I should be celebrating. Should be relieved, triumphant even. We'd done it, rescued survivors, escaped raiders, made it back alive despite everything trying to kill us.
Instead, I was pacing outside medical like a caged animal, covered in someone else's blood, replaying every moment where I could have done better. Could have been faster. Could have protected Vaxon instead of making him protect me.
"Elena."
Dana's voice cut through my spiral. I looked up to find her approaching Jalina, both of them wearing expressions of concern that made my chest tight. Behind them, Er'dox's massive frame followed, looking uncomfortable in the way Zandovian warriors always did when faced with emotional situations they couldn't solve through tactical superiority.
Dana reached me first, pulled me into a fierce hug despite the blood still staining my uniform. "Bea told us. About the survivors. About Vaxon. About—" She pulled back, studied my face. "About everything."
"I'm fine," I said automatically.
"You're covered in blood and shaking." Jalina moved to my other side, her architect's eye cataloging details. "When's the last time you ate? Or slept? Or did anything other than stand in this hallway mentally flagellating yourself?"
"I don't know. Hours. Days. Does it matter?" The words came out sharper than intended. "Vaxon almost died. He took plasma fire meant for me because I was too focused on rerouting power to watch my own back. If he hadn't?—"
"If he hadn't, you'd both be dead," Er'dox interrupted, his deep voice carrying the weight of experience. "He did his job. Protected his team. Made tactical decisions under fire. That's what commanders do."
"His job isn't to die for me."
"No. His job is to ensure mission success and crew survival." Er'dox moved closer, and even after months on Mothership, his sheer size still intimidated. "Which he accomplished. You retrieved two survivors. Escaped hostile forces. Brought everyone home. That's a successful mission."
"He got shot."
"Occupational hazard." Er'dox's tone gentled slightly. "Elena, warriors understand risks. We accept them. Vaxon knew the danger when he took that assignment."
"Because I forced him to." The confession tore out of me, sharp-edged and bitter. "I found those coordinates. Idemanded we investigate. I pushed Captain Tor'van to authorize the mission even when Vaxon argued against it. This whole disaster is my fault."
Silence fell in the corridor. Even the ambient ship sounds seemed to quiet, leaving just the ragged edge of my breathing and the too-fast thump of my pulse.
Dana squeezed my shoulder. "Did you force the raiders to attack?"
"What? No, but?—"
"Did you personally shoot Vaxon?"
"Of course not."
"Then how exactly is this your fault?" She used her engineer voice, the one that dissected problems into manageable components. "You found survivors. Real people who would have died without intervention. You reported your findings. Captain Tor'van authorized the mission. Vaxon accepted command. Raiders attacked. He defended his team. These are all separate events, Elena. You don't get to claim responsibility for all of them."
"But if I hadn't found them?—"
"Will and Lisa would be dead," Jalina said softly. "And you'd be carrying different guilt. The guilt of knowing you stopped searching too soon. That you gave up when they were still alive, still waiting, still hoping someone would come."
The words hit like plasma fire, accurate, devastating, impossible to deflect.
She was right. I knew she was right. But accepting it meant accepting that I'd made the right choice, that the mission hadvalue, that Vaxon's injuries were the price of doing something good instead of punishment for my recklessness.
I wasn't ready for that. Wasn't sure I'd ever be ready.
"I watched him go down," I whispered. "Saw the plasma hit his shoulder, saw him stagger. And all I could think was that I was about to watch another person die because I wasn't fast enough to save them."
"But he didn't die." Bea's voice came from behind me. I spun to find her standing in the medical bay doorway, still wearing surgical scrubs, exhaustion lining her face. "He's going to be fine, Elena. Painful recovery, but full functionality restored. He'll be back to overprotective commander mode within a week."
Relief hit so hard my knees buckled. Dana caught me, held me upright while I processed the information.
"He's okay?"
"He's okay." Bea stepped closer, dropped her professional mask for a moment. "And he's asking for you. Won't settle down until he sees you're alright. So if you're done catastrophizing in the hallway, maybe you could come reassure my patient before he gives himself a stress injury on top of the plasma burns?"
