Building Bridges

Posted on Thu May 22nd, 2025 @ 2:59pm by Captain Malcom Llwyedd & Lieutenant Owen Woodhouse & Ensign Emilynn Dove

1,928 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Shore Leave 1
Location: USS Firebird

[ON]

Days had trickled by since Emilynn’s fateful conversation with Commander t'Aegis in Six Forward. With fierce resolve, she had vowed to embark on a journey of self-transformation, to forge a new path on Firebird staring with resuming her workouts. Yet, despite her best intentions they had provided little physical or emotional release, leaving her feeling even more frustrated.

Throughout her workday, the tension she felt inside occasionally bubbled to the surface, a volatile mix of anger and exhaustion that she struggled to contain. She found herself excusing herself from various situations, acutely aware that she needed to avoid lashing out. The most significant instance of this arose that morning during a particularly vexing encounter with Lieutenant Woodhouse. For the third time in less than a week, he had assigned her the mundane yet aggravating task of replacing power relays that had been carelessly overloaded by the same crewman in the cargobay.

As she stood there, his directives crashing over her like waves, anger surged within her. A sharp retort almost escaped her lips—a biting suggestion that perhaps he would be less lenient if he had to deal with the consequences of their incompetence firsthand. Just as the words hung on her tongue, Emilynn caught herself. With a deep breath, she excused herself and walked away, a dark shadow trailing behind her.

With her morning shift having just concluded, Emilynn found herself grappling with the crucial question of how to spend the rest of her day. A visit to Lieutenant Carew, the ship's counselor, had been suggested but felt like an extreme measure—not yet warranted in her eyes. Seeking help would signify defeat, a relinquishment of control over her own emotions that she wasn't ready to accept.

Determined to avoid retreating to the solitude of her quarters, she headed to the mess hall and settled into a corner seat, nursing a cup of herbal tea that had long since grown cold. She thought about signing up for the upcoming Parrises squares tournament but quickly dismissed it, fearing her lack of skill would burden her team and lead to humiliation.

As she sat in contemplation, the thought of seeking out Thrya also crossed her mind. They had shared numerous encounters; however, in her current state, she worried that Thrya's perky, carefree demeanor might tip her over the edge.

Then her mind turned to the words of Commander t'Aegis, who had encouraged her to reach out to Ensign Djokovic. The suggestion lingered in her thoughts for several moments before she quietly let the question escape her lips. “Computer, what is the location of Ensign Djokovic?”

“Ensign Djokovic is in her quarters,” the computer replied.

Emilynn's mouth tightened into a dissatisfied frown. The response was disheartening; it would be impossible to 'accidentally' run into Ensign Djokovic there. Striking up an impromptu conversation was proving more difficult than she anticipated, and the thought of approaching her directly sent a wave of anxiety crashing over Emilynn.

Caught up in her own doubts, she got up from her seat and wandered through the ship’s halls without a real destination. Before she realized it, she found herself in Lieutenant Woodhouse's office. He was sitting at his desk, totally absorbed in reading some report. She stared down at him, frozen.

Lieutenant Owen Woodhouse leaned back in his chair, absently scrolling through the latest incident reports. His mind was already building the list of who he'd have to chase down next when he sensed -- rather than heard -- someone at the door.

He looked up, expecting a technician with a missing signature or a maintenance crewman dodging their overdue checklist.

Instead, he found Ensign Emilynn Dove standing stiffly just inside the threshold, her expression unreadable and her body language seemed tense.

Owen set the PADD down slowly, frowning. "Ensign Dove. Is this about the cargo bay relays?"

“Uhh…, hi,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper as she anxiously fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve, the soft fabric bunching under her fingertips. “I...uhh, yeah. Umm, yes, I just wanted you to know I was able to get the relays replaced.” The words spilled out in a hurried rush, tumbling over one another before she could rein them in. Deep down, she understood that confessing to something so fundamentally simple felt almost ridiculous; after all, if she hadn't proven capable of handling a task as straightforward as replacing relays after graduating from the academy, she would have deemed herself a complete failure.

Owen studied her for a moment, his frown deepening slightly. It wasn't like Emilynn to report back on a completed task unless it was something more serious. She was standing too rigidly, speaking too quickly -- like she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

"Good work," he replied simply, but he didn't pick the PADD back up. Instead, he gestured loosely to the chair across from his desk. "You look like you've been through a wringer today. Sit down a minute, Ensign." His tone wasn't sharp, but it wasn't exactly soft either --more like a bridge laid carefully across a gulf he wasn’t sure he was supposed to cross.

She let out an awkward laugh, her eyes darting around the room as she nodded, "Yes, okay." Taking a tentative step, she approached the chair that was being offered to her. Her fidgeting hands reflected her restless thoughts as she continued, "Of course, I fixed the relays. It wasn’t hard. I mean, it would be really bad if I couldn’t handle that, huh?” She asked, not really expecting an answer.

Owen offered a faint, tired smile as he leaned back in his chair again, the edge in his posture easing just slightly.

"Of course you fixed the relays," he said, repeating her words back, his tone gentler now. "That’s why I trust you with these problems — not because they’re beneath you, but because I know you’ll actually get them done and you've got the instincts to find and address the root cause."

She took a deep breath, making direct eye contact with him as she carefully studied his expression. It was as if his words had flicked a switch deep within her, and she sat very still, her body frozen in thought. Finally, she found her voice again, speaking much slower now, as if weighing each word with care.

“Of course, for completing my duties in Operations,” she said, her tone steady yet vulnerable, “you can rely on me. However, I understand why you might hesitate to depend on me in more complex situations. I’m aware of my shortcomings and I’m trying to address them, but honestly, I still haven’t figured out exactly how to do that.”

An uncertain smile crossed her face. “I mean, it’s not every day you participate in a spacewalk or come face to face with Jem’Hadar soldiers, so trying to prepare for situations like that is a bit challenging. But I promise I’ll figure it out, so you can trust that I’ll be ready for whatever happens.”

Owen was quiet for a moment, watching her -- not to evaluate, but to make sure she had space to say everything she needed to say. When she finished, he nodded once, slowly.

"You don’t have to convince me that you're capable, Emilynn," he said, his voice low but certain, using her first name without ceremony. "I already know that. You did everything I asked of you on that day, and I know it terrified you. Hell, I was terrified. But you did it anyway. That's not failure."

He let the silence stretch for a beat, his gaze steady but not pressing. Then he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk. "The situations we find ourselves in out here, they're not in any manual. There's no training program that can prepare you for what you did."

Emilynn sat in silence, absorbing his perspective. He was right. None of the challenges they faced that day were in any Starfleet manual. She had checked.

As she grappled with her thoughts, she began to question whether he was right. Did she really have what it took to succeed in Starfleet? Although her passion for the work was undeniable, it was the unknowns that made her feel uneasy. However, if what he said was true, then no one—not even her—could be prepared for everything.

Emilynn was acutely aware that her father's opinion would hardly align with that of her Lieutenant. Instead of encouragement, she imagined him launching into a long list of criticisms, dissecting her actions with the precision of the seasoned officer he was. The mere thought of his disappointment gnawed at her, leading her to cringe internally. For a fleeting moment, she felt a wave of relief wash over her, grateful that her father remained blissfully ignorant of her current struggles.

As the silence stretched between them, Emilynn realized that she hadn't responded to his candid assessment. “I sincerely appreciate your feedback, Lieutenant,” she said, her voice steady. “Your belief in my abilities means a great deal to me, and I will do everything I can not to let you down.”

"I believe you," he said simply, with a kind of quiet certainty that didn’t need to be dressed up in rank or protocol. "But," he conceded after a moment, "No matter how good our intentions, we will fail sometimes. We will make mistakes, we will panic, we will make the wrong choices, and people may even die because of them. It is a heavy burden that we must bear. Because someone has to."

He let out a slow breath, and for a moment, the usual burdens of his position seemed to slip off his shoulders. "Trust your training, follow protocol, and learn from your mistakes. I think that's all anyone can ask of us."

“Yes, of course, you're right.” Her shoulders relaxed as she nodded in agreement. “I’m truly sorry to have taken up your time. You must be incredibly busy.” She rose to leave, but paused, casting a lingering glance at him as she hesitated. “Thank you.” Her gratitude hung in the air, a heavy acknowledgment of how his perspective had shifted her own.

Owen simply dipped his head slightly in respectful acknowledgement at that. After a moment, "If that's all, then you're dismissed, Ensign."

As the door slid shut behind her, Owen remained standing for a moment, his gaze fixed on the spot she'd just vacated. The tension she'd carried in with her still lingered faintly in the room, like static after a storm. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, then slowly returned to his chair. The reports on his PADD were still there, still waiting, but they suddenly felt less urgent. He'd seen something in Emilynn's eyes -- vulnerability, yes, but also grit, the kind that only surfaced when someone was right on the edge and chose not to fall. He didn’t know what battles she was still fighting in the quiet places of her mind, but he had no doubt now that she'd keep fighting. And maybe, just maybe, she'd stop trying to do it alone.

[OFF]

Ensign Emilynn Dove
Operations Officer
USS Firebird NCC-88298


Lieutenant Owen Woodhouse
Chief Operations Officer
USS Firebird NCC-88298

 

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