Counselling the Commodore

Posted on Wed Feb 11th, 2026 @ 7:09pm by Commodore Elias McEntyre & Lieutenant JG Constance 'Connie' Montoya

2,425 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Counselor's office
Timeline: 2388

Connie Montoya sat alone in her office, the one space on the ship that was entirely hers. The room breathed calm. A soft wash of amber light touched the low shelves and the muted green of the walls, just enough to take the edge off the sterility that came with Starfleet fittings. A shallow glass bowl on the side table caught the light across a scatter of crystals: rose quartz, clear calcite, a slice of fluorite. Not decoration as such, but quiet anchors. A pair of candles waited nearby, unlit but carrying the faint scent of cedar and tea.

The air was warm, the kind of warmth that spoke of comfort rather than heat. Cushions in soft, earthy tones softened the chairs and the couch. The small table between them held the green teapot, still steaming faintly beside two empty cups.

This was how she began, setting a space that might feel unfamiliar to many. It was not about disarming them, but about offering something different from other counsellors they had seen, other encounters that had demanded confession or defence. Here, the pace was hers to set.

She measured the tea leaves by hand, letting them fall with quiet precision into the strainer before adding the water. The scent of Assam deepened, rich and malted. She watched the colour bloom through the glass, a slow unfurling that steadied her breathing. The ritual mattered more than the drink. It slowed her thoughts and helped her listen before anyone had spoken.

Elias McEntyre. Commodore. Her captain. The file had been clear, factual, almost impersonal, but some lines had settled in her mind like small stones at the bottom of a stream. Survivor of Wolf 359. Loss equals failure of mission. Those words spoke of someone who had seen the machinery of command fail and chosen to become the machinery himself rather than risk it again.

She could imagine the precision of him, the self-discipline that probably ran deeper than sleep. A Caitian by physiology but culturally shaped by Human militarism, a dual inheritance that explained both his restraint and his physical presence. Command for him would not be a privilege but a burden held in both hands, measured against every loss he had ever witnessed.

She did not keep track of time. He would come. A man like that would not stand up a counsellor.

Elias had never been comfortable talking about his feelings. He was a Commodore after all. He was expected to project confidence, purpose and control. Still though, he keeps his promises and the promise was to attend regular sessions with Starfleet Counselors once a quarter.

He tugs his tunic straight, pulling down the wrinkles before he tapped the chime to the counselor's office. Montoya, relatively young but very capable according to her file. She had already formed quite a rapport with the crew which gave him confidence.

He taps the button, waiting to be admitted.

"Come in," Connie called, turning to look at him. Her eyes found his with a small nod of welcome. "Commodore McEntyre. Please, have a seat. Would you care for something to drink? I’m brewing Assam, but I can replicate something else if you’d prefer." It was the first time she had seen him properly, close enough to take in the sheer height and contained strength of him. The clipped fur, the immaculate uniform, the steady precision of every movement spoke of discipline long turned into habit.

She gestured lightly to the two comfortable looking chairs facing each other with a small coffee table between them. "Thank you for making the time," she said, her tone even. "I know your schedule is not an easy one."

“My husband is very…insistent.” Elias commented as he took a seat across from Constance.

“And thank you, tea is fine.” He offered as he leaned back in his chair.

She gave a small smile as she poured, filling both cups. She was not surprised that his husband was firm; she would not underestimate the Chief Science Officer. "Perhaps for this, Commodore, you can call me Connie," she said, meeting his eyes briefly as she set one cup before him. "And may I call you McEntyre, or Elias?"

“Elias is fine.” The large Caitian nods as he took the offered cup.

“So, where would you like to begin, Ms. Montoya?” He asked as he took a sip of his tea.

Connie inclined her head, acknowledging both his choice and the formality of the question. “Here usually begins with you,” she said with quiet ease. “We can start wherever feels most practical to you. If that’s the reason you came, the quarterlies themselves, or simply how things have been since your last check-in.” She lifted her cup, the scent of Assam curling between them. “There’s no script unless you want one.”

"Most new counselors who've never seen me usually ask me to start from the beginning." Elias elaborates.

"Yes," Connie said, meeting his eyes over the rim of her cup before she set it down again. "That is the usual pattern, isn’t it? But I find routines like that tend to produce rehearsed answers, not honest ones." Her tone stayed level, not corrective but practical. "We can start at the beginning if you prefer, but I’m more interested in where things stand now. What has been taking most of your energy lately, Elias?"

Elias ponders for a moment, parsing his lips in thought.

"The bedlam of paperwork has been much as of late. The Romulan refugee crisis has got Starfleet worried. Our mission here has mostly been further mapping of the Briar Patch conduit network which is more boring than I had anticipated."

Connie gave a small nod, her expression thoughtful for a moment. “Paperwork can be its own kind of battle,” she said lightly, a hint of warmth in her tone. “And the refugee crisis would weigh on anyone in your position. Concern filters down quickly when the scale feels so uncertain.” She let the quiet sit there between them before continuing. “Boring,” she echoed softly. “That’s not a word most commanding officers use easily. Had you perhaps hoped for a task more in line with your service record?”

"Not everything can be covert missions and thrilling heroics." Elias reminded the young officer who most likely never seen the kind of wars that Elias has seen.

"A man of my service record in most circumstances probably would have never made Commodore."

"What makes you say that?" she asked, meeting his eyes and holding them for a long moment. "That most with your service record would not have made Commodore?" She was interested in hearing his reasoning...whether it be logical or emotional. She had read his service record. It was different, yes. But she did not find it...unsuitable for someone with his rank. Of course, there had been classified areas she had been unable to read. That too was understandable.

“Because those who have my kind of service record usually end up on the Wall of Honor young, or the Plinth at West Point.” Elias said grimly.

“The beginning as I said was the tail end of the Cardassian Border Wars. Then we were on our way back from rotation to the frontier when we were ordered to Wolf 359.” Elias started.

She gave a small nod, her eyes on him. He had survived. She weighed for a moment if she should interrupt. But no. He was starting to talk, to open up. So she gave him the space he needed to continue talking, unprompted.

Elias' tone went somber, his eyes dark.

"11,186" He started, the number burned in his head forever.

"11,186. That's how many were lost that day."

"39 Starships. 39 out of 40 sent. Should I be here...statistically, no"

Connie stayed still for a moment, the hum of the ship a faint presence beneath his words. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, steady. "Eleven thousand, one hundred and eighty-six," she repeated quietly. "You carry that number as if it were a single name." She let that rest, not as a challenge but as recognition. "It sounds as though surviving that day never felt like surviving at all. More like being left to keep count." Her eyes held his, calm and open. "How often does that number come back to you?"

“Often.” He replied.

“An even worse number: 91 Million. That’s how many people were lost in the three years of the Dominion War. 91 Million Soldiers, Officers, Families torn apart by the Jem’hadar and the Cardassians.”

Connie stayed quiet for a moment, letting his words settle in the stillness between them, the sound of their breathing. Her fingers traced the rim of her cup once, then stilled. “It’s a scale that’s difficult for anyone to hold,” she said quietly. “Most people turn away from it because it’s too vast to make sense of.” Her eyes met his again. “You never turned away. You made yourself remember. That sort of remembering takes its own toll.” She paused, watching him carefully. “When it comes back to you...is it the number you see or the people behind it?”

Elias didn't have to think for that answer. "The People. I see alot of friends that'll never come back. I see the friends that did, changed by the war. I know a few spending time in hospitals and centers cause they were so broken by it that they were never the same."

Elias eyes got dark.

"My best friend ended up going home one night shortly after we got back from Chin'toka. He went up to his bedroom one evening and ended up putting a phaser in his mouth."

Elias stops for a moment to collect his thoughts.

"The only thing that saved me from something similar was meeting Gil at Bak'u, shortly after the Enterprise intervened against the Son'a's attempt to take the planet."

Connie’s eyes stayed on him, steady and calm. She allowed a moment for silence before she spoke, her voice low but clear. “I’m very sorry, Elias. That kind of loss never leaves a person unchanged.” She paused briefly, considering him. “You’ve spent most of your life in service. The record speaks for itself. Years of command, survival against impossible odds, decisions made when there was no right one to make.”

Her tone was thoughtful, not flattering. “That tells me there is something in you that has always found a way to keep going, even when others could not. Perhaps Gil reminded you of it, but it had to be there first.” She leaned forward slightly, meeting his eyes. “How do you carry that now? The part of you that chose to live?”

“Mainly through Gil and Emery. Before I met Gil, I had thought I would never have a normal life. Married to the Service like Picard, Kirk, Archer. But after Gil and I fell in love, suddenly I saw a real future.”

She nodded as she looked at him, a small smile coming to him. "And...how does that balance with your ambitions?" she asked, a bit blunt, but there was nothing antagonistic in her voice or eyes. No, she was asking about how he saw himself, his career, and his home life...and how they lived in harmony.

"Freedom to adapt. If Emery needs someone at home, I can work from home. I know that I have people waiting for me, not just a crew who relies on my judgement calls but family." Elias elaborated.

"It's the flexibility that should be more celebrating in Starfleet," she said, a quiet agreement and affirmation of his habits. "And how are you...adjusting to the cultural changes within Starfleet that have happened since the Dominion War? Not just those who served in the war who have to adjust to a post-war Federation, but we are now getting a raft of officers and department heads who did not serve during it."

"I wonder how Admiral Ch'Shukar would feel about how things have turned out. He was right about how to modernize the fleet in the Cold War, he would be ashamed we lost that edge." Elias harken the thought to the Andorian C-in-C, Admiral Ch'Shukar or "Uncle Shu" who modernized the fleet during the Golden Age of James Kirk and Matthew Decker. Grand figures. Elias, being a student of history, always thought back to those grand heroes of old and what they would think of the modern state of affairs.

Connie let the name hang there a moment, her gaze steady on him. The weight behind it wasn’t lost on her...not just an admiral, but a legacy. A way of being. A time when the lines had felt sharper. “You were shaped by people like him,” she said quietly. “Commanders who knew the shape of war. Who built things to last.” Her fingers curled loosely around her cup. She didn’t sip, just held it. It was not the first time she had heard something like this said to her in a session. It always taught her a lot about a person. “And now Starfleet looks different. Feels different.” She paused, to sip the tea. “Is it the loss of that clarity that’s hardest, Elias? Or something else?”

"Clarity of Mission. These kids haven't seen the horrors of the last 20 years or so. Their not prepared for what might be out there. Yes, we are explorers at heart but we must temper that with caution. That's the great paradox of Starfleet."

She nodded, at his read of it. She did disclose if she agreed or disagreed. "Have an open hand, yet be ready to push away if needed..." she tilted her head, studying him. "Your experience will guide this ship. But it can be a lonely place...rely on those who you love and trust. And if you need someone to talk to, impartial...I would like to offer my services."

Elias nods, standing from his chair. "Thank you, Counselor. I will take it under advisement." He gives a soft smile at that.

She stood as well, holding his eyes for a long moment before she gave a small smile. "Take good care of yourself, Elias...even when you take care of all of us."

"Thank You, Ms. Montoya. I will take your advice to heart." With that Elias left to return to whatever duties he had to attend too.

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Commodore Elias McEntyre
Commanding Officer
USS Guinevere

Lieutenant J.G Connie Montoya
Counselor
USS Guinevere

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