Chapter 7 #2
"I got shot doing my job. Protecting my team.
Making tactical decisions under fire." His thumb stroked over my knuckles, the gesture almost absent, like he wasn't entirely conscious of doing it.
"You rerouted shuttle power while under hostile fire.
Piloted us out of a debris field with no shields.
Dragged my unconscious body to safety despite the size difference making it physically improbable.
That's not getting me shot. That's being extraordinary. "
Extraordinary. The word settled into my chest, warm and uncomfortable and completely unbelievable.
"You're on painkillers," I said weakly. "You don't know what you're saying."
"I know exactly what I'm saying. Have since the moment you dragged me behind cover and told me to shut up and stay down.
I watched you fight, Elena. Watched you protect me while simultaneously hacking shuttle systems one-handed.
You were..." He paused, searching for words.
"You were everything I didn't know I needed to see. "
My heart was doing complicated things in my chest. Flipping and stuttering and trying to escape through my ribcage. "Vaxon—"
"I should have said something months ago.
Should have told you that you drive me crazy in the best possible way.
That watching you work makes me forget to breathe.
That every time you argue with me about safety protocols, I want to kiss you until you stop talking.
" His hand tightened around mine. "But I'm your superior officer.
You work under my command. Crossing that line could compromise your position, make you uncomfortable, ruin what little professional relationship we've managed to maintain. "
I stared at him. At this massive warrior who'd taken plasma fire for me, who was lying in a medical bed admitting feelings he'd buried for months because he was worried about making me uncomfortable.
Screw professional relationships. Screw safety protocols. Screw every reason I'd been telling myself to stay away from him.
I leaned down and kissed him.
It wasn't smooth. Wasn't practiced or elegant or any of the things kisses were supposed to be. It was desperate and clumsy and tasted like fear and relief and months of wanting someone I'd convinced myself I couldn't have.
Vaxon went completely still for half a second. Then his free hand came up to cup the back of my head, pulling me closer despite the angle and the injury and the fact that we were in the middle of medical bay where anyone could walk in.
When we finally broke apart, oxygen became necessary again, he stared at me with an expression I'd never seen before. Vulnerable. Hopeful. Absolutely focused.
"What was that?" His voice came out rough.
"Something I should have done months ago," I echoed his earlier words. "Before you decided to be noble about it."
"I'm still your commanding officer."
"On missions. In security situations. When we're actively in danger.
" I straightened up, kept my hand wrapped in his.
"But you're not my supervisor anymore, remember?
Dana's chief engineer. Jalina handles design systems. Bea runs medical.
I answer to the ship's electrical supervisor, who definitely isn't you. "
"Technical loophole."
"Best kind of loophole." My hands were still shaking, but now it wasn't from shock.
It was from the terrifying realization that I was doing this.
Actually doing this. Admitting I wanted something for myself instead of just surviving day to day.
"Look, I don't know what this is. Don't know if it's just adrenaline or relief or genuine feeling.
But I do know I spent the last hour covered in your blood, replaying every moment where you could have died, and all I could think was that I'd wasted months pretending I didn't care about you. "
"You care about me."
"Apparently." I tried for humor, but my voice cracked. "Which terrifies me, for the record. Caring about people means they can hurt you. Leave you. Die protecting you because you were too reckless to watch your own back."
Vaxon's expression softened. "I'm not going anywhere, Elena."
"You can't promise that. No one can."
"You're right. I can't." He tugged gently on my hand, pulling me back down closer. "But I can promise that whatever time we have, I'll spend it trying to make you believe you're worth protecting. Worth caring about. Worth more than the guilt and self-punishment you've been carrying since Liberty."
The words cracked something open inside me. Something I'd been keeping carefully sealed since the wormhole disaster, since watching my world literally torn apart, since survivors' guilt became my constant companion.
I was worth more than guilt. Maybe. Possibly. If I could stop sabotaging myself long enough to believe it.
"I'm not good at this," I admitted. "At letting people in. At accepting that someone might actually want me around for reasons beyond professional utility."
"Lucky for you, I'm not good at anything beyond tactical assessment and hitting things." Vaxon's thumb traced over my knuckles again, the gesture becoming familiar. "We can be terrible at personal relationships together."
"That's the least romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Should I try again? Something about your eyes or your brilliant mind or the way you light up when you're explaining electrical systems?"
"That's worse."
"Noted." He smiled as a small, genuine, absolutely devastating. "How about this: I care about you, Elena Vasquez. Have for months. And if you're willing to try this, whatever this becomes, I promise to be honest, communicative, and only moderately overprotective."
"Moderately?"
"I'm still Security Chief. Overprotective comes with the territory." He squeezed my hand. "But I'll try to remember you're capable of handling yourself. That you don't need saving."
"I might need saving sometimes," I admitted. "Just not all the time. And maybe I could save you back occasionally."
"You already did. Today. Multiple times."
"Then we're even."
"Hardly." His eyes drifted closed, exhaustion finally winning out over painkillers and determination. "But we can negotiate the balance later. After I heal. After Will and Lisa wake up. After you eat something and sleep for more than three hours."
He was right. I was running on fumes and adrenaline and the high of having survived another impossible situation. But I didn't want to leave. Didn't want to break this fragile moment where we'd finally admitted the thing we'd both been avoiding.
"I should let you rest," I said reluctantly.
"Stay." The word came out somewhere between order and plea. "Just for a while. I'll sleep better knowing you're here."
So I stayed. Pulled a chair close to his bed, kept my hand wrapped in his, and watched him drift into genuine sleep instead of medicated unconsciousness.
Around us, the medical bay hummed with quiet activity.
Bea checked monitors, adjusted regeneration fields, made notes on her datapad.
In their stasis pods, Will and Lisa slept on, unaware that they'd been saved.
That someone had finally found them. That Elena Vasquez had kept her promise to Will Peters, and had lived, instead of just survived.
I was still terrified. Still convinced this would end badly because good things always did. Still carrying guilt that wouldn't wash off no matter how many times I scrubbed my hands.
But Vaxon was alive. Will and Lisa were alive. And for the first time in months, I wasn't facing the future alone.
Maybe that was enough. Maybe that was everything.
The medical bay doors opened quietly. I looked up to find Dana peering in, concern etched on her face. She caught sight of me holding Vaxon's hand, saw his peaceful expression, and smiled, small and knowing and absolutely unbearable.
I glared at her. She grinned wider, gave me a thumbs up, and retreated before I could throw anything.
Behind me, machinery beeped and whirred. Life support systems. Regeneration fields. The constant heartbeat of a ship that had become home despite never being what we'd planned.
I looked down at Vaxon's hand wrapped around mine, massive fingers dwarfing my own, callused from weapons training and combat, gentle despite the obvious strength.
A warrior's hand. A protector's hand. A man who'd taken plasma fire for me and called it his job while admitting he'd wanted me for months.
My heart did that complicated flip again. The one I'd been ignoring. The one that meant I was in serious trouble.
Because Elena Vasquez didn't do relationships. Didn't let people in. Didn't risk the kind of vulnerability that came with caring about someone who could leave or die or break her carefully reconstructed heart.
Except apparently, she did now.
Vaxon's breathing evened out into genuine rest. His hand stayed wrapped around mine, anchoring me to this moment. To this choice. To the terrifying possibility that maybe, just maybe, I deserved something good after all the bad.
Outside the medical bay, Mothership hummed through space.
Somewhere in the cargo bay, Er'dox was probably debriefing the security team.
Somewhere in engineering, the damage reports from our escape were being processed.
Somewhere in his office, Captain Tor'van was updating records, two more survivors recovered, mission successful despite hostile engagement.
Life continued. The ship moved forward. And I sat beside Vaxon's bed, covered in his blood, holding his hand, and tried to believe in a future that didn't end in disaster.
The medical bay doors opened again, this time revealing Bea with a tray of food and a look that promised no arguments.
"Eat," she ordered, setting the tray on a nearby table. "Then shower. Then sleep for at least six hours. Non-negotiable."
"I should stay—"
"He'll be unconscious for another four hours minimum. You won't miss anything." She softened slightly. "Elena, you did good today. You saved people. Including yourself. Now take care of that remarkable person so she can continue saving people tomorrow."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to insist I was fine, that rest was unnecessary, that I needed to stay vigilant in case something went wrong.
But exhaustion was crashing over me in waves now, and the food smelled incredible, and Vaxon was sleeping peacefully instead of bleeding out in some derelict corridor.
Maybe Bea was right. Maybe I could take care of myself for a few hours. Could eat and sleep and exist without constantly preparing for the next disaster.
"Six hours," I agreed reluctantly. "Then I'm coming back."
"I'll have him awake and waiting." Bea's smile turned knowing. "And probably driving me insane asking when you'll return."
Heat flooded my face again. "It's not, we're not—"
"You're holding hands in my medical bay after he nearly died protecting you. That's definitely something." She gestured toward the food. "Now eat before I make it a medical order."
I ate. Showered. Collapsed in my empty quarters that suddenly felt less empty knowing Vaxon was healing just two decks away.
And for the first time in eight months, I didn't dream about the wormhole disaster or Liberty tearing apart or everyone I couldn't save.
I dreamed about plasma burns healing and survivors waking and a warrior's hand wrapped around mine like a promise neither of us was quite ready to speak out loud.
When I woke six hours later, exactly six hours, because I'd set an alarm, I dressed quickly and headed straight back to medical. My hands were finally clean. My uniform was fresh. But my heart was still doing that complicated thing, the flip and stutter that meant danger ahead.
Good danger. Terrifying danger. The kind of danger you walked toward instead of away from because the alternative was worse than the risk.
The medical bay doors opened to reveal Vaxon sitting up in bed, regeneration fields powered down, color returned to his face.
He was arguing with Bea about something, probably medical restrictions or return-to-duty schedules or any of the hundred other things warriors argued about when forced into recovery.
Then he saw me. And whatever he'd been saying died mid-sentence.
"Elena."
Just my name. But the way he said it, like relief and want and promise all tangled together, made my stomach flip.
I crossed the bay to his bedside, hyperaware of Bea watching with barely concealed interest. "You look better."
"Feel better." His eyes tracked over me, cataloging details. "You slept."
"Bea's orders. Six hours, non-negotiable."
"She's terrifying when she gives medical orders."
"I heard that," Bea called from across the bay. "And thank you."
Vaxon's mouth twitched toward a smile. Then his expression turned serious, focus sharpening to that intensity I recognized from combat situations. "About earlier. What we said. What you..." He paused. "I wasn't just high on painkillers, Elena. I meant it."
My heart was definitely trying to escape now. "Which part?"
"All of it. Especially the part about wanting to try this. If you still—"
I kissed him again. Because talking was terrifying and actions were easier and I needed him to understand that I wasn't running away this time.
When we broke apart, Bea was absolutely not hiding her grin.
"Medical bay," she said pointedly. "There are patients present. Including two who might wake up at any moment and be traumatized by whatever this is."
"This is Elena agreeing to try," Vaxon said without looking away from me. "Agreeing that whatever happens next, we face it together."
"Partners," I managed.
"Partners," he confirmed.
Behind us, one of the stasis pods beeped. Status change. Someone stirring toward consciousness.
Will or Lisa. Survivors finally waking up. Finally home.
I squeezed Vaxon's hand once, then stepped back to give Bea room to work. To watch another impossible thing become real. To see proof that searching mattered, that survival was possible, that hope wasn't always foolish.
And maybe to believe that I deserved the same second chance I'd fought so hard to give them.