I gestured at nothing, at everything. "She's my subordinate. My patient, in a sense. There's a power differential that makes any personal relationship ethically complicated. And even if those factors didn't exist, she's made it abundantly clear she wants nothing beyond professional interaction."
"Has she?" Er'dox leaned back against the padded bench, considering. "Or is she just protecting herself from something that scares her more than medical collapse?"
The gymnasium doors opened before I could answer. Zor'go walked in, his crystalline markings catching the overhead lights in ways that made patterns dance across the walls. The Head of Mothership Operations moved with that peculiar grace tall, lean beings developed, efficient, almost elegant. Behind him came Vaxon, Security Chief, who made elegant impossible through sheer physical intimidation.
At 8'8", Vaxon was the largest of us, his charcoal-black skin marked with tactical patterns in electric blue. Where the rest of us had adapted to integrated crew life with varying degrees of success, Vaxon maintained the bearing of the elite warrior he'd been before Mothership. Controlled. Alert. Perpetually assessing threats.
"Starting without us?" Zor'go said, grabbing practice staffs for himself and Vaxon.
"Starting to lose without you," Er'dox corrected. "Zorn's distracted."
"The physician situation." Vaxon didn't make it a question. He'd sat at our weekly meal three days ago, and heard the entire conversation. "Has she responded to intervention?"
"By avoiding me completely." I took another drink of water, wishing it was something stronger. "She communicates exclusively through medical reports now. If we're in the medical bay simultaneously, she finds reasons to be in a different section."
"Give her time," Zor'go said. He began warming up with practice movements, his staff tracing geometric patterns through the air. Mathematics in motion. "Jalina avoided me for nearly two weeks after I made an emotional miscalculation. I thought I'd destroyed everything between us. But humans process differently than we do. They need space towork through complicated feelings before they can articulate them."
"How long did it take?"
"For Jalina? Thirteen days, four hours." The precision was very Zor'go. "She appeared in my office, called me an emotionally stunted calculator, and kissed me. Best day of my life."
Er'dox laughed. "Dana's approach was less dramatic. She just started showing up at my quarters with engineering problems that didn't exist. Took me a week to realize she was creating excuses for proximity."
"Elena throws things at me," Vaxon said flatly. “But we’re just friends.”
We all turned to stare at him.
"Throws things?"
"Small objects. Fasteners. Occasionally insulated wire." Vaxon's expression remained serious, though his eyes held something that might have been amusement. "She claims I'm too large to miss. I believe it's her way of initiating interaction when direct communication makes her uncomfortable."
The image of tiny Elena hurling wire at Mothership's Security Chief while he tolerated it with warrior patience was almost surreal.
"Are you... courting her?" Zor'go asked carefully.
"No. We maintain professional antagonism punctuated by brief moments of forced cooperation." Vaxon paused. "Though I find her company less intolerable than most."
"High praise from you," Er'dox said.
"She's brilliant with electrical systems in ways that fascinate me despite my limited understanding. When she explains her work, her enthusiasm transforms her. She becomes incandescent." Vaxon seemed to realize what he'd said, clearing his throat. "Professionally speaking."
Right. Professional.
I understood that particular delusion intimately.
"So what you're all saying," I began slowly, "is that patience is required. That forcing the issue will only drive her further away. That I should maintain professional distance while hoping she'll eventually process her feelings enough to initiate contact."
"Basically," Er'dox confirmed.
"And how long might that take?"
"Could be days. Could be weeks." Zor'go began stretching, preparing for sparring. "Could be never. That's the risk with humans. They're unpredictable."
"But worth it," Er'dox added. "If you truly care for her."
If. The word implied doubt where none existed.
I cared for Bea with an intensity that complicated every aspect of my professional judgment. I had cared since the moment I'd watched her save three lives during the Veridian outbreak while running on forty hours of no sleep and pure determination. Since I'd seen her break down in my arms, trust me with vulnerability she showed no one else. Since I'd realized her dedication to healing others was directly proportional to how much she refused to heal herself.
