Posted by Lieutenant Junior Grade Samuel Andrew McIntyre (CNS) in Ens Shau CNS Check In/Follow up

PIt osted by Ensign MJ Shau (Security Officer) in Ens Shau CNS Check In/Follow up

Posted by Lieutenant Junior Grade Samuel Andrew McIntyre (CNS) in Ens Shau CNS Check In/Follow up
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You’reou’reou’reou’reou’reou’rehePosted bsitsssitsssssssnsign MJ Shau (Security Officer) in Ens Shau CNS Check In/Follow up
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Unselor by Ensign MJ Shau (Security Officer) in Ens Shau CNS Check In/Follow up
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MJ observed quietly as the security teams geared up outside the holosuite. He would normally be getting ready with them, but he had a scheduling conflict that couldn’t be avoided.

Ensign Shau stpped up when they were done and inspected the fit of each crew member on the first team while the Senior Chief inspected the second team. MJ corrected a few minor discrepancies, but overall, the team was in good shape. Just a little green… but that is why we train. The Senior Chief gave him the thumbs up, and MJ responded with a nod.

The two security teams f into the holosuite for a simulated search and seizure of another ship. The Marines could be involved in a real-life situation, or they could take the lead on the mission altogether. However, there were plenty of times when the presence of weightnes would only make theuation worse. MJ liked to have the team train for any eventuality.

Looking to his left, Ensign Shau saw a 2nd Lieutenant inspect her Marines in front of the other holosuite. Shthe e’d be putting her personnel through a similar seizure, but for a ship with an overtly hostile crew.
With his morning responsibilitiejetpackingher reason to delay, MJ ltheft the securityholographic programsrogramsrogramsrogramsrogramsrogramsered the turbolift. It was time to check in with the new Chief Counselor.

Ensign Shau was a little reluctant, but it was nothingunclenched and heess itself. He knew he’d benefited greatly from these sessions over the last couple of months. It was a way that starting over with a new counselor could be annoying. Especially when he just felt like he’d finally established a rapport with the previous CC.

Progress is not a linear path, he reminded himself as he took a few diaphragmatic breaths. This would just be one of those times when he’d need to retread familiar ground before he could move forward again.

Upon arrival at the Chief Cwith ounselor’s office, MJ chimed the door to announce himself.

Ensign MJ Shau - Security Officer - USS Chimera

The door to the Chief Counselor’s office slid open with a soft hydraulic hiss.
Inside, the office was arranged with quiet intentionality—nothing extravagant, but designed to ease the tension many officers carried through the corridors of a starship. A wide viewport cast a pale wash of starlight across the room, reflecting softly off the polished deck. Two chairs faced each other near a low table, which was positioned off, to the side rather than dominating the space.
Behind that desk stood the ship’s newly appointed Chief Counselor, Lieutenant Junior Grade Samuel McIntyre.
Tall—easily over six feet—McIntyre had the solid build of someone who looked more suited to security than psychology. His uniform jacket had been set neatly over the back of his chair, leaving him in his duty undershirt with the teal piping of the counseling division visible along the collar. A data PADD rested in one hand, but he set it down the moment the door opened.
Brown eyes lifted toward the visitor.
“Ensign Shau,” McIntyre said evenly, already stepping away from the desk. His voice carried calm authority without stiffness. “Come in.”
He gestured toward the seating area rather than the desk.
“Havseat wherever you’re comable.”
McIntyre waited until the door slid shut behind the ensign before taking the chair opposite him. He didn’t immediately pick the PADD back up. First meetings weren’t about staring at records.
“I appreciate you coming by,” he continued. “I’ve been reviewing the counseling rotation schedule since I took over the department. I understand you were previously working with the last Chief Counselor for the past few months.”
A small pause followed—not awkward, but deliberate.
“Changing counselors isn’t always convenient. Sometimes it feels like starting from scratch.” He leaned back slightly in tthatr, posture relaxed but attentive. “So we’ll keep this simple today.”
His tone softened just a fraction.
“No reports. No forms. Just a conversation.”
McIntyre folded his hands loosely in his lap.
“Tell me how you’ve been holding up lately, Ensign.”

LieutenantJr. Grade. Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera

MJ walked into the room and took in the new decor. It was Spartan… but not unwelcoming. The clean lines were oddly more comfortable than the warmth the previous counselor had created in the space. Like the space accepted what it was.

The same could be said for the towering man who stood behind the desk. Ensign Shau had read the man’s bio and knew he was a Marine before attending the Academy. His appearance didn’t hide that… from his haircut to his bearing, his background was evident. And yet he wasn’t defined by it; the man manged to present himself as open at the same time. Taken all together, it spoke of a man who was comfortable with who he was.

I could use a little bit of that right now. MJ thought. He felt like he was getting back to who he was and who he wanted to be, but the destruction of the Pickett and the loss of so many friends still weighed on him.

He took at in one of the chairs. Ensign Shau was only average in height but possessed broad shoulders and a well-muscled build. His dark hair was naturally curly, but he kept it trimmed short and manageable. He also had a short stubbly beard andweighthththththt traditionasian marking on his forehead.

MJ listened to Lt J.G. McIntyre’s introduction, and it almost immediately made him smile. “Sir, either your bio is hiding the fact that you’re a Betazoid, or reluctthe ance to meet a new counselor is a fairly widespread phenomenon.”

Ensign Shau felt a bit of the tension leave him, and he thought about the Counselor’s question. “Holding up? Welthe enough, I suppose. I recovered from my treatments and started working out again last month. I’ve gotten to know most of the security department, my fellow gym rats, and some other members of the crew. The routine is different… the Chimera is a much larger ship… but I’m finding my center in the new routine. The new normal.”

MJ shifted gears to buy himself some more time and get a better sense of who his new counselor was. “How are you settling in, Sir? I know you’ve only been onboard a short time.”

Ensign MJ Shau - Security Officer - USS Chimera

McIntyre listened without interrupting, his posture relaxed but attentive. Years of discipline showed in the wawith y he held still while someone else spoke—no fidgeting, no unnecessary movement. Just focus.
When Shau made the Betazoid remark, a faint grin tugged at the corner of McIntyre’s mouth.
“Not a Betazoid,” he replied plainly. “Just experienced.”
He leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm resting along the side as he studied the ensign for a moment—not clinically, but thoughtfully.
“You’d be surprised how many officers walk through that door with the exact same hesitation,” he continued. “New counselor means reopening old ground. Most people don’t enjoy repeating the hard parts.”
When Shau described finding his routine again, McIntyre gave a slow nod. That answer carried weight beneath the calm delivery.
“Routine is a good anchor,” he said. “Particularly after something that tears it apart.”
The counselor didn’t immediately dig into the mention of the Pickett. Instead, he let the subject breathe for a moment, allowing Shau space rather than pushing straight into the wound.
Then came the question turned back toward him.
McIntyre let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost amused.
“Settling in has been… efficient.”
He folded his hands loosely in front of him.
“New ship, new crew, new responsibilities. But Starfleet is good at one thing—it keeps people moving. You learn the rhythm of a ship quickly or the ship drags you along until you do.”
His eyes flicked briefly toward the viewport before returning to Shau.
“I’ve spent most of my time so far doing what you probably did your first few weeks here. Learning names. Watching how departments operate. Figuring the out where people go when things get difficult.”
A small pause followed.
“But enough about me,” McIntyre added calmly.
“You mentioned the destruction of the Pickett in your file. Losing a ship—losing friends—doesn’t just disappear because a new posting starts.”
His tone stayed steady and direct.
“When the routine stops and you’re not keeping busy… what tends to surface?”

Lieutenant Jr. Grade Dr. Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera

“Guilt, mostly.” MJ replied simply. He felt the memories resurface and let them flow, like the previous counselor had taught him, rather than suppress them. “I wasn’t on the bridge or at a tactical station. I was geared up and prepared for a boarding situation.”

“Instead, we had to help the crew escape as the biomass started consuming the ship.”

He paused for a moment as he relived those last few moments on the Pickett, a slight grimace on his face. “I was supposed to keep people safe, but instead I was slammed against a bulkhead as the biomass burst trough a sealed hatch. The ended up dragging my unconscious body to the evacuation shuttles.” MJ swallowed. “They ended up keeping me safe.”

Ensign Shau took a few moments to focus on his breathing and re-center himself. “I woke up on the Tribute the next day. Three-quarters of the crew were dead and the ship itself had been taken over. It had become a drone foe the biomass entity.”

He shook his head, shifting his attention back to the present. “When my day ends and I’m left to my own devices, I think about what I could have done differently. I think about who might still be alive if I had done my job better instead of becoming another burden.”

Ensign MJ Shau - Security Officer - USS Chimera

McIntyre didn’t interrupt.
He let the silence exist while Shau spoke, allowing the memory to come out in full without rushing to fill the space. His expression didn’t shift to pity—something many officers disliked—but it carried quiet understanding.
When Shau finished, McIntyre nodded once.
“Guilt is predictable in situations like that,” he said calmly. “Particularly for security personnel.”
He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees.
“You train to be the person who moves toward the danger while everyone else moves away. Your identity gets tied to that role—protector, last line, the one who stands when things go wrong.”
His eyes stayed steady on Shau.
“So when something overwhelms the situation—something bigger than training, bigger than preparation—the mind starts running a different equation.”
McIntyre tapped two fingers lightly together.
“If I had done this instead of that… maybe the outcome changes.”
A brief pause followed.
“The problem,” he continued, “is that the equation assumes you had control over the event.”
He shook his head slightly.
“You didn’t.”
McIntyre sat back again, voice still even.
“A hostile biomass entity tearing through sealed bulkheads isn’t a tactical scenario Starfleet trains for. It’s chaos. When chaos hits a ship, survival becomes the mission.”
He gestured lightly toward Shau.
“And you survived.”
The counselor let that point settle before continuing.
“You’re interpreting that as failure because other people had to drag you to the shuttle.”
Another pause.
“I see something else.”
McIntyre’s tone remained firm but not confrontational.
“Your crew didn’t leave you behind.”
He let that sentence sit in the air.
“They pulled you out because you mattered to them. Because you were one of them.”
A quieter moment passed before he continued.
“The mind has a habit of rewriting events after trauma. It turns survival into debt.” He shook his head once. “But survival isn’t a burden placed on you by the dead.”
His voice softened just a fraction.
“It’s the responsibility to keep living in a way that honors them.”
McIntyre studied the ensign briefly.
“So let me ask you something honestly, Ensign.”
“If one of the officers you helped evacuate had been the one knocked unconscious… and you were the one who dragged them to the shuttle…”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Would you expect them to spend the rest of their life believing they failed you?”

Lieutenant Jr. Grade Dr. Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera

MJ let a ghost of a smile show on his face. “The last counselor said the same thing. Repeatedly. And then I point out that cognitively knowing something is drastically different than emotionally accepting it.”

He shook his head in frustration. “I’m a security officer… most of my job revolves around talking to people experiencing heightened emotions. A lot of times, a brief conversation is all it takes. That might be letting them see the problem in a new light, giving them a chance to vent, or highlighting the ramifications of the actions they are about to take. The analytical part of their brain kicks in and they reconcile their emotional response with logical thought.”

Ensign Shau met the Counselor’s gaze. “That’s what your predecessor had me working on. When those emotions kick in, I think a lot of those same things you just said. And it helps. For a bit.” The Risian looked up and the overhead, fists clenched, irritation mounting. “But I keep having those same emotional reactions, no matter how hard I try. And then I grow frustrated with myself.” The situation was all the more vexing because he cognitively knew what he should be doing, and that it should be working. His words and tone grew bitter. “About having to retread the same ground… over and over… with no improvement.”

Another pause, and another set of centering breaths. MJ continued when his fist unclenchehe d and had regained some control. “That was actually part of my last session with the previous counselor. Finding away to give myself grace. Accepting that this is a process. A journey, not a destination.”

Ensign MJ Shau - Security Officer - USS Chimera

McIntyre didn’t react to the rising frustration. He let it come out fully, watching the ensign work his way through it the same way one might watch a storm pass over open water.
When Shau finished and the room settled again, McIntyre nodded once.
“That frustration,” he said evenly, “is actually a good sign.”
He raised a hand slightly before the ensign could object.
“Not because it feels good. It doesn’t. But because it tells me you’re doing the work instead of avoiding it.”
McIntyre leaned back, resting one arm along the chair.
“Trauma recovery doesn’t behave the way most Starfleet officers expect it to. We’re trained to solve problems. Identify the issue, apply the correct procedure, move on.”
A faint breath of dry humor crossed his expression.
“The human mind didn’t get that memo.”
He gestured lightly toward Shau.
“You’re trying to apply a tactical solution to an emotional injury. Fix it once, and it should stay fixed.”
McIntyre shook his head.
“That’s not how memory works.”
He paused briefly before continuing.
“The brain stores traumatic memory differently than normal events. It’s tied to the survival systems—fear, threat recognition, adrenaline responses. That part of the mind doesn’t care that the analytical side has already reached a conclusion.”
His voice remained calm and direct.
“So the emotion returns.”
Another pause.
“And every time it returns, you respond the way you just described. You acknowledge it. You breathe. You re-anchor yourself in reality.”
McIntyre nodded slowly.
“That isn’t failure, Ensign.”
“That’s the process.”
He leaned forward slightly again.
“The previous counselor was right about something important. This isn’t a destination you arrive at one day where the memory stops existing.”
He tapped two fingers lightly on the arm of the chair.
“What changes is the power the memory holds over you.”
McIntyre’s eyes stayed steady.
“Right now the memory shows up and knocks you off balance.”
“But every time you do the work—every time you ground yourself—you’re teaching your brain something new.”
Another quiet pause followed.
“That the event is over. That you survived. That you are safe now.”
He studied Shau for a moment before continuing.
“The reason it feels like you’re retreading the same ground is because the mind learns through repetition. Not logic.”
A faint smile appeared.
“Which means you’re actually doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“The real challenge now isn’t convincing yourself the guilt is irrational. You’ve already done that.”
“The challenge is learning not to punish yourself for the fact that healing takes time.”
McIntyre let that settle before asking his next question.
“When the frustration hits,” he said, “when you feel like you should be further along than you are…”
His tone stayed calm but deliberate.
“What standard are you measuring yourself against?”

Lieutenant Jr. Grade Dr. Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera

MJ showed another faint smile. “My own impossibly high standard, of course.” He shook his head ruefully at the thought. “Why is it that we’re usually so much harder on ourselves than others?” He didn’t expect an answer, and just sat there for a moment trying to absorb what the Lieutenant had said.

A decisive victory was exactly what he was hoping for. He knew what needed to happen, but his memories and emotions didn’t want to cooperate. They were elusive targets… fading away during Ensign Shau’s offensive, only to reappear later and attack from a different angle.

That’s what led to the the feeling that he was stuck in the same patterns. That’s when the frustration would start to mount.

MJ could tell himself the same things over and over again, but sometimes hearing somebody else say them just carried a little more wait. Perhaps that was the the whole purpose of counseling in the first place. Somebody to provide encouragement or assistance… depending on what the patient was going through.

Kind of like a spotter, actually. Most of time they just hype you up… but they are there to lend you a bit of strength when needed. A real smile showed on his face at the analogy, but MJ felt it was too cheesy to share. At least during a first session.

It did help reframe the way he was looking at things though.

“I’m not trying to fix myself… I’m trying to grow.” Ensign Shau nodded to himself as the new image took hold. “I wouldn’t be upset with myself if I wasn’t fluent in Klingon after a couple of months… so I shouldn’t be upset with myself that I haven’t magically overcome my trauma. That… I think looking at it that way might actually help.”

Ensign MJ Shau - Security Officer - USS Chimera

McIntyre watched the shift happen in real time.
The tension in Shau’s shoulders eased slightly, the frustration giving way to something steadier—perspective. It was the moment counselors looked for: when the patient stopped wrestling the idea and began integrating it.
At the question about harsh self-standards, McIntyre gave a quiet nod.
“Because we know our own thoughts,” he said simply. “Everyone else gets judged by their actions. We judge ourselves by our intentions, our doubts, and every possibility we imagine we should have lived up to.”
He let that settle before continuing.
“And Starfleet tends to attract people who already hold themselves to higher standards than the average citizen.”
A faint breath of humor crossed his voice.
“Which means most officers walk around carrying a ruler that only they can see… and they keep raising the bar.”
When Shau spoke again—I’m not trying to fix myself… I’m trying to grow—McIntyre’s expression shifted into a small, approving smile.
“That,” he said, “is a much more accurate objective.”
He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees again.
“Trauma convinces people they’re broken. That something inside them needs to be repaired before they can move forward.”
McIntyre shook his head once.
“But most of the time what actually happens is adaptation.”
His tone remained steady.
“You learn how to carry the experience without letting it define you.”
The counselor gestured lightly with one hand.
“Think about every veteran officer you’ve ever served with—the ones who stay calm when everything starts falling apart.”
A small pause.
“They didn’t reach that point because nothing bad ever happened to them.”
“They reached it because something did.”
McIntyre sat back again.
“So yes… growth is the right word.”
He studied Shau for a moment.
“And your Klingon analogy isn’t far off. Emotional resilience is a skill set. It improves with repetition, reflection, and time.”
Another quiet beat passed before he added something practical.
“When the guilt surfaces again—and it will—don’t treat it like an enemy you have to defeat.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Treat it like a signal.”
“A reminder of the people you lost… and the kind of officer you want to be because of them.”
McIntyre’s voice softened just slightly.
“That’s not something to eliminate. It’s something to shape.”
The counselor folded his hands again.
“For what it’s worth, Ensign… from what I’ve seen so far, you’re already doing that.”
A small pause followed before he added one last question.
“Outside of work and the gym… what helps you decompress when the ship finally goes quiet?”
Lieutenant Jr. Grade Dr. Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera

MJ didn’t respond at first. The counselor’s words hit home in a way that he hadn’t expected. They acknowledged the difficulty of the situation… MJ’s struggles… and even the fact that he was making progress. Ensign Shau didn’t… or couldn’t… see it himself, and the words provided some much-needed encouragement.

He took a moment to center himself again, a few deep breaths in and out. This time… instead of enduring another wave of guilt and frustration… he was tempering the flash of hope he felt. Trying to forge it into something lasting that would help him through the coming weeks.

Lt McIntyre’s latest question was a relatively easy one to answer. “Honestly? Not much. I’ve been kind of keeping to myself. I always liked jet packing back home… or floating… and had a few holo-programs set up on the Pickett that I used to use. It could be fast paced like a race or obstacle course… or it could be slow and relaxing and give you a chance to take in the view.”

Ensign Shau thought that would be easy enough to start doing again. He’d have to tailor some already existing programs to make it happen, but there were multiple types of floaters already in the database. I can try creating some of the course designs I never got around to coding.

“I also like cooking. Any sort of gathering on Risa involved food. Some friends… other Starfleet Officers… and I used to get together every week and do a sort of potluck dinner. Sharing recipes… drinking. Maybe play a game or watch a bad Ferengi drama.” He smiled at the memory, but it faded just as quickly. “None of them survived the Pickett. And yes… I imagine that’s one of the reasons I’ve been keeping to myself since I checked onboard.”

Ensign Shau sighed and shook his head. “I suppose that’s something I’ll need to work on as well.”

Ensign MJ Shau - Security Officer - USS Chimera

McIntyre listened without interrupting again, but this time there was a noticeable shift in his posture. The earlier part of the session had been about understanding the weight Shau carried. Now the conversation had moved into something just as important—how the ensign lived around that weight.
When Shau finished, McIntyre nodded slowly.
“That tracks,” he said simply.
“After a loss like that, most people instinctively pull inward. Not because they want isolation—but because connection reminds them of what they lost.”
He gestured lightly with one hand.
“So the mind makes a bargain. If I don’t build those connections again, I won’t have to feel that loss again.”
A small pause followed.
“Of course, that bargain comes with a price.”
He didn’t elaborate; he didn’t need to.
McIntyre leaned back slightly.
“You mentioned two things that mattered to you before the Pickett.”
He held up a finger.
“Flying.”
Another finger.
“And sharing food with people.”
The counselor nodded once.
“Both of those are still available to you.”
He spoke plainly, not as a suggestion but as a practical observation.
“The difference now is that starting them again means acknowledging the people who aren’t there anymore.”
His gaze remained steady.
“That’s the hard part. Not the activity itself.”
A quiet moment passed before he continued.
“But here’s the thing, Ensign. The traditions you had with those officers didn’t end when they died.”
McIntyre tapped a finger lightly on the armrest.
“They only end if you let them.”
The counselor’s tone remained calm but firm.
“You don’t have to recreate that exact group. You can’t. But you can carry the tradition forward.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Invite two people. Maybe three. Doesn’t have to be a big gathering.”
“Cook something from one of those old recipes.”
A faint hint of a smile appeared.
“And if someone brings a terrible Ferengi holodrama… you’ll know the tradition is being honored properly.”
He let that sit for a moment.
“The same applies to the holosuite programs. Flying again isn’t just recreation—it reconnects you with a part of yourself that existed before the trauma.”
McIntyre folded his hands again.
“That matters.”
Another brief pause passed before he added something more direct.
“You don’t need to solve everything at once.”
“Start with one step.”
His eyes held Shau’s.
“Between now and our next session… pick one of those things and bring it back into your routine.”
Then he gave the ensign a small nod.
“Not as therapy.”
“As living.”
Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera

Ensign Shau met the Counselor’s eyes and nodded. He’d expected this development once he realized he’d been unconsciously avoiding these activities.

The idea was… unnerving. It was hard to imagine doing those things without his friends. So much of the enjoyment was the people he was with… he was afraid he’d be reminded of their loss at every turn.

But… he had to admit… he’d enjoyed those activities well before the Pickett. Flying with his cousins and friends through the jungle canyons back home… sharing food with neighbors during festivals and holidays.

Doing those things with his Starfleet friends didn’t take away from everyone he cared for back on Risa. Which means doing them with new people shouldn’t take away from the memory of those I’ve lost.

He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea, but he knew growth rarely occurred when one was safe and secluded. Challenge. Adversity. Exposure to new ideas, people, and ways of thinking. That is what drove people to develop themselves. To change.

And that was what Lt McIntyre was doing. Pushing MJ out of his comfort zone.

Misgivings aside, he made a decision. He wasn’t going to continue hiding from those memories. MJ knew he might feel pain… and might suffer more setbacks. But he acknowledged that he was never going to move forward if he didn’t at least try to move forward.

“I can do that, Sir.” MJ finally said, conviction in his voice. “I think I’m ready to start living again.”

Ensign MJ Shau - Security Officer - USS Chimera

McIntyre held the ensign’s gaze for a moment after he spoke, studying the tone more than the words. Conviction mattered—but so did whether it came from pressure or from a genuine decision.
After a few seconds, the counselor gave a slow, approving nod.
“Good.”
He didn’t say it triumphantly. Just matter-of-fact, the way an officer might acknowledge a solid tactical decision.
“That’s the right direction.”
McIntyre shifted slightly in his chair, posture still relaxed but attentive.
“And for the record, Ensign… what you just described is exactly what recovery looks like.”
He gestured lightly with one hand.
“Not certainty. Not comfort.”
“A decision to move forward even while the uncertainty is still there.”
A small pause followed.
“You’re also correct about something else.”
His voice remained calm and grounded.
“Those activities won’t feel the same at first.”
McIntyre didn’t try to soften that reality.
“You may notice the absence of those friends every time you start one of those programs or sit down at a table.”
He leaned forward slightly again.
“That doesn’t mean you made the wrong decision.”
“It means those friendships mattered.”
The counselor allowed a quiet moment to pass before continuing.
“Eventually something changes. Not all at once. But gradually.”
“You start remembering the good moments more than the final ones.”
Another small pause.
“And new moments start forming around the old ones.”
McIntyre leaned back again, folding his hands loosely.
“That’s how people carry loss without letting it stop their lives.”
He glanced briefly toward the viewport, the distant stars sliding past the ship, then back to Shau.
“Try one step this week. Flying program or a small meal with a couple of crewmates—your choice.”
A faint trace of dry humor appeared.
“Preferably not both on the same day. No need to overwhelm yourself.”
Then his tone returned to its steady, professional calm.
“We’ll check in again next week and see how it went.”
He paused, then added one final thought.
“And Ensign…”
McIntyre’s voice softened slightly.
“You don’t have to do it perfectly.”
“You just have to do it.”
Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera

A faint smile found its way to MJ’s face. “‘Perfection is the enemy of progress.’ Words every good Security Officer lives by. Thank you.”

Given the man’s background, Ensign Shau felt like Lt McIntyre understood in a way that many counselor’s couldn’t. He would not be surprised if the former Marine had dealt with losses of his own in the past.

MJ stood and extended a hand to the Chief Counselor. It had been a good first session. The large man had subverted just about all of the expectations MJ had before arriving at the office today. He still felt the weight of everything he’d been through… but it was like he’d shifted the pack on his back slightly. Now it was just a tiny bit easier to carry his burdens.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Sir. I’ll see you in a week.”

Ensign MJ Shau - Security Officer - USS Chimera