The meeting continued.
Or at least it continued for everyone else.
Colonel Cassandra Blackwell sat at the head of the conference table while officers discussed logistics, patrol rotations, and supply projections.
She heard every word.
Processed every report.
Yet somehow her thoughts kept drifting elsewhere.
To a pair of mismatched eyes.
To analytical solutions that had dismantled one of the most difficult simulations aboard her ship.
To a major who had completed that simulation while bleeding from a wound that should have sent most officers straight to medical.
It was irritating.
And unusual.
Cassandra was not a woman prone to distraction.
Finally, after another ten minutes, she set down her datapad.
“Continue without me.” The officers immediately straightened.
“Ma’am?” “The XO can finish the briefing.” Without another explanation, Cassandra stood and walked out.
The room watched her leave.
No one was brave enough to ask questions.
———————————————- The medical bay was busy when Cassandra arrived.
Medics moved between treatment rooms.
Nurses updated charts.
Patients occupied nearly every available seat.
And standing near the far wall— Waiting patiently in line— Was Major Shae Carter.
Cassandra stopped.
Stared.
Then narrowed her eyes.
Shae noticed her almost immediately.
Their gazes met.
Shae smiled.
Just slightly.
That alone told Cassandra everything she needed to know.
The woman had absolutely no intention of informing medical staff that she had a deep laceration in her side.
She was literally waiting her turn.
Behind people with minor complaints.
Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Major.” Shae straightened.
“Ma’am.” “What are you doing?” “Waiting.” Cassandra glanced at the line.
Then back at Shae.
Then back at the line.
Her expression somehow became even less impressed.
Before Shae could say anything else, Cassandra crossed the room, grabbed her wrist, and started walking.
For the first time all day, Shae looked surprised.
“Ma’am?” “You’re not waiting.” “It’s fine.” “No.” Several medics quickly moved out of their way as Cassandra marched her toward an empty treatment room.
“Ma’am, there are people ahead of me.” “They can wait.” “They were here first.” “They are not bleeding internally.” “I wasn’t bleeding internally.” Cassandra shot her a look.
Shae wisely stopped talking.
—————————————— A few moments later they were alone in the treatment room.
Cassandra sealed the door.
Then pointed toward the examination table.
“Sit.” Shae sat.
Cassandra gathered supplies with practiced efficiency.
Years might have passed since medicine had ceased being her primary role, but some skills never faded.
Eventually she turned around.
“Remove your shirt.” Shae raised an eyebrow.
“Doctor’s orders?” “Don’t test my patience.” That earned a quiet chuckle.
Still, Shae complied.
She removed her uniform jacket first, then carefully pulled her shirt over her head.
Cassandra had expected the injury.
She had not expected everything else.
For a moment she simply stood there.
Not speaking.
Not moving.
Observing.
Shae’s physique spoke of years of relentless training.
Lean muscle across her shoulders.
Strong arms.
Defined abdominal muscles.
The build of someone who used their body as a weapon and tool rather than an ornament.
And scattered across that body were scars.
Not severe.
Not disfiguring.
Just enough.
A pale mark along one shoulder.
A thin line across her ribs.
Several older scars that had long since faded.
The quiet evidence of years spent surviving things that could have killed other people.
A military career written directly onto skin.
Cassandra’s gaze lingered a second too long.
Then another.
Then— “See something you like, Colonel?” Cassandra blinked.
Realized Shae was watching her.
And smiling.
That infuriating little smile.
Immediately Cassandra looked away.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” The smirk widened.
Which somehow made it worse.
Thankfully, medicine was simpler than people.
Cassandra focused on the wound.
The laceration was deep but clean.
Painful.
Very painful.
Or at least it should have been.
As Cassandra began cleaning it, she expected some reaction.
A flinch.
A sharp inhale.
Something.
Instead Shae sat perfectly still.
The antiseptic touched raw tissue.
Nothing.
Cassandra pressed around the injury to assess damage.
Nothing.
She began closing the wound.
Still nothing.
Eventually Cassandra paused.
“Does this hurt?” Shae looked down.
“Yes.” The answer surprised her.
“Then why aren’t you reacting?” Shae chuckled.
A warm, easy sound.
Because apparently being stitched up was somehow amusing.
“Because reacting won’t change anything.” Cassandra stared.
Shae shrugged carefully.
“It hurts.” Another stitch.
Still no flinch.
“But complaining about it won’t make it stop hurting.” She smiled slightly.
“So it seems like a waste of energy.” Cassandra shook her head.
“That’s not normal.” “Probably not.” “Most people would be cursing at me right now.” “Well,” Shae said thoughtfully, “you are doing a terrible job.” For the first time in years, Cassandra nearly laughed while performing a medical procedure.
The realization caught her completely off guard.
Apparently it caught Shae too, because she looked genuinely pleased with herself.
Cassandra finished another stitch.
“You are impossible.” “So I’ve been told.” “I believe it.” The room settled into a comfortable silence.
And for reasons Cassandra couldn’t quite explain, she found she didn’t mind it.
Not at all.