Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Elena
The electrical systems bay was a cathedral of chaos with conduits running like arterial pathways along every surface, junction boxes humming with barely contained power, diagnostic displays painting everything in shades of amber and blue.
This was my sanctuary, my church, the place where nothing mattered except circuits and current and making broken things work again.
Except today, nothing was working the way it should.
I stared at the weapons array schematic floating in holographic projection before me, trying to focus on the power distribution problem I'd been solving for the past three hours.
Trying to ignore the fact that Vaxon had been cleared for light duty two days ago and would probably show up here any minute to "celebrate" like he'd promised in medical.
The celebration he'd defined as dinner. In his quarters. Tonight.
My hands weren't entirely steady as I manipulated the holographic controls, highlighting the plasma conduit that kept overheating during sustained fire sequences. Simple problem. I'd solved variations of it a dozen times. Should take twenty minutes, maybe thirty.
I'd been at it for three hours and made exactly zero progress.
"Diagnostics show primary relay overcompensating," I muttered to myself, pulling up power flow data from the last weapons test. Numbers scrolled past, voltage spikes, thermal variance, efficiency percentages that should make sense but kept sliding around in my brain like mercury.
"If I reroute through secondary junction, redistribute load across, no, wait, that'll create cascade failure in—"
"Talking to yourself again."
I spun around so fast I nearly collided with the holographic display.
Vaxon stood in the bay entrance, no longer in medical whites but back in his tactical blacks, electric-blue markings visible at his collar and wrists.
He looked solid. Healthy. Like he hadn't been half-dead from plasma burns forty-eight hours ago.
Like he hadn't almost died because I'd been too reckless to properly protect myself.
"You're supposed to be on light duty," I said, because focusing on protocols was safer than focusing on the way my stomach had just executed a complicated acrobatic routine. "That means desk work. Administrative tasks. Not wandering around ship systems unsupervised."
His mouth twitched toward a smile. "I am supervised. You're here."
"I don't count as supervision. I'm working."
"On weapons arrays that have been functioning at optimal capacity for three months.
" He moved closer, those cobalt eyes tracking over the holographic display with the attention to detail that made him dangerous.
"This is make-work. Busy work. The kind of task someone tackles when they're avoiding something more complicated. "
Heat flooded my face. "I'm not avoiding anything. The plasma conduits show inefficiency during sustained—"
"Elena." He said my name like a challenge. Like he knew exactly what I was doing and why, and found it either amusing or frustrating in equal measure. "We agreed to try. To face whatever comes next together. That includes having dinner."
"Dinner's not complicated."
"Dinner in my quarters. Tonight. After spending two days thinking about nothing except getting back to you." His voice dropped lower, intimate in a way that made every nerve ending pay attention. "That's definitely complicated."
I turned back to the holographic display because looking at him made thinking impossible. "The weapons array needs—"
"The weapons array is fine." He moved to stand beside me, close enough that I could feel his body heat, close enough to make my fingers fumble on the controls.
"You're brilliant, Elena. One of the most gifted engineers I've ever met.
But right now, you're creating problems where none exist because you're nervous. "
"I'm not nervous."
"Your hands are shaking."
I shoved them into my pockets. "Low blood sugar. I forgot to eat lunch."
"It's 1600 hours. You forgot to eat breakfast and lunch." His large hand caught my chin, gentle but inexorable, turning my face toward his. "Talk to me. Tell me what you're actually afraid of."
The words stuck in my throat. How did I explain that I was terrified of wanting something? That every good thing in my life had been temporary or taken away or revealed itself as an illusion? That letting myself care about him felt like volunteering for inevitable heartbreak?
That I'd watched him nearly die and realized with crystalline clarity that losing him would destroy something in me I didn't even know I possessed?
"I don't know how to do this," I finally admitted, voice small. "Dating. Relationships. Being with someone who actually..." I gestured helplessly at the space between us. "Who actually wants to be with me instead of tolerating my presence until they find someone better."
Vaxon's expression showed something fierce and protective crossing his features. "Who made you believe you were merely tolerated?"
"Everyone?" The laugh came out bitter. "My family thought I was useful but exhausting.
Teachers liked my work but found me difficult.
The Liberty crew appreciated my engineering but complained I talked too much, moved too much, thought too much.
" I pulled away from his touch, needing space to breathe.
"I'm a lot, Vaxon. I know I'm a lot. And people can only handle so much before they decide I'm more trouble than I'm worth. "
"Then they're idiots."
The flat certainty in his voice made me look up. He was watching me with that intensity that should be intimidating but somehow just made me feel seen.
"You talk because your mind moves faster than most beings can process," he continued.
"You move because stillness doesn't serve your creative process.
You think in dimensions most people can't imagine.
" He stepped closer again, crowding my space in a way that should feel threatening but just felt safe.
"You're not a lot. You're exactly right.
And anyone who couldn't see that doesn't deserve you. "
My throat felt tight. "You almost died."
"I took hits protecting someone I care about. That's not the same as almost dying."
"You were bleeding. Purple blood everywhere. You passed out in the shuttle." The memory made my chest constrict. "Bea said the plasma burns were severe. That if we'd been ten minutes longer getting back—"
"But we weren't." His hands found my shoulders, solid and warm. "I'm here. I'm fine. And I'd do it again without hesitation."
"That's what scares me." The confession escaped before I could stop it.
"You'd sacrifice yourself without thinking twice.
You'd die to protect me and consider it acceptable because duty and honor and whatever other warrior code you follow makes your life less valuable than mine.
" I met his eyes, desperate for him to understand.
"But your life isn't less valuable. Not to me. Not anymore."
Silence filled the electrical bay, just the hum of conduits and the distant thrum of Mothership's engines and the sound of two people breathing too fast.
Then Vaxon pulled me against his chest, arms wrapping around me with careful strength.
"I won't promise I'll never protect you.
That's asking me to go against every instinct I possess.
" His voice rumbled through his chest into mine.
"But I can promise to be more careful. To recognize that you're not just someone to protect, you're my partner.
And partners trust each other's competence. "
I pressed my face against his uniform, inhaling the scent that was uniquely him as metallic and warm and safe. "I can't lose you. I know we're not even officially together yet and I have no claim on you and it's probably too soon to feel this intense about someone but I—"
"Elena." He tilted my face up, those cobalt eyes holding mine with gravitational force.
"I fell for you months ago. Probably the first time you explained circuit theory to me and your whole face lit up like you'd discovered something miraculous in basic electrical principles.
" His thumb traced my cheekbone. "I've been yours longer than you know.
The question is whether you're ready to let yourself be mine. "
The electrical systems hummed around us. Power flowing through designed pathways, controlled and channeled and transformed into something useful. Energy that was dangerous when chaotic but brilliant when properly directed.
Kind of like me. Kind of like us.
"I'm terrified," I whispered.
"Good. So am I." His mouth curved into something almost resembling a smile. "Apparently that's normal when you care about someone this much."
"How do you know?"
"Er'dox mentioned it. Said the terror never completely goes away, you just learn to function despite it." He pressed his forehead to mine, an intimate gesture I'd learned was significant in Zandovian culture. "I'm willing to be terrified if you are."
I laughed despite myself, shaky and breathless but genuine. "That's possibly the worst romantic declaration I've ever heard."
"I'm a warrior, not a poet. I'm working with limited material here."
"Your material's fine." I reached up, fingers tracing the electric-blue tactical markings on his jaw. They felt slightly raised, textured against his skin. "Better than fine. You're—" The words stuck again, too big and too soon and too honest.
"Say it," he encouraged quietly.
"You're what I want." The admission felt like jumping off a cliff. "The dinner. The trying. The terrifying part where I let myself actually care about someone and hope they don't decide I'm not worth the effort." I swallowed hard. "All of it. I want all of it."
The smile that crossed his face was devastating, genuine pleasure mixed with relief and something that might have been victory. "Then you'll come to dinner."
"Is that an order, Commander?"