A/N: okay, battles are hard to do...i did my research, but there isn't a terrible amount of knowledge on this particular situation. i tried. don't hurt me if it's not one-hundred percent accurate. at least see what i was trying to do. don't crucify me.


He didn't. She contained her disappointment when the party sent down to the Class M planet consisted of the captain, his first officer, Sulu, and McCoy—his eyes skimmed over her, pausing briefly, but evidently he decided against it. McCoy had thrown her a sympathetic look but had said nothing, figuring she'd had enough adventures for now.

She hadn't. He promised to give a detailed retelling, but it hardly appeased her. Her curiosity burned through her skin, and now as she sat in her seat on the bridge, she was bored and agitated. She bounced her knee a few times until she actually began to annoy herself. She debated striking up a conversation with Pavel Chekov, giving some confidence a try and practicing for the captain, but the young boy was so hard to understand sometimes…

"I wonder what ze planet is like," said Chekov. The young kid smiled at her, attempting conversation.

"I bet it's fascinating," she murmured in response.

Evidently her comment had not been what he was expecting, and he didn't say anything for a long while, staring at her. Then, finally, his smile returned. "I bet it is. New planets usually are, aren't zey?"


McCoy took in his surroundings. The planet was a balance of lush green forests and small grouped cities that floated, somehow, a few feet off the ground. The inhabitants varied slightly, as with all species, but the main race of intelligent beings were humanoid creatures with large eyes and skin the color of burnt sienna. They called themselves the Piore—they spoke little Standard, with their native language sounding like a combination of French and Vulcan.

Their guide was leading them into a large, architecturally beautiful building so that Jim's request to meet with the colony's leader could be honored.

"Celyn would be loving this," McCoy muttered.

"Hm?" asked Jim curiously, turning slightly to his friend as they walked. "Why's that?"

"She loves the cultural aspect of other races." McCoy grinned widely, chuckling at the memory. "You should have seen her light up at that marketplace on the last planet. Never seen a girl that excited. She didn't buy anything for herself either, just presents for the rest of us."

Jim blinked once, twice. "Really? She's that selfless?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause, and then he said, "What the hell is she doing in Starfleet?"


When she was relieved, Celyn headed back to her room with a heavy step. She reached into the drawer of her bedside table and took out the journal—its pages yellowed, its cover faded, the name on the inside written with pencil that had rubbed away over the years. Two dozen folded letters were placed in the middle of the pages, but she had never written in the actual journal yet. Now, she took a pen and rewrote her name on the inside cover: Celyn Renata Mercy.

She wrote it slowly, feeling the pen glide over the paper, her looped handwriting so different from before. Then she turned to the first page and began:

Dear Elysia,

I've been writing you letters. I'm including them, along with this journal. If you have received this, it means the Federation did as I requested, and they have found you. It also means I've died. I joined Starfleet, you know, just like Dad.

I guess I should start this out by saying that I've regretted ever letting you stay in foster care. I was your older sister. I should have protected you. You should have been the one to go with Grandmother. I can only hope you were happier with another family than I was with our grandparents. I never was the strong one of us, never was like Dad, and Grandfather never let me forget it. I think he would have loved you.

I've been a disappointment, Elysia. I've tried so hard to be like you. I was selfish as a little girl. You never were. I tried to be you. I think of you often, think of what you would do in my position, and that guides me. It doesn't matter that you were only eight when we parted. You were so much more mature than I.

This is my apology to you, dear sister. If you'll allow it, this journal is my retelling of my time on the U.S.S. Enterprise. You always loved stories. I promise to be truthful, to tell you everything, and include every shameful detail that is the person I have become.

I've tried to be less selfish. It comes more naturally now, after years of practice. I'm still painfully shy. I still stutter. In a lot of ways, I haven't changed. I hope you don't hate me for that.

The only thing that makes me feel better is the fact that I have earned a friend. A real friend, Elysia. His name is Leonard McCoy.

There is another man, too. He is my captain. I am not proud of this, Elysia, but I think, if I ever knew what love was, that I am in love with Jim Kirk.

And then, of course, there is his first officer, Spock, who I have every reason to think looks down upon my very being…


She was still writing an hour later when she was called back to the bridge by an urgent-sounding Chekov.

Celyn ran back, worried, and her worry was justified when she slid into her seat and immediately saw what the problem was.

"Warbirds," she gasped. "Klingon Warbirds."


Kirk tried not to tap his fingers on the table. There was one of the alien race who spoke enough Standard to translate their leader's words, but he—Kirk assumed it was a he—was still difficult to understand. His anxious agitation was growing, but he pushed it down. He was a captain, after all. Captain.

His comm went off and Spock shot him a disapproving glance as Lieutenant Mercy's voice came through it. "Captain? C-Captain, a word?"

Kirk excused himself, stepped out of the room, and replied, "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"Sir!" Her voice sounded panicked. "We've got K-Klingon ships, sir!"

"What?" he demanded. "Are you sure?"

"Y-Yes sir, three Klingon Warbirds, just on the edges of the ship's scanner. They haven't spotted us yet—"

"Mercy!" called Chekov suddenly. His voice was barely audible in the comm, but Kirk heard it all the same. "Zey 'ave changed zeir course!"

"Correction, sir," she said weakly. "They've spotted us."

"Activate shields—"

"A-Already done, sir." She waited a beat, collecting herself, and then added, "Should I attempt contact, sir?"

"No," he said. "Lower the shields in exactly three minutes. We'll beam up to the ship and I'll try to make contact myself."

"Sir!" shouted the Russian Ensign. "Zey 'ave locked weapons!"

Already? Mercy shot a panicked look at Chekov. What do I do, what do I do?

"I'll be right there!" said Kirk hurriedly, running back into the room.

He tried to keep his face composed as he tapped Spock on the shoulder and dismissed himself and his men. He promised they would meet again at a later point—after all, this was huge for the Federation. He had already received confirmation that he should do his best to align this uncharted planet with the Federation if it contained intelligent life.

But first, the matter of Klingon ships out here, locking weapons on his ship without any warning or prompting.

"Scotty, beam us up," he said, exactly three minutes later, into his comm.


Meanwhile, while Kirk had been retrieving the away team, the first of the Klingon ships had fired. The photon torpedo didn't damage the Enterprise's shields too badly, but it shook the ship.

Inexplicably, Chekov looked to her.

She shook her head, eyes wide. What was she supposed to do? She wasn't the captain. She had no experience as a leader. She followed orders, she didn't give them. She didn't know how to give them.

Hands shaking, she activated her comm and said, "Lieutenant S-Scott, can you transport the Captain with the shields still raised?"

Scotty's answer was interrupted by another direct hit from a photon torpedo, but she had a sinking feeling the answer was no. Celyn felt tears prick the back of her eyes.

"Lieutenant," said Kirk out of her comm. "What's happening? Why aren't we beaming up?"

"I can't, Captain, it's too dangerous right now—"

"Dangerous? Mercy, what's going—"

There was another explosion. The shields had fallen to just above fifty percent, and now two of the three ships were firing. The other officers, ensigns, were looking to her just like Chekov, and suddenly it occurred to her that on this bridge she was the highest ranking officer besides Uhura. That's why they were looking to her. Uhura, for some reason, was also staring at her. Celyn silently wished the other woman would step forward.

She wanted the captain back, but…It was safer for him on the planet. Safer for everyone who mattered to her—Sulu, McCoy—if they were not on this ship. She knew it was irrational, he was the captain and would be involved in numerous situations just as dangerous as this and there was no way she could protect him from it. But for some reason this time, she was convinced that if he came aboard the ship, he would be killed.

"The Warbirds are firing on us, sir," she said, her voice cracking. "I think it's better if you don't come aboard."

"What? Mercy, I'm the captain! I order you—"

"I-I'm sorry, Captain." She licked her lips. "Sulu and Leonard are my friends, and I care too much about them…" And you… "…to allow you to b-beam aboard under these circumstances."

She cursed her insufferable stutter. Instead of receiving an answer from her Captain, Spock's always-logical voice came to her next.

"Lieutenant, you are breaching protocol."

Her face burned. "C-Commander Spock…"

"We are beaming up. You have no authority over Lieutenant Commander Scott," said the half-Vulcan. "You cannot tell him not to allow us aboard."

He was right. She opened her mouth as another torpedo made contact, and despite the shields still being up, there was an explosion somewhere on the ship.

"Lieutenant, ze engine 'as been hit—"

"They were aiming for it," she breathed. Her eyes widened in the realization. The Klingons had been planning this. They were taking advantage of the fact that she was sitting around, not reacting. "What about the transporters?"

"Zey are not functioning, ze shields are still up, Lieutenant Scott does not 'ave ze time to figure out a way to get around zat. We cannot beam zem aboard until we lower ze shields."

She couldn't do that. Not when they were taking hits like this. If she lowered the shields, even just long enough for a transport, the ship could sustain substantial damage, especially if the third ship were to start firing as well—

"What should we do?"

She felt her whole body freeze up, muscles tense. She didn't know what to do. Why were they depending on her? She couldn't run the ship. She needed the Captain's guidance—

"Kid!" said McCoy over her communicator.

"Leonard," she said. She bit the inside of her cheek harshly. "Leonard, I don't…I don't know…"

"Relax, kid. Pretend the captain's with you."

"Bones? How is that—"

"Quiet, Jim. Focus, Celyn."

Another direct hit. Celyn felt like crying.

"For God's sake!" shouted Uhura. "We're getting pummeled!"

"The captain's there with you, Celyn. He's right there, in the chair. You know what to do."

Celyn's head swam from the voices, and she shut her eyes harshly. Her voice rang out, weak but there, and she almost didn't recognize it. "Ensign Chekov, take the controls."

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"S-Steer us away from their fire."

"Keep the channel on, kid," said McCoy reassuringly. "You can do this."

"This isn't a test at the Academy, Bones, if she doesn't know what she's doing she needs to let us beam up—"

"I agree with the Captain, doctor."

"Hey," placated Sulu's voice. "It's not her fault anymore, remember, the transporters can't take us up until it's safe to lower the shields."

"She should have let us beam up earlier!" shouted Kirk.

Celyn squeezed her blue eyes shut further. "Shut up! Just shut up!"

Surprised, the three male voices stopped. She cleared her throat loudly and grasped onto her chair to stem the trembling of her hands. "Lieutenant Uhura…can you…can you try to contact the Klingon ships? Maybe this is some kind of misunderstanding."

When the lieutenant hesitated, Celyn sighed, biting back tears again. "Please. I know you don't have to listen to me, but…please."

Uhura slowly nodded, doing as she said.

"You're doing fine, kid," McCoy began again. "What are the shields down to?"

"Thirty-five percent," she replied feebly.

"Okay. That's okay."

"Okay? That's not 'okay'—"

"Jim," said McCoy in a warning tone. "Celyn, you know what to do. You're gifted in military tactics—"

"When I have a leader, Leonard," she protested. "I'm good when I know that should I fail there is someone to help me. I'm on my own, Leonard."

"What am I, chopped liver?"

"I didn't mean…"

"Don't worry about that, kid. You have a choice now. Divert power to the shields or fire?"

Celyn shot a look to Uhura, waiting. Everything was happening so fast. She couldn't even focus on anything outside of the mass of voices that were all directed at her. How did McCoy expect her to focus? "T-The Klingons haven't responded—"

"You're getting destroyed, kid, don't think about protocol, think about surviving."

So she did. And suddenly, she thought of not just the captain. She thought of Spock.

"If you wish to improve it, the only way would be to prove your strategic skills are up to par, preferably in a high-stress situation."

High-stress situation.

She activated the ship's weapons. She didn't trust her voice, knowing it would continue to give away just how nervous she was—if her shaking hands didn't do that already. She fired the ship's phasers at the nearest Klingon Warbird, weakening it's shield, and fired the Enterprise's own torpedoes at the second. After a moment's hesitation, she opted not to fire on the third—they had not yet fired upon her.

It turned out to be a good decision as Uhura suddenly said, "We're receiving a transmission from the third Klingon vessel."

The face of a Klingon appeared, large and visible, and he said, wasting no formalities, "Where is your captain?"

Celyn swallowed again as Chekov swiveled his head to her and waited for her answer.

"He is detained," answered Uhura.

Celyn let out a short sigh of relief.

The Klingon captain narrowed his eyes. "While I understand you are a Federation ship and as a Klingon I despise the Federation and its methods, I do not agree with the decision to attack you unprovoked and without warning. I will not be participating in this fight as I have no desire to spark a war. My brethren will not be swayed, however, so feel no worry should you manage to defeat them."

The transmission ended there, and except for aiming the phasers again at the first ship, the crew was momentarily stunned.

"Kid? Kid, what the hell just happened?"

"One of the Klingon captains," Celyn replied softly, "just gave us permission to destroy the other two."

There was a moment of silence on McCoy's end, and then he abruptly burst out with, "Then what the hell are you waitin' for!"

She supposed he was right and fired again. The first Klingon ship exploded, and Celyn felt a wave of triumph flow in her chest. She erupted into a strange kind of smile, suddenly giddy, and just like that she was alright.

"Chekov, can you loop us around while avoiding enemy fire?"

"Of course, Lieutenant." He did just that, and she used the photon torpedoes again to weaken the second ship's shields even more, but they were still not down. It made her slightly uneasy also, to know the only thing standing between the Enterprise and photon damage was a meager thirty-five percent shield power.

She diverted power from the phasers to the shields, and just in time as the Enterprise received a direct hit that Chekov could not avoid.

"If our engines take much more damage, we won't be able to achieve warp," shouted Uhura.

Uhura's words caused Celyn to fumble with the controls, firing the torpedoes and nearly missing. The Warbird's shields had dropped completely, and a few solid hits would send it packing just like the first one.

Fire. Again. Fire.

There it was. The second Klingon vessel exploded into a fireball. The third warped away without further communication, and Celyn stopped to take a steady breath. Not her best work—'gifted' had been an exaggeration on McCoy's part—but she had a new sense of pride. She had done it, without the captain—for the captain.

She hesitated just a moment and dropped the shields, standing with shaking limbs to walk to the transporter room and await her captain. Pavel Chekov shot her a large smile on her way out, but she hadn't the energy to return it.

She stood beside Scotty on legs of jelly, and when the returning four men appeared on the transformer, she avoided looking at the captain. Instead, her eyes went first to Spock, and the look on his face seemed oddly similar to disappointment, and she dropped her eyes with a pang.

"Of all the times to come through for me, kid, you picked a great one." McCoy was the first to address her, colliding with her in a firm hug. Caught off guard, she hardly had the time to return it before he had pulled away and clapped his hand on her shoulder. He smiled before adding, "Really, kid, nice job."

Nice job? Had she done a nice job?

Sulu nodded his consent. "For someone who doesn't work well under pressure, the ship's still intact. That's pretty good, I'd say."

"Well," began Kirk a little grouchily. "I suppose I can't be mad considering my ship is in one piece and not too badly damaged…and no one died, after all. I guess the damage would've been worse if you'd dropped the shields to let us up." He grunted. "As long as you don't pull a stunt like that anytime soon, I'm okay."

He took in her expression and winced. "Oh, God, anyone looking at you right now would think I'd just killed your dog. Don't look like that. I'm not scolding you, you're not in trouble. Just relax okay?"

McCoy gave him a look, and Kirk added gently, "They're right. You should be proud that it turned out this way. Nobody got hurt, the ship is relatively unscathed, and now you've got two destroyed Klingon Warbirds to add to your resume."

She felt a swelling of joy at his words, even so much so as to brave a smile, but Spock breezed past her as if she didn't even exist, and a few pieces of that joy broke off and turned to lead.


It took a few days for things to feel 'back to normal' for Celyn. Coming down from the fear and the worry had caused tremors like you wouldn't believe. McCoy gave her sympathetic winces and regular doses of medication, and she tried to act as though the medicine helped.

It didn't.

Only when she sang to herself did her nerves relax—it reminded her of the only time she'd been happy as a child, when her grandmother would come into her room after she'd had a nightmare. Grandmother would stroke her hair and sing, and Celyn would feel as though the old woman cared. A rare event that had ceased occurring altogether when she turned fourteen.

She thought once about Spock's reaction to hearing the song. She saw him looking at her when she had to hum it quietly in the mess—if she hadn't, she feared her tray would have fallen and made a mess of her food. She was tempted to ask of the song's significance, but approaching the half-Vulcan—who had somehow, at some point reached a place of esteem in her mind almost equal to her captain—seemed unwise and quite frankly, impossible after the Klingon incident.

She wasn't kept informed of the status of the meetings that the captain was constantly going to on the planet's surface. She found she didn't much care to know. She cared much more about the architecture, the plant life, their customs, and McCoy filled her in when he could. Often, however, he was sent to accompany Kirk, with Spock left in charge of the ship.

One night, nearly four days after the Klingon battle, Celyn found she couldn't sleep. Her eyes refused to close and so, with a sigh, she sat up. Writing in her journal proved pointless—she stared at the page for nearly a half hour without actually writing anything. Donning her more casual uniform, a short-sleeved outfit like the one Uhura wore, minus the black undershirt, but still with the short skirt she hated—at least the long-sleeved one made her feel more covered—she headed out for a walk around the ship.

She could jog, get some exercise. She could head to the training room for a light workout. Either of those options would be ideal for tiring her to the point where she could sleep.

She headed that way, singing her lullaby quietly as she had become accustomed to doing. She thought of what McCoy had last said to her, just before beaming down with the captain for what seemed like the millionth time.

"You're improving."

"I'm not improving. I froze. I almost cried. You had to talk me through it."

"So?" he scoffed. "Two months ago, you would've run away. You would have waited for Uhura to take over or curled in the fetal position. I call that improvement, kid."

"What does the captain call it?" she asked quietly.

McCoy had never had a chance to answer that, and the question remained. How did the captain view her now?

She had wondered for a while what Spock had thought of it, but the answer to that was much more obvious. He thought she was reckless and stupid and altogether unworthy of his good opinion. She didn't need to be a genius to see that.

So when he rounded the corner, her first instinct was to turn and run. She slowed, preparing to do just that, when his eyes found her and she was caught. She couldn't rightly turn around now; he would see it and know what she was doing. She was a lot of things, but she couldn't be outright rude.

"C-Commander," she said, not allowing her voice above a whisper. She bowed her head slightly.

"You were singing that song again," he observed tonelessly.

"Y-Yes, sir…"

"Come with me for a moment, would you, Lieutenant?"

She hesitated, but he didn't wait for her answer, choosing instead to simply begin walking. Her resolve crumbled and she followed, walking quickly to keep up with his long-legged strides. He invited her into his quarters, and directed her to sit in an armchair, which she did. He retrieved something from the foot of his bed and in the dim light she saw it to be an instrument of some kind.

"Vulcan lute," he said to her. "I have been practicing for some time."

Again, as it was last time, the heat in the Vulcan's quarters was astounding. Celyn found herself grateful she was wearing short sleeves and no undershirt.

Then, the half-Vulcan began to play, and the breath left her lungs in a whoosh. Her chest tightened. He was playing the lullaby.

The music invaded every corner of her mind, soothing her to such an extent that she wondered if her hands would ever tremble again. She felt whole, content, and when the music stopped and the feeling was ripped away, her entire being felt empty.

"You recognize the tune, I assume," said Spock, apparently unaware of how the music had affected her.

She felt warm wetness trailing down her cheeks and touched her face in surprise. He had to have noticed that she was weeping. She hadn't noticed, but he was staring directly at her. She wasn't sad, just…empty. She wanted the happy feeling back.

"I-It's my lullaby," she replied shakily.

"I learned the same lullaby from my mother. She never sang the words, but she would hum it. Where did you learn it?"

"I told you." Celyn licked her lips. "My grandmother sang it when I had trouble sleeping."

"Did she ever tell you where she learned it?"

She shook her head and he nodded his understanding, but she had the strange sense that she had disappointed him again.

"You played it beautifully," she said. "My singing doesn't do it justice."

"On the contrary."

She waited for him to elaborate, but he never did. "Would you like to learn the words, Commander?"

At first, Celyn thought he was going to agree. Then he stood, putting the lute away, and said, "It's late, isn't it, Lieutenant? I'm sure you have a desire to go to bed."

"Don't put it away," she said quickly, her eyes lingering on the lute. "Play it again for me…please…"

His hand lingered on it, and when she felt like he was going to decline, she began to sing.

She had never sung for an audience, and never very loudly, and so for the first few notes she was slightly sharp. Her voice wobbled, but then he began to play along as she had requested, and the feeling of wholeness, of belonging, returned with a vengeance.

The words were of no consequence to her, just the music and the sound. When the song was over, she wished it back. This time, however, the euphoria stayed, and she was in a wonderful, sleepy dream state.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

His words were lost, however, as the lieutenant had fallen asleep in her chair.


The next day, Celyn was too embarrassed to face the first officer again. She hung around the sick bay, trailing behind McCoy but barely speaking, and when he beamed down for what he promised was the last time, she hid in her room or on the bridge until he returned.

As she exited her room upon receiving news of his return, however, she found a little wrapped parcel sitting outside her door. Frowning, she picked it up gingerly and removed the green ribbon and thin layer of white tissue paper. Green was her favorite color. Was it a coincidence or, God forbid, did she have some kind of admirer?

Oh my…

It was a small, decorative bottle, in which she knew was the gardenia perfume she'd seen and fallen in love with on the agriculture planet. She looked down the hallway, saw no one, and sprayed a little of it on herself.

Leonard, she thought. He must have gone back for it at some point before we left.

She would have to thank him when she saw him.


"Guess what I brought!" exclaimed a widely-smiling McCoy.

She returned his smile. "What?"

"Ta-da!" He held up a small bowl of assorted exotic fruits. "They had orchards, you woulda just loved it, kid, and they gave Jim some samples. He said he didn't need all of them, so…" He brandished the bowl at her again. "Eh? Happy?"

As she took the bowl gratefully, he inhaled through his nose and said, "New perfume, kid?"

She frowned. "The gardenia perfume. You know."

"No, I don't know," he said, chuckling. "I was under the impression you hadn't bought it. Glad you did, it smells nice."

"But…I didn't buy it."

There was a pause. "Not followin'."

"It was left outside my door, I thought…"

McCoy laughed boisterously. "Wasn't me, kid. I swear."


She examined the fruit with a content smile—there was an apple-shaped one that was a bright purple, a bunch of cherries that smelled similar to peaches, and an oblong red one that didn't really remind her of anything.

Celyn cut that one first, slicing it in the middle. It was a lighter shade of red on the inside, dotted with a few black seeds and split into sections like a grapefruit. She cut one of the sections out, looked at it cautiously, and then shrugged. She popped it into her mouth.


"How was I supposed to know I'd be allergic to some weird space fruit?" grumbled Jim, raking his eyes again over the deep red splotches on his arms.

"Maybe you should have let me scan it before you ate it," countered McCoy. "Honestly, Jim."

The door opened, just as McCoy gave Jim a jabbed hypospray.

"Damn it, Bones—" Jim's angry voice stopped abruptly, and McCoy moved his head to see what Jim was staring at.

Celyn stood in the doorway wearing a modified Starfleet uniform; the skirt and sleeves were both shorter, a low scooped neckline, and the skirt was pleated. She was leaning against the doorway, one arm raised above her head in a provocative position, with a smile on her face that was decidedly not like her. Not like her at all.

"Hello, doctor," she said, still with that uncharacteristic smile. It was particularly…suggestive. "Captain."

McCoy snuck a glance at his friend. Jim—being Jim, and the playful flirt and harmless womanizer that he was—was staring at her legs with a dumbfounded expression.

"Celyn," said McCoy, knowing nothing intelligent was going to come from Jim's mouth for a while, "what the hell are you wearing? Where did you get that?"

"You like? I altered an old uniform. The computer had to walk me through it, but I think it turned out alright." She pushed off from the doorframe and stepped forward.

"Seriously, Celyn, why're you acting like this?"

She pouted. "Celyn is such an ugly name, isn't it? Did you know it's a boy's name? Ugh. Why couldn't my parents make 'Renata' my first name? It's much prettier."

"Okay, if your goal was to freak me out, you're doing a good job." McCoy elbowed Kirk in the ribs. "Jesus, Jim, quit drooling."

Jim promptly closed his mouth and stammered out, "Oh, uh, I wasn't drooling, Bones, I was just…" He adopted a smirk, looking at her again. "Appreciating the merchandise."

McCoy waited for Celyn to blush and get uncomfortable by the captain's comment. Instead, she giggled girlishly and said, "Not looking too bad yourself. Sir."

The 'sir' was only added to be flirtatious. Now it was McCoy's turn for his jaw to drop, and he uttered another, "What the hell, kid?"


Whatever had happened, Celyn was a different woman. She exuded confidence, and before long, she was the talk of the ship.

She even went so far as to confront Uhura when Nyota had said, "You have no authority over me. I just wanted to make sure you were clear in case the Klingon battle confused you."

"I know, sweetie," Celyn had replied. "I was never confused. I knew perfectly well that you were too scared to take command."

It continued like that the entire day. She made an enemy out of the women on the ship and was curiously friendly with the men. McCoy decided that this had to stop, and if she wouldn't do it voluntarily, something was wrong.

He approached her about it, pulling Jim away from her as they talked in the hallway.

"Look, kid, I don't know what is going on with you—"

"I'm just having fun, Leonard—"

"—but you need to calm down and go back to normal."

She adopted the pout that had become her new trademark in the past few hours. "Who wants to be normal? I was no fun when I was normal."

"I don't care, I want normal Celyn back right now."

Celyn straightened her shoulders and said, "No. I like being this way."

"If you don't voluntarily stop, I'm going to have to force you to leave the ship."

He gave her a serious look to know he meant it. Her blue eyes widened. "You wouldn't. You can't!"

"I'm Chief Medical Officer. One word from me and you're on shore leave until you return to normal."

"But—"

He knew what she was thinking. It would mean she was away from the captain. "I will, Celyn. Don't test me."

"I'm not going to change, Leonard." She smiled and repeated, "I like being this way."

"Celyn—"

"No. I'm finally the way I've always wanted to be. The Captain is paying attention to me." Her smile turned wistful, eyes flashing. "I'm not changing."

"When you finally return to normal, Celyn, you'll be embarrassed that you ever acted like this. This is for your own good."

She didn't realize the precise meaning of his words until, four hours later, the Enterprise dropped her off on Risa.


A/N: before you say 'wtf, random personality change' it's not random. it's actually very in-your-face obvious as to why she has changed. and whoops, lookie there, McCoy is having none of it. lol.

please review and thank you in advance.