Chapter Text
Katrina is an avid reader, and has been since childhood. She likes true stories, especially biographies, and memoirs most of all. Motivations interest her. Why people do all the strange things they do. Her current reading is nothing like that, it's all technical, and her mind wanders despite her best efforts.
"Cadet Cornwell."
Kat looks up at the familiar voice. "Oh! Admiral T'Pol." Her forehead creases in a frown. Did I miss something? A meeting? Am I supposed to be somewhere?
"'An integrative aptitude-treatment interaction approach to strategic skill acquisition'...?" T'Pol reads off the tricorder.
Katrina bites her lip. "I just want to be as prepared as possible."
The admiral raises an eyebrow.
"My tactical experience is … limited." She's been at the Academy longer than any of her peers in the Command class, and already has two degrees, but she lags on the more technical side of things.
Her teacher takes in the pile of library discs and texts strewn across the table, surrounding student and tricorder in color coded clutter.
"I assure you we would not have scheduled your exam if we did not believe you were ready."
"I appreciate that, Admiral."
T'Pol considers her a moment. A long, quiet, and awkward moment. Kat pushes her hair back, though it wasn't actually in her eyes.
"Go home, Cadet."
She blinks. "What?"
"Go home," T'Pol repeats. "Go for a walk, get something to eat. And get a good night's sleep."
Katrina shakes her head, confused. Is it an order? A directive? Some kind of vaguely parental advice?
The Vulcan's eyes betray a small smile. "You cannot prepare for Starfleet by memorizing all these books."
"...Yes, Admiral."
T'Pol holds her look, nods, and leaves. Katrina gathers her tricorder, places all the discs in the return alcove, and heads to the gym.
Usually, getting physical helps Kat turn off her brain, but today is unusual and after forty minutes of trying, she's just more wound up. Frustrated, she slips into one of the smaller multipurpose rooms to attempt yoga or jumping jacks or maybe just screaming as loud as she can for six minutes. Luckily she doesn't start with that because, she's not alone. In the middle of the mat a small blonde woman stands on her head, eyes closed, toes pointed to the ceiling.
"Oh, sorry, I thought this room was empty."
The woman's eyes fall open and flicker to Katrina's. "No worries."
"Are you...meditating?"
"Sort of." The woman rolls out of the headstand with practiced grace and flashes a bright smile in Kat's direction.
The smile is just as practiced, she realizes, recognizing the woman's blonde curls and cascade of dots framing her face— Emony Dax, a medalist at the recent Olympics. Katrina remembers reading something about her Academy appearance, and a Master Class? She doesn't remember the specifics, another casualty to her obsession with the exam.
"Are you okay?"
Huh? Kat has a sinking feeling Dax had been explaining her meditation to her and she has no idea what was said. But she can answer the question. "Oh, sorry. Yes." At the gymnast's look of concern, she shrugs. "Just having trouble focusing."
"Do you have a routine?"
Kat pulls her lips in over her teeth and shakes her head.
"Hm. What's something you’d do as a kid? Any sports? Dance class?"
Katrina thinks. "Ballet?"
Emony's face lights up. "Perfect!" She claps her hands and bounces over to the edge of mat. "C'mon," she calls to a confused Katrina. Unable to come up with a reason not to, she follows. "Okay, first position, let's do some pliés."
Kat places her hand on the makeshift barre, and follows Emony's lead. Heels together, feet turned out, and bend. Back straight, arm up, fingers curved, toes pointed, and bend.
"The key to a good routine is knowing it so well your body takes over."
Emony switches to second position. Kat follows and they begin again.
"You don't shut your mind off," she explains, "you focus, like you said."
Up and down they go in a calm steady rhythm. After eight dips, Emony, and Kat a step behind, draw their feet back to first position, raise up on toes and spin to switch sides. Now, Kat is facing away from Emony, but drops into the plié in time with her.
"Then if anything unexpected happens, you're ready to adapt."
Katrina switches to second position without prompting, and settles into a routine clearly remembered from childhood. With a smile, Emony steps out and places a hand on her back to aid posture.
"Kat, relax."
The ballet had worked to calm her mind so she'd moved on to T'Pol's next advice— get something to eat— and met her two best girlfriends at the campus cafe. Unfortunately, the longer she sits still, the faster the anxiety is creeping back in. The three cups of coffee probably don’t help, either. It's unlikely her Vulcan mentor meant to suggest Caffè Americano, or would actually consider it food, but the idea of eating something more solid makes Katrina's stomach turn. I'll get breakfast in the morning, before the exam. It will be fine, she tells the T’Pol in her head, and tries to focus on what Philippa is saying. 'Kat, relax.'
Ugh.
"Everyone keeps saying that," she complains, "and it only increases the pressure."
"Try to think about something else," Afsaneh suggests.
"Our trip!" Pippa offers. They're all headed to Gabriel's family cabin for a long weekend once Kat's command debriefing is complete. She's the last of the five to take the exam, something she takes to heart despite all evidence the order is random, and they intend to celebrate.
Kat picks up her drink to hide a sour expression. She's not in the mood for any of this.
"Are you packed?"
"Of course," she answers, shortly, over the rim of her mug. Her friends share a worried look.
Afsaneh purses her lips. "Well, I'm not— what kind of weather should we expect?" Katrina has been to the cabin, but the others had only seen images.
"I don't know." The coasts regulate the weather, but the middle of the country prefers to keep things natural. As a kid, visiting her grandfather's farm, she loved being surprised by snow and rainstorms, but right now it's just more unpredictability. "Bring layers."
"And cute pajamas?"
"What?"
"I'm trying to distract you." Kat frowns at Pippa's twinkling eyes as she gently touches her hand in an expression of comfort. "You've got this."
Kat pulls her hand away. "It's easy for you to say." They came to Command with normal majors and related specializations. Counselors aren't captains. They're not even standard to every crew.
"We know what we're talking about," Afsaneh counters. They'd both been through it— Philippa just a few weeks back, and she was still smarting from the experience. If Katrina wasn't so wrapped up in herself she'd be the first to notice, but she hadn't and it bothers Afsaneh more than she likes. Kat, and Pippa, too, are much better with feelings than Afsaneh is, or certainly the boys are, which is probably why they are more affected by an exam set up to antagonize emotions. Afsaneh tries to be understanding, but it's becoming increasingly difficult.
"It's not the same," Kat argues, providing a perfect example of why it's becoming increasingly difficult. It's exactly the same. Literally, that's the whole point, and Kat going last actually gives her an advantage. But if Afsaneh said so, she's sure to take it as an insult, so she bites her tongue.
Katrina takes in their expressions with a sigh. Pippa's eyes are pools of concern. Afsaneh is clearly fed up.
"I'm sorry." Both have been walking on eggshells all evening, really all week, and she hates it. And feels terrible, and hates that, too. "I'm sorry." She pushes her coffee cup away and stands to go.
"Kat…" Pippa reaches out but she pulls back.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"I can't sleep," she offers as explanation, though he doesn't need one. He's expecting her. They didn't plan it— they never do— but he knows how stressed she's been, and she'd kept him company the night before his test. He steers her into a chair, and dials a hot chocolate with cinnamon.
"T'Pol told me to sleep," she murmurs as he places the drink in her hands. Gabriel smiles at the familiarity. She must be tired, or distracted, if she's forgotten to pretend she doesn't know the admiral outside of class.
"This should help. Special family recipe."
Kat sips slowly. "How do I prepare for the impossible?"
"You don't."
She frowns. He shrugs.
"You just are."
Katrina sits back to consider, still sipping, a thoughtful expression across her face. Everyone she'd spoken to had said basically the same thing— either she's ready or she's not. Intellectually, she knows she's had seven years of training at the Academy, and a childhood of observation to fall back on. If only she could feel it.
"I just am."
Gabriel nods encouragement. "I think that's the point."
"The point of what?" she asks, setting her cup aside.
"Starfleet."
She meets his eyes, bright and confident. Normally a reflection of her own. She hates feeling so vulnerable.
"You're prepared, Kat."
She bites her lip, trying to figure how to respond. How to explain.
He takes her hand, comforting, but also playful.
"Did you really come to me to talk about this?"
She drops her eyes, a soft smile tugging at her lips, and allows him to lead her to bed. Eventually, she sleeps.