Coy Sessions - The Civil War Under the Skin
Posted on Mon Feb 16th, 2026 @ 12:30am by Commander Rosa Coy & Remal Kajun
1,589 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission:
Character Development
Location: USS Sunfire, Remal’s Office
Rosa sat down like someone who expected the chair to vanish beneath her. Not fear, vigilance. The kind of flinch learned only after too many collapses. She smoothed her uniform trousers with the heel of her hand, hesitated, then pressed her back fully against the seat as though surrendering to gravity took deliberate effort.
Remal didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. This was a session where silence could to do the heavy lifting.
Rosa exhaled once, long enough that it might have counted as a confession, then shook her head with a tight, humorless laugh. “You ever feel like your life is... not a line, but a fracture pattern?” she said. “One impact point and then a dozen little stress cracks radiating out into everything else you touch?” Her voice already trembled, not in weakness, but in a kind of exhausted self-awareness. The kind of awareness a person avoids for years until they’re finally cornered by it.
Remal nodded, gently. “Start where you feel the most comfortable.”
Rosa’s gaze drifted to the bulkhead, as though a memory were crystallizing on its surface. “Then I guess we start with the Intruder,” she said. “With the fracture. With the day I realized I was no longer flying, I was falling.” There was a flicker of movement behind her eyes. The room dimmed in her mind, replaced with docking lights, warning tones, and the sharp intake of breath that shapes a moment of failure into something unforgettable.
She’d been newly joined. Newly broken. Newly drowning in the voices of men who had lived three centuries’ worth of lives before her. And one voice louder than all the others.
You were slow. Handzon’s voice.
You hesitated. Coy’s voice.
This is how ships die, sweetheart.
All tangled.
Rosa pressed her palms against her thighs, fingers curling inward as if remembering the sensation of a helm console beneath them. “It was a simple docking maneuver,” she said. “I’d done it a hundred times. But that day...”
You froze. Handzon dug.
She flinched. “I didn’t freeze.” Her tone sharpened, defensive toward a memory she hated. “I... misjudged the thruster output. One thruster. One fraction of a second. And the ship’s nose clipped the pylon. Hardly a dent. No damage. No injuries. But the bridge... " She swallowed. The shame of that day hadn’t softened with time. “It was the first time anyone on the Intruder looked at me like I was unreliable.”
Because you were. Rosa’s jaw twitched. You felt my hand on yours. You felt my instincts. And you fought them. That’s why we clipped the pylon. You tried to fly without me.
“Because I didn’t want you,” Rosa muttered, voice low. “I didn’t want any of you. I didn’t want a symbiont whose last host died pants-down on a smugglers job gone wrong.”
Remal raised a brow gently.
She continued, her tone brittle. “Did you know the official report said he was shot in the back? What it doesn’t say is that he was shot while having sex with a woman half his age and telling her he could show her ‘how a real Trill smuggler handles a warp core.’”
Handzon’s voice purred. She was very appreciative.
Rosa winced hard enough to look physically struck. “I hate him,” she whispered. “Not Coy. Not the symbiont, not exactly. Him. Handzon. I hate how loud he is. I hate how he pushed and pushed until that day... " Her eyes slid closed. This part hurt. “It wasn’t the docking incident that broke me. It was what came after.”
Remal nodded once, encouraging without pressure.
Rosa inhaled deeply. “There was a night... maybe a week after that. I’d just gotten off shift. My nerves were fried, my hands shaking like I’d been flying through static fields for hours. And he... "
We.
Rosa shook her head sharply. "He. Handzon. He turned every thought I had into something filthy. Every memory of the day twisted into something visceral. It was like I had a stranger inside my skin whispering suggestions that weren’t mine.” She didn’t name the act, she didn’t have to. Her face was crimson. Her voice was trembling in embarrassment.
“I didn’t go back to my quarters that night,” she said softly. “I didn’t make it that far. I ended up... in a Jeffries tube. With someone. And if the universe had been kind, that would have stayed private.”
But the universe rarely granted kindness in moments of weakness. “The Captain found us,” she whispered. “Not because he was patrolling, because he heard us. And I will never forget the expression on his face when he looked up into that tube. It wasn’t judgment. It was disappointment.”
"That was what broke me. Not the sex. Not the shame. But that look."
Remal breathed in slowly. “So you requested transfer.”
Rosa laughed, a brittle, quiet sound. “No. He requested it. He didn’t want to discipline me. He didn’t want to shame me. He just... wanted me somewhere I could get help.” She rubbed her thumb against her palm, a grounding gesture. “So I ran. I told myself I was taking control. But really? I left because I couldn’t stand to see anyone look at me like that again.”
Rosa leaned back, eyes distant. “The Eros was smaller. Tighter quarters. Fewer eyes. Fewer expectations. I thought it would be easier.”
It was easier. More beds.
She didn’t bother responding. “The Captain of the Eros was a kind man,” she said. “Soft-spoken. Patient. He gave me space. He gave me trust. He gave me something dangerous.”
Remal tilted his head. “What was that?”
Rosa smiled, the saddest smile of her life. “Forgiveness.” She stared at the ceiling.
“The crew loved me. Or wanted me. Or both. It all blurred together. I slept with too many people. I told myself it was Handzon’s influence. And maybe part of it was. But part of it was me. I was lonely. I was confused. I was scared. And every time I let someone close, the voices quieted just a little.”
Handzon purred again. You were very popular. Still are.
“Shut up,” she whispered, barely audible.
Coy’s gentler tone surfaced. Rosa, you were hurting.
She exhaled shakily. “And the Captain... he saw it. He never said a word. He just watched me burn myself out, night after night.” Her eyes warmed as she remembered him. “He cared. Not romantically. Maybe paternal. Maybe professionally. But he cared.” She paused.
“And then, one night, after a supply run, I broke down in his office. I told him I didn’t feel like myself. That every time I heard the symbiont’s voices, I wanted to crawl out of my skin.” Her voice cracked. “And he held me. Just held me. Fully clothed. Fully respectful. That was the first time in months I felt safe.”
A moment of silence passed. “And that was the moment I realized I was in danger.”
Remal’s brows lifted.
Rosa smiled again, tired, rueful. “He cared too much. And I cared too quickly. And he knew what that meant, with the joining as unstable as it was.” She swallowed. “So he promoted me. And he transferred me. Same day. He told me, ‘Rosa, you’re going to be brilliant. But not here. Not with me. Not like this.’”
Her voice went hushed. “He did it so we wouldn’t cross a line.” She took a breath, “And I hated him for it. And I loved him for it.”
Rosa pressed her forehead to her fingertips. “This is the part I didn’t tell anyone,” she murmured. “Not on the Intruder. Not on the Eros. Not even to myself.” Her pulse thudded visibly in her throat. “Coy and I weren’t joined. Not really. We were at war.”
You wanted me gone.
“I wanted myself gone,” she corrected.
You hated me because I wasn’t him.
“No,” she whispered, tears burning her lashes. “I hated myself because I was becoming...”
Rosa... Coy’s tone softened.
But Handzon intruded, slick as oil. She hated that she liked it. Don’t let her pretend otherwise. The thrill. The chase. The hands on her skin. She...
“Enough!” Her shout cracked the air. Remal didn’t flinch. Rosa gasped, head falling into her hands. “I can’t... I can’t tell where he ends and Coy begins. I can’t tell where Coy ends and I begin. Some days I feel like a woman wearing a man’s memories. Some days I feel like six men wearing my face.” She looked up, eyes red.
“And some days I don’t feel like I belong to myself at all.” The room held stillness like a held breath.
Remal leaned forward slightly. “And now?”
Rosa inhaled slowly, deliberately. “Now,” she said, voice steadier, “I think I’m finally ready to talk about what really broke me.” Her gaze rose to meet his, fragile, yes, but with a kind of new defiance. “I’m ready to talk about everything.”
The session ended on that knife-edge quiet, the kind of silence that finally makes room for truth. The kind of silence storms are born from.
TBC
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