“Feels the same.”
“I know.” And something in her voice said she really did know. That she carried her own guilt about things that weren’t entirely her fault.
We stood there in her office as dawn light started filtering through the windows, two people who’d built their entire lives around control and competence because the alternative was falling apart.
Two people who somehow made each other’s careful control feel less like survival and more like strength.
“Same time tomorrow?” I asked.
“Same time,” she agreed. “And Beau? Thank you. For the coffee and the routine and the ten minutes. It helps. It helps more than I can express.”
I left before I could do something stupid like tell her she was helping me too. That the morning routine with her was the first thing I’d looked forward to in three years. That knowing she’d be there, drinking coffee and planning her day, made waking up at five feel less like running from nightmares and more like running toward something worth having.
The rest of the day passed in the usual rhythm of station life. Equipment checks. Training drills. Maintenance on the engines. Captain Rhodes asked how I was doing with my “morning coffee friend” in a tone that suggested she knew exactly what was happening even if I didn’t want to acknowledge it.
“She’s good company,” I said, which was the truth without being the whole truth.
“Uh-huh. And that’s why you’ve been smiling more in the past six weeks than you have in the past three years.”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
That evening, I got a message in the group text from Silas.
Lunch with Sable tomorrow. She seems tired. Anyone know if she’s okay?
I thought about the shadows under her eyes this morning. The way she’d reached for the coffee like it was keeping her together.
My reply was honest.She looked exhausted this morning. Mentioned it’s been a long week.
Dane’s response came quickly.I’ll check in. Make sure she’s not overworking.
Silas typed back.Be subtle about it. She doesn’t like being told to take care of herself.
I smiled despite myself. We’d all learned that lesson independently. Sable was better at taking care of everyone else than she was at accepting care for herself.
My phone buzzed again, this time with a direct message from Dane instead of the group text.
Her car’s been having issues. I saw her checking the battery yesterday. I’m going to make sure she has a ride if it dies.
Just like Dane to notice things from a distance and have a plan before the problem even materialized. It should have been annoying. Instead, it was reassuring to know all three of us were watching out for her in our own ways.
I typed back.Good. Let me know if she needs anything.
The next morning, Thursday, Sable looked even more exhausted than she had Wednesday. But she was at her desk by six-fifteen, same as always, and she smiled when I walked in with coffee.
“You’re a lifesaver,” she said, taking the cup with both hands like it was precious.
“Bad night?”
“Didn’t sleep well. Too much on my mind.” She took a sip, then looked at me over the rim of her cup. “Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“Do you ever feel like your body knows something your brain doesn’t want to accept?”
The question was strange enough that I actually thought about it instead of giving an automatic answer. “Sometimes. Usually, it means I’m avoiding something I need to face.”
She nodded slowly, like I’d confirmed something she’d been thinking. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
