"I should have said something months ago. Should have told you that you drive me crazy in the best possible way. That watching you work makes me forget to breathe. That every time you argue with me about safety protocols, I want to kiss you until you stop talking." His hand tightened around mine. "But I'm your superior officer. You work under mycommand. Crossing that line could compromise your position, make you uncomfortable, ruin what little professional relationship we've managed to maintain."
I stared at him. At this massive warrior who'd taken plasma fire for me, who was lying in a medical bed admitting feelings he'd buried for months because he was worried about making me uncomfortable.
Screw professional relationships. Screw safety protocols. Screw every reason I'd been telling myself to stay away from him.
I leaned down and kissed him.
It wasn't smooth. Wasn't practiced or elegant or any of the things kisses were supposed to be. It was desperate and clumsy and tasted like fear and relief and months of wanting someone I'd convinced myself I couldn't have.
Vaxon went completely still for half a second. Then his free hand came up to cup the back of my head, pulling me closer despite the angle and the injury and the fact that we were in the middle of medical bay where anyone could walk in.
When we finally broke apart, oxygen became necessary again, he stared at me with an expression I'd never seen before. Vulnerable. Hopeful. Absolutely focused.
"What was that?" His voice came out rough.
"Something I should have done months ago," I echoed his earlier words. "Before you decided to be noble about it."
"I'm still your commanding officer."
"On missions. In security situations. When we're actively in danger." I straightened up, kept my hand wrapped in his. "But you're not my supervisor anymore, remember? Dana's chiefengineer. Jalina handles design systems. Bea runs medical. I answer to the ship's electrical supervisor, who definitely isn't you."
"Technical loophole."
"Best kind of loophole." My hands were still shaking, but now it wasn't from shock. It was from the terrifying realization that I was doing this. Actually doing this. Admitting I wanted something for myself instead of just surviving day to day. "Look, I don't know what this is. Don't know if it's just adrenaline or relief or genuine feeling. But I do know I spent the last hour covered in your blood, replaying every moment where you could have died, and all I could think was that I'd wasted months pretending I didn't care about you."
"You care about me."
"Apparently." I tried for humor, but my voice cracked. "Which terrifies me, for the record. Caring about people means they can hurt you. Leave you. Die protecting you because you were too reckless to watch your own back."
Vaxon's expression softened. "I'm not going anywhere, Elena."
"You can't promise that. No one can."
"You're right. I can't." He tugged gently on my hand, pulling me back down closer. "But I can promise that whatever time we have, I'll spend it trying to make you believe you're worth protecting. Worth caring about. Worth more than the guilt and self-punishment you've been carrying since Liberty."
The words cracked something open inside me. Something I'd been keeping carefully sealed since the wormhole disaster, since watching my world literally torn apart, since survivors' guilt became my constant companion.
I was worth more than guilt. Maybe. Possibly. If I could stop sabotaging myself long enough to believe it.
"I'm not good at this," I admitted. "At letting people in. At accepting that someone might actually want me around for reasons beyond professional utility."
"Lucky for you, I'm not good at anything beyond tactical assessment and hitting things." Vaxon's thumb traced over my knuckles again, the gesture becoming familiar. "We can be terrible at personal relationships together."
"That's the least romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Should I try again? Something about your eyes or your brilliant mind or the way you light up when you're explaining electrical systems?"
"That's worse."
"Noted." He smiled as a small, genuine, absolutely devastating. "How about this: I care about you, Elena Vasquez. Have for months. And if you're willing to try this, whatever this becomes, I promise to be honest, communicative, and only moderately overprotective."
"Moderately?"
"I'm still Security Chief. Overprotective comes with the territory." He squeezed my hand. "But I'll try to remember you're capable of handling yourself. That you don't need saving."
"I might need saving sometimes," I admitted. "Just not all the time. And maybe I could save you back occasionally."
"You already did. Today. Multiple times."
