Counselling: Malcom

Posted on Tue Mar 24th, 2026 @ 6:46pm by Lieutenant JG Constance 'Connie' Montoya & Lieutenant Commander Declan Malcom

2,106 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Counselor's office
Timeline: Early 2389

Connie rested one hand on the ceramic teapot, fingers lightly curled against the glaze. She kept her eyes on the steam. Let it fill the silence. The hum of the air system. The distant shift of footsteps in the corridor. The calm between.

This was the space she made for herself before seeing someone new.

She had read the personnel file. Declan Justin Malcolm. Thirty-two. Human. Engineering specialist. Temporary assignment, although the trajectory looked permanent. Commendations for improvisation and system repair under field pressure. A reputation for practical thinking and stubborn logic. No psychological history on record.

That last part was often misleading. "No history" could mean no evaluation. It could mean no one had asked, dug deep enough, or made him feel safe enough to talk.

She had noted the details that others might skip. Grew up on Draconis IV, working in a fabrication yard. Hands-on from the age of three. First engineering award at twelve. A colony changed by war, by the people escaping from it. Tight resources, tighter repairs. A brother still planetside, running the family shop.

There were no flags. Just texture. A life shaped by motion, problem-solving, and habit. The kind of officer who got the job done, and rarely paused long enough to notice the cost.

She poured the boiled water into the pot. Not rushed. Let it bloom across the leaves. A strong brew today. Not to fill the room, only to steady it. She would offer it to him, if he came. The second chair was already pulled out. No desk between them. No PADD in hand. Just the invitation of quiet space and time that could be taken or not.

Connie let out a slow breath and took a seat. Nothing to distract, just a woman in Starfleet uniform with her hair put up in a twist, and a pot of tea and two cups.

Right on that breath, the chime rang out as Declan pressed the button for admittance. Personally and professionally, he really had nothing against counselors as they performed an essential function and kept people going. He did have to wonder why he was being put to an eval for a temporary assignment.

"Enter," Connie called out and gave a polite smile as she saw the man enter, standing out of habit. "Commander, I'm Connie Montoya," she introduced herself. "Please, take a seat. Thank you for coming."

"Declan, if we're going more informal." he commented cheerfully as he found and took the indicated seat, sniffing at the air gently while looking around. "Mm, tea?"

"Assam, if you would like some. Not replicated," she said and moved to the teapot, picking it up and pouring two cups, her gaze flickering to him for a brief second. "I have a soft spot for tea."

Nodding acceptance of the offer, Declan took a moment to think. "A lady of culture, to have a fondness for tea. Assam, a malty, bolder flavor right? Usually paired with milk and a touch of sugar?" He asked directly. A smile lit up his face for a moment as he remembered drinking it in a cafe outside the academy.

"Yes...although it depends how you like it. Sweet, creamy or both," she said and gave a nod of approval. She watched the smile, an answering one on her face, although gentler. "I personally prefer it with just a splash of milk, but my father is more of a two teaspoon of sugar sort of man. Everyone is different," she offered the tea to him and then moved to get the milk and sugar, putting it on the small table.

Declan chuckled and then sipped the tea straight. "Not as bitter as coffee, and good to get the true taste without anything clouding it on first sip. Boiling water brewed I think?" He answered in turn, waiting for her to sit.

"Correct," she said with a small smile, taking a seat. She reached for the milk and added a splash to her own, then used the teaspoon to gently stir. "You have a refined palate for tea. Was that from home, or acquired later?"

"Later actually. Replicated was what we mostly had at home. Once in a while as a treat we'd get something off the traders, usually coffee." Declan chuckled at the memory. "So, care to let me in on why Fleet wants a psych eval on a temp assignment?" And there was the directness he was noted for.

"Because you've not had one since before the Normandy was put in the shipyards," Connie said with the same directness. Not mirrored, just appreciating that he communicated that way. "And that was in your file. So, rather than having someone chase you down in six months time, I took a more proactive stance."

"Oh, so you read my record. Interesting." Declan grinned again and took a sip of the tea, enjoying the taste. "To be frank, even that was a superficial exam. More of 'are you functional, having any post traumatic symptoms? No, good to go' type of exam. I can appreciate being proactive instead of reactive. Works just as well for Engineering. So, what can I answer for you?"

She looked at him with a small smile at the way he had put it. "Answer? No...no, that is not how I work. If it was just questions to be answered, the computer could do my job. It can even replicate a passable cup of tea," she said softly and put her tea down. Her eyes found his and she held them. "Tell me about the Normandy." It was a place to start. Nothing in his file had flagged his past as an issue...and even if there was, trust was a slow thing. It was natural to go to something more recent, such as the battles and trials of the USS Normandy...and his experiences of it.

"I would have used the word 'tolerable' over passable myself." Declan commented idly as he thought about what to say. The Normandy was definitely an experience he had wrestled with and still had occasional nightmares about.

"Normandy was...well, a disaster comes close. Normal patrol, we were ambushed. Remnant raiders. Decloaked two warbirds, hit us immediately right where it hurt almost the worst. The necks of the nacelles, and the main engineering outer hull. We lost half of engineering to atmosphere evac on that strike, including the Chief." Declan paused there, his fists tightening in the memory of the lost crew, friends.

Connie studied him, the way his fists tightened, the way his eyes darkened with the memory. And the factual way he told her about it, the damage, the loss. "Where were you when the outer hull went?" she asked, her voice soft. Not to pull him out as much as to ground him, to make him recognise where he was in this moment rather than slipping further into the memories.

"Deck 18, Jefferies tube 15c. Phaser control relays. I was in the middle of training two ensigns on the alignment procedures. Three decks above the disaster. I'll tell you this, I don't have nightmares from it, but I can still see the frozen bodies of the others slowly moving away from us. Those two ensigns, they broke down at the sight." Declan stated firmly, a forced calm as he leashed the internal grief and anger.

Connie nodded once, slowly. She didn't look away from him as she reached for the pot and topped up his cup, the small act enough to steady the air between them. And give him a moment, to catch his breath after she had brought the memory closer in the room around them. "You kept working," she observed, her voice quiet. "Was it your training that you fell back on to push through...or was it your own experiences before Starfleet?"

Declan nodded at the refill, and sipped slowly, thinking about his answer before responding. "Honestly? Probably a mix. The technical skills and calm from my home life before Starfleet, but the Fleet training to keep going definitely was in play for this as well. Lot of our younger crew needed support after that, not really experiencing combat. Engineering didn't have a lot of options for it.

"And did you provide the support?" she asked, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment before she looked down, to put the teapot down and sit down properly.

"Aye, I did as much as I could. Still a rough patch in ships' history, and that put us in for repairs. Lot of the crew were reassigned other places while that was being done. And I, ended up in the temp pool." *Declan responded and chucked. He actually enjoyed being free to move around a bit for a change.*

"And do you hope to return back once the Normandy is ready?" she asked, curious to see if he was still...attached to his old ship, or if he needed a clean break away from it.

"No. That chapter is closed, and going back would only re-open old wounds. Better to make a fresh start, new memories, new experiences." Declan said with a fond smile as he put to words the feeling he always had changing assignments.

She gave a nod, acknowledging that break away from a past posting to this. "Is challenging to be an advisor? Knowing that once you are done here, you can be moved anywhere?"

"Challenging? Yes, but not in a negative way. I get to see multiple ships, multiple problems, then go on to the next for a while. It's honestly refreshing. Will it get old? Probably after a while." A soft chuckle escaped Declan's throat at the idea, feeling more of a thrill at the idea of endless new challenges.

Connie watched him, the curve of the smile, the light that rose behind it. She gave a small nod, letting the words settle. "You enjoy the work," she said, her voice quiet. "The challenge, the change, the pressure that comes with being the one who makes things stable again." There was no judgement in it, only observation. "I see it in the way you speak about problems. The energy lifts, the cadence shifts. You move forward, not away." She let a pause linger, not to create tension but to allow the thought to settle. "I only ask," she continued, softer now. "Because sometimes people who are good at fixing forget how to pause. What to do when nothing breaks. And what it feels like to stay still." Her eyes met his across the tea, steady and open. "It is not a flaw, if that is you. But it is worth knowing."

Declan nodded at that. He well knew the value of stability and rest in this job. "When there's nothing left to fix, rest is a natural. I do my workouts to stay fit, I tend to some plants, I even have a dog, and then there's zero-g time or pools."

"A dog?" Connie asked and there was without a doubt a flicker of warmth that had nothing to do with the session. "On the ship?" she added, not so carefully either. Oh, there was no disapproval in it. She very much believed pets were wonderful companions and therapy, even if they weren't trained as therapy animals.

"Sort of? He goes into a stasis unit when I change assignments. Once I know I'm staying and he's authorized, he comes out. A six year old english bulldog and beagle mix. Spends half his time sleeping. Stubborn, as his name is Tank, it's appropriate."

Connie gave a small smile at that, nodding. "Well...if you ever want to bring him here," she said, meeting his eyes to hold. "You'd be more than welcomed. If I know dogs, with a name like Tank...he'll have a sweet temperament."

Declan chuckled at that. "Sweet being that he'll lick you to near death in exuberance? Sure. Loyal to a fault. Soon as he's out, I'll bring him by for sure. Anything else for me, or from me?" He asked, enjoying the conversation, but they both did have duties as well.

Connie shook her head, eyes on him as if she could see something there. "No...but if there is anything, you know where I am," she said, her voice almost soft.

"Understood, and thank you. I might take you up on that. Have a good day, Counselor." Declan smiled fully, and gave a slight bow to Connie before walking out, whistling a tune to himself.

----

LCDR Declan Malcolm
Chief Engineering Officer
USS Guinevere

&

Lt. Connie Montoya
Counsellor
USS Guinevere

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