Commander Ashton

Commander Ashton, Stardate 2366, Neutral Zone
He sits on the side of his bed; his head in his hands as he tries to rub the wake of the nightmare, shivering slightly from the cool air on his sweat drenched body. The dreams always haunt him. Constant reminders of the past. He gets up, walks to the window, and stares into the emptiness of space, longing for that space to fill him. A hail sounds. Once. Should he answer, he looks sideways at his bed before deciding.

“Yes.” Its not a question, he’s not due for duty for a while, they would not disturb his rest unless it was urgent.
“Commander, Star Fleet has requested our presence on the Romulan front. Their ambassador wishes to return to Earth and we are to be their escort. Report to the bridge.”
The Captain. Not whom he wanted to hear from now.
“On my way.” He pauses for a moment, resisting the urge to rebel against protocol. “Sir”

He returns his gaze to the window, his reflection now revealing the scars within, contempt its shield. Why did Star Fleet assign him this post? They knew his past. Klingons. The bastards murdered his entire family, left him for dead. He shouldn’t have survived. The doctors said it was a miracle he did. They managed to save his mangled body, but he refused to heal the injuries to his face. He wanted to wear those scars. He wanted the reminders. He wanted the hate to last an eternity, building until one day he could have his revenge.

A sick joke indeed from Star Fleet, assigning him to this ship, commanded by a Federation Klingon Captain.