She sat outside the private medical room and studied her hands as if they ought to be stained. Logan hadn’t bled, only screamed, and the EV suit’s gloves had kept away any of the grime and searing heat of the facility. Around her, the ship rumbled; somewhere, an emergency klaxon sounded as Endeavour went to red alert.

She should have reacted. Stood up, reported to the bridge, gone to her post. But Kharth didn’t move, kept her hands clasped between her knees, shoulders hunched. Around her, medical staff moved to their stations, standing by to receive casualties. Nurse Li stood at a panel and had a one-sided discussion with Doctor Starik, explaining they were still only on standby.

The Chief Medical Officer did not emerge from the room she’d been told he was in with Logan. Nobody cast her so much as an expectant look, even as the deck gave the telltale surge of sudden manoeuvres, even as she felt the shudder run through the ship she knew was from torpedoes launching.

Then silence. The alert lights faded. And as the deck stilled, Kharth realised the shake in her right leg wasn’t from the tremors of the ship, but muscle spasms. She clamped her heel down and stared at the carpet.

At length, the doors slid open, and her head snapped up. Starik stood before her, crisp in his white coat. He had not, she noted with something that might have flashed near relief if she were capable of such a feeling, changed into surgical scrubs.

‘Commander.’ The problem with Vulcans was that it was impossible to tell if he had good or bad news. ‘Commander Logan is stable. He has been conscious and responsive, though disorientated. The ocular trauma is severe; regeneration protocols are not taking hold.’ He paused. ‘I intend to study my readings further to ascertain why. This is a clash of unconventional technology with former Borg physiology.’

She shot to her feet, feeling the sweat stick the jumpsuit she’d worn under her EV suit to her back. ‘Is he going to be okay?’

‘It is too early for a long-term prognosis,’ said Starik levelly, ‘but barring further unforeseen complications and on the presumption I can secure a method of ocular regeneration compatible with his physiology, you should have no concerns.’ He paused, head tilting. ‘Do you have the scans of Brok’tan’s corpse, Commander?’

‘You’d have to ask Airex.’ Kharth clenched and unclenched her fists.

‘I will issue the request once we have restored contact with the away team -’

‘Can I see him?’ She should have reacted to the news about the away team, the fact Starik had clearly been in communication with the bridge while she hadn’t.

‘Commander Logan is sedated at present.’ Starik paused. ‘You may sit with him. I must study these scans.’

It wasn’t the first time she’d done this – come to the private medical rooms of Endeavour to find Jack Logan laid out on a biobed, a diminished bundle under sheets. Around him, medical monitors flared with scrolling data from constant scans. She couldn’t understand them, but her chest tightened as her eyes swept across the screens; she knew neurological monitoring systems when she saw them.

Across his face was a thick headset she’d never seen in use before – regeneration equipment, wrapped around his eyes. Beneath it, though, she could see the rest of his face, the line of his mouth at rest, the gentle pulse at his bare neck.

Not for the first time, Kharth slid into the chair beside the biobed, reached for his heavy, unresponsive hand, and waited.

She did not know how long had passed, her own eyes heavy from the fading adrenaline of the away mission, before she felt his grip twitch. Kharth sat bolt upright, finding Logan stirring, his headset still obscuring the upper half of his head.

‘Jack – I should get Starik -’

‘No… no.’ His voice rasped. ‘I mean, unless somethin’ changed. We talked. I’m assumin’ my eyes ain’t suddenly back…’

Her gaze flickered up to the screen, and she shifted her chair closer. ‘No.’ She did not let go of his hand.

‘The rest of the team?’

‘I don’t know – I beamed back up with you…’ Kharth faltered, throat tightening. ‘Brok’tan’s dead.’

Logan hadn’t sat up much, but at that he slumped back. ‘Damn.’ He swallowed. ‘Torkath must be blaming himself.’

‘He’s blaming Cortez for trying to shut the power core down,’ she scoffed.

He sucked his teeth. ‘The core weren’t doing anything until he accessed that system. I was trying to get the Klingons to behave, but… damn.’

‘That’s Valance’s problem. That’s everyone else’s problem.’ She again moved the chair closer, taking his hand in both of hers, elbows on the bed. ‘How’re you feeling?’

He slowed. It was impossible to see his expression, but now his head tilted towards her. The corners of his lips curled. ‘M’alright,’ Logan murmured. ‘Starik says he can fix this. I got burnt up by weird tech, an’ I’m on a lot of painkillers, an… I’ll be okay.’

‘When that door came down…’ She found her voice shaking. Somehow, the fact he couldn’t see her made it easier to talk, but the words felt like they came from deeper within her, more emotional, more raw. ‘Jack, I worried that was it…’

‘Hey…’ His other hand came up, and her eyes slammed shut as his thumb brushed her cheek. ‘I’m still here. I’m okay.’

‘I know we argued, I know you were pissed at me…’

‘It’s okay -’

‘I was scared,’ Kharth blurted, grip on his hand tightening more. ‘You’d said you might leave. You’d said you wanted to look elsewhere in your career. And I – I knew you and I made no commitments to each other, and I’d never try to hold you back from rebuilding your life. But then you didn’t leave, for a job that’d be perfect for you, and I didn’t understand it…’

‘I get it,’ he murmured, and she closed her eyes, trying to slam back the wave of helplessness that surged in her. ‘You thought you knew the score – that I’d leave for the right reason, and that San Fran would be the right reason, and then I didn’t leave…’

‘Which meant I didn’t get it. Which meant you might leave at any moment.’

‘Yeah. Hey.’ His hand brushed her cheek again, and her eyes fluttered open just to see the mask. ‘Thing is. It weren’t that complicated, darlin’. San Fran was the dream job. But there’s a simple reason I didn’t leave: you.’

Her breath caught. ‘Jack…’

‘I said I wanted to rebuild my life. That I believed I could, now. Did you think that maybe I wanted you in it?’ He pressed himself up on his elbows, awkward but sincere, and she found herself leaning in at his touch, close enough he could drop his voice to a whisper.

‘I turned San Fran down because I didn’t want to leave,’ Logan continued. ‘I turned San Fran down ‘cos I wanted to build a life with you. I turned San Fran down because I’m in love with you.’

The ship should have shaken, she thought distantly. Not with shock, but instability, with a sense that the deck was not sturdy beneath her feet. But all was level. Steady. Kharth swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘I love you too.’

She had not said those words in years; had not said those words to many people, had not trusted them with that intimacy or that trust. And yet the deck did not give way; the bulkheads did not sunder, the sky did not fall in because she had opened herself.

Even with the face mask on, she could see his lips curl, his grin widen. ‘You see?’ said Jack Logan. ‘I ain’t going nowhere, Cara Sai.’

And the cold trickled down the back of her neck. This time, when Kharth swallowed, it was ice. She loosened her grip on his hand. ‘I never told you my true name.’

Logan’s smile didn’t change. His grip tightened. ‘You didn’t need to. ‘Cos I know you.’

‘What…’ She tried to pull back, but his hand in hers had an iron grasp, and his other hand had taken hold of her shoulder.

‘Only it’s hard to tell,’ Logan continued, pinning her in place, his voice cutting to a low growl. ‘Is it Saeihr Kharth, the victim, the refugee, weak and pathetic, helpless against the cruelties of the universe? Or Saeihr Kharth, the coward who left her father to die, who ran from everyone who could ever love her, who tried to run from me, who’d burn her own life to pretend she still had control over it?’

More words bubbled in her throat, panicked and confused –

Then his hand was at her throat, and he wasn’t lying on the bed. He was on his feet, hauling her across the theatre, slamming her into the bulkhead. Stars erupted in front of her eyes, but his grip at her neck was too tight for her to so much as gasp for breath.

‘Look at me,’ snarled Jack Logan. The headset had fallen from his face, and all she could do as she flailed was stare into the empty pits where his eyes had been. ‘Look at me, Cara Sai, and beg for your life…’