The Weight of Waiting.
Posted on 15 Oct 2025 @ 3:29am by Captain Sabrina Corbin & Senior Chief Petty Officer Elias Merrick
1,258 words; about a 6 minute read
Mission:
Fractured Accord
Location: USS Arawyn
// Ready Room //
The hum of the ship filled the ready room, a low heartbeat against the crushing silence of the void. Beyond the viewport, Tarvik III floated in the dying light, yellow haze giving way to shadow, storms still churning in silence. Yet near the colony zone, a fragile green glow pulsed through the darkness, a reminder that they’d changed something below, for better or worse. Sabrina stood with her arms folded, ramrod straight, her reflection a ghost beside the stormy planet.
The Kaldari Union had yet to answer. She’d sent her message an hour ago; calm, deliberate, measured. Every word had been a shield. And now came the part no one trained for: the waiting, which felt unnervingly like a weapon aimed straight at her.
She’d dismissed the bridge to routine duty rotations, retreating here under the pretense of report reviews. In truth, the datapad on her desk was dark. Her tea had long gone cold, the surface untouched.
When the door chimed, she didn’t turn. She let the sound hang in the air, a small test of her own control.
“Enter,” she said at last, her voice carrying the steady calm of command, though she felt the word waver at the very end.
Merrick entered with a tray balanced in one hand, the other tucked neatly behind his back. He’d seen the tension in her shoulders on the bridge and knew better than to let hours stretch without pause. He’d seen that posture before, in captains who hadn’t yet learned how to rest between storms. The tray carried something simple: warm soup, a half sandwich, and a fresh mug of tea whose steam curled like mist.
He set it down on the edge of her desk without a word, his movements quiet and deliberate as he navigated the small space beside her console. He gave her a moment to acknowledge him.
“I took the liberty, Captain,” he said finally. His tone was even, a low counterpoint to the ship’s hum.
She glanced over her shoulder, a look that measured everything and gave away nothing. Her voice was flinty. “Is this an order, Senior Chief?”
He smiled faintly, a knowing expression that didn’t challenge her authority but saw right through the armor. She wasn’t the first officer to test him, but she might be the first whose approval he actually cared to earn.
“A strong suggestion. Diplomacy runs better on a full stomach.”
Her posture lost a fraction of its rigidity. “You’re not wrong.”
He caught the subtle easing of her shoulders as she turned fully toward the desk. It wasn’t much, a breath, a shift, but he’d learned that command tension didn’t uncoil easily. The smallest exhale was a victory.
The smell of the food drew her away from the window. A growl from her stomach, ignored until now, betrayed her. She slid into the chair and picked up the half sandwich, taking a small, almost imperceptible bite. The simple taste was an anchor in the swirling uncertainty. She then reached for the warm soup, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic.
So he took the smallest risk. “First quiet moment since launch, I think. How are you holding up?”
Her reply took a beat too long. He knew that pause, the one between the official answer and the truth.
“How am I holding up,” she echoed, the words lingering, almost rhetorical. She traced a fingertip along the rim of the mug, letting the warmth bleed into her skin before she finally looked up, her gaze direct.
“I’m fine,” she said, and even to her own ears, it sounded rehearsed. She drew in a slow breath, allowing a rare honesty to slip through the cracks. “It’s the waiting. You do everything right, and then it’s just… silence. You start to wonder which part they’ll twist into a threat, which part they’ll see as weakness.”
Merrick didn’t rush to fill the space with platitudes. He let her admission breathe in the quiet room. When he finally spoke, his voice was a steady anchor.
“You’re holding the line. It’s what command does in the in-between.”
Sabrina allowed herself the faintest smile. “And if they never blink?”
He tilted his head, his hazel eyes meeting hers with quiet certainty. She was testing his measure, as if patience itself were a contest. He let her look.
“Then we wait better than they do.”
It drew a soft laugh from her, brief and genuine. The sound landed like sunlight in a room too long in shadow. He made a quiet note to earn it again someday.
She reached for the tea, the scent of bergamot wrapping around the moment. Her voice softened, a hint of teasing in it. “You’ve a knack for turning patience into a strategy, Senior Chief. That must come with age.”
He smirked, and the warmth in his eyes made something in her chest tighten. He took the jab in stride.
“Experience, Captain,” he corrected gently. “Age only changes how long you can fake patience.”
The corner of her mouth lifted again, but her gaze had turned distant. He followed it to the viewport, to the silent storm below.
“They used to say patience is a weapon,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I think it’s more of a shield. You stand your ground long enough, sometimes people forget they were supposed to push you.”
She looked back at him then, her expression unreadable, but her silence wasn’t dismissal.
He added lightly, “Besides, it gives me an excuse to ensure my captain doesn’t skip meals. One must maintain operational readiness.”
Sabrina’s eyes narrowed with mock suspicion. “Is that what this is? A covert nutritional intervention?”
He leaned forward slightly, resting his fingertips on the edge of her desk. The small movement closed the distance between them, shrinking the room to just the two of them. It was a calculated risk, close enough to breach decorum, not enough to break it. She didn’t pull away. He took that as permission he’d never name.
“If that’s what it takes, Captain.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The hum of the ship seemed to fade into the background. The air between them was electric, not dangerous, but fragile.
Then the comm chime broke through, a single, sharp pulse from her console.
The spell shattered. She straightened instinctively, her composure snapping back into place like a uniform. “We’ll see if our friends on Tarvik have decided to blink.”
Merrick rose, gathering the tray with an efficient grace that felt suddenly rehearsed. “Good timing,” he said quietly. “I’ll clear this out.”
She paused as he reached the door. “Thank you, Eli—” she stopped, recalibrated. “—Chief.”
The sound of his name, half-spoken and half-buried, landed heavier than it should have. It was gone in an instant, but he felt it all the same. He turned, the faintest surprise flickering in his eyes before it was expertly masked.
Her tone was neutral, professional. But her eyes held his.
He inclined his head, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Anytime, Captain.”
The door slid shut behind him, leaving her with the lingering scent of tea, the ghost of his warmth across the desk, and the cold, blinking light of a message waiting to be opened.
Captain Sabrina Corbin
Commanding Officer, USS Arawyn
Senior Chief Elias Merrick
Captain’s Yeoman, USS Arawyn
RSS Feed