Chapter 9 #2
"Would you follow it if it was?"
"Probably not."
"Then consider it a request. From someone who's been thinking about kissing you again for the past forty-eight hours and would really like to do so somewhere more private than the electrical systems bay."
Heat flooded through me, not embarrassment this time but something warmer, more dangerous. "Define more private."
"My quarters. Tonight. 1900 hours." His thumb traced my lower lip, the touch light but electric. "I'll cook. Or attempt to cook. I'm better with weapons than food preparation, but I'm willing to risk potential kitchen disasters for you."
"You don't have to cook. I'm fine with synthesized rations."
"You've been living on synthesized rations for eight months.
You deserve actual food." He stepped back, giving me space but keeping his hands on my shoulders like he needed the contact.
"Come to dinner, Elena. Let me take care of you for one evening.
Let me show you what trying actually looks like. "
The electrical systems hummed their approval. Or maybe that was just my heart, finally synchronizing with something outside itself.
"1900 hours," I agreed. "But if you poison us both, I'm blaming you in the medical report."
"Fair enough." He released me reluctantly, moving toward the bay entrance. "Wear something comfortable. Or don't change at all. I don't care what you're wearing as long as you show up."
He left before I could respond, his tactical blacks disappearing into the corridor beyond. I stood there in my sanctuary of circuits and power, heart racing like I'd just done emergency repairs in zero-g.
Then I looked down at my current outfit of work coveralls stained with grease and singe marks, my uniform underneath probably not much better. My hair was definitely doing that thing where it defied every law of physics and several laws of nature.
"Comfortable," I muttered. "Right. Because showing up to dinner looking like I lost a fight with a power conduit is totally the impression I want to make."
I made it exactly three minutes before giving up on the weapons array entirely and heading for the communal areas to find Dana.
Dana was in Engineering Section 3, naturally, doing something complicated with coolant flow rates that probably made perfect sense if you were a genius environmental engineer. She looked up as I entered, took one look at my face, and immediately set down her datapad.
"What happened?"
"I have a dinner date."
Her eyebrows rose. "With Vaxon."
"How did you know?"
"Elena, everyone knows. You're not exactly subtle." She gestured at a nearby bench. "Sit. Talk. Tell me why you look like you're preparing for combat instead of dinner."
I sat. Fidgeted with a stray wire I'd found in my pocket. "What do I wear?"
"Clothes, generally. That's traditional for dinner."
"Dana."
She softened. "Sorry. Okay. What does your closet situation look like?"
"Three uniforms, two sets of work coveralls, and the formal dress Jalina made me get for Bea's bonding ceremony that I've worn exactly once and swore I'd never wear again because it's impractical and I couldn't move properly in it."
"You're an engineer who lives in work clothes. This is not surprising." Dana pulled out her communicator, typed something quickly. "I'm calling in reinforcements."
"That's not necessary—"
"It's absolutely necessary. You're going on an actual date with someone you actually like. This requires consultation." She smiled at my obvious discomfort. "Trust me. Jalina and I will get you ready. Bea too, if we can pry her away from medical."
Twenty minutes later, I was in the quarters Dana shared with Er'dox, which were larger and somehow felt more like home than any space I'd occupied since Liberty, while three of my closest friends systematically dismantled my anxiety through the ancient human ritual of Getting Ready Together.
"You can't wear work coveralls to dinner in his quarters," Jalina said firmly, rifling through Dana's closet with the confidence of someone who actually understood aesthetics. "That sends the message that you're treating this like a work meeting."
"Maybe I want to send that message," I protested. "Maybe keeping it professional is safer."
"Safer is boring," Bea said from her position on Dana's sleeping platform, where she was allegedly providing moral support but was actually just enjoying watching me squirm. "And Vaxon doesn't strike me as someone interested in boring."
"He almost died."
"Two days ago. He's recovered. And he asked you to dinner, which means he's interested in living, not dwelling on near-death experiences." Bea's gray eyes were sharp. "You're catastrophizing again. Stop it."
I opened my mouth to argue, but Dana cut me off. "Here." She held up a soft tunic in deep blue, simple but elegant. "This works with your coloring and won't make you feel like you're wearing a costume. Pair it with your normal pants and you'll be comfortable but still putting in effort."
I took the tunic, studying it suspiciously. "This is yours. I'm at least four inches shorter than you."
"Three inches. And it'll hit you mid-thigh, which is fine. It's dinner, not a formal ceremony." She pushed me toward the hygiene unit. "Go. Shower. Actually wash your hair. We'll handle the rest."
The shower was equal parts relaxing and terrifying.
Because once I was clean and dressed and presentable, I'd have to actually show up to dinner.
Actually sit across from Vaxon and have a conversation that wasn't about ship systems or mission parameters or any of the safe topics we usually hid behind.
I'd have to be myself. The real, unfiltered, overly enthusiastic version that talked too much and thought too fast and wanted things with an intensity that scared me.
When I emerged, Jalina had laid out options, Dana's blue tunic, a pair of my own pants that were mysteriously clean (someone had done laundry without asking), and even jewelry that I definitely didn't own.
"The necklace is from me," Jalina explained, holding up a delicate chain with a small pendant. "I made it last month. Was going to give it to you for your birthday, but this seems like a better occasion."
The pendant was exquisite, a tiny circuit design rendered in silver, the kind of attention to detail that only Jalina could achieve. It was personal and thoughtful and made my throat tight.
"You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to." She fastened it around my neck, the chain settling just below my collarbone. "You deserve beautiful things, Elena. You deserve someone who sees how remarkable you are."
Bea stood, moving with that precise efficiency she brought to everything. "Hair."
"My hair's fine—"
"Your hair is actively trying to escape your head. Sit." She pointed at a chair with the kind of authority that made argument impossible.
I sat. Let her work some kind of magic with a product I didn't understand, turning my wild curls into something that still looked like me but somehow more intentional. Not tamed, just lovely chaos instead of complete anarchy.
Dana handed me the tunic. "Put it on."
I did. The fabric was soft, comfortable, hitting exactly where Dana had promised. It felt like me but elevated,like I'd tried without trying too hard.
"Perfect," Jalina declared.
I turned to the mirror, barely recognizing the person staring back. Still me, hazel eyes, tan skin, height disadvantage, the singe scar on my forearm from that disaster two months ago. But also different. More confident, maybe. Or at least trying to look confident.
"What if I mess this up?" I asked the room at large.
"You will," Bea said matter-of-factly. "He will too. That's what trying means—accepting that neither of you will be perfect and choosing each other anyway."
"That's terrifying."
"Welcome to relationships." Dana squeezed my shoulder.
"But here's the thing, Vaxon knows you. He's seen you at your worst, covered in grease, ranting about power conduits at 0300 hours.
He's watched you work yourself to exhaustion and be brilliantly reckless and say exactly the wrong thing in tense moments.
And he still wants to have dinner with you.
" She met my eyes in the mirror. "That's not someone who's going to run at the first mistake.
That's someone who's already decided you're worth the complications. "
The chronometer on the wall read 1847 hours. Thirteen minutes until I was supposed to be at Vaxon's quarters.
Thirteen minutes until I voluntarily walked into the terrifying unknown of actually letting someone matter.
"Go," Jalina said gently. "And Elena? Don't overthink it. Just be yourself. That's who he wants to have dinner with."
I nodded. Stood. Checked my reflection one more time and decided that if I looked at myself any longer I'd find reasons to change everything.
The walk to Vaxon's quarters took exactly four minutes through Mothership's corridors. I counted each step, trying to calm my racing heart, trying to remember how to breathe properly.
His door was marked with his name and rank in Zandovian script I'd learned to read months ago. I stood outside for thirty seconds, working up courage.
Then the door opened before I could touch the panel.
Vaxon stood there, still in his tactical blacks but with his jacket removed, the electric-blue markings on his arms fully visible. His quarters behind him looked softer than I expected, warm lighting, personal items I'd never seen before, actual furniture scaled for someone his size.
And on the small table near his sleeping platform, two place settings and food that looked suspiciously homemade rather than synthesized.
"You cooked," I said, because stating the obvious was easier than processing the way he was looking at me.
"I attempted to cook. The results remain uncertain." His eyes tracked over me, the blue tunic, the necklace, my actually-managed hair. "You look beautiful."
Heat flooded my face. "I look clean. There's a difference."
"You always look beautiful. Tonight you just look less like you've been fighting with machinery." He stepped back, gesturing me inside. "Come in. Before I combust from nervous energy or you decide this was a mistake and run."
I stepped over the threshold, and his door sealed behind me with quiet finality.
No more running. No more hiding. Just dinner and conversation and the terrifying possibility of something good.
"I won't run," I promised.
"Good." His hand found the small of my back, warm through the tunic's fabric. "Because I have plans that involve considerably more than dinner, and they all require you staying."
My stomach executed another complicated flip. "Define considerably more."
"Conversation. Honesty. Probably kissing if you're amenable." His mouth curved. "And if we're very lucky, figuring out how two complicated people might actually make this work."
I looked up at him, at the warrior who'd protected me, challenged me, seen through every defense I'd built. At the man who'd been falling for me before I knew how to fall back.
"I'm amenable," I said.
His smile was devastating. "Then let's begin."