The Space Between Messages
Posted on Thu Jan 29th, 2026 @ 5:11am by Ensign Janelle Barett
Edited on on Thu Jan 29th, 2026 @ 5:15am
910 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Not All Orders Are Easy
Location: Natalie's Quarters, Unknown Assignment
Timeline: Current
Natalie hadn’t meant to count the days.
At first, it was just habit. A glance at the chronometer. A quiet mental note. They’d only been apart a short time, after all. A few weeks since graduation. A few weeks since assignments, transport schedules, first duty shifts that were supposed to be overwhelming in the good way.
Janelle was good at first impressions. Natalie trusted that.
Still, it had been twelve days since her last message went unanswered.
Natalie stared at the open PADD on her desk, the cursor blinking patiently beneath a half-typed sentence she had already rewritten twice.
Just checking in…
Too casual.
Are you okay?
Too much.
She closed the interface without sending anything and leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting to the viewport. Stars slid past, distant and indifferent. Somewhere out there, Janelle was adjusting to a new ship, new rhythms, new expectations. Natalie told herself that was the reason for the silence. Busy. Settling in. Doing what Janelle always did when she felt pressure, disappearing into competence.
Natalie knew that pattern well.
She had learned it at the Academy.
Natalie always knew when Janelle was about to disappear for the night. It was never dramatic. No announcement. No sharp turn. Just a shift. Janelle’s smile would sharpen, her laugh coming a little faster, her shoulders loosening as if she’d finally set something heavy down. That was Natalie’s cue.
Here we go.
They were a good team at the Academy. Everyone knew that. Janelle Barett, the one who always seemed to be thinking three steps ahead in Strategic Ops, even when she’d barely slept, and still somehow the last one standing at a party. Natalie, the steady counterweight. The one who made sure they both got home. Or at least that Janelle did.
Most nights started the same way.
“You coming?” Janelle would ask, already halfway out of her uniform, hair tumbling loose, eyes bright with anticipation.
Natalie usually did. At first.
They’d drink. Laugh too loudly. Make fun of instructors they secretly admired. Janelle would flirt like it was effortless, fearless, intoxicating to watch. People gravitated toward her. Natalie never blamed them. Janelle burned bright. She always had.
But there came a point, there always did, when Natalie would feel it settle in her chest.
That’s enough.
She’d switch to water. Check the time. Make a comment about an early class or a drill the next morning. Janelle would roll her eyes and grin.
“You’re leaving already?”
“Someone has to be responsible,” Natalie would say, keeping it light.
Janelle would laugh, throw an arm around her shoulders, kiss her cheek. “Go on then. I’ll catch up.”
Natalie knew better. Janelle never caught up. She went further.
Sometimes Natalie stayed longer, just to keep an eye on her. Sometimes she didn’t. That was the part she still wrestled with. Not leaving, but knowing she couldn’t make Janelle leave too.
Janelle worked harder than anyone Natalie knew. She studied like she was outrunning something. When she succeeded, she celebrated just as intensely. Natalie suspected even then that the parties weren’t about fun so much as release.
Natalie watched Janelle laugh with strangers, disappear into crowds, collect moments like armor. She saw how people wanted Janelle, how easy it would’ve been for her to take whatever she wanted and walk away untouched.
But Natalie also saw the quiet moments others missed.
The way Janelle would stare into a glass before drinking.
The way she never talked about certain things unless she was already halfway gone.
The way she hugged too tightly at the end of the night, like she was afraid of letting go.
“Let me know when you’re back,” Natalie would say every time.
“I will,” Janelle promised, every time.
Sometimes she did. Sometimes Natalie woke up to a message hours later, cheerful and casual and just a little too bright.
Natalie never lectured her. Never judged. She figured Janelle knew exactly what she was doing.
What Natalie didn’t realize, what she wouldn’t understand until much later, was that Janelle wasn’t running toward anything.
She was running away.
Graduation came faster than Natalie expected. There were smiles, photos, hands clasped too tightly. Promises made easily, because they wanted to believe them.
“I swear,” Janelle had said that night, leaning against the railing outside the Academy hall. “Once we graduate and get our assignments, I’m done with this. No more drinking just to switch my brain off. I won’t need it anymore.”
Natalie had believed her. Or maybe she’d wanted to.
Janelle had meant it. Natalie was sure of that. She always meant the things she said in moments like that.
It was just that life rarely stopped giving her reasons to justify one more night.
Natalie’s PADD chimed softly. She looked down, heart lifting for a fraction of a second, then settling again.
Not Janelle.
She exhaled and stood, crossing the small space to the viewport. Somewhere out there, her best friend was doing exactly what she’d always done best. Holding it together. Being capable. Being impressive.
Natalie pressed her palm against the cool surface of the glass.
“Just… answer me,” she murmured quietly, to no one in particular.
She would give it another day. Maybe two.
Natalie had always been good at waiting.
—
Ensign Janelle Barett
Strategic Ops
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