USS Chimera
Psych Eval - Deck 33
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 (14) 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 ChimeraIt 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 ChimeraMcIntyre didn’t move to fill the silence right away.
He let her breathe—let her work for it. That mattered more than anything he could say in the moment.
When she managed that second breath—deeper, steadier—he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Progress, not perfection.
“Good,” he said quietly. “That one landed.”
He kept his tone even, grounded.
“Again.”
He matched her pace—not leading too fast, not letting her rush it.
“In… hold… out.”
Another cycle. Then one more.
Only when her breathing began to come back under her control did he speak further.
“You’re not failing right now,” he said plainly. “You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to do—regaining control instead of losing it.”
His eyes stayed on her, steady but not invasive.
“What happened to you—whoever made those calls, whatever they justified—it left a mark. That’s reality. Ignoring it doesn’t make you stronger, it just makes it come back like this.”
A slight pause.
“But here’s the part you’re getting wrong.”
Not harsh—just direct.
“They didn’t take everything.”
He gestured subtly toward her—her stance, her effort, the fact she was still standing here.
“You came back. You put the uniform on again. You walked onto this ship knowing full well what it could bring up.”
His voice carried a quiet weight now.
“That’s not someone who’s broken. That’s someone who’s still in the fight—whether she likes it or not.”
He gave her a moment to absorb that before continuing.
“You don’t need to have yourself figured out today. You don’t need to know exactly what kind of officer you are yet.”
A beat.
“You need to be functional. Present. Capable of making the next right decision in front of you.”
His tone softened just a fraction—not pity, but clarity.
“And you already did that.”
A small nod toward her breathing.
“You stopped. You followed direction. You regained control instead of letting it spiral.”
He shifted slightly, angling himself more toward the doorway but not leaving.
“That’s how this works. Not in big, clean victories. In moments like this—where you take ground back, inch by inch.”
A pause.
“As for not knowing who you are right now…” he added, more measured, “that’s not uncommon after what you’ve described. Identity doesn’t snap back into place. It gets rebuilt—deliberately.”
His gaze held hers, steady.
“And if you’re going to do that on this ship, then you’re not doing it alone.”
A slight tilt of his head toward the open office behind him.
“But first things first.”
Another controlled breath in, demonstrating again.
“Finish settling your system. Then we can talk like officers instead of like you’re under fire.”
A final beat.
“You’re still in control here. Keep it that way.”
Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera
By the moment the ensign recovered from that wheezing breath, she straightened her back. Cascades of blonde hair draping over both shoulders on a blue and black tunic, artificial lights overhead catching a glimmer from a single, silver pip pinned against the uniform’s collar. Yet Skye followed his lead once again, letting recycled air run down her trachea, leading towards the bottom of her lungs. All she could do was offer a slight nod in response. Explaining her life’s story wouldn’t provide anything useful at the moment. Not when her biggest downfall were the demons haunting her mind.
Anxiety had streamed down her spine the moment she walked out from the turbolift and onto that deck. Several senior officers had stepped out from her path as soon as the Trill/Human girl began running, heavy breaths abandoning her nostrils the same way a racing thoroughbred’s would. It had been a weak heart that had struggled to keep up, hybridized morphology of two species that were not intended to create viable life together. Throughout 23 years of her being alive, Skye had never met another hybrid just like her. With one Human, and one Trill parent.
Orrin had joined Starfleet just shy from having turned 18 as an ensign, someone who was fascinated to trace his path amongst the stars. His story had begun within that very Constitution Class vessel which the now experienced, Stellar Cartographer had come to call home. But there was a time when the future of his career seemed uncertain. He and Eden Shepherd, his human wife had married at the ages of 23 and 25 respectively before establishing their lives on the rural lands of Heran’zul, Trill. But, in every right, Lieutenant Commander Castel was also a stranger to the stars.
He had been born throughout the time his parents had been conducting a research program on Earth. The land which the Triyan family had come to call home was Eleuthera, Bahamas. As a kid being pushed aside by locals due to their differences. Orrin didn’t let that stop him from moving forward. A couple of years later, they returned to Trill. With the young boy now aged 14. “Life since had become simple,” Commander Castel said once, before marriage and children of his own. He was joined to Castel, a 250 year old symbiont from the caverns.
She was only two years old when it happened. Ever since, those parasites had become a great phobia for the girl. Seeing how much harm one could cause to another organism, especially its host. Skye had avoided him for as long as she could remember throughout her childhood, remaining close to her mother instead. Eden happened to be absent due to her diplomatic duties. They had spent a vast majority of the time arguing over the young hybrid’s future. Which would eventually belong beyond Trill’s atmosphere. Six years were spent on board a ship that could basically be considered a flying museum piece. Yet the crew of that vessel was proud enough to keep her functional for the fleet.
Skye let the tension on her shoulders slowly melt away as she followed McIntyre‘s lead. Both hands falling down her sides before her head shifted towards the seats inside the room behind him. This was an entirely new experience for the ensign while being commissioned. To have hands that would guide her own.
“I spent so long pretending I was fine that I think I forgot where the pretending ended.”
Her eyes flicked toward the open office.
“And now I’m standing outside counseling like some first-year cadet who couldn’t keep it together long enough to make it through a hallway.”
She rubbed the heel of one palm against the other, grounding herself in the sensation.
“My father would tell me to compartmentalize. My mother would tell me to breathe and think diplomatically.” Another dry breath. “You told me to breathe first, which was probably the smartest option.”
Ensign Skye Shepherd
Science Officer
U.S.S. Chimera - 98730 (Mjolnir Class)McIntyre listened without interruption, letting the weight of her words settle instead of cutting across them.
When she finished, he gave a small, deliberate nod.
“Your parents gave you solid tools,” he said evenly. “Compartmentalize. Stay measured. Think before you act. Those aren’t wrong.”
A slight pause.
“But they’re later steps.”
He gestured lightly between them.
“You don’t compartmentalize when the system’s already overloaded. You don’t strategize when you can’t even get a full breath in. You stabilize first—then you decide what to do with it.”
His tone remained calm, but there was a quiet certainty behind it.
“What you did out here wasn’t failure. It was the point where the strain finally caught up—and instead of ignoring it again, you stopped.”
A beat.
“That’s a correction. Not a collapse.”
He shifted just enough to clear the doorway fully, making the invitation unmistakable without forcing it.
“And for the record—first-year cadets don’t make it this far by accident. They also don’t walk themselves to Counseling when something’s off. They avoid it.”
His eyes met hers again, steady.
“You didn’t.”
Another brief pause, letting that land.
“As for the pretending…” he continued, more measured, “that’s common. You run the act long enough, it starts to feel like the only version of you that works. Problem is, it’s brittle. Takes one bad moment to crack it.”
He inclined his head slightly toward the chairs inside.
“Real stability isn’t pretending you’re fine. It’s knowing exactly where you’re not—and still being able to function anyway.”
His posture relaxed a fraction, though his focus didn’t waver.
“You don’t need to prove anything by staying out in the corridor. If you’re going to get your footing back, you may as well do it properly.”
A final, simple gesture toward the office.
“Come inside, Ensign.”
Then, just a touch more quietly:
“We’ll take this one step at a time. No theatrics. No judgment. Just getting you back to operational.”
Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera
Shepherd offered a silent sigh, evident concern within the ensign’s eyes. Uncertain about what to say, or even how to act towards such a situation. Some people had come to call it trauma. She tensed for a fraction of a second, remaining completely silent by then.
Shepherd let out a slow breath through her nose, quieter than the ones before it. The panic had receded enough to leave room for something else now.
Uncertainty.
Her eyes lingered on the doorway, then shifted away again. The hesitation was subtle but obvious—like stepping across that threshold meant admitting something she had spent years outrunning.
When she finally spoke, her voice had lost the frantic edge. What remained was tired honesty.
“My parents would both hate this.”
The corner of her mouth twitched faintly, not quite humor.
“My mother would call it dramatic.” She looked down at the floor, blonde hair slipping forward over one shoulder. “She’d say if I was struggling, I should’ve scheduled it properly, composed myself first, then presented the issue with some dignity.”
A pause.
“My father would say I should’ve recognized the warning signs sooner.” Her fingers flexed once at her sides. “That I let myself run too hot for too long and ignored the indicators.”
She swallowed.
“And the worst part is…” Her eyes lifted to him again. “They’d both be right.”
Another silence stretched, but this one didn’t choke her.
“They’re not cruel people.” She said it quickly, as if defending them on instinct. “They just… survived by being competent. Everything in our house had a solution. A method. A schedule. If something hurt, you adapted. If something broke, you repaired it.”
Her jaw tightened slightly.
“I don’t think either of them ever knew what to do with pain that doesn’t behave.”
She looked toward the office again, then back.
“My mother can walk into a room full of hostile diplomats and make them shake hands.” A faint breath escaped her. “My father can stare at a stellar anomaly for six hours and somehow make chaos make sense.”
Her voice dropped.
“And I can’t even walk down a corridor without nearly coming apart.”
The words clearly embarrassed her the moment they were spoken, but she didn’t retract them.
“I know they love me.” She said it softer now. “But sometimes loving me sounded like expecting me to be stronger than I was.”
Her throat worked against another swell of emotion.
“I spent half my life trying to be the daughter they could point at and say, there, see? She’s fine. She got through it.”
A brief pause.
“I don’t know if they ever asked whether I actually did.”
She straightened slightly after saying it, as though the confession itself required posture.
Then she glanced once more at the doorway.
“If I go in there…” she said carefully, “I think it means admitting they didn’t prepare me for everything.”
Her gaze returned to McIntyre, wary and vulnerable in equal measure.
“And I’m not sure whether that scares me more than the panic does.”
Her eyes met his.
“No one told me what to do when you feel like two incomplete halves pretending to be one whole person.”
The vulnerability in her face sharpened, but she didn’t look away.
“I don’t even know if I’m scared because of what happened to me… or because I’ve spent twenty-three years trying to belong somewhere and still haven’t decided where that is.”
A pause.
“Maybe that’s why I came back to Starfleet.”
Her voice quieted.
“Ships don’t usually care what species you are if you can do your job.”
Ensign Skye Shepherd
Science Officer
U.S.S. Chimera - 98730 (Mjolnir Class)
McIntyre studied her for a moment—not clinically, not distantly, but with a kind of quiet recognition.
“That’s only partly true,” he said.
Not dismissive. Just precise.
“Ships don’t care what you are. Crews do. Institutions do. People do. That doesn’t go away just because you put on a uniform.”
A brief pause, letting the reality stand without softening it.
“But here’s the difference—you’re not trying to fit into a world anymore. You’re part of one that’s built on people who don’t fit anywhere else.”
His tone remained steady, grounded.
“Starfleet isn’t uniform because everyone’s the same. It works because people bring different strengths, different perspectives—and learn how to operate together anyway.”
He held her gaze.
“You being Human and Trill isn’t a liability. It’s complexity. And complexity, handled correctly, becomes capability.”
A slight shift of posture.
“What you’re describing—this need to belong somewhere cleanly, without friction—that’s not how it usually works. Not out here. Not for people who think, adapt, and question as much as you clearly do.”
Another beat.
“You don’t find a place where you fit perfectly. You find a place where you’re useful, where you can function, contribute—and over time, that turns into something closer to belonging.”
He let that sit before continuing, quieter now.
“And you already answered your own question.”
A subtle nod.
“You came back.”
Not emphasized. Just stated.
“That wasn’t about species. That was about purpose.”
He turned slightly toward the office again, then back to her.
“If all you were looking for was somewhere that didn’t care what you are, you had easier options than this.”
A small pause.
“You chose the harder path.”
His expression didn’t change much—but there was a clear note of respect in it now.
“So the real question isn’t whether you belong in Starfleet.”
A beat.
“It’s whether you’re willing to build something here instead of waiting for it to hand you a place.”
He stepped aside once more, leaving the doorway open.
“Come on, Ensign. Let’s get you grounded—and then we’ll figure out how you move forward from here.”
Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera
Shepherd finally stared into the office as his statement was followed by a nod coming from her. Uncertainty still lingered in the atmosphere, looking down at her own hands for a few seconds. She sat down on the loveseat. Head turned towards a viewport behind the couch. Streaks of light flew past them as the ship had entered warp. Stars had been a part of her life from early on, with a stellar cartographer for a dad. Sighting she really looked up to every night after the end of his shift.
~((Flashback 11 years ago))
The quarters aboard the U.S.S. New Jersey always seemed smaller when Orrin came home late.
At twelve years old, Skye had noticed that pattern long ago. On nights when his duty shift ran over, the room felt too quiet, too full of humming bulkheads and recycled air. The Constitution-class vessel carried sounds differently than newer ships did—older relays clicking behind walls, deck plating groaning faintly when power rerouted, ventilation fans whispering like distant surf.
She sat cross-legged on the lower bunk in sleep clothes, a padd balanced on her knees and forgotten. The display had dimmed twice from inactivity.
The door slid open with its familiar mechanical sigh.
Her father stepped in still wearing the blue collar of a science officer, uniform immaculate despite a twelve-hour shift. Lieutenant Commander Orrin Castel moved with the practiced ease of someone who belonged on a starship more naturally than most people belonged on land. He unfastened one cuff as he entered, gray eyes already finding her.
“You’re awake past curfew.”
Skye held up the padd. “Studying.”
“You’re upside down.”
She looked at the screen, then rotated it with exaggerated dignity. “Correcting an error.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. It never took much for him to look younger when he smiled, though the spots tracing from temple to neck and the scar from his joining reminded her he carried more years than his face suggested.
He set a small case on the desk, shrugged off the duty jacket, and hung it with irritating precision.
“You waited up,” he said.
“I was bored.”
“Mm.”
“That means yes.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “It means I know when my daughter is lying badly.”
Skye grinned despite herself and scooted over on the bunk. “Did anything explode today?”
“No.”
“Temporal anomaly?”
“No.”
“Unknown life-form in the water recyclers?”
“Disturbingly specific. Also no.”
He loosened the collar of his undershirt and finally sat on the edge of the bunk opposite her. The mattress dipped under his weight.
“Disappointing shift, then,” she declared.
“Catastrophically ordinary.”
“That sounds worse than an explosion.”
“It often is.”
She studied him for a moment. There was tiredness around his eyes, but not the bad kind. More the sort that came from being useful all day.
“Tell me something,” she said.
“That is an alarmingly broad request.”
“A story.”
He exhaled through his nose. “You’ve inherited your mother’s talent for vague negotiations.”
“Please.”
That earned another small smile. He leaned back against the wall, long legs stretched out.
“Very well. A story.”
Skye tucked her knees up, attentive immediately.
“When I was seven,” he began, “I stole a fishing skiff.”
Her jaw dropped. “You did not.”
“I did.”
“You tell me not to touch maintenance carts.”
“And yet I was once seven.”
“You’re making this up.”
“I assure you, I am not.”
His voice took on that measured cadence it always did when he slipped into memory.
“My parents were stationed on Earth at the time. Eleuthera, in the Bahamas. Warm water, bright sun, salt in the air every day. You would have hated the insects.”
“I would have conquered the insects.”
“They would have eaten you alive.”
She nudged his knee. “Keep going.”
“There was a skiff tied near the docks. Tiny thing. Barely stable. I had decided that morning I was going to become an explorer and therefore needed a vessel.”
“You were seven.”
“I was ambitious.”
“You were ridiculous.”
“Also true.”
He folded his hands over his stomach.
“I untied it, climbed in, and pushed off before realizing I did not know how to steer.”
Skye burst out laughing.
“You? The great Commander Castel, defeated by a rope and a boat.”
He raised a brow.
“Triyan,” he corrected mildly. “I was Orrin Triyan then. Castel came much later.”
She blinked, then grinned wider.
“Fine. The great Orrin Triyan, future embarrassment of maritime history.”
“Much better.”
He gave her a look that failed to hide amusement.
“The current took me thirty meters out before my father found me spinning in circles and shouting at the oar.”
“What happened?”
“I was hauled back to shore, thoroughly scolded, and sentenced to spend two weeks learning proper seamanship.”
“That doesn’t sound like punishment.”
“It was not intended to be enjoyable.”
“Did you like it?”
“I loved it.”
She laughed again, then quieted.
“The Bahamas,” she said softly. “Do you remember it much?”
His expression changed in the subtle way it did when something mattered.
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate.
“I remember water so clear you could see shadows moving over the sand. Thunderstorms that rolled in fast enough to make the sky look split in half. Music from houses with open windows. The smell of rain on hot wood.”
He glanced toward the bulkhead, hearing something far beyond it.
“I remember being strange there.”
Skye blinked. “Strange?”
“We were not local. Trill family. Different customs. Different faces.” He touched the spots near his temple absently. “Children notice difference quickly.”
“What did they do?”
“Sometimes nothing. Sometimes enough.”
She frowned.
“That’s stupid.”
“It is common,” he corrected gently.
She hugged her knees tighter.
“Did it bother you?”
“It did when I was young.”
“And later?”
“I learned something useful.”
“What?”
He looked at her then, steady and thoughtful.
“That people who need everyone around them to be the same are announcing their own limitations, not yours.”
Skye considered that in silence.
Outside the quarters, the ship thrummed through warp space.
“Did you know you’d join Starfleet?” she asked.
“No.”
“You always make it sound inevitable.”
“Nothing is inevitable.” He tilted his head. “I wanted many things before Starfleet. Marine biologist. Cartographer. Archaeologist. Professional disgrace to my parents.”
She snorted.
“What changed?”
“I realized ships leave.”
The answer hung between them.
“They go farther than arguments. Farther than expectations. Farther than whatever world thinks it knows you.”
His gaze softened slightly.
“And sometimes, if you are fortunate, they help you become someone on your own terms.”
Skye looked around their quarters—the narrow bunks, the storage cabinets, the old brass trim preserved from another era. She had spent years aboard the New Jersey already, yet suddenly it felt less like being dragged through space and more like being carried.
“Do you think I’ll know?” she asked quietly. “What I’m meant for?”
“No.”
Her face fell.
Then he added, “I think you’ll decide.”
She stared at him.
“That’s annoyingly wise.”
“I’ve had symbiont assistance.”
“That’s cheating.”
“Life rewards strategic partnerships.”
She threw a pillow at him. He caught it one-handed.
~~~((Present Time))
The memory loosened something in her chest.
Not all at once. Not enough to call healing. But enough that the tightness there no longer felt welded shut.
Skye remained seated on the loveseat, eyes fixed on the stars streaking past the viewport. Warp light bent into silver rivers across the glass, endless and forward-moving. For a moment, she could almost hear the older hum of the New Jersey beneath it—the antique relays, the tired deck plates, the sound of her father coming home after shift.
Ships leave.
Her fingers, which had been curled tight in her lap, slowly uncoiled.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than before, but steadier.
“My father used to say that ships go farther than expectations.”
She glanced toward McIntyre, then back to the viewport.
“I think I forgot that.”
A breath in. Controlled this time.
“I spent so long treating Starfleet like a courtroom.” The corner of her mouth twitched faintly. “Every captain a judge. Every mistake evidence. Every room somewhere I had to defend why I deserved to be in it.”
She shook her head once.
“That’s not why I wanted this.”
Her posture straightened by degrees, shoulders settling into something more natural than rigid.
“I wanted the stars.” She said it simply, like a truth she’d neglected. “I wanted to map things no one had seen. I wanted to stand on strange worlds and know I was small in the best possible way.”
Another breath.
“I wanted purpose.”
Her eyes lowered to the silver pip on her collar. This time she didn’t look ashamed of it.
“They made me think service was permission.” She looked up again, something firmer behind her gaze now. “Like I only got to wear this if I was flawless, agreeable, easy to manage.”
A beat.
“They were wrong.”
The words surprised even her, but once spoken, they stayed.
Skye leaned back slightly, grounding herself against the cushions.
“I am difficult sometimes,” she admitted. “I question people. I push when I think something matters. I don’t always package things politely.” A faint, self-aware exhale. “And apparently I sprint through corridors when avoiding therapy.”
The smallest trace of humor passed through her tone.
“But none of that means I don’t belong here.”
She turned fully toward him now.
“It means I need discipline. Perspective. Better instincts.” Her jaw set. “Not exile.”
There it was.
Determination—not loud, not dramatic, but real.
“I can’t promise I’m fixed by the end of this session.” She lifted one shoulder. “I suspect that would disappoint us both.”
A pause.
“But I can do operational.”
Her hands rested open now on her knees.
“I can show up tomorrow. I can do my duty shift. I can ask for help before I hit a corridor at full speed.” Another breath. “I can stop acting like surviving made me fraudulent.”
She held his gaze.
“And I can build something here.”
The stars continued racing past behind her.
This time, she looked ready to race with them.
“So,” she said, voice calm and level, “what’s the first step, Lieutenant?”
Ensign Skye Shepherd
Science Officer
U.S.S. Chimera - 98730 (Mjolnir Class)
McIntyre didn’t speak right away.
He let the moment hold—let her words stand on their own without stepping in to dilute them. What she’d just done wasn’t small. It wasn’t fragile, either. It had weight.
When he finally moved, it was only a slight shift in posture—settling back, studying her not as a case, but as an officer finding her footing.
“First step?” he repeated.
A faint nod.
“You already took it.”
Not encouragement for its own sake—just fact.
“You stopped running. You got control back. And you corrected your own perspective without me having to drag you there.”
A brief pause.
“That’s more than most manage in a first session.”
He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees now, tone sharpening just enough to become practical.
“But since you asked for something you can use—we keep it simple. Deliberate. Repeatable.”
He held up a hand slightly, not to lecture—just to structure.
“Three things.”
“First—baseline control. What you did out there? That breathing cycle? That’s not optional anymore. You feel your system spike, you don’t push through it, you don’t ignore it—you stabilize. Immediately.”
A small beat.
“You don’t get points for enduring what you could have controlled.”
“Second—operational honesty. Not emotional oversharing. Not a full report every time you feel off-balance. But you stop pretending you’re fine when you’re not.”
His gaze held steady.
“You identify the problem early enough that it doesn’t take you out of the fight.”
Another slight pause.
“Third—purpose alignment.”
He gestured faintly toward the viewport behind her, the stars still stretching into streaks of light.
“You already said it. You’re here for the stars. For exploration. For something bigger than whatever happened to you.”
A measured breath.
“So before every shift, you remind yourself of that. Not the fear. Not the past. The reason you came back.”
He sat back again, letting the structure settle.
“That’s your foundation. Control. Awareness. Direction.”
A beat.
“You build from there.”
His expression remained composed, but there was no mistaking the approval now—it was earned.
“As for the rest—discipline, instinct, confidence—that comes with time and repetition. There’s no shortcut. There never was.”
He tilted his head slightly, studying her one more time.
“You’re not starting from zero, Ensign. You’re recalibrating.”
A final pause.
“And you’re doing it faster than you think.”
He shifted his attention briefly to the doorway, then back to her.
“You’ll report to your duty shift tomorrow. You’ll function. And when something starts to slip, you’ll apply what we just established.”
No room for ambiguity.
“And you’ll schedule a follow-up. Not because you’re failing—but because you’re taking this seriously.”
A slight nod toward her collar.
“That’s what that uniform actually requires.”
He stood then, not dismissing her—but signaling the session was moving toward its close.
“You wanted a first step.”
A small, almost dry edge to his tone.
“You’ve got three. Use them.”
Then, more quietly:
“You’re on the right track, Ensign. Don’t overcomplicate it.”
Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera
For once, pieces seemed to be falling into place. It had been the first time her lips even twitched from something more than a place of frustration. Her gaze held steady as he spoke, offering no interruptions to Her gaze held steady as he spoke, offering no interruptions to correct those indications.
What McIntyre had provided Shepherd with had been building blocks to regain her confidence when finding herself on board a Starfleet vessel. Let those expectations be a positive experience instead of something to be considered nightmare worthy. Those previous postings were part of her past, yet they wouldn’t be the ones to be writing her future within the Federation as an Officer.
For once, pieces seemed to be falling into place. It had been the first time her lips even twitched from something more than a place of frustration. Her gaze held steady as he spoke, offering no interruptions to Her gaze held steady as he spoke, offering no interruptions to correct those indications.
What McIntyre had provided Shepherd with had been building blocks to regain her confidence when finding herself on board a Starfleet vessel. Let those expectations be a positive experience instead of something to be considered nightmare worthy. Those previous postings were part of her past, yet they wouldn’t be the ones to be writing her future within the Federation as an Officer.
Skye sat with that realization in silence for several seconds, allowing it to settle instead of immediately questioning it the way she usually would. That habit—to challenge every hopeful thought before it could disappoint her—had kept roots in her mind for years. Yet now, for the first time in longer than she cared to admit, she did not feel the urge to tear something constructive apart simply because it was unfamiliar.
Her hands rested against her knees, no longer clenched. The slight tremor that had haunted them earlier was fading into stillness. She noticed it only because she had grown so used to carrying tension like a second pulse.
The stars beyond the viewport streaked past in pale lines of light, each one vanishing behind the ship almost as soon as it appeared. It struck her then how much of life aboard a vessel depended on motion. Nothing remained still for long—not the ship, not the stars, not the people aboard her. Even pain changed shape if given enough distance.
Perhaps that was what she had been denying herself.
Distance.
She had carried the Chin’toka and the Butler like shackles, letting old voices command present moments. Captains who no longer stood over her still found ways to occupy space in her mind. Every corridor became a tribunal. Every mistake, a pending sentence. Every superior officer, another threat waiting to confirm their verdict.
But they were absent now.
Deck 33 was not a courtroom. McIntyre was not Captain Serala or Rouiancet. The Chimera was not those ships.
And she was no longer the frightened junior officer they had cornered.
A slow breath filled her lungs.
Then another.
Her shoulders eased downward, posture settling into something less defensive and more deliberate. There was still work to be done—months of it, perhaps years—but work no longer felt like punishment. It felt like direction.
“I understand, sir,” she said at last, voice level and clear.
The words carried none of the brittle compliance she had once used with authority. This was chosen.
“I can do three things.”
Her eyes moved briefly to the viewport again, then back to him.
“Control. Awareness. Direction.”
Repeating them aloud made the structure feel tangible, less like advice and more like coordinates.
“I’ll report for duty tomorrow.” A slight pause. “And I’ll report as myself. Not as whatever those captains decided I was.”
There was quiet steel in that sentence now.
“If I start slipping, I’ll correct it early. If I need help, I’ll ask before I’m halfway down another corridor trying to outrun my own nervous system.”
The corner of her mouth twitched faintly.
“And I’ll schedule the follow-up.”
No resentment in it. No embarrassment. Only acceptance that strength sometimes looked different than she had been taught.
Skye rose from the loveseat, smoothing the front of her tunic. Fingers brushed over the single silver pip at her collar, not to check if it still belonged there—but to remind herself that it did.
“For what it’s worth, Lieutenant…” she said, pausing near the doorway.
“I think this is the first time counseling has ever sounded more like strategy than surrender.”
A beat passed.
“Turns out that works better on me.”
There was a spark in her expression now—small, but genuine. Not confidence fully restored, but confidence beginning to return.
She straightened once more.
“Ensign Shepherd,” she said, almost as if reintroducing herself.
“Ready to recalibrate.”
Ensign Skye Shepherd
Science Officer
U.S.S. Chimera - 98730 (Mjolnir Class)
McIntyre watched her stand, noting the difference immediately.
Not dramatic. Not some overnight transformation. But the edges were cleaner now—posture aligned, voice steady, decisions owned instead of questioned.
That was what mattered.
At her remark, the faintest trace of dry approval crossed his expression.
“Good,” he said simply.
“No one wins a fight by surrendering their position. Counseling isn’t about that—it’s about making sure you hold the ground you’ve got.”
He stepped toward the doorway with her, not ushering—just matching her movement.
When she reintroduced herself, he gave a short, deliberate nod.
“Ensign Shepherd.”
Acknowledged. Not as a patient—as an officer.
“Then we’re clear.”
A brief pause, his tone settling back into that calm, professional cadence.
“You report tomorrow as yourself. You operate within your limits—and you expand them properly, not by forcing it.”
His gaze held hers, steady.
“And when the pressure builds—and it will—you don’t run from it. You manage it.”
A slight beat.
“You’ve already proven you can.”
He stepped aside, giving her a clean path back into the corridor.
“Recalibrate, Ensign. Then get back to work.”
Just before she crossed the threshold, he added—quiet, but firm:
“And Shepherd?”
A half-second pause.
“You didn’t come back here to ask permission.”
His eyes met hers one last time.
“So don’t start now.”
With that, he let her go—no further commentary, no overreach.
Just the expectation that she’d follow through.
Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera
Shepherd slowly rose from her seat before turning towards the viewport once more. Each time she had a chance to gaze at the stars was a moment to admire how far she had come since being raised on board the New Jersey. Not many shared that chance that were still living. A part of the ship’s history to follow until she was decommissioned and led to the Federation’s space dock museum.
Before the hybrid took another step, the Lieutenant spoke up. Which immediately caused her to turn around, not to disregard his word of advice.
“Holding ground…” she repeated quietly. “That I understand.”
Her father had taught her stellar drift corrections. Her mother had taught her negotiation posture. Starfleet had taught her how to stand watch.
This, somehow, translated all three.
“You’re right, sir. Retreating from every damaged section of yourself just means eventually there’s nowhere left to stand.”
The words surprised her as they came out, but once spoken they felt true.
Her chin lifted a fraction.
“So I’ll hold it.”
Shepherd’s shoulder brushed the doorway’s frame, her back facing the hallway as their conversation continued. Posture lingering towards a more relaxed posture. Though those blue eyes hadn’t wavered from his gaze. At least not yet.
She drew in one measured breath, slower than the ones that had nearly broken her in the corridor.
“So tomorrow I report as myself,” she repeated. “Not the version trying to impress everyone. Not the version trying to prove old captains wrong. Not the version pretending nothing ever happened.”
Her voice steadied further with each clause.
“Just me. Competent where I am, honest where I’m not, and improving from there.”
Skye’s eyes shifted briefly to the corridor beyond the doorway, the same stretch of deck she had torn down minutes earlier like something was chasing her.
Then back to him.
This time, there was no urge to bolt.
“So next time the pressure builds…” A faint, determined smile surfaced. “I’ll save us both the spectacle and start with breathing.”
Skye had already started to turn when he said her name.
“Shepherd?”
She paused at the threshold, one hand resting lightly against the doorframe. The corridor beyond waited in clean lines and muted light, no longer looking like something to escape through.
Then his final words reached her.
You didn’t come back here to ask permission.
For a moment, she didn’t move.
“No, sir,” she said quietly.
Then, after a beat, more certain:
“No… I didn’t.”
The faintest smile touched her mouth. Real this time.
She turned fully back toward him, shoulders squared in a way that no longer looked like armor.
“And thank you, Lieutenant.”
There was no awkwardness in it now. No reluctance to mean it.
“For the course correction.”
Her eyes flicked once to the office around them, then back.
“And for speaking to me like I was still capable of one.”
Ensign Skye Shepherd
Science Officer
U.S.S. Chimera - 98730 (Mjolnir Class)((OOC: if you want to keep this thread going, I don’t mind since my superior officer is in LOA, so I wouldn’t mind a writing partner…))
McIntyre held her gaze as she spoke, watching the shift lock into place—not perfect, not finished, but real. That was the only kind that lasted.
At her thanks, he gave a small, almost dismissive shake of his head—not rejecting it, just putting it where it belonged.
“You did the correction,” he said evenly. “I just pointed at the drift.”
A brief pause.
“And you’re right about something else.”
His tone carried that same quiet precision.
“If you keep abandoning ground every time it takes damage, you don’t stay intact—you just shrink your perimeter until there’s nothing left worth defending.”
He let that sit, then added:
“So hold it. Repair it. Expand it when you’re ready.”
No embellishment. Just doctrine.
He stepped back slightly into the office, giving her the corridor fully now.
“As for capability—” a faint, dry edge returned, “I don’t spend time on officers who don’t have any.”
A beat.
“You made the list.”
Not praise. Recognition.
His posture settled back into neutral, hands loosely behind his back.
“Get some rest if you can. Report sharp. Keep it simple.”
Then, final and clear:
“And Shepherd—next time you feel that spike coming on, I expect you to beat it before it reaches my corridor.”
A subtle pause.
“Set the standard early.”
He inclined his head once—dismissal, but not distance.
“Carry on, Ensign.”
And with that, he let the moment close—leaving her with direction, not dependence.
Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera
That embarrassed smile appeared on her face when he granted her the hallway leading back to the turbolift from which she had come. All those military remarks almost seemed to remind Shepherd about the New Jersey’s captain. One of the few Bajorans to serve under the Federation and actually wear that uniform.
One of her boots reached the carpeted flooring, glancing both ways before fully stepping outside. “Yes, sir.”
She turned more fully, one brow lifting.
“I’ll do my best to preserve the dignity of your corridor.”
With those words, the hybrid’s stride began leading her towards the turbolift, where she hoped to be meeting Nytha’rae at the biology labs once all the tensions settled down.
Ensign Skye Shepherd
Science Officer
U.S.S. Chimera - 98730 (Mjolnir Class)McIntyre watched her step into the corridor, noting the difference in her stride—no urgency, no edge of flight. Just direction.
At her remark, a faint trace of dry humor crossed his expression.
“I’d appreciate that,” he replied evenly. “It’s a well-run corridor. I intend to keep it that way.”
He didn’t follow her out this time. He remained at the threshold, exactly where he needed to be—present, but not hovering.
“Good luck in the labs, Ensign,” he added, voice carrying just enough to reach her before the distance took over. “Science tends to reward a steady hand more than a fast one.”
A beat.
“Apply the same principle.”
Then he let the moment end.
The doors to Counseling slid shut behind him with a quiet hiss, sealing the calm of the office once more as he returned to his desk—another name checked, another officer steadied, and a ship that would run just a little sharper for it.
Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera
That embarrassed smile crossed her features before allowing her to nod before disappearing down that hall. It would only be a few hours before a shuttle sent from the New Jersey would arrive to their sector in space, carrying quite special cargo for the Ensign. A couple hundred pounds of fur and good will named Zephram.
As the doors to the turbolift were about to close, she waved her hand goodbye. Just grateful that a midlife crisis was able to be adverted instead of growing to become a much larger problem instead. To her? It was the beginning of another great adventure leading to the vast unknown.
Ensign Skye Shepherd
Science Officer
U.S.S. Chimera - 98730 (Mjolnir Class)