Posted by Lieutenant Junior Grade Janna Kingston (Counsellor) in Psychiatry Suite - Psych Eval - Wouldn’t You Want to Peer Into This?

Posted by Civilian Rollin (Lounge Host) in Psychiatry Suite - Psych Eval - Wouldn’t You Want to Peer Into This?

Posted by Lieutenant Junior Grade Janna Kingston (Counsellor) in Psychiatry Suite - Psych Eval - Wouldn’t You Want to Peer Into This?
Posted by… suppressed (6) by the Post Ghost! 👻

(snip)

Janna flushed at the gently rebuke of her mental prodding. It hadn’t been intentional other than she was had mentally told herself that she was curious what sort of beverage might be actually interesting to such an exuberant person. Most of the time the people stepping into her office had no idea the levels Janna’s mind was operating on these days, the way everything had bene changing and she was just doing her best to accept and adapt. But psi-positive person most definitely were the exception. She turned back to the replicator, unsure if to address the moment or simply carry on as if nothing happened. It was a sudden and strange moment of indecision and faltering of confidence.

She tapped a couple more keys. “Well, I won’t try too hard to impress you then. I do have other appointments and a plethora of reports to attend to today.”

The replicator hummed and in that beautiful shimmer of light appeared two mugs. Kingston carried them over with care and set them gently on the table. A very particular sweet smell of almond wafted from the foamy milky drink. She took up the other armchair and leaned forward to pick up the mug. “Almond steamed milk. Not too sweet, flavourful, and cozy. Perfect for a lovely little chat, I think.” She sipped from hers, letting the warmth and very specific taste of the almond syrup to absorb her full attention for a moment or two.

~Janna Kingston, CNS

Rollin watched her with the kind of stillness most people never associated with him—no twirling, no teasing, just presence.

He caught the faint flush, the pause at the replicator, the moment of uncertainty curling at the edges of her usually steady energy. He said nothing of it—not aloud. Not yet.

When she returned with the mugs, he accepted his with both hands, as if it were a precious object passed between friends in a temple ceremony—which, in a way, it was.

He inhaled.

“Mmm. Almond and warmth and something very nearly like memory.”

He took a sip, then sighed—truly sighed, like someone being reminded of safety after a long time in motion.

“Darling, if you’d tried any harder to impress me, I’d have fainted on this very rug. And while I’m certain you’re excellent in a crisis, I do hate being dramatic before tea.”

Janna laughed. “Some people forget that the simplest pleasures can have the greatest joy. Why overcomplicate things when you don’t need to?”

He glanced up, eyes steady now—still lit, but gentler.

“You’ve nothing to prove, Janna. Not to me. You’re already remarkable.”

It wasn’t just the words he uttered but how they were delivered that struck Janna keenly. Stuck like a pin in fabric. Her focus shifted from relaxed camaraderie to keen awareness.

Then, lighter, swirling the almond-scented steam between them like a mood:

“Besides, it’s not about impressing. It’s about imprinting. And you…” he tapped the rim of his mug with one elegant finger, “have a talent for leaving marks where they’re most needed.”

Hands soaking up the warmth of her mug, Kingston breathed in that truth, even as another settled into her mind.

He raised his cup in salute.

“To cozy rebellions and unexpected connections. May our conversations always taste like this.”

-Rollin
Just Rollin. That’s quite enough, Darling.

She smirked. “Hear, hear,’ she said before taking a sip.

Long moments passed before she spoke again, her eyes alight. “So how long have you practiced psychology or a similar field?” she asked actually. Was it on purpose that he gave himself away? Surely he’d know that one therapist would suss out another, if not immediately, then soon enough. She wasn’t offended though- just amused.

~Janna Kingston, CNS

Rollin’s brows lifted with slow, deliberate amusement—as though someone had just correctly guessed the ending of a story he thought he’d told rather cleverly.

Confirmation was one of those things therapists understood when it was revealed. People often had to act very deliberately to avoid detection, if in fact that was the goal. She was certain Rollin wasn’t trying to hide from her. Not that way, anyway.

“Well,” he said, cradling his mug and tilting his head, “that depends entirely on how one defines ‘practice,’ doesn’t it?”

A pause. Not for effect, but for delight.

“Starfleet trained me properly—I was on the counseling track at the Academy, graduated with honors, even,” he said, voice low and fond, like someone recalling a chapter both cherished and complicated. “Served under the celibacy oath, naturally. Did my duty. Listened. Advised. Wore a uniform that fit a bit too tightly in more ways than one.”

A flicker of a smile.

“Eventually, the oath and I… parted ways. Amicably. I wanted to help people without denying myself in the process. But between us, Janna… I’ve never really stopped. Whether it’s over tea, bourbon, or bad decisions made in moonlight, I’ve always listened. People tell me things. And not just because of the pheromones.”

He took another sip, eyes twinkling now.

“Though I’m sure those don’t hurt.”

He set the mug down gently, folding his hands.

“So—how long have I practiced? Officially? A few years, scattered like stardust. Unofficially?” A shrug. “Since I was old enough to read the silences between words.”

And then, as if handing her back a piece of the intimacy she’d offered:

“You knew. Of course you did. How long did you wait to ask?”

-Rollin
Just Rollin. That’s quite enough, Darling.

She gave him a lopsided smirk. “Sadly, not as long as I would have liked in hindsight. I would say it became more apparent when you caught my ‘peeking’ as you called it. Most people react in fairly predictable ways, but good therapists learn that delicate art of picking and choosing which details to pick up and which ones are best left set down for the moment. You stated a boundary very succinctly, though not everyone would recognize it that way.”

Leaning back in her chair and crossing one leg over her knee, Janna sipped. “Actually, I might even be lying to myself, but intuitively I know any civilian who seeks out the counselling department and doesn’t have to have an eval, nor an issue that they need to work with someone on regularly. Those that do tend to have a natural rapport with their fellows and visiting therapists on your assignment, formal practicing or not, is very mutual a professional courtesy. Which I accept with gratitude even if it might not have been so overt an intention.”

~Janna Kingston, CNS

He smiled.

Not his usual theatrical grin, nor even the gentler warmth he’d offered earlier, but something smaller. Wiser. The kind of smile one rarely sees except between mirrors—when two people recognize something familiar in the other and choose not to say it too loudly, for fear of cheapening the magic.

Then, with a graceful roll of his shoulders, he relaxed into the truth between them.

“Darling, if I didn’t intend to be seen, I’d have stayed in my quarters with the lights off and a face mask on. But let’s not pretend this wasn’t a little dance. Two counselors circling the edge of a diagnosis neither of us need to name.” He arched a brow, amused. “I know when I’m being observed. I just prefer to give a show worth watching.”

A pause, then softer:

“Still, I appreciate your precision. Your generosity, too. I’ve had evaluations that felt like interrogations, and others that mistook glitter for grace. You did neither.”

He set the mug down and mirrored her crossed leg posture with an effortless echo—not mockery, just resonance.

“Thank you for letting this be mutual. Not just the evaluation, but the care. It’s rare, you know. Even rarer among those of us trained to give it away.”

Then, with a smirk of his own:

“Of course, I still plan to keep a few secrets. I am a lounge host, after all. Mystery is part of the brand.”

A wink.

“But I’ll always be honest with you. When it counts.”

-Rollin
Just Rollin. That’s quite enough, Darling.

A deep smile etched itself into her features, a smile borne from having touched something out on the universe that was deeply profound, altering. “I am not afraid of people’s mystery. Many come here expecting me to pick them apart, but that is the last thing I need or want to do. The way I see it, my purpose as a therapist is to help people be the best they can be. If they encounter difficult moments or stormy seas, I help them unravel the blockages that stop them from seeing the path that is best for them. I can’t and will never decide that for them, I am just a guide, a cheerleader. And, should the journey be too exhausting to take that next step, a refuge until they are ready to continue. No more, no less,” Janna said with a graceful gesture of her hand. She picked up the cooling steamed milk and sipped, enjoying it just as much at this temperature as hot.

“Though, I can ask questions if you like. We never got that far,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

~Janna Kingston, CNS

Rollin’s lips curved—not into his usual theatrical beam, nor even into the soft smile of camaraderie, but into something sly and slow and very Rollin.

“A question from a counselor,” he mused, cradling his half-drunk mug like a crystal ball. “Now that sounds like the beginning of either a soul-baring journey… or a very long evening.”

Kingston chuckled. “Keep in mind I do have a schedule to keep, so if we open any boxes we can’t close before I need to go, then we’ll tuck it away until next time, yes?” An invitation, an opening. Not for her to pick him apart, but for them to share and connect now and again. The age old question of ‘who counsels the counsellor’ was easily answered by ‘other counsellors’. That is how it worked in practice. Therapists saw therapists whose job it was to work with other therapists. They had excellent BS metres, after all. She naturally had the other members of her team she could talk to, but sometimes it was nice to have a skilled and knowledgable person outside of the chain of command to help be a necessary reflection.

His fingers traced the rim of the cup, thoughtful. Not stalling—savoring.

“You know,” he said after a beat, eyes flicking back to hers, “when I first started down the counselor track, someone told me the job was about asking the right questions. But the ones I remember—the ones that cracked me open—were never the right ones.”

He tilted his head.

“They were strange ones. Gentle. Off-center. The kind that slipped under your defenses before you even realized the conversation had begun.”

A soft chuckle.

“So if you’d like to ask—ask. I won’t run. But I reserve the right to answer sideways.”

-Rollin
Just Rollin. That’s quite enough, Darling.

An easy shrug, a half-smirk. Janna knew his words held truth. “The key to asking the right questions is not asking the ones with obvious answers.”

“I suppose now that we’ve established your career history in Starfleet, I can tuck some of those curiosities away for later. And I understand deeply how the listening and helping can be a part of our personalities, our natural gifts. But why come back to a Starfleet vessel to bring your gift? You still have to exist within our rules, our structures. You might be a civilian but you still have to abide by the aspects of the Uniform Code that apply to you. So… why come here? You could have your very own place where you make all the rules and no one can say otherwise. Why here? Other than to possibly rub your new freedom in the faces of those that unsuccessfully tried to contain you.”

~Janna Kingston, CNS

Rollin tilted his head, that sly smile deepening into something more bemused—less performance, more confession.

“Oh, darling, if I wanted to rub it in, I’d have opened a lounge just outside the gates of Starfleet Command,” he said, swirling the last of his drink like a fortune he wasn’t quite ready to read. “Happy hour at four, heartbreak at five, existential crisis at six. First one’s always free.”

But then he stilled—just a touch. A sliver of quiet wedging itself gently into the corner of his posture. When he spoke again, the voice was no less playful, but there was an undertow to it now. Something deeper. Older.

“The truth?” A shrug. “All my great loves wore the uniform.”

His eyes flicked upward—not dramatic, but pointed. Present.

“They were command and science, security and stars-in-their-eyes. I loved them for their discipline and their danger. Their impossible devotion to something bigger than themselves.” A breath. “They broke my heart in the most beautiful ways.”

A beat.

“So naturally, if one is to go looking for the next great love…” He gestured around the room with one elegant hand, “…one must return to where they most often bloom.”

He leaned back slightly, the sparkle in his eye not dimmed, just burnished.

“It’s not about uniforms or rules or replicator rations. It’s about proximity to purpose. This,” he said, tapping his chest lightly, “whatever this ‘gift’ is, only really matters when it’s near people trying to do something noble. Even if they get it spectacularly wrong sometimes.”

Then, wry again, but not unkind:

“And if I ever do open that fully autonomous, rule-free lounge? I’d still want a crew full of Starfleet misfits to wander in. I’m a bit of a tragic cliché that way.”

-Rollin
Just Rollin. That’s quite enough, Darling.