The lab results came back just before shift change.
And when they did, the entire tone of medical shifted again.
The attending physician read the culture twice.
Then a third time.
Just to be certain it still said what it clearly said.
He didn’t like it.
Not at all.
Cassandra was already there when he entered Shae’s room.
She didn’t look up from the datapad.
“Report.” The doctor hesitated.
“Colonel… culture came back.” Cassandra’s fingers paused.
“Identify.” A beat.
“…MRSA strain.
Resistant profile still pending full panel, but preliminary suggests high virulence.” Silence.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just immediate and absolute.
Cassandra set the datapad down slowly.
Then stood.
“Treatment.” “We’ve started high-dose IV antibiotics, broad-spectrum until we can narrow it—” “Not broad-spectrum,” Cassandra cut in instantly.
“I want targeted escalation.
This strain moves fast.” The doctor nodded quickly.
“Yes, ma’am.” Shae, lying in the bed, frowned.
“Okay, I feel like I’m being talked about like I’m a malfunctioning system.” Cassandra didn’t look at her.
“You are being treated like a serious infection risk.” “I’m sitting right here.” “Yes.” Shae shifted slightly.
“…That sounds worse than I intended it to.” Cassandra ignored her.
“Vitals.” A nurse stepped forward.
“Low-grade fever.
100.9 and climbing slowly.” Cassandra’s jaw tightened.
Shae sighed.
“It’s just a fever.” Cassandra finally looked at her.
That look stopped the conversation immediately.
“It is not ‘just’ anything,” Cassandra said flatly.
Shae waved a hand weakly.
“I’ve had worse.” “No.” “Yes.” “No,” Cassandra repeated, sharper now.
Shae leaned back.
“I’m fine.” “You are running a systemic infection.” “I’m functional.” Cassandra stepped closer to the bed.
Her voice dropped slightly.
“Define functional.” Shae hesitated.
“…Still awake.” Cassandra stared at her.
The doctor quietly stepped back.
A very smart decision.
Cassandra exhaled slowly through her nose.
Then turned to the staff.
“Continue IV antibiotics.
I want q2 hour monitoring.
If fever increases past 101.5, escalate immediately.” “Yes, Colonel.” “And isolation precautions.” Another pause.
“Yes, ma’am.” Shae watched all of this with growing annoyance.
“You’re being dramatic.” Cassandra turned back to her.
“Dramatic would be ignoring MRSA in a closed environment aboard a military vessel.” Shae frowned.
“I said I’m fine.” “You are not.” “I’m still talking to you.” “That is not a medical metric.” Shae let her head fall back against the pillow.
“This is ridiculous.” Cassandra stepped closer again, but this time her expression shifted slightly.
Not anger.
Not irritation.
Concern.
Controlled—but real.
“You are running a high-risk infection in a closed system,” she said more quietly.
“If this spreads, it affects the entire ship.” Shae opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
Because that, at least, landed differently.
Cassandra continued, voice steady again, but tighter.
“And you are running a fever you are actively minimizing.” “I’m not minimizing it.” Cassandra raised an eyebrow.
Shae paused.
“…Okay, I might be minimizing it a little.” Cassandra didn’t respond immediately.
She just studied her.
Then said: “You will stay in this bed.” “I already am.” “You will not get up without permission.” “Already doing that too.” “And you will stop telling me you are fine.” Shae gave a weak half-smile.
“No promises.” Cassandra’s expression tightened again.
But this time, there was something else underneath it.
Something sharper than frustration.
Because Shae was still talking.
Still alert.
Still fighting through it.
But Cassandra could see the edges of it now.
The fever.
The strain.
The infection she had been right to worry about.
And that made her voice drop, quieter than before.
“This is serious, Major.” Shae looked at her for a moment.
Then, less flippant than usual: “…I know.” Cassandra held her gaze.
For once, she didn’t immediately correct her.
Instead, she nodded once.
“Good.” Then she straightened.
And the commander returned.
“Because I am not losing an officer to something preventable.” Shae exhaled slowly.
“…That sounds like a threat.” “It is a promise.” And for the first time since this had started, the room didn’t feel like it was about consequences anymore.
It felt like it was about control.
And holding on to it.