Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)

Posted on Fri Oct 23rd, 2026 @ 2:09am by Lieutenant Commander Bonnie "Bon-Bon" Durnell

3,310 words; about a 17 minute read

Mission: The Haunting of Deck 12
Location: USS Sunfire
Timeline: Current-ish

She had encountered several difficult decisions during her career in Starfleet. She had rerouted power through failing conduits, argued with computers that were functioning perfectly while actively attempting to kill their operators, and once had spent six consecutive hours convincing a transporter that a missing molecular pattern was more important than its own diagnostic. Yet somehow, standing outside a turbolift with a growling stomach and a doctor's orders to rest, she found herself confronted by a problem of equal importance. "Do I eat first or get some sleep?"

She stared at the illuminated deck directory as though the answer might appear in between the numbers. On the one hand, her quarters contained a bed, a pillow, and the promise of several uninterrupted hours during which nobody would ask her to repair anything. On the other, she had eaten approximately half a sandwich and three cups of coffee since the previous evening, and her stomach was beginning to express its displeasure with a heightened level of enthusiasm.

“Right,” she muttered, shifting her PADD beneath her arm. “Food first. Can't sleep properly if I'm starving. Brilliant there, Bon-Bon.” She pressed the control for the mess hall. The turbolift hummed into motion, and she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. The doctor's assessment continued to trouble her, although the absence of an unexpected pregnancy had lifted a weight from her shoulders. Low iron, malnutrition, sleep deprivation, and enough stress to make her hormonal readings resemble a malfunctioning power distribution network were problems she could understand. They had causes, measurable consequences, and reasonably straightforward solutions.

Children giggling in an empty corridor were another matter. She opened her eyes and frowned. The sound had lasted perhaps two seconds, accompanied by a brief fluctuation in the overhead lighting. An electrical fault could explain the darkness, particularly aboard a vessel that was still settling after extensive repairs. The laughter might have come from an adjoining compartment, carried through an open ventilation duct or a poorly insulated access panel.

Sure, it was a perfectly reasonable explanation. She repeated it to herself as the turbolift slowed. “Exhaustion,” she decided aloud. “That's all. Exhaustion and a very attuned sense of bad timing.”

The doors opened, and the familiar sounds of the mess hall greeted her. Bonnie stepped inside and almost immediately felt better. The room was relatively quiet, with a scattering of off-duty personnel occupying tables near the windows. Conversations drifted through the air alongside the occasional clatter of cutlery, and the comforting smell of freshly replicated food reminded her that she had been neglecting one of life's most elementary pleasures.

She approached the replicator and considered the menu. “Computer, Irish beef and Guinness stew. Properly done, please. With colcannon, soda bread, and a cup of tea, hot.”

The replicator chimed. “Specify preparation parameters.”

Bonnie sighed, “Beef cooked until it practically falls apart. Carrots, onions, potatoes, a thick gravy, and enough stout to give it some character. Colcannon with plenty of butter and scallions. Soda bread with a proper crust.” She considered the request, then added, “And make the tea strong enough to scare a Klingon out of his rejghun (underwear).”

A moment later, the meal materialized, and the smell reached her before she lifted the tray. Rich beef, softened vegetables, and the deep, slightly bitter sweetness of stout rose from the steaming bowl. Beside it sat a generous mound of colcannon, creamy mashed potatoes folded through tender cabbage and scallions, with a little pool of melted butter settling into the center. Two thick slices of brown soda bread completed the arrangement.

Bonnie inhaled appreciatively, “Now that's more like it.” She carried the tray to a table beside the observation windows, settling into a chair with a clear view of the stars. Beyond the glass, the Sunfire continued toward its next assignment. The J-class nebula remained some distance away, although its enormous crimson shape had already begun to dominate the forward view. Against the darkness of space, the distant cloud resembled a slow-moving wound in the heavens, its outer regions glowing in shades of blood red and deep amber. Threads of darker material crossed its face, while occasional flashes of energy illuminated the surrounding gases from within.

Bonnie studied it while breaking off a piece of soda bread. “Pretty thing,” she murmured. “Will probably try to kill us.” She dipped the bread into the stew and took a bite. For several seconds, the nebula ceased to matter. The beef was tender enough to separate beneath her fork, the gravy ran rich with onions and the earthy sweetness of carrots. The colcannon carried just enough salt to bring out the butter, and the bread soaked up the remaining sauce without losing its texture.

She closed her eyes as she swallowed. “Saints preserve us.” Her father used to talk about meals like this. He had described her mother's cooking with the sort of reverence other people reserved for religious experiences, particularly when recalling the bitter winters of his childhood. Bonnie remembered sitting at the kitchen table while he told her about the great iron pot her mother had used, how it simmered for hours while rain rattled against the windows and the house filled with the smell of beef, onions, and fresh bread.

According to him, her mother had possessed a supernatural ability to determine when someone needed feeding. "Your mum could tell the difference between a hungry man and a miserable one", he used to say. "She'd feed both of them anyway, then give the miserable one an extra helping until he remembered how to smile." Bonnie couldn't help but to smile at the memory.

Her father had also maintained that her mother believed "a good stew can fix nearly anything," although he usually added that it had never improved his judgment. She suspected her mother would have considered Bonnie's present circumstances a particularly stubborn challenge.

“Two months of working myself into the ground,” she murmured, stirring the gravy around her bowl. “And it takes a doctor with a hypo to remind me, food is important.” She took another bite, allowing the warmth to settle through her. The mess hall continued around her, its ordinary sounds providing a welcome contrast to the uncomfortable silence of the corridor outside of Sickbay. Bonnie found herself watching the nebula between mouthfuls, mentally cataloguing the unusual energy patterns visible along its outer boundary.

A J-class nebula was a complicated environment for any starship. High-energy plasma, intense radiation, and unpredictable electromagnetic disturbances could play havoc with sensors and communications. Depending on the density and composition of the cloud, even routine navigation might require recalibration. Her thoughts drifted toward possible modifications to the Sunfire's sensor arrays.

Perhaps a secondary harmonic filter would improve resolution. The deflector could compensate for certain charged-particle interactions, provided the engineering team adjusted its operating tolerances before entering the denser regions. She could run a simulation, compare the results against the ship's existing survey parameters, and perhaps identify a few improvements before the mission briefing.

She reached for her PADD, then stopped. Sarah's instructions returned with uncomfortable clarity. "Go eat, sleep, and repeat." Bonnie stared at the device for a moment before pushing it farther across the table. “Two days,” she reminded herself. “I have been ordered to do absolutely nothing useful for two whole days.” The prospect remained deeply unnatural.

She finished the stew, using the last piece of bread to collect the remaining gravy, and sat back with her tea. Her stomach was pleasantly full, her shoulders had begun to loosen, and the warmth spreading through her body was making the idea of sleep increasingly attractive.

She watched a faint electrical discharge flicker through the distant crimson cloud. “Right, then,” she said softly. “One more thing before bed.” A bath, A proper bath, with warm water, bubbles, and absolutely nobody asking her to do fuck-all. The idea was irresistible.

By the time Bonnie reached her quarters, the fatigue had settled deep into her bones. She stepped inside, deposited her PADD on the desk, and glanced around the familiar compartment, one hand rubbing at the back of her tight neck muscles. After weeks of disrupted schedules and shared accommodations, having a private space again felt like an extravagant privilege. The bed stood neatly made, her belongings occupied their usual places, and the quiet hum of the ship's environmental systems provided a comforting background.

She looked toward the desk. A dozen unfinished tasks waited inside the stack of PADDs. She could review the repair reports, check the latest engineering updates, or prepare a preliminary analysis of the nebula. There were always systems that could be improved, always small inefficiencies waiting to be corrected. Bonnie walked past the desk. “Tomorrow,” she told it firmly with a light shoulder shrug.

The bathroom lights brightened as she entered. “Computer, fill the bath. Thirty-nine degrees Celsius, please. Lavender bath foam, moderate concentration.” Water began flowing into the tub. Bonnie tested the temperature beneath her fingers; the warmth felt comfortable. She added another small measure of foam, watching the bubbles gather along the surface and rise into soft white mounds.

While the bath filled, she began removing her uniform. Her boots came off first, followed by her socks, which she dropped into the laundry recycler. She peeled away the uniform jacket and undershirt, rolling her shoulders as the restrictive fabric released its hold. A faint ache lingered across her upper back, the accumulated consequence of too many hours spent bending over consoles and squeezing through maintenance passages. She rubbed the muscles at the base of her neck again.

“Honestly, Bon, you're falling apart.” She muttered to herself. The trousers followed, then the rest of her clothing, until she stood barefoot on the warm bathroom floor. She caught her reflection in the mirror and paused. The woman looking back at her appeared thoroughly exhausted. There were shadows beneath her eyes, a little more pallor in her cheeks than she remembered, and an expression that suggested she had spent several weeks arguing with malfunctioning machinery and losing most of those arguments.

She leaned closer, “Two days of rest,” she informed her reflection. “A little food, a little sleep, and then perhaps we'll start looking like a functioning member of Starfleet again.” The computer announced that the bath had reached the requested temperature with a doo-doot chime.

Bonnie stepped carefully into the water, lowering herself until the warmth reached her waist, then her shoulders. She stretched her legs beneath the surface and leaned back against the curved support, releasing a long breath as the heat began working its way through her tired muscles. The sensation was wonderful.

She gathered a handful of bubbles and watched them slip between her fingers, then rested her arms along the sides of the tub. For the first time in what felt like weeks, there was nothing she needed to do, nothing that demanded her attention and nothing on fire or blowing up around her. The Sunfire could manage without her for a little while. Engineering had competent people on duty, the ship was functioning, and Sarah had made her medical instructions abundantly clear.

Bonnie closed her eyes and inhaled the faint scent of lavender that filled the room. Warm water lapped gently against her shoulders, and the steady hum of the environmental systems blended with the distant vibration of the ship's engines. Her breathing slowed. She thought briefly about her father and the stew, remembering his laughter as he described her mother's habit of feeding anyone who appeared at their door. Then her thoughts wandered toward the nebula, the strange laughter in the corridor, and the uncomfortable conversation in Sickbay.

Dean's face passed through her mind. She remembered their time together on Earth, the awkwardness that followed, and the considerable relief she had felt when Sarah confirmed that her fears of pregnancy were unfounded. Everything was fine.

She was tired, overworked, and perhaps a little foolish for allowing her imagination to run away with her. Everything was truly fine. The bath was warm, her stomach was full, and the ship was quiet. With that understanding, Bonnie drifted, and her eyes closed. Only a heartbeat had passed when the bathroom door opened. Bonnie glanced toward it, surprised to find Dean standing in the doorway. For a moment, she simply stared at him, befuddled.

“Dean?”

He stepped inside with that easy familiarity of someone who had visited many times before. His expression was relaxed, almost amused, and he seemed unconcerned with finding her submerged beneath a generous covering of bubbles.

Bonnie instinctively drew her knees up a little. “Um, hello?” She glanced toward the door behind him. “Since when do you just walk into people's bathrooms?”

He smiled, but something about his expression made her suddenly uncomfortable, although she struggled immediately to identify why. “Dean, I'm having a bath.”

He approached the tub.

Bonnie gave an awkward laugh, reaching for a nearby towel. “Yes, I know, very observant of me. But I was rather hoping for a little privacy, if you don't mind.”

He stopped beside her. His eyes moved over her face, and for a strange moment she had the impression that he was studying something beneath the surface of the water.

“Dean?”

His hand settled against her shoulder.

Bonnie frowned. “What's wrong?” The pressure increased. She shifted, trying to sit upright, but his other hand came down against her opposite shoulder. “Dean, you're hurting me.”

His expression remained calm. Then he pushed.

Bonnie's head slipped beneath the water before she could draw a proper breath. The sudden immersion shocked her. Warm water rushed around her face, filling her ears and swallowing the startled cry that escaped her mouth. She twisted instinctively, trying to rise, but the pressure against her shoulders held her down, held her under. Her eyes flew open. Through the distorted surface, she could see Dean leaning over the tub. He was smiling.

Bonnie grabbed at his wrists, her fingers sliding against wet skin as she tried to force his hands away. Her legs kicked against the far end of the bath, sending water surging over the rim. She needed air. Her chest tightened as she struggled, and the first desperate contractions of her diaphragm began demanding a breath she couldn't take.

She struck at his arms, clawed at his fingers, and twisted her body sideways in an attempt to slip free, but the pressure followed her. Her heel struck the side of the tub with a painful jolt. Water churned around her, scattering bubbles and filling her vision with a confusion of pale shapes.

She could hear something, muffled laughter. High-pitched, delighted laughter, as though children had gathered somewhere beyond the bathroom walls to enjoy the spectacle. Bonnie tried to scream. The attempt forced precious air from her lungs, and her chest burned further. She fought harder, driving both feet against the tub and throwing her weight upward, but Dean's hands remained fixed against her shoulders.

His face hovered beyond the wavering surface. His uneven smile had grown wider.

Bonnie's movements became frantic. Her fingers scraped against the edge of the tub, searching for purchase, while her lungs convulsed with the need to breathe.

The laughter grew louder.

She could feel herself growing weaker. Her arms trembled, and the strength began draining from her legs. The bathroom lights seemed impossibly bright above the water, their reflections breaking into long, trembling ribbons. She tried once more to push herself upward. Her body demanded air, but more water entered her mouth. She was on the verge of losing the battle and succumbing to his strength when panic overwhelmed everything.

Suddenly, Bonnie erupted from the bath with a strangled gasp, coughing and hacking up water. Water exploded over the rim, splashing across the bathroom floor as she flung herself upright. Her hands struck the sides of the tub, and she coughed violently, struggling to draw air into her lungs.

“GET OFF ME!” Her voice cracked against the bathroom walls. She scrambled backward, slipping against the smooth surface as her knees struck the surface. Another wave of water spilled over the edge, soaking the discarded towel and spreading across the floor.

For several terrible seconds, she could barely understand where she was. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she dragged in breath after breath, staring wildly toward the bathroom door. It was closed. Dean was gone. Bonnie blinked, looking down at the water, then at her trembling hands. The bath was still warm. Bubbles clung to her arms and shoulders. A considerable portion of the water now covered the floor.

She swallowed, trying to steady her breathing. “Computer,” she managed, her voice shaking. “Time?”

The computer responded with its usual calm precision. Only a few minutes had passed since she entered the bath.

Bonnie stared at the empty doorway. A dream? She had fallen asleep in the water and experienced a nightmare. That was all, right? She pressed a hand against her chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat gradually begin to slow. “Right,” she whispered. “Right. That's... that's enough of that.”

She reached for the towel, pulling it around herself as she climbed unsteadily from the tub. Water squelched beneath her feet, and she caught the edge of the sink to keep her balance. Her reflection stared back from the mirror. Pale face. Wide eyes. Wet hair plastered against her forehead. The woman in the mirror looked absolutely terrified.

Bonnie stood there for a long moment, trying to reconcile the ordinary bathroom around her with the terrible certainty that someone had been holding her beneath the water, trying to drown her. Dean would never do that. She knew him better than that. Whatever complications existed between them, whatever awkward memories remained, the man she knew would never deliberately hurt her that way.

Yet she could still remember his hands and the pressure against her shoulders. That smile and the laughter.

Bonnie closed her eyes, gripping the towel more tightly. “Sleep deprivation,” she whispered. “Stress. Hormones. Low iron. Take your pick.” She opened her eyes again. The bathroom was quiet. The lights remained steady. She reached for the bath controls and drained the tub, watching the water spiral away as the cleaning system began collecting puddles on the floor.

Her mind was already assembling explanations. A hypnagogic hallucination, perhaps, the sort of vivid dream that could occur during the transition between wakefulness and sleep. The warm water, her exhaustion, and the emotional strain had provided ample material for an unpleasant experience. Not to mention the hypo infusion. It was a reasonable explanation. She wanted very badly for it to be the correct one.

Bonnie returned to the bedroom, dried herself, and pulled on a comfortable pair of pajamas. She glanced toward the PADD on her desk, briefly tempted to review the ship's environmental logs for evidence of unusual acoustic disturbances. Her fingers hovered above the device. Then she withdrew her hand. Sarah had ordered her to rest, and she intended to rest.

Bonnie climbed beneath the covers, drawing the blanket up around her shoulders. The mattress supported her aching body, and the familiar sounds of the Sunfire gradually helped settle her nerves.

She looked toward the bedroom door, “Computer, lock quarters.”

A soft chime confirmed the command.

Bonnie lay back against her pillow. Outside, the ship continued its journey toward the distant blood-red nebula, carrying hundreds of people through the darkness toward a phenomenon that promised scientific discovery and a considerable amount of work for the engineering department. She would worry about that tomorrow. For now, she closed her eyes and tried to remember the smell of her mother's stew, the warmth of the mess hall, and her father's laughter. The good and simple things.

Sleep would come eventually. Bonnie hoped it would be restful.

TBC

 

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