Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The second the blast went off, everything changed.

What had started as a standard data sweep at a derelict survey station turned into a skirmish with leftover mercenaries—too quick, too organized, too damn close.

You felt the heat of the explosion before you heard it. Panels blew out from the far wall. Debris rained down. Your vision blurred as you threw your shoulder into Sam’s back, shoving him down behind the nearest console.

Then pain—sharp, immediate—ripped through your side.

You went down hard.

“Shit.” Sam’s voice cut through the ringing in your ears. “No no no—”

Hands were on you. Hot. Shaking. Desperate.

“Why the hell would you do that?!” he barked.

You blinked against the red at the corner of your vision. His face hovered above yours, jaw clenched, eyes wide and burning with something that looked a lot like panic.

You tried to breathe through the pressure. The sting.

“You would’ve taken the hit.”

“Damn right I would’ve,” he growled. “Better me than—than you bleeding out in my arms.”

You winced as he adjusted the patch, his hands slick with blood.

“Don’t do that again,” he said. “I mean it. Don’t ever do that again.”

“Can’t promise that.”

He froze.

You forced your eyes open. His face was close now—closer than it probably should’ve been. Covered in dust and blood, eyes wild, jaw tight. You could feel the anger vibrating in him. But it wasn’t rage. Not really.

It was fear. Unspoken and sharp.

“I did it for her,” you murmured.

Sam blinked. “What?”

You swallowed. “Cora.”

His breath caught. You pressed on.

“She deserves to have you come back. Every time. She needs that. Even if she’d never know what happened.”

He sat back a little, stunned.

“And I…” Your voice cracked. “I did it for me too.”

Sam’s brows pulled together.

“I couldn’t just stand there and watch you die. Not when I—” You stopped, jaw tightening. “It wasn’t a choice. It was instinct.”

He stared at you, jaw working like he was trying to find words but couldn’t. His hand hovered over yours—then finally took it, warm and rough and trembling.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he said quietly.

You gave a pained half-smile. “Guess that makes us even.”

He shook his head. “No. Not even close.”

He looked at you like he was seeing something new, or maybe something he’d been ignoring for too long. Something just starting to slip past whatever walls he kept up.

“Why do you care like that?” he asked. Voice low. Unsteady.

You looked at him, eyes meeting his.

And didn’t answer.

Chapter Text

The jump back to the ship was a blur of blood and adrenaline.

Sam barely remembered lifting you, just the feel of you slipping in and out of consciousness, the heat of your blood through his coat, and the way your fingers twitched once against his chest — like they were reaching for something they didn’t want to lose.

By the time they broke orbit, his voice was hoarse from yelling over the comms.

Andreja was already in the medbay.

She took one look at the both of you and snapped into motion. “Get her here. Now.”

Andreja worked with silent, sharp efficiency — a practiced calm in the storm. Her hands were steady, movements precise, her presence cool under pressure, like she'd done this before on far less forgiving ships.

Sam stood off to the side as she worked, fists clenched, pacing slow, deliberate circles as if moving could stop the memory from replaying.

The way you’d looked at him—so calm. So certain. I did it for her. I did it for me.

Andreja leaned over you, applying another layer of spray-sealant over the wound, stitching in silence. After a few minutes, she glanced at Sam without lifting her head.

“She’s stable. You got her here just in time.”

Sam didn’t respond at first.

“She shouldn’t have done it,” he muttered.

Andreja looked up now. “Done what? Saved your life?”

“She could’ve died.”

Andreja raised a brow. “So could you.”

He turned sharply. “That’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it?”

She stood upright, wiping her hands. Her tone wasn’t judgmental — just calmly probing, as if testing the ground beneath them both.

“You were both under fire. She made a choice.”

“She shouldn’t have had to,” Sam snapped, voice rough. “I was watching the flank. I didn’t see the guy come up behind me. She… she shouldn’t have thrown herself in front of that.”

Andreja looked over at you, unconscious and still pale beneath the medlight.

“She didn’t do it out of duty,” she said softly. “You know that, right?”

Sam’s throat tightened.

“She said it was for Cora,” he muttered.

Andreja gave him a look that cut through the silence like a blade. “And do you believe that’s the only reason?”

Sam looked away, jaw tight.

“I think maybe she’s too damn brave for her own good,” he said. “Or too reckless.”

Andreja stepped closer, arms folded. “You’re angry.”

“Of course I’m angry.” His voice cracked, eyes flashing. “She threw herself in front of a gun. For me. That’s not something I know how to live with.”

Andreja tilted her head, voice even. “Is it really about not knowing how to live with it… or being afraid you might have to live without her?”

The silence that followed was thick.

Sam swallowed hard. “I never asked for this.”

“But you felt it.”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Andreja softened her stance. “She’s not stupid, Sam. She wouldn’t have done this for just anyone. She knew what she was risking.”

Sam’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah. And she did it anyway.”

“Maybe she knew what it would do to you,” Andreja said. “And maybe… she cared enough to do it anyway.”

That thought hit harder than he expected.

He glanced back at you, unconscious but breathing steadily now, bandages visible under your half-zipped flight jacket. Your face was still, peaceful in a way he hadn’t seen since this damn mission started.

Andreja followed his gaze. “She doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who does things halfway.”

“No. She’s not.”

“She cares about Cora. That’s real.” Andreja paused. “But so is what she feels for you.”

Sam closed his eyes briefly, guilt and heat rising behind his sternum like a storm.

“I didn’t want to feel anything,” he said. “Not again. Not like this.”

“And yet here we are.”

He looked back at Andreja, something fragile in his eyes now.

“She matters,” he said, barely audible. “More than I was ready for.”

Andreja offered a quiet nod. “Then be ready. Because if she wakes up and you try to play this off like it meant nothing, you’ll hurt her worse than any bullet ever could.”

Sam said nothing.

He just sat beside your cot, watching your breathing rise and fall. His hand hovered inches from yours — not touching, not yet — but closer now.

Chapter Text

The moment your eyelids fluttered open, the silence was suffocating.

The medbay lights were dimmed, humming softly over the low pulse of the ship’s systems. Sterile. Still. Cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.

Sam wasn’t there.

The seat beside the cot was empty, still creased from long hours spent sitting—but long since vacated.

You pushed yourself upright, pain flaring across your side in angry protest. It didn’t matter. What hurt more was the absence.

He'd been there. You knew that.
What you didn’t know was why he left.

You were pulling on your jacket when the hatch hissed open.

Andreja entered quietly, datapad in hand, her sharp eyes narrowing the moment she caught you swaying slightly.

“You shouldn’t be up yet,” she said—calm, but firm.

“I’m fine.”

“Sam left.” Andreja stated, feigning no ignorance.

You didn’t turn around. “I figured.”

She stepped closer, tablet still in hand. “He stayed through the worst of it. Didn’t sleep. Hardly ate. But this morning... he left on a mission.”

You looked at her, throat tightening. “Where?”

There was a beat of silence before she said it. “Outer Rim. Akila sector. With Lillian Hart.”

You didn’t flinch. Not visibly.
But the air in your lungs burned.

“And Cora?” you asked.

Andreja hesitated. “With him.”

You nodded slowly, jaw clenched tight.

Andreja stepped closer. “He didn’t run from you.”

“You sure about that?”

“He didn’t know what to do with what you did for him,” she said quietly. “Didn’t know how to look you in the eye after it.”

That was what undid you a little—how gently she said it. How much she saw.

“It’s alright. He’s free to pursue his own interests,” you said, voice flat.

Andreja didn’t argue.
But she didn’t believe it either.

“Constellation logged a mission callout. Survey team never returned from Tau Cygni. Low threat, bad weather, possible relay interference.” She held the datapad out. “I figured you’d want to move.”

You took it with a nod, grateful for the distraction. “Vasco’s still aboard?”

“Already prepping the cockpit. He volunteered.”

“Of course he did,” you murmured. “He’s the only one who doesn’t ask questions.”

Andreja gave you a knowing look. “He doesn’t need to.”

Two hours later, you were suited up in the cockpit, seated beside Vasco as the ship prepared for launch.

“Captain,” Vasco said smoothly, “I must remind you that your vitals are still fluctuating. However, I understand the importance of psychological equilibrium in human healing rituals.”

You cracked the smallest smile. “This is mine.”

“Very well,” Vasco said. “I shall log this under ‘active recovery.’”

The ship broke orbit, and you watched the stars streak past—points of light blurring into a silent, endless expanse.

You didn’t say it aloud. Not yet.

But somewhere deep down, something in you was still waiting.

Chapter Text

You docked on Stardock without issue, the ship groaning but intact. The mission had been easy—nothing more than a relay calibration and a weather station ping. Simple. Uncomplicated.

Exactly what you’d needed.

A few quiet days with Vasco and silence in the stars had given you time to breathe. Not enough to forget, but enough to stop bleeding. At least on the outside.

You stepped down from the hatch, tugging your jacket tighter against the chill of the bay. A mechanic waved vaguely at the hull. You waved back, already mentally cataloging what needed patching first.

And then he was there.

Sam Coe.

Leaning against the rail at the far side of the hangar, arms folded, boots scuffed like he hadn’t been back long.

Your steps faltered.

He looked… angry. But more than that—concerned. Tired. Like whatever he’d gone looking for hadn’t given him the peace he thought it would.

“You shouldn’t have gone,” he said without preamble. “You weren’t cleared for field work.”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking. “The mission was nothing. A milk run.”

“You still had stitches.”

“So?”

He pushed off the railing, following. “So, you almost died a few days ago, and now you’re out there acting like it didn’t happen.”

You rounded on him. “You’re one to talk. You left like none of it happened.”

He stiffened.

“I didn’t leave because I don’t care,” he said at last.

“Then why?”

His voice lowered, rough around the edges. “Because what I feel for you—it scared the hell outta me.”

You swallowed.

“I stayed at your side for days. Watching you fight just to breathe. And I realized if you’d died saving me, I’d never forgive myself.”

You looked at him—really looked—and saw it in his eyes. That deep, gut-twisting guilt. That fear.

“I didn’t want to feel it again,” he murmured. “But I do. And by the stars, I can’t help it.”

You stepped closer, voice steadier now. “And what about Lillian?”

He didn’t even blink. “She’s the past. I didn’t go with Lillian to run back to something old,” he continued. “I went because it was safe. But safe didn't cut it. The only thing I thought about out there was you. I hated every second I wasn’t by your side.”

You searched his face, but there was no hesitation there. Just truth, raw and open.

“You think I threw myself in front of that gun for anyone?”

He didn’t speak at first. His eyes were burning now, mouth tight like he was holding back everything.

“I did it because I couldn’t imagine losing you.”

Something inside him snapped loose. He moved toward you with purpose, the distance between you erased in a breath.

“You scare me,” he said. “Because you see through me. Because this feels real. And I didn’t know how to hold that without breaking.”

You nodded. “Then stop running. Start figuring it out—with me.”

His hand came up, sliding against your cheek with aching tenderness. But the way he kissed you—stars, it wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate, soul-deep, like he was pouring every second of lost time into you. His hands gripped your face like he never wanted to let go.

When you finally pulled apart, your breath was shaky, and his voice trembled when he whispered:

“I’m not going anywhere. I love you. I should’ve said it the second I knew, and I’ll keep saying it if that’s what it takes.”

You searched his face one last time, and this time, you let yourself believe it.