Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Vaxon
Consciousness returned in fragments, the sterile smell of medical, the steady beep of monitors, pain radiating from my shoulder and ribs like someone had stuffed burning coals under my skin. And through it all, a small warm pressure on my hand that anchored me to reality better than any vital sign.
Elena.
I opened my eyes to find her beside my med-bay bed, her head resting on her folded arms near my hand, dark curly hair falling over her face. She'd fallen asleep holding onto me, fingers wrapped around mine with a grip that spoke of desperation and determination in equal measure.
The overhead lights were dimmed to half-power, Bea's doing, probably.
Through the transparent partition, I could see the main medical bay beyond.
Will and Lisa still in their stasis pods, diagnostic displays scrolling data, Bea moving between workstations with the focused efficiency of someone managing multiple critical patients.
How long had I been unconscious? My internal chronometer said six hours. Six hours since Elena had piloted that shuttle through a debris field with raiders on our tail, her hands steady on controls she'd never trained for, her voice fierce when she'd told me to shut up and stop dying.
I'd never wanted anyone as much as I'd wanted her at that moment.
"You're awake."
Bea's voice was quiet as she entered my partition, checking displays with practiced movements. Her gray eyes cataloged everything, my vitals, the healing progress on my plasma burns, the way Elena's fingers still gripped mine even in sleep.
"Status?" My voice came out rough, damaged by whatever intubation they'd used during surgery.
"Stable. The plasma burns went deep, damaged muscle tissue and some nerve pathways, but I've repaired the immediate damage.
You'll need another forty-eight hours of regeneration therapy before you're cleared for anything beyond light duty.
" She pulled up a holographic display, showed me the scans of my shoulder.
"You're lucky. Another inch to the left and that blast would have severed your primary arterial cluster. "
Lucky wasn't the word I'd use. I'd thrown myself in front of Elena without thinking, operating on instinct and training that said protect the vulnerable at any cost. The fact that I'd survived was secondary to the fact that she was alive.
"And the survivors?"
"Will and Lisa are both stable. Critical but improving.
I'll be bringing them out of emergency stasis over the next thirty-six hours.
" Bea glanced at Elena, something soft crossing her expression.
"She hasn't left your side. Dana and Jalina tried to get her to rest, even brought food.
She ate maybe three bites before going back to watching you breathe. "
The information settled in my chest, heavy and complicated. Elena had stayed. Had chosen to be here rather than celebrating the rescue she'd fought so hard for, rather than being with her friends or checking on the survivors from her old crew.
She'd stayed for me.
"She feels guilty," I said.
"Of course she does. You nearly died protecting her." Bea adjusted something on my IV, her movements precise. "But that's not why she stayed. She stayed because the thought of you not waking up terrified her more than facing her own trauma."
"You're sure about that?"
"I'm a therapist, Vaxon. I'm sure." Bea's smile was gentle. "The question is whether you're ready to deal with what that means."
Before I could answer, Elena stirred. Her head lifted slowly, awareness returning in stages—confusion, then recognition, then sudden fierce attention as she realized I was awake.
"Vaxon." My name came out hoarse, desperate. She sat up straighter, her free hand coming up to touch my face like she needed to confirm I was real. "You're okay. Bea said you'd be okay, but I needed to see—"
"I'm here," I said. Caught her hand against my cheek, held it there despite the screaming protest from my shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere."
Her eyes were red-rimmed, exhausted. Still covered in dried blood, mine, probably, mixed with grime from the derelict and the shuttle escape. She looked like she'd been through a war and come out the other side raw and bleeding.
She looked beautiful.
"I'll give you privacy," Bea said quietly. "But Elena, after this, you're going to your quarters for actual sleep. Non-negotiable."
Elena didn't argue. Didn't even acknowledge Bea's departure. Just kept staring at me like she was memorizing every detail, cataloging evidence of survival.
"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I'm sorry you got hurt. Sorry I was reckless. Sorry I—"
"Stop." I squeezed her hand, cutting off the spiral. "This isn't your fault."
"You took plasma bolts meant for me."
"That's my job."
"Your job is security for the entire ship, not just one reckless electrical engineer who dragged you into a disaster zone because she couldn't let go of her guilt."
The bitterness in her voice was familiar. I'd heard it in my own thoughts for years after losing my unit, that corrosive self-blame that said everything was your fault, every casualty your failure.
"Elena." I waited until she met my eyes. "If our situations were reversed, if I'd been injured protecting someone under my command, would you blame me for doing my duty?"
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because you're—" She stopped, flustered. "You're trained for combat. You're a warrior. It's what you do."
"And you're an engineer. You solve problems. You save people through skill and brilliance rather than violence." I shifted carefully, ignoring the pain that lanced through my shoulder. "We just use different tools for the same goal. Neither of us deserves blame for doing what we do best."
She was quiet for a long moment, her thumb rubbing absent patterns on my hand. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller, more vulnerable than I'd ever heard it.
"I watched you bleed. Watched you go down and thought—" She swallowed hard. "Thought I'd finally gotten someone killed. That my recklessness had finally caught up with me and this time someone I, someone important paid the price."
Someone I. She'd stopped herself before finishing that sentence, but I heard what she hadn't said.
Someone I care about. Someone who matters.
"You didn't get me killed," I said. "You saved my life. Dragged me to cover, returned fire, piloted us out of an impossible situation. You protected me, Elena. Let yourself acknowledge that."
"I shouldn't have needed to. If I'd been faster with the shuttle repairs, if I'd anticipated the raiders earlier, if I hadn't been so fixated on Will—"
"If, if, if." I pulled her closer, ignoring the protest from my injuries. "You can what-if yourself into paralysis, or you can accept that you made the best decisions possible with imperfect information in a crisis situation. That's all any of us can do."
She studied me, hazel eyes searching. "Is that what you tell yourself? About your unit?"
The question hit like a physical blow. I'd never discussed my lost unit with anyone except Er'dox, had kept that trauma carefully compartmentalized where it couldn't interfere with my duties.
But Elena had just watched me nearly die. Had sat beside me for six hours while I was unconscious, holding my hand like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality. She'd earned honesty, even when it hurt.
"No," I admitted. "I tell myself I failed them.
That I should have been faster, smarter, better.
That I should have seen the ambush coming, should have positioned them differently, should have taken the hits that killed them instead.
" The words tasted like ash. "I tell myself that every day.
And it doesn't change anything except making the guilt heavier. "
Elena's fingers tightened on mine. "How do you live with it?"
"Barely. I threw myself into work, into protecting others, into trying to prevent anyone else from dying on my watch." I met her eyes. "But that's not living, Elena. That's just existing. Just going through motions and telling yourself the weight you carry is necessary penance."
"You're describing my life for the past six months."
"I know." I brought her hand to my lips, pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "And I'm telling you what I'm finally starting to learn, survival isn't enough. Will told you to live. Not exist. Not punish yourself. Live."
"I don't know how to do that."
"Neither do I." The admission felt like surrender, like acknowledging weakness I'd spent years hiding. "But maybe we could figure it out together."
She stared at me for a long moment, something shifting behind her eyes. Fear and hope and desperate longing all tangled together into something that looked like possibility.
"You almost died," she whispered.
"But I didn't. We both made it out."
"What if next time—"
"There will always be a next time. That's the nature of what we do." I pulled her carefully down beside me on the narrow med-bay bed, ignoring Bea's protocols about patient rest. "The question is whether you're going to let fear of future disasters stop you from being happy now."
Elena settled against me carefully, mindful of my injuries, her small body tucked against my side like she belonged there. I wrapped my good arm around her, held her close while her breathing gradually steadied.
"I don't know how to be happy," she said quietly. "I've spent so long just trying to survive, to prove I'm useful, to make up for being the one who made it out. I don't know how to just be."
"Then we'll learn together." I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathed in the scent of her, electrical ozone and sweat and something uniquely Elena. "Starting with you going to your quarters and actually sleeping."
"I'm not leaving you."
"Elena—"