Wrong. I wasn't punishing myself. I was just being useful. Making up for taking up space on Mothership, for being another mouth to feed, another body requiring oxygen and food and quarters that could have gone to someone more valuable.
For surviving when so many others hadn't.
I shoved the thought away and focused on the wiring. Twenty minutes of careful work, rerouting power flows, replacing degraded components, testing each connection twice before moving to the next. My shoulders screamed from an awkward angle. My knees ached from bracing against the conduit walls. Sweat dripped into my eyes despite the cooled air flowing through the maintenance shaft.
But the junction box stabilized. Power flow returned to optimal levels. Section Seven's life support remained secure.
I allowed myself exactly ten seconds of satisfaction before backing out of the conduit, pulling my tool belt free from where it had caught on every possible surface, and emerging into the maintenance access corridor like some kind of grease-stained mechanical birth.
The corridor lighting felt painfully bright after hours in the dim shaft. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and nearly ran directly into a wall.
Except walls didn't usually have electric-blue tactical markings that glowed faintly in corridor lighting.
"You're supposed to file maintenance schedules with Security before accessing restricted areas," Vaxon said, his deep voice somehow managing to sound both disappointed and unsurprised. "Especially when those areas involve potentially lethal electrical systems."
I looked up. And up. And up, because Vaxon was eight feet eight inches of warrior muscle and disapproval wrapped in charcoal-black skin that made his blue markings seem to float in the air like neon accusations.
His cobalt eyes tracked across my face, cataloging the grease smears, the sweat, the exhaustion I couldn't quite hide. His jaw, the one with the scar that ran from chin to ear,tightened almost imperceptibly.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, because attack was better than defense and I was too tired for this conversation.
"Monitoring a crew member who repeatedly endangers herself with unnecessary risks." He crossed his arms over his massive chest. "The junction box maintenance could havebeen scheduled during normal hours with proper safety protocols."
"The junction box was degrading faster than projected. It needed immediate attention or Section Seven would have lost power." I gestured back toward the conduit access. "Which I noticed during my routine systems check, which I performed on my own time, which doesn't require your approval or presence."
"Everything that affects crew safety requires my attention." His voice dropped lower, which should have been impossible given how deep it already was. "Including electrical engineers who work eighteen-hour shifts without breaks, refuse to eat in communal dining, and hide in maintenance shafts at 0200 hours instead of sleeping."
The accuracy of his observations made something in my chest constrict. He'd been watching me. Tracking my schedule. Noticing things he had no business noticing.
"I'm fine," I said automatically.
"You're not."
Challenging words. I could argue, but what was the point? Vaxon had survived a battle that killed his entire unit. He knew what self-destruction looked like, probably recognized it better than I did.
"I'm handling it," I amended, which was closer to the truth. Barely.
"By working until you collapse? By taking on the most dangerous assignments despite having enough regular work to fill two shifts? By avoiding everyone who cares about you?" His eyes narrowed. "That's not handling anything. That's running from it."
"I'm not—" The protest died in my throat because he was right and we both knew it. "You're not my supervisor anymore. You don't get to lecture me about my work habits."
"You're correct. I'm not your supervisor." Something shifted in his expression, too quick for me to identify. "I'm Security Chief, which means crew safety is my responsibility. Including yours, whether you want it or not."
"I don't need protection."
"Everyone needs protection." He uncrossed his arms, and for a moment I thought he might reach out, might do something that would crack whatever fragile control I was maintaining. But he just stood there, this massive warrior looking at me like I was something breakable he didn't know how to handle. "Even brilliant engineers who convince themselves they're invincible."
The compliment, because that's what it was, wrapped in concern, hit harder than it should have. I looked away, focusing on my grease-stained hands instead of his too-perceptive eyes.
"I have another diagnostic to run," I lied. "Sector Nine power grid."
"At 0230 hours."
"Problems don't respect normal working hours."
"Neither does exhaustion. Or injury. Or death from electrical shock." He moved slightly, blocking my path down the corridor without obviously blocking my path. The man was infuriating. "When did you last sleep?"
I tried to remember. Yesterday? The day before? Time had gotten fuzzy somewhere between Bea's bonding ceremonyand watching Dana and Er'dox dance together with the kind of easy joy that made my chest ache, and Jalina curled against Zor'go's side like she'd found her exact place in the universe.
