Posted by Ensign Skye Shepherd (Scientist) in CNS OFFICE DECK 33

Posted by Lieutenant Junior Grade Samuel Andrew McIntyre (CNS) in CNS OFFICE DECK 33

Posted by Ensign Skye Shepherd (Scientist) in CNS OFFICE DECK 33
Posted by… suppressed (7) by the Post Ghost! 👻
USS Chimera (NCC-97456)
Deck 33 — Chief Counselor’s Office
Stardate: 79013.2

The quiet hum of the USS Chimera surrounded Lieutenant Junior Grade Samuel McIntyre as he sat behind his desk on Deck 33.

The counselor’s office was designed with one purpose in mind: creating a space where crew members could step away from the pressure of Starfleet life. Unlike the sterile environment of sickbay or the formal atmosphere of a command office, McIntyre’s office felt calm and welcoming. Soft lighting filled the room, comfortable chairs were positioned near the viewport, and shelves displayed artifacts and mementos collected from various worlds — each one representing a different perspective, a different story.

And every person aboard the Chimera had one.

McIntyre sat quietly, a PADD in hand, reviewing the personnel file of one of the ship’s newest science officers.

ENSIGN SKYE SHEPHERD
Department: Science
Position: Science Officer
Assignment: USS Chimera

His eyes moved over the information displayed before him.

Academic achievements.
Previous assignments.
Performance evaluations.
Command recommendations.

A strong officer on paper.

But McIntyre knew better than most that a personnel file only showed a fraction of who someone really was.

The real story was found in conversations.

In the pauses between words.

In the things people chose to say — and the things they avoided saying.

He scrolled through the file, making a few private notes for their scheduled session.

“Initial counseling session. Evaluate adjustment to assignment, workload, interpersonal integration, and long-term career goals.”

He set the PADD down on the desk and leaned back slightly.

Being assigned to a ship like the Chimera was no small responsibility. Starfleet officers were expected to explore unknown regions, face dangers most civilians could never imagine, and maintain professionalism under extraordinary circumstances.

Even the strongest officers needed a place where they could simply be themselves.

The terminal on his desk chimed, reminding him that the appointment time was approaching.

McIntyre reached for the cup of tea resting beside him and took a moment before opening the channel.

Then he tapped his combadge.

=^= Ensign Shepherd, this is Lieutenant McIntyre. Please report to my office for your scheduled counseling session. McIntyre out. =^=

The channel closed.

McIntyre placed his hands together on the desk and looked toward the office doors.

Now he waited.

Not as an evaluator.

Not as someone searching for flaws.

But as the person assigned to make sure the crew of the USS Chimera had someone who would listen.

Lt. J.G. Samuel A. McIntyre
Chief Counselor
USS Chimera • NCC-98730
Starfleet Medical Division
Starfleet Command

---

It had been a few weeks since Nytha’rae had taken a break off from the ship, meaning she was the one to keep up with every assigned experiment ongoing in correlation to Chimera’s current mission. The hybrid happened to have her head stuck in a cabinet looking for fish food for one of the tanks mounted against the wall.

Her badge chimed, making Skye tumble back to the floor.

Face looking up at a tropical forest resembling ceiling.
Several silver schooling fish had gathered at the glass, apparently fascinated by the sudden display.
One particularly bold fish swam right to the front and stared directly at her.

The science officer slowly turned her head toward it.

”…Don’t.”

The fish continued staring.

“You saw nothing”

Another fish drifted over as if joining the conversation.

“Oh great. Now you’ve got an audience.”

Now there were two silent critics.

With a sigh, Skye rolled onto her side and climbed to her feet, brushing imaginary dust from the knees of her uniform. She glanced back into the open cabinet.

“…Right.”

She peered inside again.

Another cabinet.

Nutrient medium.

Another.

Water-testing kits.

Another.

An entire crate of replacement tubing.

“…Who organized this lab?”

She opened the final drawer.

There, sitting proudly in the middle as though it had always belonged there, was a container clearly labeled:

FISH FOOD

Her combadge crackled.

=^= Ensign Shepherd, this is Lieutenant McIntyre. Please report to my office for your scheduled counseling session. McIntyre out. =^=

Skye tapped her combadge with one hand while balancing the fish food container under the other arm.

“Shepherd here.”

She cleared her throat, trying to sound considerably more composed than she had been thirty seconds earlier. =^= Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Apologies for the slight delay. I was… in the middle of feeding one of our ongoing science projects. I’ll be there in just a moment. Shepherd out. =^=

The doors to the science laboratory slid shut behind Skye with a soft hiss, leaving the cheerful rainforest sounds behind.

The corridor outside was quieter, filled instead with the familiar pulse of the USS Chimera’s warp engines and the distant rhythm of a ship carrying out its daily routine.

She rounded the corner toward the nearest turbolift, passing officers from engineering discussing plasma manifold diagnostics and a pair of security ensigns debating the results of last night’s parrises squares match. The everyday bustle of a Starfleet vessel continued around her, oblivious to the tragedy of the missing fish food.

The turbolift doors parted with a gentle whoosh as she approached.

She stepped inside.

“Deck thirty-three.”

“Deck 33,” the computer acknowledged.

The doors slid closed, and the lift began its smooth ascent through the ship. She folded her hands behind her back as the deck numbers quietly counted upward.

The computer chimed.

“Deck 33.”

The turbolift slowed to a stop, and the doors slid open onto the corridor leading toward the Chief Counselor’s office.

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

Samuel looked up from the PADD on his desk as the soft chime beside the office door announced a visitor.

Right on time.

He set the PADD aside, straightened slightly in his chair, and allowed a small, welcoming smile to cross his face. First impressions often set the tone for a counseling session, and he preferred his office to feel inviting rather than intimidating.

“Come in,” he called calmly.

The doors parted with a quiet hiss as Ensign Skye Shepherd stepped into the office.

McIntyre rose from behind his desk, extending a hand in greeting.

“Ensign Shepherd, welcome. I’m Lieutenant Junior Grade Samuel McIntyre, Chief Counselor aboard the Chimera. Thank you for coming.”

He gestured toward one of the comfortable chairs positioned opposite his desk.

“Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea, coffee, or water before we begin?”

His tone remained relaxed and conversational.

“This is simply an opportunity for us to get acquainted. My goal is to learn a little about you, how you’re settling into life aboard the Chimera, and to make sure you have the support you need. Nothing more formal than that.”

McIntyre waited patiently, allowing Shepherd to settle in before beginning the session.

Lt. J.G. Samuel A. McIntyre
Chief Counselor
USS Chimera • NCC-98730
Starfleet Medical Division
Starfleet Command

---

The Trill hybrid seemed to recognize the counselor’s face as soon as she was able to lay eyes on him. Running that very hallway just a few months prior. Skye stood awkwardly outside the door before gaining enough confidence to step into the office. Certainly the place had been familiar once before, although a few objects had been rearranged since her last visit.

She let the slightest sign of a smile to illuminate her face, stepping carefully onto the carpet as if the decking below them would break apart. He had already spoken her name, so there would be no need for an introduction unless the lieutenant should specifically request it.

Blue gray colored eyes faced the viewport before he gestured at the chairs. There was a split moment of hesitation before finally lowering herself to the backrest, hands leaning carefully against the edge of the desk. While Skye didn’t appear particularly concerned, there were certain characteristics about the ensign that stood out from other junior officers. The specially in the sense that she hadn’t been raised around other children. “Water would be fine.” she finally spoke up.

When he continued, the science officer nodded before finally shifting her gaze at the lieutenant. Physically, she wasn’t much different than your average human. Except for the faint, Trill markings that framed both sides of her head. One could consider that a wonder between species, such different worlds intertwined to create new life.

Once he spoke again, her eyes finally crossed his gaze. Coming from an antique vessel, specifically speaking about a Constitution Class, life was much different than what the average starship raised child. “Feel free to ask away.”

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

Samuel offered a warm smile and gave a slight nod.

“Water it is.”

He rose from his chair and crossed to the small replicator built into the office wall.

“Computer, one glass of water.”

The familiar hum was followed by the appearance of a chilled glass. McIntyre retrieved it and returned, setting it gently on the desk within easy reach of the ensign before taking his own seat once more.

He noticed the hesitation in her movements and the careful way she carried herself, but he made no comment. Years of counseling had taught him that silence often revealed more than questions.

Instead, he folded his hands loosely on the desk.

“Thank you.”

His tone remained conversational rather than clinical.

“I’ve read your service record, Ensign, but I’ve found that personnel files rarely tell me who someone really is. They list assignments, evaluations, commendations, and qualifications—but they don’t tell me about the person sitting across from me.”

He paused just long enough to let the thought settle.

“You’ve had a rather unique upbringing compared to most Starfleet officers. Growing up aboard a Constitution-class vessel is certainly not something many people can claim.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“So, let’s start there.”

“What was it like growing up aboard her? What lessons did that experience teach you that you think have stayed with you?”

Rather than immediately delving into stress evaluations or psychological assessments, McIntyre preferred to understand the individual first. The answers to those questions often revealed far more than any standardized counseling checklist ever could.

Then he simply listened.

Lt. J.G. Samuel A. McIntyre
Chief Counselor
USS Chimera • NCC-98730
Starfleet Medical Division
Starfleet Command

---

Skye’s face followed towards the replicator as a glass of water materialized from thin air. It was something the ensign was still learning on how to use. The New Jersey certainly did not hold such sophisticated technology given her age. The commanding officer and his crew had continued keeping her in pristine condition. The one member of a fleet who remained untouched by time.

Once he let go of the glass, she turned around with the amount of curiosity a child would show around a magic show. Surely on Trill, where she had spent the first decade of her life had advanced technology but this device was unlike anything Shepherd had encountered before Starfleet Academy.

The 21 year old’s head snapped up as soon as Sam started talking, attempting to regain her composure instead of admiring the glass of water like a curious child. “Thanks.” she responded before listening carefully to the explanation he would be providing next.

“Well, I first boarded the vessel at 12 years old. When my father returned to service after being joined. That ship was unlike anything I’d seen before, not even the freighters dropping supplies back home.” Her palms were placed face-down over the desk in front of her. “Going from a child raised in the forest, born in a rural area was one big turnaround in life.”

Skye cleared her throat, taking a sip out of that curious glass before setting it back down. “We didn’t have much technology, considering how old the ship is. No modern engineer was allowed to introduce modern systems, having custom parts made to make her history remain alive after that many centuries. The only one of her class still in service to this day.” once again, the hybrid shifted her face toward the viewport and the stars that laid beyond.

“That is, before the shuttle accident took place. A few months before we, the four kids from New Jersey tried out a shuttlecraft exercise.” Her tone had lowered just slightly “A Bajoran and Vulcan didn’t survive the crash against an uninhabited, M Class planet.” It appeared to be a tough topic, but not something that made her recoil anymore after openly speaking about it. “An Aenar and I were the ones that made it off with superficial scratches. Perhaps a fracture or two.”

Rolling up the sleeve from her left arm, a set of four jagged scars from the accident had been visible. Along with some burning around the edges. “Life on the ship changed vastly after that day. So much quiet on the halls, as though laughter had somehow… vanished.”

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

Samuel remained silent as Skye spoke, giving her his full attention. He didn’t interrupt or rush to fill the quiet moments between her thoughts. When her gaze drifted toward the viewport and she rolled up her sleeve, his eyes briefly acknowledged the scars before returning to her face.

He understood they were more than physical reminders.

When she finished, he let a respectful silence settle over the room for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry for what you and your shipmates went through,” he said softly. “Losing friends—especially at your age—is something no amount of Starfleet training can truly prepare someone for.”

He leaned forward slightly, his posture open and relaxed.

“The scars tell part of the story.”

His eyes met hers.

“But the silence you described afterward… that tells me just as much.”

He folded his hands together again.

“Ships develop personalities of their own. Not literally, of course, but through the people who live aboard them. Their routines. Their traditions. Their laughter.”

He glanced briefly toward the viewport.

“When two members of that family don’t come home, everyone feels the absence. The corridors don’t actually become quieter… they simply remind us of the voices that are missing.”

Another pause.

“You mentioned that you don’t recoil from talking about it anymore, and that’s a healthy sign. It suggests you’ve begun to process what happened rather than trying to bury it.”

His expression remained gentle.

“But processing grief doesn’t mean it disappears.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“So let me ask you this—not as a counselor checking boxes, but as someone who wants to understand.”

“When you think about those two cadets today… what do you feel?”

“Were you left with guilt because you survived?”

“Or is it something else entirely?”

Lt. J.G. Samuel A. McIntyre
Chief Counselor
USS Chimera • NCC-98730
Starfleet Medical Division
Starfleet Command

---

Lowering the sleeve to her black and blue uniform, her eyes squeezed shut. She couldn’t just look at him and admit it had been her fault, the reason blood from two lives now stained her hands. between her lashes a slight formation of tears could be seen against the light’s reflection.

“I…” she began, only for the word to catch before it could become a sentence.

She swallowed again, forcing herself onward.

“I was on the command path before I transferred into science.”

A humorless smile flickered across her face for barely an instant.

“I loved flying. Warp mechanics. Helm simulations. Anything that let me understand how a ship moved.”

Her gaze drifted away from McIntyre, settling instead on the stars beyond the viewport.

“I kept telling myself that one day I’d be the one sitting at the controls.”

Silence followed.

Her jaw tightened.

“The exercise…” she whispered. “I was acting pilot.”

Her breathing became shallower.

“The instructors trusted me.”

A tear finally escaped despite every effort she’d made to keep it contained. It traced quietly down one cheek before disappearing beneath her jawline.

She didn’t wipe it away.

“I remember every second.”

The words came more slowly now.

“The warning alarms.”

“The crosswinds.”

“The instrument panel.”

“I remember trying to compensate.”

Her hands unconsciously curled against the edge of the desk.

“I remember thinking…”

Just a little more left…

We’re going to make it.

Her eyes squeezed shut.

“I was wrong.”

The confession hung between them.

“When people read the accident report, they see equipment failures, atmospheric conditions, contributing factors…”

Her voice cracked.

“I don’t.”

Another tear followed the first.

“I see my hands on the flight controls.”

Her shoulders rose with a shaky breath.

“I know what the investigation concluded.”

Her hands happened to be gripping the edge of the desk so tightly that even her knuckles had turned white. Naturally, her hands were a few degrees colder than those of a regular human, blood vessels and veins thinner given her alien heritage.

“They said I wasn’t responsible.”

Another pause.

“I’ve read the report so many times I’ve practically memorized it.”

Her eyes finally met McIntyre’s again, red-rimmed now.

“I know every conclusion.”

Every recommendation.

Every technical analysis.

Every sentence explaining why the crash happened.

“But every time I close my eyes…”

Her voice became barely audible.

“I still wonder if I’d reacted half a second sooner…”

“If I’d chosen a different approach vector…”

“If I’d ignored protocol…”

“If I’d been… better…”

She stopped herself before the sentence could finish.

The tears came freely now, though she made no sound beyond uneven breathing.

“I was the one flying.”

She looked back down at her hands.

“They trusted me.”

Another long silence.

Then, almost too quietly to hear,

“They died.”

“And I…”

Her voice broke completely.

“…I got to come home.”

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

Samuel did not move immediately.

Not because he was unsure what to say.

Because he understood that this moment was not about finding the perfect words.

It was about allowing Skye the space to finally say them.

The room remained quiet except for the gentle hum of the Chimera around them. The ship continued on, carrying thousands of lives through the stars, unaware of the weight being carried inside this small office on Deck 33.

McIntyre looked at her hands as they gripped the edge of the desk, noticing the tension in her posture, the way she held herself as if she were still bracing for impact.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm.

“Ensign Shepherd.”

A pause.

“Look at me for a moment.”

He waited, not demanding it, simply offering the invitation.

“When you walked into this office, you described yourself as the person who survived.”

His eyes remained steady.

“But what I just heard was something different.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“I heard someone who has been carrying the responsibility for three lives: your own, and the two people you lost.”

He let the words sit for a moment.

“But I want you to listen carefully to what I’m about to say.”

His tone became a little firmer, the way a counselor sometimes needed to be when someone had spent too long believing something that was hurting them.

“Survivor’s guilt is incredibly convincing.”

“It takes facts, memories, and emotions, and it builds a story around them. A story where the outcome could have been different if only you had been smarter, faster, stronger, more experienced.”

He glanced toward the scars on her arm.

“But that story leaves out something important.”

“The fact that you were twelve years old.”

A brief pause.

“You were a child participating in a training exercise.”

He didn’t say it dismissively. He said it as a fact.

“Not a commanding officer. Not a flight instructor. Not the person who designed the shuttle. Not the person responsible for every system aboard that vessel.”

His gaze returned to hers.

“You were a young person trusted with a responsibility because others believed you were capable.”

He allowed a breath of silence.

“And when something went wrong, you did exactly what people are trained to do.”

“You tried to save the people with you.”

McIntyre reached over and gently slid a box of tissues across the desk, not forcing them into her hands.

“You said something important.”

His voice softened.

‘They trusted me.’”

He nodded slowly.

“I believe they did.”

“And I don’t think their trust was misplaced.”

He leaned back slightly, giving her room.

“I want to ask you something, and I want you to take your time answering.”

“Those two cadets who didn’t survive…”

“If the situation had been reversed, and you were the one who didn’t make it home…”

“Do you believe they would have wanted their friend to spend the next several years of her life believing she didn’t deserve to survive?”

The question remained between them.

Not an accusation.

Not a challenge.

Just something for her to consider.

McIntyre glanced briefly toward the stars outside the viewport.

“The New Jersey was a unique ship. An old ship. A ship that carried history.”

A small pause.

“But ships are not defined by their age, their systems, or their hull.”

“They are defined by the people who serve aboard them.”

He looked back to Skye.

“And those two people are still part of that ship’s story.”

“Not because of how they died.”

“Because of how they lived.”

He folded his hands again.

“So I want to ask you the question again, Ensign.”

“Not what the accident report says.”

“Not what your guilt says.”

“What do you remember about them?”

“Who were they before that day?”

Lt. J.G. Samuel A. McIntyre
Chief Counselor
USS Chimera • NCC-98730
Starfleet Medical Division
Starfleet Command

Skye sat in silence after his question.

Her eyes remained lowered for several seconds, following the grain of the wooden desktop instead of meeting his gaze.

Then, almost absentmindedly, she shook her head.

“…I should correct one thing, Lieutenant.”

Her voice was quiet, but steadier than it had been moments before.

“You said I was twelve.”

She drew a slow breath.

“I was twelve when I first boarded the New Jersey.”

A faint, bittersweet smile crossed her face.

“The accident happened much later.”

She finally looked up.

“We were all seventeen.”

Her expression softened with the memory.

“Old enough to think we knew everything.”

“…Young enough to discover we didn’t.”

Her eyes drifted toward the viewport again.

“There were four of us.”

She held up four fingers before curling two of them back down.

“An Aenar.”

“Myself.”

“A Bajoran.”

“And a Vulcan.”

The words came easier now—not because they hurt less, but because they were no longer about the crash.

“They’d both joined the New Jersey around the same time I had.”

“We practically grew up together.”

A small laugh escaped her.

“The Bajoran…” she said, smiling through damp eyes, “she could talk to anyone.”

“It didn’t matter if they were a cadet, a captain, or someone delivering cargo.”

“Within five minutes she’d know their favorite food, where they were from, and somehow convince them to tell an embarrassing story.”

Skye chuckled quietly.

“She once got our chief engineer to admit he’d accidentally welded his own toolkit shut as an ensign.”

Her smile lingered.

“I still don’t know how.”

The smile slowly faded into something more reflective.

“And the Vulcan…”

She exhaled softly through her nose.

“He was… exactly what everyone expected.”

“Disciplined.”

“Precise.”

“Always early.”

“He’d correct your equations before you’d even realized you’d made a mistake.”

Another pause.

“But…”

Her eyes brightened just a little.

“He had a sense of humor.”

“It was just… incredibly well hidden.”

She looked back toward McIntyre.

“The Bajoran made it her personal mission to get him to laugh.”

A tear rolled down her cheek as she remembered.

“It took almost two years.”

Her lips trembled into the faintest smile.

“The first time she succeeded, it wasn’t even a real laugh.”

“It was…” She demonstrated the tiniest upward twitch of her lips. “…this.”

Skye couldn’t help but imitate it.

“We celebrated like he’d just won the Federation Marathon.”

For a fleeting moment, the office felt lighter.

Then reality settled back in.

Her shoulders lowered.

“They weren’t names in an accident report.”

“They weren’t casualties.”

“They were…”

Her voice caught.

“…my friends.”

She looked at the counselor with eyes that still held grief, but now also held something else.

Memory.

“I don’t think about the crash every day anymore.”

A shaky breath.

“I think about her trying to teach him springball.”

A tiny smile.

“I think about him pretending not to enjoy it.”

Her head almost seemed to dunk into the water’s surface as she spoke, attempting to avoid the lieutenant’s gaze in whatever ways the 23 year old ensign actually could. Skye unpinned the delta badge from her chest before placing it over the desk and pushing it forward.

Skye drew a slow breath, her fingers loosely wrapped around the untouched glass of water.

“…Her father was our captain.”

She let that settle in the quiet room.

“Most people expected her to lean on that.”

A faint smile appeared.

“She hated when people assumed she’d earned anything because of who her dad was.”

“If anything, she worked harder than the rest of us.”

“She’d stay after drills. Volunteer for extra simulations. If someone struggled in astrophysics or navigation, she’d sit with them until they understood it.”

Her smile became warmer.

“I don’t think she realized how obvious it was that she cared.”

Another pause.

“She called the New Jersey home long before I did.”

“I remember asking her once if she ever got tired of living aboard such an old ship.”

A soft laugh escaped her.

“She looked at me like I’d asked whether stars ever got tired of shining.”

Skye could almost hear her friend’s voice.

“‘She’s old,’ she told me, ‘but she’s still exploring. That’s what matters.’”

Her eyes glistened.

“She knew every corridor.”

“Every strange vibration.”

“Every bulkhead that squeaked.”

“If something rattled, she’d tell you whether it had always rattled or if engineering needed to look at it.”

A shaky breath.

“She used to joke that if the New Jersey ever retired, she’d retire with her.”

The smile faded again.

“I never told her…”

“…how much she helped me.”

“I came from a rural village on Trill.”

“I’d never lived on a starship.”

“I didn’t know the routines.”

“I didn’t know how everyone seemed to know each other.”

“I felt…”

She searched for the word.

“…small.”

“She made sure I never stayed that way.”

“She introduced me to people.”

“Dragged me into group meals.”

“Made me join movie nights even when I insisted I had homework.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“She’d always say, ‘Homework will still be there in an hour. Friends might not.’”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

“I didn’t understand what she meant.”

“I do now.”

She closed her eyes for a moment.

“I still remember seeing her father after the accident.”

“He wasn’t standing on the bridge.”

“He wasn’t giving orders.”

“He was just…”

Her breath caught.

“…a father.”

“He’d lost his daughter.”

“And somehow…”

She swallowed hard.

“…he still came to my hospital bed.”

“He asked if I was hurting.”

“He put his hand on my shoulder.”

“He told me he was glad I was alive.”

Her eyes brimmed again.

“I wanted to tell him I was sorry.”

“I wanted to tell him it should’ve been me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“The words…”

She shook her head.

“They wouldn’t come.”

A long silence.

“I’ve wondered ever since how someone who’d just lost his only child…”

“…could still find room in his heart to worry about mine.”

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

Samuel remained completely still as Skye spoke.

He did not reach for his PADD.

He did not take notes.

He did not let the moment become a clinical exercise.

Because what sat before him was not an accident report, not a trauma assessment, not a Starfleet officer with a service record.

It was a young woman finally speaking about the people she had spent years trying to remember without letting herself grieve.

The silence after her last words was not uncomfortable.

It was respectful.

McIntyre looked down briefly at the Starfleet delta sitting between them on the desk, then back to Skye.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet.

“Ensign…”

A pause.

“That captain did not come to your hospital bed because he thought his daughter was replaceable.”

He let that sit.

“He came because you mattered to her.”

McIntyre leaned forward slightly.

“You spent a lot of time today telling me about who she was.”

“The way she brought people together.”

“The way she cared.”

“The way she made sure people felt like they belonged.”

A small nod.

“Do you really think someone like that would have wanted her closest friend to carry a punishment for surviving?”

His eyes moved briefly toward the badge.

“I want you to notice something.”

“You have spent this entire conversation describing what you believe you took from her.”

“Her future.”

“Her family.”

“Her life.”

“But everything you’ve told me describes what she gave you.”

“Confidence.”

“Friendship.”

“A home aboard the New Jersey.”

“A reason to feel like you belonged somewhere.”

He folded his hands.

“That is not the legacy of someone who would want you to spend your life hurting.”

The counselor allowed a moment of silence before continuing.

“And her father…”

His expression softened.

“That may be the most important thing you’ve said today.”

“He lost his daughter.”

“Yet when he saw you, he didn’t see the person responsible for taking her away.”

“He saw the person his daughter loved.”

“He saw someone she fought to protect.”

“He saw someone who was still here.”

McIntyre paused.

“Grief can make us believe that suffering is a form of respect.”

“That if we let go of the pain, we’re letting go of the person.”

He shook his head slightly.

“But that’s not true.”

“You don’t honor your friends by remaining trapped on the day they died.”

“You honor them by continuing the things they gave you.”

A faint smile crossed his face.

“Your friend believed the New Jersey was still exploring because she was still moving forward.”

“She understood something important.”

“A ship standing still is no longer exploring.”

“Neither is a person.”

The words were gentle, but firm.

McIntyre reached across the desk, not touching the badge, but gesturing toward it.

“I want to ask you something difficult.”

“Not about the crash.”

“Not about responsibility.”

“About her.”

He looked directly at Skye.

“If she were sitting in this room right now…”

“If she could see you wearing this uniform, serving aboard the Chimera, becoming the officer you are today…”

“What do you think she would say to you?”

He let the question breathe.

“And before you answer…”

“Don’t answer as the person who survived.”

“Answer as her friend.”

Lt. J.G. Samuel A. McIntyre
Chief Counselor
USS Chimera • NCC-98730
Starfleet Medical Division
Starfleet Command