Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Elena
Blood doesn't wash off easily. Not from skin, not from fabric, not from memory.
I scrubbed my hands three times in the medical bay's sanitation station, but I still saw it, Vaxon's blood, purple-black against my pale skin, coating my fingers like accusation.
Could still feel the sticky heat of it soaking through my suit, still smell the metallic tang mixed with the acrid burn of plasma wounds.
He'd bled. Because of me. Because I'd been too slow, too reckless, too goddamn determined to save Will and Lisa that I'd gotten the man protecting me shot.
The medical bay doors stayed closed. Sealed. Impenetrable.
Bea had emerged forty-seven minutes ago, I'd counted every second, with her professional mask firmly in place. "He's stable. The plasma burns were severe, but I've repaired the tissue damage. He'll recover fully, but he needs time to regenerate. No visitors for at least four hours."
Then she'd looked at me and added quietly, "He asked about you first. Before the painkillers kicked in. Wanted to know if you were hurt."
I couldn't process that. Couldn't fit it into the narrative where I was the problem, the burden, the human who kept causing disasters.
So I nodded and said nothing, and Bea had retreated back into medical to monitor her patient.
Will and Lisa were in there too, still in their stasis pods while Bea and her team ran diagnostics.
Two survivors pulled from the wreckage. Two people who'd stayed alive against impossible odds because Will had made a choice, had sacrificed himself to keep them breathing.
I should be celebrating. Should be relieved, triumphant even. We'd done it, rescued survivors, escaped raiders, made it back alive despite everything trying to kill us.
Instead, I was pacing outside medical like a caged animal, covered in someone else's blood, replaying every moment where I could have done better. Could have been faster. Could have protected Vaxon instead of making him protect me.
"Elena."
Dana's voice cut through my spiral. I looked up to find her approaching Jalina, both of them wearing expressions of concern that made my chest tight.
Behind them, Er'dox's massive frame followed, looking uncomfortable in the way Zandovian warriors always did when faced with emotional situations they couldn't solve through tactical superiority.
Dana reached me first, pulled me into a fierce hug despite the blood still staining my uniform. "Bea told us. About the survivors. About Vaxon. About—" She pulled back, studied my face. "About everything."
"I'm fine," I said automatically.
"You're covered in blood and shaking." Jalina moved to my other side, her architect's eye cataloging details. "When's the last time you ate? Or slept? Or did anything other than stand in this hallway mentally flagellating yourself?"
"I don't know. Hours. Days. Does it matter?" The words came out sharper than intended. "Vaxon almost died. He took plasma fire meant for me because I was too focused on rerouting power to watch my own back. If he hadn't—"
"If he hadn't, you'd both be dead," Er'dox interrupted, his deep voice carrying the weight of experience. "He did his job. Protected his team. Made tactical decisions under fire. That's what commanders do."
"His job isn't to die for me."
"No. His job is to ensure mission success and crew survival." Er'dox moved closer, and even after months on Mothership, his sheer size still intimidated. "Which he accomplished. You retrieved two survivors. Escaped hostile forces. Brought everyone home. That's a successful mission."
"He got shot."
"Occupational hazard." Er'dox's tone gentled slightly. "Elena, warriors understand risks. We accept them. Vaxon knew the danger when he took that assignment."
"Because I forced him to." The confession tore out of me, sharp-edged and bitter. "I found those coordinates. I demanded we investigate. I pushed Captain Tor'van to authorize the mission even when Vaxon argued against it. This whole disaster is my fault."
Silence fell in the corridor. Even the ambient ship sounds seemed to quiet, leaving just the ragged edge of my breathing and the too-fast thump of my pulse.
Dana squeezed my shoulder. "Did you force the raiders to attack?"
"What? No, but—"
"Did you personally shoot Vaxon?"
"Of course not."
"Then how exactly is this your fault?" She used her engineer voice, the one that dissected problems into manageable components.
"You found survivors. Real people who would have died without intervention.
You reported your findings. Captain Tor'van authorized the mission.
Vaxon accepted command. Raiders attacked.
He defended his team. These are all separate events, Elena.
You don't get to claim responsibility for all of them. "
"But if I hadn't found them—"
"Will and Lisa would be dead," Jalina said softly. "And you'd be carrying different guilt. The guilt of knowing you stopped searching too soon. That you gave up when they were still alive, still waiting, still hoping someone would come."
The words hit like plasma fire, accurate, devastating, impossible to deflect.
She was right. I knew she was right. But accepting it meant accepting that I'd made the right choice, that the mission had value, that Vaxon's injuries were the price of doing something good instead of punishment for my recklessness.
I wasn't ready for that. Wasn't sure I'd ever be ready.
"I watched him go down," I whispered. "Saw the plasma hit his shoulder, saw him stagger. And all I could think was that I was about to watch another person die because I wasn't fast enough to save them."
"But he didn't die." Bea's voice came from behind me.
I spun to find her standing in the medical bay doorway, still wearing surgical scrubs, exhaustion lining her face.
"He's going to be fine, Elena. Painful recovery, but full functionality restored.
He'll be back to overprotective commander mode within a week. "
Relief hit so hard my knees buckled. Dana caught me, held me upright while I processed the information.
"He's okay?"
"He's okay." Bea stepped closer, dropped her professional mask for a moment.
"And he's asking for you. Won't settle down until he sees you're alright.
So if you're done catastrophizing in the hallway, maybe you could come reassure my patient before he gives himself a stress injury on top of the plasma burns? "
I blinked. "He wants to see me?"
"Apparently watching you drag his two-hundred-kilo ass through a hostile derelict while fighting off raiders made an impression.
" Bea's mouth twitched toward a smile. "Something about you being 'magnificent under fire.
' His exact words, though the painkillers might have lowered his usual emotional filters. "
Heat flooded my face. Magnificent. Vaxon thought I was magnificent.
The man I'd gotten shot thought I was magnificent.
I didn't know what to do with that information. How to fit it into my carefully constructed narrative of inadequacy and guilt.
Jalina nudged my shoulder. "Go talk to him, Elena. You'll both feel better."
"I don't know what to say."
"Start with 'I'm glad you're not dead,'" Dana suggested. "Work from there."
Er'dox rumbled agreement. "Warriors appreciate directness. Tell him what you're thinking. He can handle it."
Could he? Could Vaxon handle knowing I'd been fighting my attraction to him for months? That every time he looked at me with those intense blue eyes, I wanted to either kiss him or run away? That watching him nearly die had cracked something open inside me I'd been trying to keep sealed?
Probably not. But Bea was still waiting, and somewhere behind that door, Vaxon was asking for me.
So I nodded. Took a breath. Walked toward the medical bay with my friends watching like they were witnessing something significant.
Maybe they were.
The medical bay was dimmer than usual—Bea kept the lighting low for recovering patients. Two stasis pods occupied the far side of the room, their displays showing stable vitals. Will and Lisa, finally safe. Finally home.
Vaxon occupied a recovery bed near the center, his massive frame making the medical furniture look inadequate.
Regeneration fields glowed around his injured shoulder, accelerating the healing process.
Someone had removed his armor, leaving him in the black undershirt that clung to his muscled torso.
Even injured, even sedated, he looked dangerous. Powerful. Like violence barely contained.
His eyes tracked me as I approached, not quite focused, painkillers still affecting his system, but aware. Awake. Alive.
"Elena." My name sounded rough in his voice, abraded by exhaustion and medication. "You're hurt."
I stopped beside his bed, looked down at myself. Still covered in his blood. Still shaking from the adrenaline crash and delayed shock. "I'm fine. You're the one who got shot."
"Plasma burns. Minor damage." He tried to sit up, grimaced, and settled back down. "Status of the survivors?"
"Stable. Bea's running full diagnostics, but initial scans show they should recover fully." I clasped my hands together to stop them trembling. "Will jury-rigged the stasis pods to last months. It's... it's brilliant engineering. He saved them."
"He saved them because you found them." Vaxon's eyes locked on mine with an intensity that hadn't been dulled by painkillers. "Because you never stopped looking. Never stopped hoping."
"I should have looked sooner."
"You looked when you could." He reached out, slow, careful, giving me time to move away, and wrapped his enormous hand around both of mine. The touch was warm, solid, grounding. "Elena, you saved three people today. Will. Lisa. And me."
"I got you shot."