Bea would hate me for it. Probably already hated me for forcing this rest, for seeing past her defenses, for refusing to let her destroy herself in peace.
And I'd have to accept that. Accept being the villain in her narrative if it meant keeping her alive long enough to heal.
Better hated than mourned.
My wrist unit chimed softly at 0600 hours. Morning was arriving on Veridian Station's artificial schedule. The medical team would be preparing for transport soon. Decisions needed to be made.
Bea stirred slightly, making a small sound. Her eyes moved beneath closed lids, REM sleep, dreaming. Hopefully something peaceful this time, though her expression remained guarded even unconscious.
Her hand tightened in mine, and I realized I'd been holding it for hours. The contact felt natural now, comfortable. Like my palm belonged wrapped around her smaller hand, providing warmth and stability.
Dangerous thoughts. Unprofessional thoughts.
But I didn't let go.
Because right now, in this moment, she was letting someone care for her. Even if she didn't know it. Even if she'd never admit needing it.
And that had to be enough.
The door opened again. Pel'vix entered carrying a tray with food and stimulants. "Shift change," she said quietly. "You should eat. Rest. I'll monitor her."
"I'm fine."
Pel'vix gave me a look that said she knew exactly how fine I was—which was to say, not at all. "You've been awake for forty-eight hours. Physician, heal thyself."
"In a few hours."
"Now. That's an order from your senior medical staff." She set the tray down, fixed me with those unsettling vertical pupils. "You can't help her if you collapse from exhaustion. And given how you're hovering, you're not leaving her side anytime soon. So eat. Rest. Let me handle monitoring for the next four hours."
She was right. Medical personnel were useless when exhausted. I'd just told Bea the same thing.
Hypocrite.
I looked down at where my hand still held Bea's. Gently withdrew, felt oddly bereft at the loss of contact.
"If anything changes?—"
"You'll be the first person I contact." Pel'vix moved to the chair I'd vacated, pulled up Bea's vitals on her own wrist display. "Go. I've got her."
I stood reluctantly, every instinct screaming to stay, to maintain vigil. But Pel'vix was capable. Bea was stable. And I was no use to anyone if I couldn't think straight.
I grabbed the stimulant drink from the tray—wasn't ready for actual rest yet—and moved toward the door.
Paused.
Looked back at Bea's sleeping form, at the vulnerable curve of her body, at the face that remained guarded even in rest.
"She's going to fight this," I said quietly. "When she wakes. When I tell her she needs counseling, needs proper rest, needs to stop destroying herself. She'll resist every step."
"I know."
"I'm not backing down."
"Good." Pel'vix glanced at me, something knowing in her expression. "She needs someone who won't give up on her. Even when she gives up on herself."
I left before I could analyze that statement too closely. Before I could examine what it meant that everyone seemed to see something I was trying hard not to acknowledge.
The corridor outside was quiet, most of the medical staff still sleeping or preparing for transport. I walked to the observationdeck overlooking the colony—a small room with viewports showing Veridian Station's biodomes, the careful balance of atmosphere and agriculture that kept the colony alive.
