“Fleet Captain?”

Peter Crawford glanced up, the voice of Captain Wren Walton breaking through his concentration. She stood before him, hands on hips. Ah, the new orders had come through, he realized. “Captain Walton.” He was sitting in the command team lounge on the USS Denver, PADDs scattered around the table. Shore leave was on the horizon, but the paperwork needed tending. “Take a seat. Brunch is on its way. Chef Mariner loves crafting it, and I’m not one to dissuade him from it.”

Walton scrunched her face, but took the proffered chair across from the newly minted fleet captain. “Fleet captain? Seriously?”

Peter set down the PADD he was working on. “You’re upset.”

“Not upset, Pete. Surprised, maybe. Confused, definitely.” They had both flirted with each other early in their time in the squadron, and they’d dated briefly before time and life pulled them apart. Walton, even now, still felt a brief flicker in her heart for the man. “Is this about me and Park? I don’t think it’s about Dread.” She leaned back as Chief Mariner slid two steaming plates of eggs, bacon, and waffles into place and poured two black coffees before skittering back to the kitchen.

Peter unwrapped his silverware from the napkin, his eyes appreciating the freshly prepared food. “It’s not any of that. Commodore Fontana believes your and Park’s best chance of continued success is to have someone leading your division. Denver’s the best fit for the job.”

Walton jabbed at the bacon, the smell arcing through her nose and deep into her stomach. Damn, it smelled good. “And you?” she asked.

“I didn’t ask for it, Wren. I was as surprised as you were.” He broke open the biscuit, spreading the softened salted butter across the crunchy surface. “Fontana thinks you’re ready for a promotion in a year.”

The eggs on her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “Not away from the Mackenzie. Don’t you dare.” He shrugged, irritating her further. “I won’t take it. I just got her back, Pete. I don’t enjoy having an expiration date on my command.”

Crawford wolfed down a piece of waffle, savoring the maple syrup, strawberry compote, and whipped cream.

“You know how the Fourth Fleet works. Commands move, shift, come and go. We can’t all be Picards, Kirks, or Janeways.”

Walton grimaced at his words, annoyed that he was right. She’d just spent so much time unlanded and wandering that finally finding a center chair for her own had shifted her view of her career. “What kind of promotion are we talking about here, Pete?” She snapped the crispy bacon in half, snacking on it as she spoke. “I’m not going anywhere near Montana Station. I hate station work.”

Peter chuckled. “I’m not a fan either, so you’re not alone. He’s looking at you for Zephyr. In a year.”

Wren dropped her fork, and it clattered noisily on the plate. “What?” A thousand questions swarmed her brain, and she grasped the edge of the table to steady her emotions. “Where is he going?”

“He’s looking to step away from Starfleet in a year. His wife misses her children. He misses his family.” He took a spoonful of cheesy eggs off his plate, grunting in appreciation of the flavor. “You haven’t asked what happens to me.”

She opened her mouth at his words, and then closed it as her mind worked through the implications. “You’d be squadron commander.”

“I would.”

“Fontana must have confidence in all of us being here in a year. The galaxy likes to throw the big stuff in our end of the swimming pool.” She felt sweaty and forced her breathing under control. “I suppose I can’t talk about this with anyone.”

He scoffed, startling her. “Park’s a given. She’s in line for Mackenzie in a year. That’s as far as this goes, though. He wanted me to talk to you, get you thinking about it.”

“My crew?”

Crawford wiped his mouth clean with the cloth napkin. “There is nothing promised, Wren. Who fits best where in a year is where it’ll shake out. You know how that works.”

“I don’t like it when someone uses my old job against me. Especially to win an argument.”

“Not arguing. Discussing. We’re a year away from all this, Wren. Gives you time.”

“Patience is not a virtue I’m good at.”

He smiled, eyes sparkling. “You have a year to learn to get better at it, Captain Walton.” She rolled her eyes, but a quiet smile cracked at the corner of her lips.