“I am on base for the return-to-duty review this afternoon,” she said. “The cafeteria was short two people, and Denise asked if I would cover breakfast while I waited.”
Denise nodded.
Ryan stared at the badge, then at Maya.
“You should have identified yourself.”
Maya’s expression changed.
“Before or after you grabbed my wrist?”
Nobody moved.
Ryan’s jaw tightened. “I did not know who you were.”
“That is exactly the problem.”
The sentence took the energy out of the room.
Maya stepped around the counter.
Ryan shifted backward as if he expected confrontation. Instead, she looked at his right hand.
“Open your fingers.”
“No.”
“Then I am asking as a physician, not as a cafeteria worker.”
“You are not my doctor.”
“Correct. Which means you can refuse. But if you plan to handle weapons, drive, or supervise training today, somebody responsible for your medical readiness needs to know you have a tremor and intermittent grip weakness.”
His face reddened.
“I said I am fine.”
Maya glanced at the narrow scar beneath his cuff.
“That scar crosses the pathway where the radial nerve can be affected. The tremor may be compensation, nerve irritation, pain, or something else. I cannot diagnose it from across a coffee counter. I can tell you it deserves an examination.”
Ryan pulled his sleeve down.
“Stay out of my medical history.”
“I would like to. You brought it into a public room when you lost control of the cup.”
A chief petty officer near the line stepped forward.
“Lieutenant, medical is two buildings over. I can walk with you.”
Ryan turned on him. “Nobody asked you.”
Maya saw the same reaction again: the flash of threat, then the effort to restore control before anyone could interpret weakness.
She understood more than she wanted to.
“Ryan,” she said.
