Across Separate Orbits

Posted on Tue Dec 16th, 2025 @ 1:26pm by Vice Admiral Sidra MacLaren

1,541 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: The Tavrik Accord: Orchestrated Chaos
Location: SB 369

Sidra saw the notifications as she and Will came back from the gym.

They were both flushed, shoulders loose, the good ache of exertion settling in. The kind that made the mind quieter, even if the day ahead promised anything but. Will peeled off toward the replicator, already arguing with it about protein ratios like it mattered. Sidra dropped her jacket on the chair and picked up the PADD from the counter.

Two messages.

She opened the official report first. That was instinct, discipline, habit. All of it braided together so tightly she didn’t have to think about it.

Coffee steamed beside her as she read, the bitterness grounding her while she moved through Stephen’s assessment. Tavrik was unstable. The margins were thin. He had written with restraint. Not minimizing risk, not softening the truth, but refusing to sensationalize it. She could see exactly where he had chosen caution over urgency. Where he had deliberately left her space rather than forcing escalation.

It was good work.

The kind that let her do her job without second-guessing his.

She finished her coffee, dumped the mug in the recycler, and only then opened the second message.

She read it once, standing.

Then she sat down and read it again.

Stephen’s voice followed her immediately. Not just the words, but the shape of them. The tired humor threaded through the text. The careful way he named his worry without letting it spill into panic. The quiet ache beneath it all. The weight of seeing children where others saw numbers. The knowledge that not here was a promise made on borrowed time.

I’m worried, Sidra.

That line stayed with her.

Not because she hadn’t expected it, but because she knew how much it cost him to say it that plainly. Stephen did not confess worry easily. He catalogued it. Measured it. Carried it until it could no longer be ignored.

She carried it with her through the day.

It surfaced while she walked the corridors, listening to briefings that treated stability like something you could schedule. It surfaced as she signed off on staffing changes and nodded through projections that assumed rational actors and predictable outcomes. She thought about his refusal to make the math easy. The way he stood between systems and people and insisted both mattered.

And she thought about the part of the letter where he talked about Will.

About saying yes.

About something small and alive.

That landed harder than she expected.

Because she had seen it. The way Will softened around Rowan. The way responsibility shifted from burden to care. The way their son clung to normalcy like it was oxygen. She caught herself planning her schedule without meaning to, making sure she would be in their quarters when Will was free later.

By the time Will finished his school day and wandered into the living area, Sidra already knew what she needed to do.
She crossed the room and pulled him into a hug before he could protest.

Will froze for half a second. Then he melted into it, arms coming up awkwardly, familiar and warm.

“Your dad asked me to do something,” she said quietly.

She felt his breath hitch.

“He asked me to hug you,” Sidra continued, forcing her voice to stay even as her chest tightened, “and tell you he’s proud of you.”

Will didn’t speak right away.

“I miss him,” he said finally, muffled against her shoulder.

“I know,” she replied. “He misses you too. Every day.”

She held him until he let go.

The rest of the day moved on because it had to. Work never paused for reflection. A medical report landed that took something out of her she didn’t have time to name. She handled it anyway. She always did.

But Stephen’s letter stayed with her. The part where he wished he could just be her husband for a while. The part where exhaustion pressed close beneath his resolve. The part where he told her he loved her without hedging, without trying to spare either of them from the weight of it.

By midafternoon, she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

She sat at her desk in the afternoon light, the station busy beyond the viewport but distant enough to ignore. Sidra checked the time difference once, automatically, then picked up a stylus. The physical act felt right. Slower. More deliberate.

She stared at the blank field for a moment longer than she meant to.

Then she began.

Mo ghràdh,

I read your report this morning over coffee after the gym. It was exactly what I needed. Clear. Disciplined. Honest without forcing my hand. I’ve put a few quiet contingencies in motion on my end, nothing that changes your footing. Tavrik is still yours to carry, and I trust you with it completely.

She paused there, breathing once before continuing.

I read your letter after that, and then I carried it with me all day.

I felt how tired you are in every line. Not just the lack of sleep, but the kind that comes from caring when it would be easier not to. When you wrote that you were worried, it settled in my chest and stayed there. Not fear. Recognition. I know that weight, Stephen. I live with it too.

You are exactly where you need to be. I believe that with everything I am.

Her hand slowed before the next paragraph. She waited until the tightness eased.

I need to tell you something, because if you can give me your truth, I owe you mine. Things have been hard here since you left.

Indi crossed a line she shouldn’t have. Dreamdust was involved, replicated through a compromised system. I wrote the report. I relieved her of duty. I called her wife across the galaxy and said words I never want to say again.

She stopped, just briefly, feeling the heat of emotion creep up in her chest. She didn’t push it down or suppress it. He’d see through that.

I held it together while I had to. And then I didn’t.

I cried hard. The kind of tears that leave you shaking and angry at yourself for not seeing it sooner. I’m standing again now. I’m doing what needs to be done. But that one cut deep, and I wanted you to know I didn’t walk through it untouched.

The next lines came easier.

Rucker arrived safely with my new ship. Will is thrilled to have Uncle Ruck back. That title survived the years intact. He’s been good for him. Steady. Familiar. I’m grateful for that in ways I don’t say out loud often enough.

I hugged Will for you today. I told him you’re proud of him. He didn’t say much, but it landed exactly where it needed to. Thank you for asking me to do that. Thank you for seeing him so clearly, even from far away.

She allowed herself a small breath before continuing.

And the cat remains tolerable. She’s claimed one chair and one window and seems content to supervise rather than interfere. I’m not mad about the cat, but I’ll take that apology anyway.

The last part slowed her again, but she didn’t stop.

I miss you. Deeply. Constantly. I miss your voice in the room. I miss the way we don’t need words to understand each other across a space. I miss being able to set the weight down with you, even for a moment.

I worry too. Loving you and understanding exactly where you’re standing makes that unavoidable, especially knowing that I put you there. But don’t confuse worry with doubt. I trust you. Your judgment. Your heart. Your refusal to make the math easy.

You don’t need to prove anything to me.
You don’t need to carry this alone.

You are doing exactly what you were meant to do, Stephen MacCaffery. And I am here, holding the rest of our world steady until you come home.

She checked the time once more, then finished.

Lift your head, Mac. I hope this reaches you before you sleep. If it doesn’t, let it be the first thing you read when you wake.
You are loved beyond measure.

You are not alone.

And you are coming home.

Always,
Sidra

Sidra didn’t send it immediately.

She reread the message once, not to change anything, but to make sure it said what she needed it to say. What she had been holding all day, waiting for the right moment to release.

Then she tapped the control and watched the confirmation pulse softly across the screen.

The letter was gone.

The weight didn’t vanish, but it shifted. Spread out. No longer trapped behind her ribs.

Sidra leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes for a single, steady breath, and let herself rest in the quiet certainty that she had been heard.

And that, for now, would have to be enough.

Vice Admiral Sidra MacLaren
Fleet Commander
Epsilon Fleet

 

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