple of different kinds and lo n behold, a new comfort was found in the taste of salty mac and cheese in the form of said grubs.
But even then, her insecurities about her teeth and smile prevailed when school photos came out. Her father and brother assured her there was nothing wrong with it, but she fervently disagreed. Any time she’d smile, her eyes would go all squinty and she felt she looked like a ‘blobfish out of its natural environment’.
“Amy, you don’t look like a bloated fish corpse when you smile, you just look happy.” Her father had said.
She still didn’t believe him.
And things didn’t get any better from there, as she soon found herself in a counselor's office after a hospital visit for a near concussion incident.
Before the incident, she had been a rather… pudgy child.
‘Lack of blood sugar’, they’d said.
‘Bullshit’. She’d thought.
And so, there she was in the office, curled up on the right end of the couch, eyes glazed over and red, wrapped in dark circles, hugging her legs to her chest; and terrified. So fucking terrified.
You live in paradise, there should be no reason for this.
The counselor got to hear everything, and so did her father on the drive home. And for the longest time, she couldn’t stop crying. Her father reassured her, helped her through it, and did everything in his power to make her feel even the tiniest bit better.
Her mother was, as always, little help. “At least you’re not like your aunt.” She’d said over dinner four months later.
Her aunt was a larger woman, with a warm smile and sweet-hearted disposition. Amy’s uncle often called her ‘Hyena’ for her laugh. Their Vulcan partner calling them both ‘k’diwa’. Her aunt was a fashion designer who lived over in Germany with Amy’s uncles, and Amy loved when they’d visit.
“Jessica!” Her father snapped. Amy couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her father angry, if ever.
“What? It’s true.”
“No, it is not,” Her father breathed in, turning to Amy gently. “Why don’t you take your dinner upstairs and eat it in the loft.” Amy nodded, went upstairs, and finished what she felt she could.
She could still hear them argue.
Sliding a hand up under her shirt, she flattened her hand against her rib cage. In four months she’d made little progress, but there was still a difference. Four months ago, her ribs would’ve been flush against her hand, now they were behind at least a couple of inches of skin. But they still poked through…
Progress is progress. No matter how slow. She told herself. In for five, out for five, dry, rinse, and repeat.
And she had made progress. Both in figuring herself out and healing the parts that had been broken. As a young girl, her clothes had been mostly dresses, now it was t-shirts, turtlenecks, and sweaters. She still had a couple of dresses, gifts from her aunt, but she rarely wore them. She wanted to, so badly, but every time she looked at them there was always something holding her back, telling her it would make her weak. So she’d just throw on a sweater and call it good instead.
Progress is progress.
But unfortunately, progress could be halted and it was. Three weeks after that and a couple dozen arguments between her parents later, her mother left. Left in a blaze of rage, verbal disparage, and hatred. But as thankful as Amy was that her mother was gone, a part of her mourned.
Mourned all that could have been and at all that never was.
The incident had caused so much turmoil, so much complication that she ended up curled in bed for most of the following days, in the dark of her room, filling the pages of her newest sketchbook with scribbles and masses of colors to try and get what was stuck inside out.
Jessica’s family hadn’t been any help, throwing out accusations in the rare times their paths crossed. All they did was make things worse, made Amy blame herself, and made Taggert more befuddled.
For the first time in a while, he didn’t know what to do.
So for nearly a month that was how it was. Amy in her room, curled up in the dark, her father downstairs not knowing what to do to help her. She’d only ever leave her room to get something to eat or drink or some other basic necessity.
Then Leo dropped the name. ‘Deep Space Nine’, a station on the edge of the quadrant, orbiting the planet Bajor. Or more specifically next to the wormhole that had drawn so many so far out into the universe.
Amy couldn’t recall the last time she’d been off the planet. Let alone outside her home galaxy. The thought was enticing in a way she couldn’t put her finger on.
And soon enough, there she was. Living on the station at the edge of everything.
The Promenade, despite the grey Cardassian architecture, was colorful as could be. People from dozens of different species walked the place, going about their business in peace. Her father had encouraged her to go down and spend the morning there while he was at work.
Too much time cooped up in the quarters playing her Stratocaster and jazz bass, was his reasoning. Although in her opinion, you could never play enough of an instrument if you enjoyed it. Her father had countered by bringing up how she’d wanted to draw people more often, especially live subjects, and that this was the perfect opportunity to do just that.
“Dirty move dad.” She pointed out while gathering a bag of her latest sketchbook and pencils.
Her father had only shrugged as they walked out.
So, there she was, sitting on the mezzanine level of the Promenade, semi-leaned on the railing in front of her, sketchbook in her lap, scribbling away. Previously, she’d only done sketches of people with reference photos saved to a PADD to look back and forth at. Made things a little easier than drawing with live people. The reference images never moved, so there was that. The current subject was a Bajoran couple having lunch, joking and laughing softly. Amy had managed to get through the shading before they left arm in arm.
Leaning her head on the railing, she let off a dejected sigh. Relationships, such a fragile and lovely thing. As much as she fancied the idea of being in one, seeing her parent’s relationship had scared her off from trying to find one of her own.
Standing up, she slipped back to the quarters to get her mind away from things for a moment. The low vibrations playing off her bass as she strummed out the lines calmed her nerves, bringing her back up to her senses.
We dance once more…
In five, out five.
I feel your hands are cold, Within your heart a story to be told…
And as the day progressed, the buzz of the Promenade grew quieter. But nothing seemed to help quiet the buzz in Taggerts’ mind. It seemed that nothing could get Amy to leave the quarters. Washing the wet dough from his hands and dusting the flour off as best he could, he found himself walking along the mezzanine level.
There had to be something he could do to get her out. He’d remembered that the bakery was short staffed as it was new to the Promenade, and Amy was just as proficient with baking as her art. And hadn’t Leo mentioned that there was a school around? Maybe he could sign her up for that, and get her around other kids her age again.
Seeing what must have been the latest school day get out, he moved to catch the teacher to ask about it.
Back at the quarters, Amy was trying to work out something to keep herself busy. A couple of old movies kept her sated for about five hours but had little effect. So she turned to finish the sketches she’d started in the Promenade. Her father getting back around what must’ve been eight.
“Where were you?” He asked softly.
“Got overwhelmed.” Amy fibbed, eyes not leaving the page in front of her.
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
She nodded, motioning for him to continue.
“I signed you up for the school.”
Her head whipped up. “Dad-!”
“You can’t keep yourself cooped up in here forever, you know that.”
“I know, I know. And I don’t want to, but you know how difficult it is for me to just talk to people.”
“Exactly my point, there are only two other kids on the station around your age, so they’re bound to talk to you.”
“Yeah and one of them is the station commander's son! As if he’d actually have reason to talk to me.”
“You act like he’s the king's son and you’re just a peasant by comparison.”
“Well all things considered, that may as well be it,” Amy stated, outright dejectedly.
“Just go for a day, try it out and we can go from there.”
Amy sighed but nodded in agreement. “Okay, I’ll give it a go.”
“That’s the spirit.” Her father chimed, ruffling her hair, to Amy’s annoyance as she ruffled it back to normal.
The next morning, she found herself sitting patiently at the back of the empty classroom. The teacher, Mrs, O’Brien, was there but Amy didn’t have the guts to make conversation with her. Footsteps and light chatter brought her out of her head to find two boys walking in with who must’ve been their father’s.
The station commander and a likely middle aged Ferengi.
Both boys sat on opposite ends of the front row, but once their fathers were gone, moved to sit next to each other two seats into the front row, chatting in low tones. She studied the boys and couldn't help but feel a little jealous of their friendship. The only time she remembered a teacher having to separate her and a friend was in kindergarten.
“Amelia, how about you move down to sit with Jake and Nog.” Mrs. O’Brien remarked. She could feel herself freeze up. The boys both turned to look at her.
Five in, five out. Remember to breathe.