I saw someone I wanted to help in ways that had nothing to do with professional obligation.
That was the problem.
"She's struggling," I admitted finally. "Textbook unprocessed trauma. Burnout indicators. Self-care neglect. Emotional avoidance." I met Er'dox's eyes. "And she's my subordinate. My intervention options are limited by professional ethics."
"Fuck professional ethics," Er'dox said bluntly. "Excuse the human vulgarity, but Dana would say the same. Sometimes caring means crossing boundaries that make us uncomfortable."
"Er'dox is right." Zor'go's voice was unusually serious. "When Jalina first started working with me, she was lost. Homesick. Drowning in displacement. I could have maintained professional distance. Should have, probably. But I saw someone brilliant and hurting, and professional distance felt like abandonment."
"You helped her," I observed.
"I pushed her. Challenged her. Gave her purpose." Zor'go paused. "And yes, I fell for her in the process. But that doesn't invalidate the necessity of the intervention."
Vaxon shifted in his seat. "Elena needs constant monitoring. Not because I doubt her competence, she's brilliant. But because brilliance doesn't prevent self-destruction. Sometimes the most capable beings need someone to catch them when they fall."
I looked at my friends, males who'd all found human mates, who'd all navigated the complexity of cross-species attraction while maintaining professional responsibilities. Who'd all chosen to prioritize the person over the protocol.
"I've reviewed Bea's medical file," I said quietly. "Downloaded it from the Liberty ship's database fragments we recovered. She was a trauma surgeon on Earth. Worked in high-volume emergency departments for years. Exceptional performance reviews. Multiple commendations. Then she joined the Liberty expedition, seeking—" I pulled up the exact wording on my neural implant "—'a fresh start and opportunity to use her skills in new contexts.'"
"Running from something," Er'dox observed.
"Or toward something," Zor'go countered. "Maybe both."
"The Liberty disaster happened three months into their journey." I continued reading. "Seventeen humans survived the crash on the burning planet. Bea provided medical care in impossible conditions. Cave shelter, minimal supplies, patients with severe injuries. She kept them alive for six weeks until we found them."
The silence that followed carried weight.
"Six weeks," Er'dox said finally. "Six weeks of triage without adequate resources."
"Six weeks of making impossible choices about who to treat first, who might survive, who to let die." I closed the file display. "And then we brought them aboard Mothership. Put them through the VR upload. Assigned them servant positions because they couldn't pay for transport. Bea was placed in hydroponics initially."
"Wasted potential," Vaxon muttered.
"Agreed. Which is why I requested her reassignment to medical four months ago. Captain Tor'van approved. She's been under my supervision since."
"And in that time?" Er'dox prompted.
"She's thrown herself into work with single-minded intensity. Takes double shifts. Volunteers for every emergency. Studies Zandovian medicine during her off-hours. Skips meals. Sleeps four hours maximum per night." I paused. "And never, not once, has she mentioned the Liberty disaster. The losses. The choices she had to make."
"Burying it," Zor'go said softly.
"Using work as medication." I met their eyes. "I recognize the pattern because I've done it myself."
That admission hung in the air. My friends knew my history, the patient I'd lost early in my career, the young Zandovian who'd died because I'd missed a crucial diagnostic indicator. How I'd buried myself in work afterward, convincing myself that if I just worked hard enough, learned enough, I could prevent every future death.
It had taken years to learn that healing required accepting the losses, not denying them.
Bea was walking the same path I had. And I couldn't watch her suffer through it without trying to help.
"So what's your plan?" Er'dox asked.
"Intervention. Subtle at first. Mandatory rest periods. Enforced meal breaks. Counseling sessions with Dr. Senna. She's the human psychologist, best equipped to handle human trauma."
"Bea will resist," Vaxon predicted.
"Absolutely. She'll deflect, argue, insist she's fine. Classic trauma response." I straightened in my seat. "Which is why I'll frame it as medical protocol. Non-negotiable. If she refuses, I'll remove her from active duty."
Er'dox whistled low. "That'll go over well."
