I looked at Bea's sleeping face, at the dark circles under her eyes that wouldn't fade after one night's rest, at the way her body curled slightly inward even unconscious, protective, defensive.
"I have to believe it is," I said.
Because the alternative, watching her work herself to death, letting her drown in whatever she was running from, that wasn't acceptable. Not to me as CMO. Not to me as... whatever the hell I was becoming.
Pel'vix left quietly, taking the implicit dismissal for what it was.
I stayed in the chair beside Bea's bed, monitoring her vitals on my wrist display, watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing. Her sleep wasn't peaceful. She moved restlessly, made small sounds of distress, frowned like even unconscious she was fighting something.
Nightmares. Elena had mentioned them during the outbreak response, a casual comment that had sent alarm bells through my medical instincts. Bea wakes screaming sometimes. Thought you should know, in case it's medical.
Trauma. Unprocessed, buried deep, manifesting in the only ways trauma could when ignored, nightmares, hypervigilance, using work as dissociation.
I'd reviewed her medical file extensively after that conversation. Her physical records were straightforward, exemplaryhealth, no chronic conditions, minor injuries from the Liberty crash that had healed well. But her psychological profile was almost blank. No counseling sessions. No mental health evaluations beyond the mandatory screening after rescue.
She'd refused follow-up care. Signed waivers stating she didn't require support services. Claimed she was managing fine.
Classic avoidance. Classic trauma response. Classic healer mentality. Take care of everyone else, ignore your own wounds until they became infected.
I'd seen it before. Lost colleagues to it. Brilliant physicians who believed their value came from service, who measured their worth in lives saved, who couldn't reconcile needing help with being helpers.
It killed them. Slowly, usually. Burnout that progressed to depression that progressed to substance dependence or worse. The statistics on medical professional suicide were grim across every species I'd studied.
And Bea was heading down that path with determined precision.
She jerked in her sleep, made a sound like a gasp cut short. Her hands clenched on the thin blanket, body going rigid with whatever nightmare was playing behind her closed eyes.
I reached out without thinking, placed my hand gently over hers. The size difference was dramatic, my palm covering both her hands easily, my green skin stark against her pale complexion.
"You're safe," I said quietly, even though she couldn't hear me. "Nothing's hurting you right now."
Her body slowly relaxed, tension draining away. The nightmare passed, or at least receded. Her breathing evened out again, deeper now, more restful.
I kept my hand there, monitoring her pulse through the contact. Steady. Strong. Her body was resilient even if her mind was fractured.
The door opened again. I looked up, expecting Pel'vix returning, but it was Er'dox who entered. My friend took in the scene, Bea unconscious, me sitting vigil, my hand covering hers—and his expression shifted to something knowing.
"She finally collapsed," he observed, keeping his voice low.
"I confiscated her datapad. Her body handled the rest."
Er'dox moved to the other side of the bed, scanned Bea's vitals with professional interest. "Severe exhaustion. She's been running on fumes for days."
"Weeks, more likely." I withdrew my hand slowly, feeling oddly reluctant to break the contact. "How's the situation in the main ward?"
"Under control. All colonists stable. The medical team is preparing for transport back to Mothership tomorrow." Er'dox glanced at me. "Dana mentioned you'd probably stay here overnight. She was right."
"Someone needs to monitor her."
"Pel'vix could handle it."
"I'm CMO. My responsibility."
"Zorn." Er'dox's tone carried the weight of years of friendship, all pretense stripped away. "We both know this isn't about professional responsibility."
I didn't answer. Couldn't without lying, and Er'dox would see through lies.
He sat in the other chair, settled his large frame with that economic grace all Zandovian engineers developed. We sat in silence for a moment, watching Bea sleep.
