The medbay smelled like antiseptic, burnt circuits, and someone’s lunch reheated one too many times. Vedek Salvos stood in the doorway, hands tucked in his robe, watching as Dr. Han adjusted a hypospray with the precision of someone used to doing six things at once and caring about exactly half of them.

“Knock,” Tobias said flatly.

“I did,” Salvos replied.

“Well, knock louder next time. Or wear a bell. Something.”

Salvos took a step forward as he looked at the half-disassembled surgical scanner spread out on the med-table. “May I ask why it appears your medical equipment has been converted into what looks like a targeting array?”

“It’s not,” Tobias replied. “It’s a neurological stabilizer. For when Kim inevitably gets shot in the head. Again.”

Salvos walked slowly around the edge of the room. “You jest, but there’s truth beneath it.”

Tobias didn’t look up. “I don’t need a sermon, Father.”

“And I’m not here to preach,” Salvos said, “Only to understand.”

“Then you’re already wasting your time.”

Salvos smiled. “Even wasted time can hold value, Doctor.”

Tobias’s hand paused mid-adjustment. “You always talk like that?”

“It brings comfort to some.”

“Not to me.”

“That is also valuable.”

Tobias finally looked up, “Let me guess. You’re here because you think I’m lost.”

“I think,” Salvos said gently, “that you are adrift. And perhaps pretending the current is your destination.”

Tobias stared at him. “I saved a child yesterday with a piece of wire and an anti-nausea patch. Her lungs were melting. You know what I thought when I saw her vitals?”

Salvos waited.

“I thought, ‘This isn’t the worst I’ve seen.’ That’s who I am now.”

The silence between them was only broken by the hum of the ship.

Salvos didn’t flinch. “And still, you saved her.”

Tobias turned away. “Don’t romanticize it, Father.”

“I’m not. I’m simply… acknowledging the act. Even if you won’t.”

“You ever patch a lung with tape and a desperate prayer?” Han asked.

“No,” Salvos said. “But I’ve stood between a grieving parent and a closed casket. We all tend wounds in our own way.”

Tobias exhaled, “You’re irritating, you know that?”

“So I’m told,” the Vedek said.

From overhead, the ship groaned. “I sometimes think this ship is like its crew,” Salvos mused. “Battered. Loud. Held together by loss, regret, and just enough hope to fly.”

Tobias gave a half-snort. “Poetic.”

“Truth often is.”

Tobias tapped the rebuilt stabilizer, powered it on, and watched it glow green. “It’ll work. Probably.”

Salvos grinned. “Then it is a good day.”

As the Vedek turned to leave, Tobias called after him, “Salvos.”

“Yes?”

The Doctor hesitated, then said, “Thanks for… whatever the hell that was supposed to be.”

Salvos nodded again. “You’re welcome, Doctor.”