I laughed despite my nerves. "When did you get so romantic?"
"When I bonded with Zor'go and discovered that emotional vulnerability doesn't actually kill you." She moved behind me, adjusting the dress's shoulder seam. "Contrary to what my architectural training suggested."
A knock at the door interrupted whatever response I might have made. Dana heaved herself upright with the particular grace of someone whose center of gravity had shifted, waddled to the door panel.
Will Peters stood in the corridor.
My breath caught. Six months since we'd pulled him from that derelict. Six months of medical treatment, physical therapy, psychological counseling to process six months of isolation and near-death. He still looked thinner than I remembered from Liberty, still had shadows under his eyes that spoke of nightmares.
But he was alive. Standing. Smiling at me with genuine warmth.
"Can I come in?" he asked. "Or is this women-only preparation space?"
"You can come in," I managed around the sudden tightness in my throat. "Always."
He stepped inside, letting the door seal behind him. Looked at me in the bonding dress with an expression that cycled through surprise, pleasure, and something that might have been pride.
"You look incredible, Vasquez."
"Thank you." I wanted to hug him, wasn't sure if he'd welcome physical contact yet. Medical had said his recovery was progressing well, but trauma didn't heal on predictable timelines. "You look good. Better than?—"
"Better than death warmed over?" His smile held dark humor. "Yeah. Turns out actually sleeping and eating regularly does wonders for appearance."
The silence stretched awkwardly. My friends tactfully moved to the far side of the room, giving us space.
"I wanted to talk to you," Will said finally. "Before the ceremony. Make sure you understood something."
"What?"
"That I meant it. The message I left. About living." He stepped closer, voice dropping. "I spent six months in that derelict thinking I'd die alone. Thinking everyone from Liberty was gone. And the only thing that kept me fighting was the hope that maybe you'd made it out. That maybe my jury-rigged systems had bought you enough time to survive."
My vision blurred. "Will?—"
"Let me finish." His voice was gentle but firm. "When I recorded that message, when I told you to live, I meant it. I meant don't waste your survival on guilt. Don't punish yourself for being the one who made it. Build something good. Find happiness. Love someone." He gestured toward the door, toward where Vaxon was presumably in his own preparation quarters. "You found that. With him. That's exactly what I wanted for you."
"I tried to find you sooner," I whispered. "I should have?—"
"You found me when you could. You never stopped looking." He gripped my shoulders, his engineer's hands still strong despite months of atrophy. "Elena, you saved my life. Gave me a second chance. Watching you bond with someone you love? That's the greatest gift you could give me. Proof that survival was worth it."
I hugged him then, careful of his still-healing frame. He hugged back, and I felt some essential weight lift from my chest. Guilt I'd been carrying since the moment we'd pulled him from that derelict.
"Thank you," I managed. "For surviving. For being here."
"Thank you for being stubborn enough to keep searching." He pulled back, smiled. "Now stop crying before you ruin Jalina's masterpiece makeup work."
"I didn't do makeup," Jalina called from across the room. "Elena refused."
"I don't wear makeup."
"I know. It's very you." Will's expression turned more serious. "He's good for you. Vaxon. I've been watching how he treats you. How he looks at you like you hung the stars. That's what you deserve."
"I'm terrified I'll mess it up."
"You will. He will too. That's what bonding means, choosing to mess up together and figure it out anyway." He stepped toward the door. "I should go. Let you finish preparing. But Elena? Live. Not just today, but every day. That's an order from your former senior engineer."
"Yes, sir."
He left, and I stood there trying not to completely lose my composure thirty minutes before the ceremony.
