Don’t Let It Breathe

Posted on Mon Jun 15th, 2026 @ 11:50am by Commander Calvin 'Cal' Maraj & Lieutenant Commander Keishara Davaris

2,725 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Year One: The Point of No Return
Location: Ready Room, USS Moore
Timeline: MD 011 - 0925 hours

Cal had not closed the incident file.

That was starting to annoy him.

Not because he needed to read it again. He knew it inside out by now. Stewart had gone looking for a fight and found one. She had put hands on Keishara first, ignored chances to back down, and then kept pushing until the whole thing spilled across the DMZ in front of half the ship.

That part was clear.

Too clear.

But Keishara was Chief Security and Tactical Officer. That meant the bar was higher, not because Cal expected her to stand there and take a punch like a training dummy, but because when Security became part of the spectacle, the crew noticed in a different way. They noticed who stepped away, who stepped forward, who let a bad situation breathe too long before shutting the hatch on it.

He stood near the viewport with the PADD loose in one hand, watching the stars hold their quiet line beyond the glass. The ready room behind him felt too still. Same desk. Same chair. Same reports sitting where they had no business feeling heavier than they looked.

He was not angry with Keishara the way he was angry with Stewart.

That mattered.

It did not make the conversation easier.

Keishara had been struck first. She had been provoked. She had ended the fight cleanly enough once it became what it became, and she had called for medical attention for Stewart before herself. Cal had noticed that. He was not blind to restraint just because the whole thing had gone ugly.

But there was a question sitting under all of it that he could not ignore.

Why had it got that far?

The corridor confrontation. The open challenge in the DMZ. The decision to have the conversation there, where pride had an audience and every word had somewhere to echo. Keishara was too sharp not to know what kind of fuse Stewart was carrying. Too seasoned not to feel a room turning bad before it broke.

Cal turned the PADD once in his hand, then set it down on the desk without looking at it.

No coffee this time either.

He had no interest in making a theatre out of disappointment, but comfort had a language of its own, and he was not in the mood to speak it badly.

“Computer,” he said, voice level, “ask Commander Davaris to report to my ready room.”

The computer chirped its acknowledgement.

Cal moved behind the desk, then stopped before sitting. After a second, he changed his mind and stayed standing. Not by the window. Not behind the chair. Somewhere between both, where the room could not decide whether this was formal or personal.

That felt about right.

When the chime came, he looked toward the door.

“Come in.”

He waited until the doors opened before speaking again.

“Commander,” he said, calm, but without the usual easy warmth. “Take a seat.”

A beat.

“We need to talk about the DMZ.”

Keishara stepped inside and let the doors close behind her before she answered.

She had known this was coming. There was no version of what happened in the DMZ that didn’t end with her in this room sooner or later.

“Yes, sir.”

She took the seat he indicated, settling into it without defensiveness, though not quite at ease either. Her uniform was neat, her hair tied back, the visible damage from the fight already erased by Sickbay’s neat little miracles. That almost made it worse. The body could be repaired in minutes. The rest of it had to wait its turn.

Her eyes moved briefly over him, catching the absence of coffee, the way he hadn’t sat behind the desk, the careful middle ground he’d chosen for himself.

This was not going to be simple.

“I imagine this isn’t about whether Stewart threw the first punch,” she said after a moment.

There was no challenge in it. Just the shape of the thing laid between them.

Kei folded her hands loosely in her lap and held his gaze.

“I don’t regret stopping her,” she continued. “Once it became a fight, it had to end. I ended it.”

Cal nodded once.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m not here to tell you that you should’ve let her hit you.”

He stayed where he was, watching her without making it harder than it needed to be.

“She threw first. She put hands on you first. I know that. If that was the whole conversation, you’d already be back at Tactical.”

A beat.

“But it isn’t.”

He crossed to the desk and leaned against the edge, arms folding loosely.

“I need to know why it got that far.”

His voice stayed calm, but the softness had gone out of it.

“Stewart was wound up before she ever walked into the DMZ. You saw that in the corridor. You know people. You know rooms. You know when somebody’s looking for the next bad reason.”

He held her gaze.

“So why there, Kei?”

The name came out naturally, but it did not make the question gentle.

“Why let that conversation happen in front of the crew, when you already knew she wasn’t steady?”

A small breath left him, more frustration than anger.

“I’m not putting her punch on your tab. That’s hers. She owns it.”

His jaw shifted once.

“But you’re my Chief of Security. I need you thinking past the punch. I need you seeing the ugly turn before everyone else catches up.”

He paused.

“So help me understand it. Why didn’t you shut it down sooner?”

Keishara took the question without looking away.

For a moment she said nothing. The ready room seemed quieter around it, the ship’s hum tucked beneath the silence like something waiting its turn.

“Because taking it private felt like giving her what she wanted,” she said at last.

Her voice stayed even, but there was less armour in it now. Not gone. Just lowered enough that the answer could pass through cleanly.

“She came in angry. I knew that. She wanted me away from the table, away from witnesses, somewhere she could turn it into another corridor.” Her jaw moved once, small and controlled. “I wasn’t going to follow her just because she put a hand on me and decided I should.”

That much, at least, she still stood by.

“I thought the room would hold the line better than privacy would. People present. Space around us. No closed doors. No chance for her to pretend later that it was something else.”

Kei’s fingers shifted lightly against one another in her lap.

“I also thought she would stop short.”

There it was. Quiet. Unvarnished.

Not an excuse. Worse than an excuse, really. A judgement call with the wrong shape.

“I expected ugly words. I expected a scene. I expected her to push until she found something she could use.” Her eyes stayed on Cal’s. “I didn’t expect her to throw a punch in the middle of the lounge.”

A beat passed.

“That’s the part I got wrong.”

She sat a little stiller.

“I had Stewart in front of me, but I was still leaving room for Evelyn.” The name sat differently when she said it. Not softer, exactly. Heavier. “I should’ve called Security the moment she touched me the second time. Or ordered her out and made it formal before pride had anywhere else to go.”

Her mouth tightened.

“I didn’t.”

No neat little bow. No polishing it into something easier to swallow.

“That’s my answer.”

Cal held her gaze for a moment after she finished.

Then he nodded once, slow.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s the part I was worried about.”

He didn’t move straight away. The answer had been honest, and that counted for something. It just didn’t make him feel any better.

“You didn’t want to give her what she wanted. I understand that. But somewhere in there, you let this become about not backing down.”

His voice stayed even, but there was less room in it now.

“And Kei, that is not good enough.”

The name came naturally. The tone kept it from becoming soft.

“You’re right. The second she put hands on you, it should’ve gone formal. Call Security. Order her out. End the conversation. Pick one. What you don’t do is keep standing there hoping the room will do your job for you.”

A small breath left him, more frustration than anger.

“You say you thought she’d stop short. Maybe you did. But I think part of you wanted her to have to stop. Wanted her to show the room exactly what she was doing.”

He let that sit. Not an accusation thrown across the desk. Just the thing neither of them had said out loud.

“And look, I get it. I’m not blind. Stewart has been pushing people. Pushing you. There comes a point where any sane person wants the nonsense dragged into the light.”

His jaw tightened once.

“But you’re not just any sane person. You’re my Chief of Security.”

Cal straightened slightly.

“That means when someone else is acting like a damn fool, you don’t get to meet them halfway and call it holding the line. You shut it down. Clean. Early. No audience.”

A beat.

“You didn’t do that.”

He looked at her, steady.

“So no, I’m not treating you like you started the fight. But I am telling you this: next time someone touches you in anger, especially one of my senior officers, you don’t wait to see what they do next. You end it there.”

His voice dropped, quiet but firm.

“Because if you leave room for pride, pride will move in.”

Keishara took it without flinching.

That was easier than arguing with it.

For a moment, only the low sound of the ship filled the space between them. She kept her hands still in her lap, but something in her jaw shifted when he said she had wanted Stewart to show the room what she was doing.

Not anger.

Not quite.

“No,” she said quietly. “I didn’t want the fight.”

She let that sit for half a breath, because it mattered and because it was also not enough.

Her eyes stayed on his.

“But I did want witnesses.”

There it was. Small. Uncomfortable. True.

“I didn’t want another private corner where she could push, twist it, walk away, and leave everyone arguing over what had really happened. I wanted the room to make it harder for her to do that.”

A faint, humourless breath left her.

“And instead I made it easier for her to turn the room into part of it.”

She looked down once, not for long.

“I hear you.”

The words were plain, but they landed with weight.

“The next time someone touches me in anger, I don’t measure how much of them I know. I don’t wait for them to remember themselves. I end it there.”

Kei lifted her gaze again.

“And for what it’s worth, sir, I’m not proud of letting it breathe that long.”

A beat.

“I’m only proud I stopped it before it became worse.”

Cal’s expression tightened on one word.

“Worse?”

He let it hang there for a second.

Then he shook his head.

“No. Don’t comfort yourself with that.”

His voice was quiet, but it had lost the give in it.

“That is the trap right there, Kei. You’re still measuring the thing against the disaster it didn’t become.”

He stepped away from the desk, slow, controlled.

“I don’t want the better version of a bad call. I don’t want the less bloody ending. I want my Chief of Security to look at that moment and say, ‘That should never have got past the first hand on my sleeve.’”

A beat.

“Not after the punch. Not after the room had already turned. Not after pride had its little feast.”

His jaw shifted once.

“Before.”

The word landed flat and final.

He looked at her for another moment, and the anger there was not loud. It did not need to be.

“You’re too good for this. That’s the part making me stand here with my blood up. This wasn’t some green ensign freezing because the room got ugly. This was you. And you know better.”

A quieter breath left him.

“So here is where we are.”

He held her gaze.

“If this happens again, I’m not going to sit here trying to work out whose reasons were better.”

His voice stayed low, but the line had gone hard now.

“I’ll have to take a long look at my command team. At how this ship is being led. At whether I’ve got people standing in the right places when things get personal.”

A beat.

“And I do not want to have that conversation.”

He let that sit. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just final.

“This crew needs to know the people at the top can keep the deck steady. Angry, tired, hurting, whatever it is. They need to know we don’t let our own business spill out where everyone else has to step around it.”

His jaw tightened once.

“So no, don’t comfort yourself with it not becoming worse.”

A quieter breath.

“Make damn sure it never gets there again.”

Keishara absorbed it without moving.

That was the part that cut cleanest. Not the reprimand. Not even the warning. It was that Cal was right, and there was nowhere useful to put her pride except down.

For a second she could still see the DMZ as it had been: the tables, the faces turning, Evelyn’s hand on her sleeve, the room waiting to see what she would do. She had thought control meant refusing to be moved.

It had not.

“Yes, sir,” she said quietly.

No defence came after it.

Her eyes stayed on his, steady but not hard.

“You’re right. It should have ended when she touched me.”

A small breath left her.

“I let who she was change how long I gave her. I won’t make that mistake again.”

That was all there was to say. No polishing. No bargain tucked inside the words.

Kei nodded once.

“Next time, I shut it down before there’s a next step.”

Cal looked at her for a moment longer.

The edge in him eased, not gone exactly, but banked back down where it belonged.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

He gave one small nod.

“I believe you.”

That was not forgiveness dressed up in command. It was not a clean slate either. Just acceptance of the answer she had given him.

“Hold that line next time.”

A beat passed, then he stepped back enough to let the room breathe again.

“Dismissed, Commander.”

Cal watched her go.

He waited until the doors had closed behind her before he let out the breath he had been holding. Not a sigh, not really. Just the body catching up after the captain had finished doing his job.

For a few seconds, he stayed where he was, eyes still on the door.

Keishara had taken it. That counted for something. More than something. She had heard the line and not tried to dance around it, which was about all a commanding officer could ask for on a morning like this.

It still did not make the taste of it any better.

Cal turned back toward the desk, rubbing a thumb once along his jaw before his hand dropped again. The reports were still there. Neat little PADDs pretending the whole thing could be contained if the words were ordered properly.

He knew better.

One bad fight in the DMZ was ugly. Two senior officers carrying pieces of it into every room after was worse in its own quiet way.

He picked up the next PADD, then paused with it in his hand.

“Hell of a ship you’re running today, Cal,” he muttered under his breath.

No humour reached his face.

Then he sat down and opened the file.

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