Psych evaluation - Emily Janeway
Posted on 22 Jul 2025 @ 1:55pm by Major Emily Janeway & Lieutenant Lamia ‘Mia’ Kildare
4,942 words; about a 25 minute read
Mission:
General Sim Postings
Location: Counsellor’s Office
Timeline: Backlog
ON:
Having made her office chair a comfortable haven complete with foot rest to save her swollen ankles, Lamia was looking through the personnel record of one of the newest arrivals aboard ship. To say this was going to be an interesting evaluation was an understatement.
Janeway stands in the dimly lit corridor, her silhouette sharp against the sleek walls of the USS Tomcat. Her Starfleet uniform conceals a patchwork of scars—etched across her arms, torso, and back from horrific wounds of battles fought in a future timeline, 2396, where she was a soldier in a fractured galaxy. Each mark tells a story of survival, sacrifice, and temporal upheaval. Her face is calm but her eyes carry the weight of years not yet lived by those around her. She presses the door chime, its soft ping breaking the silence, and clasps her hands behind her back, steeling herself for what’s to come.
Janeway murmuring to herself about op Investigations, psych evals… never thought I’d miss the chaos of ’96.oO
Hearing the door chime Lamia looked up from her PaDD. “Come in Major.” She hoped she wouldn’t have to bother getting up from her seat, her back ached enough as it was. Something she needed to speak to the doctor about when she got time.
Then door hisses open, Major Janeway steps inside, her movements precise yet guarded Her sharp gaze sweeps the office, noting the cozy setup and Kildare’s PADD, likely filled with details of her unconventional past. She offers a curt nod, her expression guarded but polite.
Janeway turned on her heels as she turned around to the counselor with Raspy voice steady, with a hint of dry sick humor “Lieutenant Kildare, good to meet you. I checked the tilting her head slightly I’m guessing this eval’s going to be more than the standard ‘normal human to come and meet me under weird circumstances.”
Lamia offered a smile. “Please take a seat, make yourself at home. This will be a somewhat different appointment for both of us, I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you to be out of your time.”
Janeway settles into the chair, her posture taut, as if braced for impact. Her raspy voice carries a mix of dry humor and guarded weariness as she meets Lamia’s gaze.
“Adjusting to this time? It’s like waking up in someone else’s skin, except the skin doesn’t fit right. Ever try sleeping and hearing echoes of a war that hasn’t happened yet? Or waking up in a coffin, buried under ash on a mining planet in ’96, with your head screaming two timelines at once?” She shifts, her scarred hands flexing briefly, betraying a flicker of unease. “Temporal displacement, they call it. Messes with your head—memories that flicker like bad holo-feeds, dreams of battles I shouldn’t know, and a constant hum in my skull like I’m still tethered to 2396. My file might mention the wars, but it won’t tell you how it feels to live with time unraveling in your veins. So, Lieutenant, where do we start since mine even buried in a rotten casket only thing I have in my possession left with my obsidian horse figurine?”
Lamia gave Emily a caring gaze. “How’s about you start where you feel most comfortable. This isn’t going to be a one session covers all appointment, but we can start off here, and see where it leads us.” She rested her hand on her rounded stomach as she waited for Emily to choose her starting point.
Janeway slumps into the chair, one eyebrow cocked, her raspy voice laced with biting sarcasm as she shoots Lamia a look that’s equal parts defiance and exhaustion.
“Oh, comfortable? Lieutenant, I’m practically living the dream here.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair, her scarred hands drumming lightly on the armrest. “Let’s dive into the greatest hit of my illustrious career: waking up in a coffin, choking on ash, buried on some miserable mining planet in ’96. Head’s screaming with two timelines fighting for dominance, and there I am, clutching this gaudy obsidian horse figurine like it’s my last shred of dignity. Temporal displacement? More like a cosmic kick in the teeth—memories glitching like a bargain-bin holo-vid, dreams of battles I shouldn’t know, and this charming hum in my skull that’s got me tethered to 2396. Oh, and the kicker? Last thing I remember, I was a Commodore in 2402, running a tidy little Starfleet operation. Then some smug admiral decides I’m better off as a sacrificial pawn, dumping me in that grave for their oh-so-noble ‘timeline fix.’ Thank the stars for Matthews’ team—bless their nosy hides—for digging my half-dead self out of the rubble. My file probably paints me as a shiny Major now, not a time-tossed Commodore with a grudge. So, you can we even start with this interstellar dumpster fire?”
Lamia had to take a deep breath, the emotions coming off of Janeway were like a roaring fire threatening to burn down the protective walls around her mind. “As I said there is no quick fix and you know it. I can’t even imagine what this is like for you, but I can’t feel it, your emotions are raw and I wouldn’t expect them to be anything less. We have to look at this as an opportunity, a chance for you to start fresh here in this time, I know it’s not ideal but right now it’s all we can do.”
Janeway slouches into the chair, her smirk sharp but brittle, like cracked glass. Her raspy voice drips with morbid sarcasm, though her eyes betray a flicker of raw, reluctant vulnerability as she meets Lamia’s gaze.
“Fresh start? Oh, Lieutenant, you’re peddling hope like it’s a cheap replicator meal.” She lets out a low, bitter chuckle, her scarred fingers fidgeting with the edge of the armrest, as if anchoring herself to the present. “Last thing I remember, I was a Commodore in 2402, running a tight Starfleet ship, calling the shots. Now? I’m a Major clawing out of a coffin on some ash-heap mining planet in ’96, with this tacky obsidian horse figurine as my only friend. Temporal displacement’s a real treat—memories glitching like a busted holo-deck, dreams of wars I shouldn’t know, and a hum in my head that’s like a funeral dirge for 2402. And the cherry on top? Some high-and-mighty admiral left me to rot in that grave, all for their grand ‘timeline fix.’ Matthews’ team—saints with shovels—dug me out, half-dead, but no one’s digging out the part of me still stuck in that coffin.” Her smirk falters, her voice softening just enough to hint at the weight beneath. “I don’t know how to ‘start fresh’ when I’m still tasting ash, doc. Got any tricks for that, or am I just the galaxy’s favorite punchline however,never seen the admiral me to a husband to be our future husband before be the way I look at you. I see something that I’ve lost in my lifetime.”
“Yes you have” Lamia nodded. “You’re angry, you’re bitter, you want revenge so bad you can taste it! We can both taste it!” Lamia offered a wry smile. “Would you rather you were still buried there, left to rot in your grave? Yes, you were dug up in another timeline other than your own, you’ve been reduced down in rank, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get back to that rank again.” She paused. “In some ways it would be easier if you’d have come from the past into the future, but instead you’ve been dragged back, unable to tell anyone what you know of your time incase it damages this timeline. It’s a conundrum that leaves you with a gaping hole in your life.”
Janeway slouched in the chair, her scarred hands clawing into the armrests as if they could anchor her against the storm raging inside. Her violet eyes blazed, wild and fractured, boring into Lamia with a ferocity that could’ve scorched the bulkheads. Her raspy voice was a low, guttural snarl, each word dripping with venom and anguish, barely holding back the scream clawing at her throat. The hum in her skull pulsed like a dying star, and her lips twisted into a bitter, jagged smirk that was more snarl than smile.
Emily’s body was a coiled spring, her scarred hands clawing into the armrests until the fabric shredded, her knuckles white as bone. Her violet eyes blazed with a feral intensity, like twin supernovae ready to consume the room, pinning Lamia with a gaze that could’ve melted duranium. The hum in her skull roared, a relentless pulse that felt like the Cardassian venom itself was screaming through her veins, dragging her back to that ash-choked coffin in ’96. Her raspy voice erupted, a raw, guttural howl that splintered into anguish and rage, each word a jagged shard of her fractured soul, barely containing the storm threatening to tear her apart.
“You taste it? Kildare, you’re sipping my revenge like it’s replicated tea—try choking on it like I do!” She lurched forward, slamming her fists on her thighs, blood seeping from where her nails had gouged her palms, her voice a snarl that cracked into a desperate wail. “That venom’s not just a memory—it’s alive in me, twisting my guts, burning my bones, hissing I’m a monster every time I breathe! You think I want to be back in that grave? No, doc, I want to crawl out of this one—the one that Cardassian filth from ’78 buried me in, with their ichor and whispers and that damned obsidian horse mocking me from the dark! It’s not some trinket—it’s a leash, an Obsidian Order knife in my soul, tying me to 2402’s burning fleets and 2396’s ash while this timeline chokes me with its rules!”
Her chest heaved, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the sweat of her fury, her scarred frame trembling as if the bio-weapon’s tendrils were writhing beneath her skin. Her voice dropped to a ragged, haunted whisper, eyes wide with terror and loss. “You talk about rank like it matters. I was a Commodore, Kildare, leading ships, not this… this wreck haunted by wars I can’t unsee—crews screaming, their faces melting, Tara, Vorn, Ellis, all blaming me, and her—Kathryn—snarling I’ve poisoned her legacy. Is it the venom? The timeline? Or am I just gone, doc? That hum in my head—it’s not just noise, it’s a countdown to whatever I’m becoming. Some admiral’s ‘timeline fix’ left me here, half-dead, betrayed, and I want to rip their heart out, but I can’t even trust my own!”
She collapsed back into the chair, her breath hitching, her smirk gone, replaced by a grimace of raw despair. “A gaping hole? It’s a void, Kildare, and it’s swallowing me. You wanna help? rip this garbage up , whatever’s left for me and ash. I want to discuss about climbing ranks when I’m fighting to stay human. You got the stomach to face what’s left of me, or you gonna gag like those people when they saw what that venom turned me into?”
Lamia took a deep breath, she was feeling the anger and rage alright along with every other ragged emotion Emily was throwing out. Trying to control her own emotions so that it didn’t affect her unborn child. “I’m not going to gag, I’m nit pot going to run away either.” She got up from her seat walking over to where she kept an emergency medkit, she brought it back with her giving Emily a caring look. “Let me see…” she motioned to her palms. “Whether you realise it or not you just made a very big step towards facing your demons. It’s no good trying to push for more today.”
Janeway slumps in the chair, her scarred hands trembling, blood trickling from where her nails have gouged her palms, staining the shredded armrests. Her violet eyes, red-rimmed and brimming with tears, dart nervously, hollow and fractured, as if the temporal displacement from 2402 and the Cardassian venom have burned her to a ghost of her former self. The hum in her skull—a grinding, chroniton-fueled pulse—screams with the voices of her lost crew: Kane’s steady calm, T’Lara’s laugh, Vorn’s shouts, Ellis’s pleas, all tangled with the suffocating horror of her 2396 coffin. Her raspy voice is a broken, despairing whisper, now edged with raw terror, her lips quivering in a grimace of anguish and dread. Lieutenant Lamia Kildare stands before her, medkit in hand, her pregnant form a quiet beacon of life. Janeway’s eyes flicker to Lamia’s rounded stomach, a faint spark of restraint cutting through her despair—she doesn’t want to harm the unborn child. Slowly, she shifts forward, extending her trembling, bloodied hands toward Lamia, a reluctant surrender to her care, her fear of the evaluation’s impact on her role as Second Officer clawing at her.
Janeway’s trembling wail, raw with despair and terror Facing demons? chokes out a hollow, shattered sob, her violet eyes snapping up to Lamia, wet and wild with fear Kildare, I’m not facing them—I’m breaking under them! her scarred hands shake as she extends them, blood dripping, a hesitant gesture toward the medkit Patch my hands, fine, but it won’t fix this… this wreck! her chest heaves, tears streaming This temporal displacement—it’s a chroniton storm shredding my mind! taps her temple hard, wincing as the hum surges, a grinding scream This hum—it’s time itself, tearing my neurons, glitching my memories so I’m on my bridge in 2402, Kane at ops, T’Lara laughing, Vorn shouting, Ellis pleading, then snap—I’m in that coffin in ’96, choking on ash, clawing at dirt with that cursed obsidian horse! her voice cracks, a desperate sob Every night, I see them—burning in Dominion fire, screaming I failed them! And this venom—Obsidian Order poison from ’78—makes it worse, neurotoxic, frying my nerves, amplifying their screams until I’m a monster! yanks up her sleeve, revealing a scar laced with unnatural green veins, pulsing faintly It’s cytotoxic, burning my flesh, making these scars crawl like they’re alive! her violet eyes dart to Lamia’s stomach, softening briefly, voice dropping to a ragged plea I’m trying, Kildare—I don’t want to hurt you, or… gestures faintly, trembling your kid. But this psych eval? her voice trembles with raw fear I’m terrified, —terrified Starfleet’ll read your report, see my fractured head, and yank me from Second Officer! Temporal weirdo —they’ll swoop in, call me a timeline hazard, lock me in a lab, and say I’m too broken to lead! slumps back, her bloodied hands limp in Lamia’s reach I was a Commodore in 2402, commanding my crew, betrayed by some admiral’s ‘timeline fix’ that left me buried! Now? I’m a glitch, poisoning Kathryn’s legacy, just ash and venom where Kane, T’Lara, Vorn, and Ellis used to be. voice barely audible, a shattered whisper How do I do my job—stand on that bridge, give orders—when I’m scared this eval will prove I’m too broken to belong?
Lamia shook her head as she carefully treated Emily’s wounds, helping to heal the torn skin where her nails had gouged into her palms. “I haven’t been through anything like this, but I understand terror, fear, and rage.” She offered a calming smile. “We’re going to work through everything together, but I need to speak to Doctor Ross to gain full access to your records. My clearances are high, but even I’m not privy to your full story.” She ran the dermal regenerator over the wounds healing the skin. “This is between you and me, patient confidentiality is paramount. I’m not going to give up on you Emily, I’m going to help get you through this. That’s if you want me to?”
Janeway said voice a low, trembling wail, spiraling with despair You want to help me? chokes out a shattered sob, violet eyes wild, locking onto Lamia Kildare, I’m drowning in this venom’s grip—Cardassian poison eating me alive! her hands jerk under the regenerator This chroniton storm’s bad enough—2402, leading Marines, Kane’s calm, T’Lara’s laugh, then ’96, buried in ash, that obsidian horse cutting me! tears stream, voice rising But the venom—Obsidian Order’s black, corrosive filth from ’78! It’s neurotoxic, frying my nerves, amplifying every scream of my crew! yanks up her sleeve, revealing a scar with green veins pulsing under a black, corrosive sheen It’s cytotoxic, burning my flesh, scars crawling like Cardassian torture! I barely remember Ross’s operating suite—blurred lights, my blood, his voice… like it’s not even mine! voice cracks, frantic I’m terrified Somers’ report and Temporal Investigations’ll see this wreck, strip my Second Officer and Marine CO roles! I’m too overbearing, scaring my Marines, my crew, like I failed Kane, T’Lara, Vorn, Ellis—burned in Dominion fire! slumps, whispering This venom’s their legacy—gulags, pain, ruin. My anchor’s the bridge, my Marines, but I’m slipping, Kildare. If you’ll fight for me, I’ll let you in—just don’t let this poison prove I’m too broken to lead.
“What We need to do is deal with this one step at a time” Lamia offered a gentle smile as she finished off what she was doing and put the medkit away. “Trying to deal with everything at once is doomed to failure, so we break it up into manageable portions and work on it little by little.”
Janeway slouched in the chair, her violet eyes glinting with a fractured mix of defiance and exhaustion as they flicked from Lamia’s steady gaze to the dim corners of the counselor’s office. The hum in her skull—chroniton-fueled, relentless—thrummed like a distant klaxon, a ghost of the chaos she’d endured on a bridge torn apart by unseen enemies. Her scarred hands, mended by Lamia’s dermal regenerator, fidgeted restlessly, one reaching into her pocket to pull out the obsidian horse figurine. Its smooth, cold surface gleamed faintly under the office lights, a dark relic of 2396’s ash-choked coffin. She rolled it between her fingers, her thumb tracing its sharp edges, as if it could anchor her against the venom’s lingering burn in her veins. Lamia’s prompt—one memory that doesn’t burn—hung in the air, a challenge she wasn’t sure she could meet.
Janeway’s raspy voice carried a sardonic edge, her lips twitching into a brittle smirk as she spun the figurine in her hand, its hooves catching the light like a blade. “Alright, Kildare, you want to help me something that’s not just wreckage? Kane was… a rock. My ops officer in 2402, back when I had a bridge worth commanding. Picture this: Klingon border, some godforsaken moon, disruptors screaming, shields flickering like a cheap holo-vid. Kane’s at his console, cool as ice, rerouting power while tossing out dumb quips about Klingon opera being ‘better than funeral poetry.’ Kept myself and crew from losing it.” A ghost of a chuckle escaped, her eyes softening for a fleeting moment. “Hell, he kept me from losing it.”
“It’s like it chews up the good stuff, leaves me choking on ash and guilt. Every timeframe of this,” she continued, raising the figurine that seemed to swallow the light, “I’m transported back to that coffin on the mining planet in ’96. I can feel the dirt in my lungs, this thing cutting into my hand like a curse.” Her violet eyes met Lamia's gaze, revealing a raw, pleading expression that lay just beneath her sarcasm.
“You want to keep digging to help me? Fine. But I’m warning you, it’s a mess in here,” she warned, her tone turning serious. “I need to be on that bridge, leading my Marines—not locked away in a lab because Temporal Investigations sees me as a glitch. I’m trying to figure out how to keep this…” She gestured to her head, the figurine still clutched tightly in her hand, “from dragging me back down.”
“You’re taking that first step towards it right now” Lamia offered as she sat back down in her seat. “You can learn to lock those memories away, to keep the worst ones under control when you need to have a clear head. I’m not talking about simply locking memories away, in the long run it would do you more harm than good to do that. It’s just a temporary way of keeping a clear head when it’s needed.”
Janeway collapsed into the chair, her violet eyes a raging inferno of anguish and defiance, tears scorching her scarred face like plasma. The chroniton hum in her skull roared—a relentless scream of 2402’s shattered bridges, 2396’s ash-choked coffin, and her crew’s dying cries—Kane, T’Lara, Vorn, Ellis—tearing her soul apart. Her raspy voice exploded, a raw, guttural wail that fractured into desperate sobs, her gaze searing into Lamia like a phaser blast.
“Kildare, you think I trying hard enough can just lock this away? I’m not broken—I’m a vengeful spirit, cursed to haunt this timeline like a ghost in Starfleet’s
Similar to witness protection? She lurched forward, fists slamming the armrests, blood dripping from where her nails gouged her scarred palms, green veins pulsing with Cardassian venom. “It’s not that damned horse—it’s a trinket, a cruel echo! It’s the admiral who betrayed me, buried me in ’96 for their ‘timeline fix,’ ripping me from my crew, my rank, my mom— admiral Kathryn! She’s out there, maybe on Earth, her voice the only thing that could silence this poison frying my nerves, but Temporal Investigations has me gagged—no contact, or I’m a timeline hazard!” Her chest heaved, tears flooding as she clawed at her heart, voice shattering. “I was a Commodore, leading fleets, not this… this wraith, choking on ash, haunted by my crew’s burning screams, their blood on my hands for failing them, and Kathryn’s legacy I’m poisoning with every ragged breath! I want to rip that admiral’s throat out, but I’m trapped, forced to start over as Second Officer and MCO, expected to lead Marines and run this ship while my mind’s screaming I’m a monster Her voice dropped to a ragged, trembling whisper, as if hands shaking as she met Lamia’s gaze. “I’m feeling so displacement of myself between having a sick chance to be alive again, but separated from old life , terrified Starfleet’ll see this wreck and strip my marine command, my bridge duties, and lock me in a lab. I need to lead the 95th, to stand tall for Somers, but I’m slipping. Teach me how to chain this fury, to be human enough to command without Kathryn, without my crew once knew . Perhaps we could figure out step to keep this ghost from consuming me?”
Lamia nodded. Just keeping out Janeway’s emotions was wearing her down a lot, the fire and rage was nearly impossible to block. “We can certainly try Emily.”
Janeway slumped backing into the chair as a sign of I guess understanding what you’re saying , her violet eyes dimming to embers, the obsidian horse figurine clenched in her scarred fist like a lifeline to her shattered past. Her raspy voice dropped to a broken whisper, raw with exhaustion. “Kildare, I’m not just fighting time—I’m fighting to not become the monster this venom’s carving me into. Teach me to chain it, or I’m no good to the 95th, to Somers, to anyone.” She exhaled shakily, tears drying on her scarred cheeks.
“I’ll do everything I can Emily, but it might take more than just me. One way or another we’ll get you through this I promise.”
Janeway slumped into the chair like a shipwreck settling into the void, her violet eyes smoldering like dying embers, wet with unshed tears. The obsidian horse figurine dangled between her scarred fingers, its cold, gleaming surface a cruel memento of her ’96 coffin, winking mockingly in the dim office light. Her raspy voice slunk out, dripping with gallows humor, her lips curling into a jagged smirk that barely hid the storm clawing at her soul as she locked eyes with Lamia.
“A promise, Kildare? That’s adorable—like handing a phaser to a corpse and calling it a promotion.” She snorted, a sharp, bitter laugh that cracked like brittle hull plating, twirling the figurine until it blurred, tempting it to bite her palm again. “What’s the pitch, doc? You and Ross gonna exorcise my demons with a tricorder and a pep talk? I’m a walking obituary, Kildare—’96’s ash still clogging my lungs, Cardassian venom throwing a neurotoxic party in my veins, and a chroniton hum blasting my crew’s death screams on repeat. Kane’s steady voice, T’Lara’s laugh, Vorn’s roars, Ellis’s pleas—they’re my personal ghost choir, reminding me I failed them.” Her smirk faltered, a tear slipping free as she jabbed her temple, wincing at the hum’s relentless grind. “I was a Commodore in 2402, running a tight ship, not this… this glitch, betrayed by some admiral’s ‘timeline fix’ that buried me with this damned horse. You wanna chain this monster I’m turning into? I’m in—mostly because I’m too stubborn to let the venom win.” She leaned forward, her voice softening to a ragged, pleading whisper, violet eyes flickering with a mix of dread and fragile trust. “But here’s the deal, doc: I need to lead the 95th, stand tall for Somers, not get locked in a lab because Temporal Investigations thinks I’m a walking paradox. Teach me to cage this rage, keep me human enough to command, or I’m just ash and spite haunting a uniform. Don’t bet on me sending you a thank-you holo, though—my luck, it’d get lost in a temporal rift.”
“If you want my help Major, then you’re going to have to take it as it comes, short of taking you off duty until your demons are caged or sorted.” Lamia paused. “Anger and spite will only get you so far, if you were talking with anyone else you’d probably already be facing removal from duty. I will find a way to cage that rage of yours. In the meantime I’m suggesting holodeck time, it’s a good way to work out your demons without hurting yourself or others. Be warned though, any removal of holodeck safeties will not be taken lightly.”
Janeway slouched back in the chair, her violet eyes dimming to a weary glow, like a starship’s lights flickering on low power. The obsidian horse figurine rested heavy in her scarred palm, its cold, mocking gleam a tether to the ash-choked coffin of ’96. Her raspy voice crept out, laced with biting sarcasm but softened by a raw, reluctant hope, her lips twitching into a crooked smirk as she met Lamia’s steady gaze.
“Alright, Kildare, you win—this round, anyway. You’re tossing me a lifeline, and I’m too damn stubborn to let it slip through my fingers, even if they’re still itching to choke that admiral who buried me.” She let out a low, mordant chuckle, the sound rough as gravel, spinning the figurine one last time before pocketing it. “Holodeck, huh? Guess I’ll go punch some virtual ghosts instead of my own demons—safeties on, don’t worry. Wouldn’t want to give Temporal Investigations an excuse to slap a ‘hazard’ label on me before I can prove I’m still fit to lead the 95th and hold the bridge for Somers.” Her smirk faded, her voice dropping to a ragged whisper, a tear glinting in her eye as she leaned forward. “This venom’s still burning, doc, and the hum in my skull’s screaming Kane, T’Lara, Vorn, Ellis—my failures. But if you and Ross can help me cage this rage, keep me human enough to command… I’m in. Just don’t expect me to be all sunshine and replicated coffee by next session—my luck, I’d spill it in a temporal rift.” She rose slowly, her scarred frame taut but resolute, offering a curt nod. “Let’s call this a start. I’ve got a squad to whip into shape and a ship to keep flying. See you for round two, Kildare.”
[OFF]
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