Posted by Lieutenant Junior Grade Samuel Andrew McIntyre (CNS) in Psych Eval - Deck 33

Posted by Ensign Skye Shepherd (Scientist) in Psych Eval - Deck 33

Posted by Lieutenant Junior Grade Samuel Andrew McIntyre (CNS) in Psych Eval - Deck 33
Posted by… suppressed (1) by the Post Ghost! 👻
Making her way down from the bridge through a turbolift, a shiver running down her spine as numbers illuminated a tiny screen on the inside. Supposed to stop on Deck 23, Ship’s Councilor’s Territory.

Skye hunched just slightly as the doors slid open on both sides, Officers having a run of the place to keep that vessel operating. Here, she was just a rookie trying to find her place amongst the stars. As soon as the coast cleared, a hybrid dressed in science blues had started sprinting down the hallway, a timer on the wall mounted screens keeping up with her.

Harsh breaths came and w by a wide her lungs, determined to make it towards the end of that hallway. But apparently, Shepherd’s heart was struggling to keep up the pace. Mid hallway, the blonde girl made a halt. Right in front of Mclntyre’s counseling room. She would’ve turned heel back towards that turbolift, only if her breath caught up.

As the doors slid open opened, the ensign was forced to look up. This young man towering over her stature. If only she could offer an awkward wave and let the ground beneath her feet to swallow her…

Ensign Skye Shepherd
Science Officer
U.S.S. Chimera - 98730 (Mjolnir Class)

The doors to Counseling slid open with their usual quiet efficiency—timed, as always, to the rhythm of the corridor traffic.
Lieutenant JG Samuel McIntyre had been on his way out.
He stopped just short of the threshold.
In front of him—slightly hunched, breathing hard, clearly not expecting company—stood the ensign in science blues. Blonde, winded, caught somewhere between bolting and pretending she hadn’t been sprinting down a Starfleet corridor.
McIntyre took the scene in quickly. Elevated respiration. Tension in the shoulders. Not injured—but pushing herself harder than necessary.
His expression didn’t change much, but his tone carried a quiet firmness.
“Ensign.”
Not sharp. Just enough to ground the moment.
He stepped aside—not crowding her, but not ignoring the situation either.
“Take a breath,” he said, matter-of-fact. “You’re not on a countdown in here.”
A brief pause, giving her space to actually do it.
His eyes flicked once down the corridor she’d come from, then back to her.
“Care to explain why you’re running through my section like you’re trying to outrun a warp core breach?”

Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera

It was one of her usual routines to help with anxiety around the ship. Being almost court-martialed twice before being invited back into service under Captain Andersen. Ensign Shepherd lifted her hand to catch a breath, running like a thoroughbred down that long corridor after meeting with their commanding officer to perform her first check-in.

Skye was almost embarrassed to explain her situation being set out of service from a different sector in Starfleet. She was 23 now, and still acting like a training rookie. Too naive to understand the actual peril that they could find themselves trapped in serving on a vessel such as this one. She wasn’t sure whether providing an explanation about her anxiety, being incited back would explain the entire situation. But this was where the Trill hybrid had to draw a line.

“Sir… I—” Her voice caught, roughened by the sprint. “I wasn’t trying to cause a disturbance.”

A nervous swallow followed. She straightened a fraction, shoulders still tense.

“It’s… a routine.” Skye gave the smallest, humorless exhale that almost passed for a laugh. “Running the corridor. Timing myself. Helps keep my head from… spiraling.” Her gaze drifted past him into the counseling office, then back again, as though only now realizing where she had stopped.

“Captain Andersen asked for my first check-in after reinstatement.” The words came more carefully now, chosen one by one. “Which means everyone important on this ship either already knows my file or will soon enough.”

Her jaw tightened.

She straightened, forcing herself upright even if her pulse was still racing.

“My first real posting was the Chin’toka. Luna-class. Science officer.” Her mouth twisted around the title like it meant nothing now. “Captain Serala. Romulan-human hybrid. Brilliant, decorated, admired by everyone who liked being talked down to.”

Skye folded her arms tightly across herself.

“She hated me almost immediately. Said I questioned too much. Said I confused initiative with insolence.” A humorless laugh escaped her. “Maybe I did. Maybe I still do.”

Her eyes hardened.

“She dressed me down in front of senior staff more times than I can count. Every mistake was a spectacle. Every disagreement became some lesson in discipline.” She swallowed once. “Then she revoked my promotion to lieutenant junior grade in front of half the crew. Called me emotionally unfit for leadership.”

The words clearly still lived in her skin.

“She humiliated me because she could.”

A beat.

“The second assignment was the Octavia E. Butler. Science again. Captain Lia Rouiancet.” Skye’s voice dropped lower, colder. “Human. Smiled while she gutted you.”

She looked past McIntyre, seeing none of the corridor.

“She said my methods were reckless. That I treated protocol like suggestions. That I inspired disorder in junior officers.” Her nostrils flared. “What she meant was I didn’t bow quickly enough.”

Skye’s hand clenched into a fist.

“They both pushed for court-martial proceedings. Both of them.” Her voice cracked with fury more than pain. “Two captains with spotless records deciding I was the problem.”

She laughed again, harsher this time.

“And maybe I was. Maybe I still am. But they loved making an example out of me.”

Her shoulders dropped a fraction.

“My father stopped it from ending my career completely. Pulled strings, called favors, dragged me back to the New Jersey.”

For the first time, something softer entered her expression.

“Constitution-class. No refits. Practically a museum that still flies.” A faint, tired smile ghosted and vanished. “I lived there for two years as a civilian. Shared quarters with him and my dog, Zephram. Bernese mountain dog. Smarter than most admirals.”

Then the anger returned, though now it was exhausted.

“I resigned. Fully resigned.” She looked directly at McIntyre now. “I was done with Starfleet. Done with uniforms, done with captains, done with people deciding they could break you for your own good.”

Her fingers clawed against the fabric of her uniform over her chest, trying to outrun a heartbeat that refused to slow.

“They took everything,” she cried. “My rank, my name, my confidence—”

Ensign Skye Shepherd
Science Officer
U.S.S. Chimera - 98730 (Mjolnir Class)

---

McIntyre didn’t interrupt her.
He stayed exactly where he was—close enough to be present, far enough not to crowd. His posture remained steady, grounded, the kind of stillness that doesn’t escalate what’s already spiraling.
When she finished—when the words cracked into something raw—he moved.
Not abruptly. Just enough.
“Ensign.”
His voice was lower now. Controlled, firm in a way meant to anchor, not command.
“Hands down.”
A brief pause—giving her the chance to follow it.
“Focus on me.”
He waited until her attention met his before continuing.
“You’re not there anymore. Whatever happened—whatever they did—you’re not in it right now.”
His tone didn’t soften into pity. It stayed level, deliberate.
“You’re on Deck 23. Counseling. You’re safe. No one here is taking anything from you.”
Another beat, his eyes steady on hers.
“That heart rate you’re fighting? You’re making it worse by trying to outrun it.”
He shifted slightly, demonstrating rather than just instructing—slower breath in, controlled exhale.
“Match this. In through your nose—slow. Hold it. Then out.”
He gave her the cadence without rushing it.
“In… hold… out.”
A pause to let her try.
Then, quieter:
“You said you resigned. And yet—you’re standing here in uniform.”
Not an accusation. A fact.
“So something in you decided you weren’t finished.”
His gaze held—not pressing, but not letting her disappear into the moment either.
“Right now, I don’t need the whole story. You’re not going to lose anything else in this room.”
A slight shift of his stance, opening the doorway behind him.
“But you need to get control back—starting with your breathing.”
A final, steady beat.
“Stay with me. Slow it down.”
Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera

Shepherd’s hand dropped to her side, the fabric which she had held onto that tight remained crumpled in a circle. Her teeth gritted as she looked up, ocean colored irises catching the artificial lights overhead. She had been trying to outrun those demons for so long, tgat the positive aspects of this crew had yet to be found beneath all that sand.

The order had been simple. Reasonable. Nothing like the voices she remembered.

Yet every nerve in her body had answered as though restraint was seconds away.

She hated that.

Hated that a room on a Federation starship could become another place entirely if her mind tilted the wrong direction. Hated that she could know where she was and still feel walls that no longer existed. Hated most of all that someone had witnessed it.

Her chest tried to climb again, breath snagging high and shallow. She caught the lieutenant’s demonstration in her peripheral vision and forced herself to follow it.

In.

The first breath shook.

Hold.

Her lungs burned with the effort of stillness.

Out.

Air left between clenched teeth, uneven but real.

Again.

This one made it farther down.

The roaring in her ears began to thin, replaced by smaller sounds, the low hum of environmental systems, a faint vibration through the deck plating, the rustle of her own sleeve where her hand still crushed it. Moisture gathered at the edges of her eyes, but she blinked it back before it could fall. Crying in front of officers had once carried consequences. Old reflexes died slower than fear.

“They took months from me. They took my commission. They took…” She stopped, throat working. “They took pieces I can’t even name, and I still let them live in my head every day.” Her shoulders rose with a shaky inhale that didn’t quite make it all the way into her lungs. She dragged in another breath, failed again, then shut her eyes hard as if she could force herself back into control.

“I came back because quitting felt worse.” Her body trembled. “But now I’m here and I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to be an officer. I don’t know how to be me.”

Ensign Skye Shepherd
Science Officer
U.S.S. Chimera - 98730 (Mjolnir Class)