The medbay was quiet, the only sounds the faint drip of supplies and the occasional groan of a wounded warrior. You were tending to a minor injury when you felt a presence behind you.

Octavia leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, her usual fierce demeanor in place. “Don’t get distracted,” she warned, though the corner of her mouth betrayed a hint of a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “Since when do you worry about me getting distracted?”

Her eyes flicked to your hands cleaning a wound, then back to you, sharp and calculating. “I don’t. But I don’t want anyone thinking… you know, that I’m soft.”

Soft. The word hung between you, heavy and loaded. “Octavia…” you started, approaching her. “No one needs to know. But why hide this from me?”

Her gaze softened, just slightly, and she turned away, fiddling with the strap of her armor. “Because if they see me like this… if they see me care like this… it’ll make me weaker in their eyes. I can’t have that. I won’t have that.”

You stepped closer, brushing your hand against hers. “Octavia, caring doesn’t make you weak. It makes you… human. And if anyone can’t handle that, it’s their problem, not yours.”

She swallowed, voice low and tight. “I can’t risk it. Not while I’m trying to protect my people. Not while I’m trying to survive. You… you’re a distraction. A dangerous one.”