The Things That Follow You Home
Posted on Sat Mar 7th, 2026 @ 6:13pm by Commander Steven Greco & Lieutenant Commander Keishara Davaris
2,062 words; about a 10 minute read
Mission:
Year One: The Point of No Return
Location: USS Moore - Keishara Davaris' Quarters
Timeline: TBD
Greco had one boot on and was reaching for the other when he realized she hadn’t said anything.
The room was quiet in the way it only ever was after — lights still low, the ship’s hum steady beneath it, nothing demanding his attention except the simple mechanics of getting dressed. He pulled the boot on, straightened, and adjusted the fall of his uniform trousers out of habit.
Keishara was still on the bed.
He finished fastening his belt before he looked up at her, giving the moment the courtesy of not rushing it. When he did, he paused — not because of anything obvious, just because the silence had stretched longer than usual.
Greco leaned a shoulder lightly against the doorframe.
“You’re a million light years away,” he said evenly.
Not a challenge. Not a joke.
Just an opening.
He stayed where he was, waiting to see if she’d take it.
Keishara didn’t answer straight away.
She was propped back against the headboard, one knee drawn up, fingers idly tracing the seam of the sheet like it was something that needed fixing. Her gaze was unfocused, not on him, not on the room — somewhere a few steps back in time.
“I’m fine,” she said finally.
It came out automatically. Too quick. Too neat.
She shifted, exhaled through her nose, then gave a small shake of her head as if annoyed with herself more than anything else.
“No,” she amended quietly. “That’s not true. I’m… fine enough.”
Her eyes lifted to him at last, then drifted away again before they could hold. She opened her mouth like she was about to say more — then stopped. Closed it. Her jaw tightened for a second.
“It’s nothing,” she said, and this time there was an edge to it. Not sharp. Defensive. “Just work.”
The words hung there, unconvincing.
She glanced at him again, caught the way he hadn’t moved, hadn’t filled the silence for her. That, more than anything, made her sigh.
“I had to shut someone down today,” Kei said at last. “Harder than I wanted to.”
A pause. Then, quieter:
“And they didn’t take it well.”
Her fingers stilled on the sheet.
“She tried to make it personal,” she added, tone flat, dismissive — and just a fraction too deliberate. “Said some things she knew were meant to get under my skin.”
That was where she stopped again, like she was weighing whether saying the rest gave it more power than it deserved.
She didn’t look at him when she finished.
“I know better than to let that kind of thing stick,” she said. “I just… keep replaying it anyway.”
She finally met his eyes then, something unguarded flickering there before she shut it down again.
“Sorry,” she said, almost reflexively. “I don’t mean to drag it in here.”
And there it was — the crack.
Greco just listened quietly, a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips as he watched her finish, not interrupting, not rushing her out of it.
After a moment, he pushed himself off the doorframe and sat on the edge of the bed, setting his weight deliberately. One arm reached past her to brace against the mattress on the far side — close enough that there was no mistaking his attention, angled in without touching. Intentional. Controlled. A line he never crossed without being invited.
He let out a slow breath through his nose before speaking.
“Davaris,” he said softly but matter-of-fact. “I know I may just be the poster boy, but whatever this is,” he added, gesturing vaguely between them, “doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
His gaze stayed steady on her, open but unpressured.
“And having words meant to stick doesn’t make you weak. It means you cared enough for them to try.”
A beat.
“What happened?”
Keishara’s jaw set for a moment before she spoke, like she was choosing the least sharp version of the truth.
“Someone went to the brig without authorisation,” she said. “Pulled one of my officers off post so they could have a private conversation with Anjar.”
She watched his reaction carefully, then added, before he could respond, “The officer tried to stop it. Quoted protocol. Did exactly what they were supposed to do. Still got overruled.”
A breath. Slower this time.
“I found out after the fact,” Kei continued. “Brig unattended. High-profile detainee. Political powder keg sitting behind a forcefield with no one in the room.”
Her mouth tightened.
“And then I had to explain to an experienced officer why that wasn’t acceptable.”
She didn’t say who. Didn’t need to.
“It wasn’t a misunderstanding,” she went on, quieter. “They knew the rules. They just decided the rules were inconvenient.”
Kei shifted, sitting a little straighter now, irritation creeping back in around the edges.
“What set me off wasn’t even the conversation with Anjar,” she admitted. “It was the entitlement. The assumption that Security exists to step aside when someone else decides they’re done waiting.”
She shook her head once, a short, frustrated motion.
“I shut it down,” she said. “Firmly. Professionally. Made it clear it wouldn’t happen again.”
A pause.
“And instead of owning it, they tried to turn it into a power play.”
Her eyes flicked to him, then away.
“They said things meant to make it personal. To get a rise out of me. To imply things that had nothing to do with the situation.”
She exhaled, slow.
“I didn’t take the bait,” Kei said. “But I hate that I’m still replaying it. Not because I doubt myself — I don’t — but because it was unnecessary. And because it came from someone who should know better.”
She leaned back against the headboard again, tension easing now that it was out in the open.
“I don’t want this turning into a report or a spectacle,” she added, almost automatically. “It was handled. It’s done.”
Then, after a beat, more honestly:
“I just didn’t like who they were in that moment.”
She looked at him then, searching his face.
“And I really didn’t like that they tried to make me the problem for stopping it.”
Greco was quiet for a moment after she finished.
“Stewart,” he said at last — not questioning, not confirming. Just placing the name where it already belonged. He didn’t look irritated. Didn’t look surprised. He looked unsurprised. “Is very good at that,” he said calmly.
Not dismissive. Not admiring. Just factual.
“Finding the pressure point. The one place she knows will land.”
His gaze stayed steady on Kei.
“She doesn’t swing blind when she’s frustrated. She aims.”
A slight shift of his jaw — controlled.
“If it stuck, it’s not because you mishandled it,” he continued evenly. “It’s because she knew exactly where to apply weight.”
He leaned back just enough to study her face without crowding her.
“That’s not a reflection of you,” he said quietly. “It’s a reflection of her.”
A beat.
“She reads people well. Sometimes better than they’d like.”
No bitterness. Just acknowledgment.
“And when she feels boxed in, she’ll use whatever insight she has to push back.”
His voice softened slightly — not indulgent, but steady.
“The fact that it lingered doesn’t mean she exposed something true. It means she targeted something precise.”
Another pause.
“You shut her down on the policy,” he added. “So she tried to dominate.”
He held her gaze.
“That’s strategy. Not righteousness.”
A final breath.
“You did your job. She didn’t like it.” Quiet. Certain. “And she wanted you to feel it.”
Keishara didn’t correct him when he said the name.
She didn’t confirm it either.
There was a subtle tightening around her eyes, a flicker of something that passed quickly enough to be deniable. That was all the acknowledgement she offered.
“She’s good at pushing,” Kei said after a moment, voice lower now. Not defensive. Not heated. Just tired in a way she wouldn’t admit to anyone else.
She shifted slightly against the headboard, folding one arm loosely across her middle, grounding herself.
“I handled it,” she continued. “The protocol’s clear. It won’t happen again.”
The words were steady, but there was steel under them. Not uncertainty — resolve.
“And if it does,” she added, meeting his gaze properly this time, “I won’t be repeating myself.”
She wasn’t threatening. She wasn’t posturing. She was stating fact. There was a difference, and she knew he could hear it.
A breath slipped out of her, slower now.
“It’s not even the insult,” she went on, quieter. “I’ve been called worse by better.” A faint exhale that almost passed for humour, but didn’t quite make it. “It’s the assumption. That she could overrule my officer, leave a post empty, and then turn it back on me like I was the one overreaching.”
Her fingers curled slightly against the sheet before relaxing again.
“That’s what stuck.”
She leaned her head back against the bulkhead and stared at the ceiling for a second, collecting herself.
“I’m not filing anything. I’m not escalating it,” she said, more to herself than to him. “It was addressed. It’s done.”
Another beat.
“But if she tries to turn it into something else,” Kei finished, eyes coming back to his, calm and unwavering, “then I’ll deal with that too.”
No dramatics. No wounded pride.
Just a line drawn quietly in the sand.
Steve smiled as he shifted his weight before brushing a strand of Keishara’s hair off her face tentatively. It wasn’t a gesture of affection, simply removing it from her view. “I don’t doubt you will. But…try not to give me more paperwork, Davaris. You’re a good officer, I hate to see you ruin it to bring someone like her to heel.” He said quietly before adding with a smirk. “Besides that’s my headache, remember? You opted for your yellows.”
Keishara didn’t pull away when he brushed the strand of hair aside. She watched him for a second instead, expression settling somewhere between mild annoyance and something more amused.
“Please,” she said quietly.
The word carried just enough dry humour to take the sting out of it.
“You make it sound like I’m about to throw someone out an airlock.”
Her gaze drifted for a moment, not back into the argument, just into memory — old instinct, old perspective.
“I’ve dealt with worse than an officer with a bruised ego,” Kei added after a beat, her voice calm but edged with the sort of certainty that came from lived experience rather than bravado. “People who actually meant to do harm. People who thought they owned the right to hurt others.”
Her eyes returned to him then.
“She’s not that,” Keishara said simply. “She’s angry. And she made a bad call.”
Another small breath left her as she shifted slightly on the bed, tension easing out of her shoulders now that the weight of the conversation had burned down.
“I don’t need to bring her to heel,” Kei continued. “I just needed her to understand where the line is.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“And for the record,” she added, tilting her head slightly at him, “I chose yellows because someone on this ship has to keep the rest of you honest.”
There was a pause — a quieter one now.
Then she nudged his arm lightly with the back of her hand.
“You’re safe,” she said. “No paperwork tonight.”
Greco gave a slight smirk at her words and tucked the strand of hair behind Keishara’s ear before leaning in, ready to kiss her lips before he stopped himself. Remembering the El Aurian’s history, he let out a breath through his nose and simply nodded before standing up.
Adjusting his uniform jacket, he turned to look down at the security chief. “Good night. I’ll see you on the bridge, Commander.” He said as usual at the end of their meetings. With a nod and a last glance at the bed and the woman in it, Greco headed for the door.
RSS Feed