Finding the Words

Posted on Thu Mar 5th, 2026 @ 5:22pm by Lieutenant Irynya & Lieutenant Axod Qo

Mission: Port of Call
Location: Counselor's Office
Timeline: Mission Day 5 at 1505

[Deck 5 - Counselor's Office]
[MD 5, 1505 Hours]

Iry's boots felt heavy on her feet. Everything felt that way really. As if her whole body were conspiring to make her late for her appointment. She had to resist the urge to ask the computer for the time. She knew she was late. Knowing how late wasn't going to make her arrival any more on time. With a soul-deep sigh she stepped into the range of the chime. Absently she tugged her ponytail behind her back, parting the hair into two bundles that she tugged apart to tighten the tie before she released it, shaking the resulting pony tail down her back and then patting the top of her head to check for lumps.

The chime cut through the quiet, pulling Axod from the journal glowing softly in his hands. An Insight Into the Starfleet Mind in Deep Space. The title alone felt antiquated, its academic formatting even more so, but the ideas had lost none of their usefulness, especially now, with the Sojourner’s crew carrying more invisible weight than usual.

He set the PADD aside, smoothing his palm over its surface as though closing a conversation. Rising from the chair, he stretched out the stiffness in his shoulders. He could have granted entry from across the room, it was the efficient, modern thing to do, but Axod had always preferred to meet a visitor at the threshold. There was something grounding about the ritual: movement, presence, intention. He approached the doors and pressed the control. They parted with a familiar hydraulic sigh.

“Miss Irynya,” he greeted, her name carried on a warm ease that came from practice rather than performance. He stepped back just enough to guide her inward with an open hand. “Come in. Make yourself comfortable.”

The space around him seemed to shift in subtle accommodation; quieter, gentler, an unspoken invitation for her to settle in at her own pace, as though the room itself understood the nature of the visit and breathed a little softer because of it.

The door to the counselor's office opened both right on time and too soon and she felt something in her stomach churn; foreboding at the nature of what she knew was going to be on the table for discussion. A part of her wanted to shy away, apologize for the confusion, and leave. But an equally loud part knew the work, however unpleasant, was necessary. If not for herself then for others who she wanted to support. For Sheldon and Dravor.

For Noah.

With an apologetic smile she stepped over the threshold. "Sorry I'm late," she said.

Axod offered her a warm, inviting smile, the kind that softened the edges of a room before anyone even stepped inside. “Not a problem at all.”

The doors slid shut behind them with a familiar hydraulic hiss, sealing the two of them into the gentle stillness of the counseling suite. Axod moved with easy confidence, the quiet calm of someone who had already decided there was no pressure here, no wrong way to begin. “Can I get you anything?” he asked, gesturing subtly toward the compact replicator alcove. “A drink, a snack… or”, he tipped his head toward the nearby holo-emitters, scattered like understated jewels along the wall, “a change of scenery, if that would help.”

The offer was casual, almost ritualistic, but genuinely meant. The holotech hummed softly, ready to shift the room into a beach, a forest, a quiet lounge; whatever space her mind needed to breathe. Axod kept a respectful distance, giving Iry the space to land, to settle, to choose the version of comfort that fit her today.

The choice felt overwhelming even as she appreciated the calm unrushed demeanor of the counselor. "Sunlight," she finally said, not sure how else to explain herself. "I miss open spaces and sunlight. And... and warmth. Back home if something like this..." She faltered, struggling a moment before seeking out a seat. "Umm, and maybe some of that lovely tea you had when I was here after the goo... umm... incident?"

She settled into a seat, threading her hands together and rubbing one thumb against the meaty part beneath the other as if she might massage out an ache. It was a tic of sorts, gentle pressure as a way to distract.

“Computer, Risa. Suraya Bay, at sunrise,” Axod commanded, his tone measured but hopeful. He hesitated for the barest fraction of a second afterward, aware that choosing a location from the Lieutenant’s homeworld might be a presumption. Still, the intention behind it felt right, grounding, familiar, gentle.

As the computer acknowledged the request, Axod crossed the room with quick, purposeful steps and moved to the replicator. He keyed in his order manually, fingers moving from muscle memory rather than conscious thought, just as the holosimulation began to bloom into existence around them. The sterile lines of the room softened and dissolved. Warm hues spilled outward as the first light of dawn crept over Suraya Bay. The air shifted, carrying with it the faint suggestion of salt and flowering coastal vegetation. Gentle waves lapped against the shoreline, their rhythm slow and unhurried, and the sky unfurled in gradients of coral, gold, and pale violet as the sun edged upward.

Axod paused, allowing the environment to settle fully before turning back. The scene was calm without being overwhelming. It was alive, but unintrusive. He drew in a quiet breath, the tension in his shoulders easing as the sound of the surf filled the space between them. He retrieved the two cups of team and returned to Iry.

At the shift from office to holographically generated environ, Irynya felt a knot of tension in her neck and upper shoulders loosen. She loosed a slow breath, tasting the salt in the air and feeling the increased humidity. Sand shushed against the shuffling of her feet and she bent to remove her boots and socks, letting her toes press into the warm sand--warm even at dawn.

It was a convincing facsimile. "Suraya Bay," she identified, and there was a longing twined with resignation to her tone. She had visited the famed bay as a child during a family vacation. It wasn't home, but it was, at least, familiar. "Thank you," she added after a long pause. Reaching for the mug she took it from the counselor, cradling it in her palms and letting the warmth leech into her fingers.

"It's hard to be away from home when... when things are wrong," she said after another long moment and a slow sip of the tea she'd requested.

“I’m sure you aren’t the only one on the ship feeling that,” Axod said gently, a comforting smile softening his features. There was no judgment in his expression, only recognition, the quiet reassurance of someone who had heard this sentiment before and understood its weight.

He let his gaze drift around the simulated shoreline, taking in the slow roll of the waves and the way the early light danced across the water. The stillness felt intentional, almost inviting, as though the world itself was encouraging them to slow down. “Do we want to sit?” he asked, his voice calm and unhurried. He tilted his head slightly and nodded toward a blanket laid out nearby, its edges ruffling subtly in the simulated breeze. The gesture was small, casual, but deliberate. An offer of grounding, of shared space, of taking a moment rather than rushing past it.

"Sure," Iry said, moving to the blanket and settling cross legged. She stared out over the cool blue green of Suraya Bay, letting the ambient warmth of faux sunlight warm her shoulders. After a protracted silence she said. "I hate feeling helpless." And then, as if she felt it needed adding. "Particularly when the people that matter most to me are involved."

Axod nodded thoughtfully as he lowered himself onto the blanket next to her, settling into a comfortable, grounded posture. The simulated morning breeze drifted across the space, teasing through his ginger hair and carrying with it the faint scent of salt and warmth, so convincing it was easy to forget they weren’t really on Risa. He let the quiet sit for a moment, allowing the calm of the environment to do some of the work for him.

When he spoke, his voice was gentle, carefully measured. “Can you think of any other times you’ve felt helpless?” he asked, his eyes lifting to meet Iry’s without pressure or expectation. “Moments where you wanted to reach someone, to protect them, be there for them and simply couldn’t.”

There was no judgment in his expression, only genuine curiosity and an open invitation to reflect. He rested his hands loosely on his knees, fully present. “Those experiences tend to leave echoes,” he continued softly. “Sometimes we don’t even realize we’re reacting to the memory of them until something like this brings it all rushing back.”

She frowned, considering the question asked while also resisting the urge to shoot back a sarcastic reply about the many times this had happened. "Yeah," she finally answered. "There's a lot of them, but..." she frowned again, thinking. "I felt like this when I heard that Timmoz was severely injured in that fight on the station where we found Kaldri. And when the... goo... person... that we thought was a new roommate... attacked Noah and Shelly." She squinted out across the water, carefully considering the admission on the tip of her tongue. "Noah... more... than Shelly," she confessed. "Not that I wasn't worried about Sheldon, just..."

Iry's gaze dropped, focusing on the hands in her lap where she couldn't help rubbing at her palm with her thumb as if that might somehow take away the swelling feeling. "I felt this way when I was younger too. One of my friends lost a cousin very suddenly... I felt helpless because I couldn't fix it, but also I just... I knew what to do to help too. It... it wasn't exactly the same." She skirted a quick glance at Qo as if doing so might elucidate his reaction.

Axod gave a slow, understanding nod. “Things like that have a way of sticking with us,” he said gently, his tone thoughtful, almost reflective. “Even when part of us knows we’re supposed to move on.” It came out less like a clinical observation and more like something passed down. It was earned wisdom rather than textbook language.

He let a quiet breath slip out through his nose, the warm, simulated air of the environment brushing across his skin as he settled more comfortably where he sat. The moment stretched, unhurried, giving the weight of the words space to exist without pressure. “How have you managed to work through those moments before?” he asked, voice steady and open, eyes attentive without being intrusive.

Iry considered the question. As she thought she let one hand drop to the sand of the beach, running the fine grains between her fingers. "When it was Wrena... my friend who lost the cousin... I just showed up. Did things that she didn't want or feel up to doing. I was present. I mean as much as my parents would allow me to be. With Timmoz too. Nico and I sat together a couple times, sort of just... being there... you know. Waiting together. But I never got to talk to Timmoz... you know... before he and Nico left the ship."

She frowned, feeling the ache of last words unspoken. She couldn't even remember what she had last said to Timmoz before they split up to seek out Kaldri, but she hated that she didn't know when or if she'd hear from him again. "And the attack in our quarters... we all ended up in the enlisted bunks. Closer than we were in our own quarters. We were all but on top of each other. So it was easy to just be present. None of us really had much privacy."

"I don't know. All of those moments I felt like I knew how to cope. How to help. But now... I feel like... like that's been taken away from me somehow."

Axod turned his face toward Iry, the simulated sunlight catching his features and making him squint slightly against the glare. The warmth of the scene contrasted with the weight in her voice, and he felt that familiar, quiet pull of understanding settle in his chest.

“I take it that’s a rather recent feeling?” he asked gently. There was no edge of assumption in his tone, only a careful softness, though something in his expression suggested he already suspected the answer.

"Yeah," she answered quietly. "It's... it's more complicated now. I think. Or maybe there's something about me that's complicating things?" She twisted slightly to meet the counselor's gaze. She could almost believe the sunlight was real, slanting warm against her side as if offering her a place to curl up and be held. "It feels more... urgent..." she added. "Like... like I'm not... I don't know..."

“Not what?” Axod asked, shifting in his position so he was turned more fully toward her. The movement was unhurried, open, his body language aligning with the question.

There was no challenge in his tone, only real curiosity, the kind that leaned forward rather than pressed in. His attention settled on Iry's face, steady and present, giving the moment room to unfold without rushing to fill the silence.

The Risian met the counselor's eyes. "I'm not saying this right. It's like I am not sure how to be what he needs." Her fingers dug into the sand beside her as if grounding herself. "No... That's still not right. I want to be needed." She felt like she was flailing.

“Hey, hey,” Ax said gently, straightening and turning fully toward her, his posture calm and grounded. His voice carried a steadying rhythm, the kind meant to slow a spiralling moment rather than talk over it.

“Let’s take a few breaths together,” he suggested, offering a small, reassuring nod as he softened his own breathing first, modelling the pace, giving her something quiet and solid to follow.

The Risian's breathing had picked up and she hadn't even noticed it. Frustration flooded her at the lapse in self awareness. She followed Qo's breathing pattern deliberately, with focus and care, feeling her heart rate slow and her body unwind some of the tension that had snuck up on her. Even then her thoughts swirled offering her images of Noah, slumped against the blast doors... of blood coating the floor of Subrek's throne room, mingling with the smells of sweat and and ozone. The image of Ikade, desperate and afraid clutching the sonic weapon to his chest surfaced filling her with a grief that was hard to explain considering how little she had known the man. But it was only a matter of moments before the face before her, exhausted and lost, was Noah's again, this time followed by the smell of the nape of his neck when she'd awoken pressed against his back. She flushed, teeth pressing together.

Finally, her eyes refocused on Counselor Qo sitting next to her. "How am I supposed to lead a department when I'm terrified of losing people I love?"

Axod’s expression softened into a reassuring smile, one that carried quiet conviction rather than simple encouragement. “I think that’s precisely what makes you a good leader,” he said, his voice warm but steady. “The fact that you worry means you understand what’s at stake. It means you’ll do whatever is necessary to keep your people safe, not out of obligation, but because you genuinely care about the cost of every decision.”

He drew a slow breath, shoulders easing as he spoke, as though grounding himself in the thought. “Fear has a purpose,” he continued more thoughtfully. “It sharpens us. It reminds us that what we’re protecting matters. But when we let it take the helm, when we let it freeze us in place, that’s when it stops serving us.”

She studied the man next to her for a moment, watching his shoulders ease and taking in what he was saying not only in words, but in body language. Again, the image of Noah against the blast doors surfaced in the back of her mind. Only this time, she imagined herself in his place -- mourning the loss of him. With some critical distance now that her body wasn't betraying her, she could see a thread there that she was afraid to pull on.

How she had felt in that moment, watching Noah, would have been different were it anyone else.

"What about," she started, taking hold of the proverbial thread and giving it an experimental tug, "if someone in your group means more than the others do?"

A flicker of recognition crossed Axod’s features, subtle but unmistakable. He inclined his head in a slow, thoughtful nod, as if aligning memory with present understanding before he spoke. “Before the unification of Doosodaria,” he began, his tone measured and reflective, “the regional factions were frequently in conflict with one another. Strategy was shaped as much by culture as by necessity. In Gethra, my home territory, it was common practice to place bonded partners within the same contingent. The reasoning was simple, if not entirely gentle: one fights more fiercely when the person they care for stands within reach of danger.”

He let the idea settle in the space between them, his gaze steady but not imposing. The memory seemed less like a historical anecdote and more like a lens through which he was examining the present moment. “There was risk in it, of course,” he continued quietly. “Attachment can cloud judgment. Fear can narrow perception. But the Gethrans believed something else outweighed those dangers, that connection sharpens purpose. That when emotion is acknowledged rather than suppressed, it becomes a source of clarity rather than confusion.”

Axod paused, considering his next words with care before offering them. “It seems to me,” he said gently, “that your connection with Noah may function in much the same way. Not as a distraction, but as an anchor. Something that grounds you, rather than pulls you away from what matters.” He allowed a small, reassuring softness to enter his expression. “Connection does not weaken resolve,” he added. “More often, it gives it a reason.”

Something within Irynya squirmed, making her stomach feel fluttery while her heart rate picked up a notch. She hadn't meant to be that obvious about who she was speaking of, but for Qo to call it out meant she must have been less circumspect than she had intended. Either that or Doosodarians had a previously unmentioned empathic ability that he had used to eke out the slowly unwinding knot of something more than friendship that had quietly begun to gain weight in her thoughts.

"When emotion is acknowledged..." she repeated back to him softly after a moment. "What about... if it's one sided? Or..." she struggled to pull the thought fully formed into words, "or... if there's someone else?" She frowned, realizing she hadn't meant to suggest that at all--hadn't even realized it was something she'd been thinking about.

"I mean, it makes sense to send out bonded pairs... but... I'm assuming it was a bond that went both ways. I'm not sure that Noah has those feelings or wants a connection like that. At least... when it comes to me. He's my best friend, but..."

She shrugged, finally giving in to the pressure she'd been feeling to drop eye contact. This was the most directly she'd spoken to anyone about the turn she'd recently noticed in her feelings for Noah. Marteli had hinted it in her last message--seen it long before Iry had even let it be a thought. And Talbot... she'd practically refused to believe Irynya's denial of anything more than friendship when it had come up.

“But…?” Axod prompted gently, the single word carrying an invitation rather than a demand. His voice held an easy warmth, curiosity tempered by care.

He studied her face for a moment, not searching for an answer so much as trying to understand the shape of the hesitation behind it. Then, carefully, he gave language to what he sensed. “Are you wondering,” he said, tone thoughtful and even, “whether you hold that same place for him… the one he holds for you?”

The Doosodarian shifted just enough to face her more directly, his posture open, unguarded. “It can be unsettling,” he continued quietly, “when we’re certain of what someone means to us, but uncertain of how we exist in their world. Not knowing can create more distance than any physical separation.”

He offered a small, reassuring smile, steady, patient.

“Whatever the answer is,” he added, “questioning it doesn’t diminish the connection. It simply means it matters to you.”

The Risian nodded her understanding even as she continued her investigation of the blanket beneath them. "I feel selfish even thinking about this," she confessed. "He took Jyl-eel's death so hard. And it's just... it's still really fresh."

She sighed, giving up on the blanket, and returned to looking at the man next to her. "On Risa we have a concept... a... a sort of role for a person when there's grief. We call it woldelaht. It's... a sort of grief partner. It takes a lot of different forms. Someone who walks with you through the grief, not just as a friend. As a... a partner is the closest word I can think of. They help you carry it. It's someone you can be intimately open with... mind, body, soul, while you work through the loss. And it's not always death. It's more... endings..."

Taking a breath to steady her thoughts she continued, "I don't think Noah would want that from me. And... it's not the same as a... you know... a long term partner." She shook her head, the entire line of thinking falling apart even as she said it. "I don't want to do halfway," she finally finished. "Not with Noah. I'm not even sure what I'm trying to get at."

Axod nodded slowly, the motion measured, thoughtful. He understood the weight she carried, the quiet tension between care and uncertainty, between wanting to help and fearing the wrong step. His fingers slid absently through his red hair, a familiar grounding gesture as he chose his words with care. “Have you offered your support to Noah?” he asked gently after a moment. The question was soft, almost tentative, as though he were placing it between them rather than directing it at her. There was no judgment in his tone, only a sincere curiosity shaped by concern.

His gaze remained steady, attentive. He shifted slightly where he sat, angling himself more toward her, his posture open and inviting. “Sometimes,” he continued, voice calm and even, “people don’t need solutions as much as they need to know someone is willing to stand beside them while they figure things out.” He paused, letting the thought settle rather than pressing forward. The ambient sound of their surroundings filled the brief silence, giving the moment room to breathe.

“I imagine it’s difficult,” he added quietly, “caring about someone while not being entirely certain where you fit in what they’re going through.” His expression softened, a quiet reassurance offered without insistence, allowing her space to respond in her own time.

"Do you mean as in... have I offered him woldelaht? Or just... you know... been there as a friend? Definitely yes for the second one. He feels... distant... but he's not gone. And he knows he can talk to me at any time..." she said, feeling fairly confident in that truth even as she considered that he wasn't talking to her much. Not about Tor at least."

She blew out a breath. "And you're probably right. Time may just be the thing. And being present even if it feels like I should be doing more." The Risian turned, facing toward the ocean and breathing in the scent of the water. It wasn't home, but it was such an effective surrogate that for a moment she could imagine this conversation was, truly, on Risa and not in a holographically produced experience.

"I don't want to scare him away," she said after a moment. "And I don't want him to feel... like I expect anything of him. Now more than ever, honestly, so maybe the right choice right now is just to wait. And see." Absently she tugged her bottom lip in between her feet. "After all, we're not going anywhere. There's time." She felt hollow as she said it, the loss of Tor looming large in her mind. But she had to believe there was time to figure out the confusing bundle of things she was feeling. Time to see if they were a reaction to crisis or if there was something else. Time for healing. Anything less than belief in those things could only lead to more grief.

Axod gave a small, thoughtful nod, the motion slow and deliberate. He could feel the weight of what she’d shared lingering in the quiet between them. Situations like hers rarely came with neat solutions; emotions were rarely that cooperative. Still, sincerity had a way of reaching people when logic could not. “I think if your heart is in the right place,” he said gently, his tone warm but certain, “he’ll feel that.”

For a moment he let the words settle, the soft hush of the simulated surf filling the silence that followed. Then Axod planted his hands in the sand and pushed himself to his feet, stretching his arms above his head until his shoulders gave a quiet pop of relief. The warm grains clung stubbornly to the knees of his uniform trousers, and he brushed them away with a few quick swipes, laughing softly under his breath at the absurdity of needing to dust off sand inside a holodeck program.

He paused after that, turning slowly to take in their surroundings one more time. The golden shoreline stretched out before them, the simulated sunrise painting the horizon in delicate shades of amber and rose. Gentle waves rolled in with hypnotic rhythm, the air carrying that faint, salt-tinged warmth that made the whole place feel impossibly calm.It was peaceful in a way starships rarely allowed.

“Ready to head back to reality?” he asked at last, glancing back toward her. The question carried a quiet reluctance, a thread of disappointment woven through the words. He’d needed this more than he’d realized.

The Risian looked up at him from the blanket, shading her eyes against the sun. "No," she answered evenly, "but I don't suppose that's really how life works anyway." She shifted, getting up from the blanket in a lithe practiced movement that belied how much of her life had been spent on a beach.

Axod lingered another second, letting the serenity of Suraya Bay settle into his memory before the responsibilities of the ship reclaimed them both. Whatever burdens they carried would still be waiting on the other side of the door, but for a little while, at least, the quiet had done its work.

"Thank you," Irynya said quietly, standing next to the counselor now. "I know it's your job to listen to all of us, but still... I appreciate it. A lot of that was... hard to talk through and I'm not sure I would have with anyone else."

Axod let the words settle for a moment before he spoke again, drawing a slow breath as though he were choosing his next thought with care. “It may be my job,” he began, his voice steady but softer now, “but there comes a point, especially out here in deep space, when the lines start to blur for a counselor.”

His eyes drifted briefly toward the horizon. “On a starbase or a planet you can keep distance. You go home at the end of the day. You reset.” He gave a small shake of his head. “On a ship this far out, there is no ‘away from it.’ The same people you counsel are the same people you eat with, laugh with, rely on when something goes wrong.”

“Crew becomes friends,” he continued quietly. “Sometimes family.” There was no hesitation in his voice, no attempt to dress the thought in clinical language. Just simple honesty. “And when that happens,” he added after a beat, “the responsibility doesn’t disappear. If anything, it gets heavier.”

A faint, reflective smile touched the corner of his mouth. “You don’t just want them to function,” Axod said. “You want them to be okay.” He let that thought hang for a moment. “Computer,” the computer sounded a familiar chirp, “end program.” Ax said finally. All around them the scene began to dissolve until they were left in Ax’s office. Still cozy, but it wasn’t the beach on Risa.

A Post By:

Lieutenant Irynya
Chief Flight Control Officer

Lieutenant Axod Qo
Chief Counselor