Calder took one last look at the flight deck of the Chimera, the familiar steel and motion carrying the quiet weight of a place that had been home longer than he cared to admit. He stepped onto Runabout 503, the SAR-configured tactical ambulance that had carried him through more extractions than he could count, and spotted Perez already strapped into a jumpseat. As he stowed his gear and sat beside her, he glanced around to be sure no one was watching, leaning in with the instinct to steel a few final kisses before distance and duty separated them, only to stop short when the moment never came.

Perez didn’t turn toward him at first, her gaze fixed forward, hands resting loosely in her lap as the runabout powered up. Then she spoke quietly, firmly, without bitterness. “I don’t do distance, Calder,” she said. “I don’t do waiting on maybes, or pretending it’ll work when we both know it won’t. This,” she gestured faintly between them without looking at him, ” it ends here.”

Calder’s face registered the hit before he could mask it, “Sealed up, Captain,” the words scraping past a tightening throat. His eyes searched Perez’s, holding there as she pulled back from his advance, “Are, what are you saying?”

Perez finally turned toward him, and the closeness only made the distance sharper. Her voice stayed low. “I’m saying I’m not following you into uncertainty,” she said. “I’m saying I care too much to pretend this survives lightyears and silence. You go to the Ogawa. I stay Fleet Angels. We don’t turn something good into something that hurts every time we look at a starscreen.”

Up front, Cho kept her eyes on the controls, fingers moving with practiced ease as the runabout lifted, the engines’ hum rising just enough to swallow anything else she might have overheard.

Calder turned away, shoulders tightening as he fought to keep her from seeing the tears pooling in his eyes, his voice rough as he asked, “You’re dumping me?” He refused to look at her, the memory of the night before pressing in, the long meal, the talk about futures and temporary assignments, the certainty they’d let themselves believe in, the hours spent together in her quarters. “After everything we talked about last night?”

Perez inhaled slowly, the sound controlled. “I’m saying goodbye before it turns into something worse,” she said. “Last night was honest. That doesn’t mean it was a promise. I meant what I said, and it doesn’t make waiting fair. Not to you. Not to me.”

Calder shook his head, still refusing to look at her at first, then finally turned back, his eyes saying what his voice struggled to carry, “You’re just scared.” The words came out raw, stripped of accusation and full of hurt, the weight of nearly a year together crashing into him all at once as the realization set in that she was ending it, leaving him feeling unmoored and suddenly alone.

Perez held his gaze, and for a moment the discipline slipped just enough for pain to show. “I am scared,” she admitted quietly. “But not of loving you.” Her jaw tightened as she went on. “I’m scared of watching this turn into missed calls, delayed replies, and both of us pretending we’re fine while it eats us alive. I won’t resent you for going where you’re needed—and I won’t let myself start hating the space between us.”

Calder’s voice dropped to barely more than a breath as he said, “It’s Starfleet,” the words almost lost under the hum of the engines. He turned away from her again, “It’s not like I chose to go,” the protest hanging in the air between them.

Perez closed her eyes for a heartbeat, her tone steady but strained. “I know you didn’t choose it,” she said. “That’s the problem. This life makes the choices for us, and someone always pays for them.” She swallowed, then added more quietly, “I won’t be the one waiting on a viewport, wondering if today’s the day I lose you to distance or duty.”

Calder let out a sharp, unmistakable sniff, emotion bleeding through despite his effort to contain them, “What we do, we could die any day. How is that not the same?” The question lingered only a moment. “Never mind. You made up your mind. Let’s drop it,” he said, leaning back in the jumpseat and closing his eyes, the withdrawal as deliberate as it was final.

Perez’s breath paused before she forced it steady, her voice lower now, careful not to chase him. “I didn’t make it lightly,” she said. “And I didn’t make it because it was easy.” She hesitated, then added, “You’re right, we could die any day. That’s why I won’t spend the time we do have waiting on something that’s already slipping away.”

Calder said, “Forget it,” as he closed his eyes, the words flat and final, regret already curling in his chest as he realized that if he had known how this would end he never would have asked her to come with him and Cho. Exhaustion from back-to-back shifts finally won out, the hum of the runabout dulling the ache as the rest of the trip stretched on in silence and he drifted off.

Perez stayed still beside him, eyes forward, jaw set as she watched the stars slide past without really seeing them.

Cho kept flying, posture unchanged, focused on the approach vector as if nothing unusual were happening behind her. Over the intercom she said evenly, “We’ll be on final approach to the Ogawa in twelve minutes,” then let the channel go silent again.

Calder rose as the ramp opened, whatever tears he’d shed long since swallowed, his expression set into something hard and unreadable. “Cho, take care of everyone,” he said evenly, his gaze passing over the cockpit before settling on Perez, lingering there just a fraction longer than he intended. He leaned in by instinct, stopping himself short and instead extending his hand. “Guess this is goodbye then,” he said, the words free of venom but edged with a cold finality.

Perez looked at his outstretched hand for a moment before taking it, her grip firm but brief, professional where it hadn’t always been. “Goodbye, Calder,” she said quietly. “Be careful out there.” For a heartbeat, something unspoken flickered in her eyes, then she let go.

Cho stepped down the ramp a half pace behind them, pausing only long enough to meet Calder’s eyes. “You did good work with us,” she said simply. “Ogawa’s lucky to have you.” She gave Perez a subtle nod, then turned back toward the runabout, already shifting into departure mode as if that, too, were just another mission boundary crossed.

Calder held her gaze for a long moment, the words he didn’t say written plainly across his face and reflected back in her eyes, the sting of what he felt as betrayal burning brightest there. “It’s been a pleasure, Captain. Stay safe,” he said to Cho, steady and formal, before giving Perez one last look and a small shake of his head. He didn’t look back as the runabout sealed and lifted away.

Perez watched him walk away until the ramp closed, her posture rigid, hands clenched at her sides.She didn’t follow, didn’t call after him, her voice quiet as she said to no one in particular, “Goodbye, Calder,” then squared her shoulders and returned to her seat.

the transition was efficient he was approached by a duty officer, escorted through intake, his gear delivered to quarters far larger than anything he’d had aboard Chimera. Not long after, he found himself standing alone in the secondary sickbay, waiting for a routine physical he’d already passed two days earlier, because Starfleet was Starfleet.

Calder stood in the Secondary Sickbay still wearing his VF-511 Fleet Angels flight suit, the medical crosses and pouches marking him unmistakably as a Marine combat medic rather than what he technically was—a Starfleet Security officer temporarily embedded with the 7th Marine Expeditionary Unit, the Iron Valkyries. He was accustomed to checking in with a flight surgeon while still suited up, and in the haze of transfer and emotional exhaustion it hadn’t occurred to him to change before reporting; the gear felt like armor he hadn’t yet learned how to take off.

Lieutenant Junior Grade Aaron Calder
USS Ogawa Security