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I suspected her sceptical nature had developed, probably unconsciously, to protect her from her challenging surroundings. The thought made me ache. My eyes went to one of the injured Heartfins, only visible away from the plants in its tank because we weren’t nearby. I knew what the Heartfin had suffered, in the storm-whipped seas. I didn’t know what she’d suffered, and it surprised me that I wanted to.

As I worked, I considered what I’d learned of her, and whether it was worth pushing through the barrier of the universal translator to try to gather more information.

“Do you have a lifepartner?” I asked her. The thought had barely even condensed in my mind before it had slipped from my traitorous lips, and I felt heat climb up my suddenly aching neck. She’d said she had no one, but did that mean they had passed on? Was she grieving, and that was why she was so withdrawn?

“No,” she said. Just one word. The tone was firm, and the statement final. Her shoulders were hunched over, like she had digestive issues, and her movements were aggressive as she finished up with the patients’ food.

She must have had a period-partner who treated her poorly. The rush of anger that swept through me took me off guard but I used it to fuel my work on the net, sorting and searching faster. The rope ran through my hand, a little stiff now it was dry. A frayed part caught my attention, but it wasn’t in the section I was searching. If I was doing this, I may as well do it properly.

From her place by the bench, she let out a noise of relief and stretched her spine. The movement made the damp fabric stretch tight over the soft folds of her body and I felt all the suckers on my digits contract in response. The net tangled up against me, piles of it falling awkwardly. She glanced over at the noise and, humiliated, I tried to extract myself.

The leg she’d been sitting on unfurled from beneath her like the graceful leaves of a freynza, reaching out toward the moons at night. “Are you adequate?” she asked me.

Adequate to what? I couldn’t grasp all of her at once. There was so much softness that it would overflow my hold. I hadn’t reallytried,before. Not to hold her against me, to swim together, tangled up and tender. I’d held her like an injured party, yes. Not like a potential-partner. But I could adequately cradle her, I was sure of it. Our anatomy would work. I knew it would.

“Dreamdiver?” she asked, and hearing the words on her tongue made me jolt. That was my name, as she heard it. “Are you adequate?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, and finally my suckers released and the tangled mess fell at my feet. I ruffled the fins on my legs, trying to settle. “To assist you?” She was crossing to me, an awkward hopping shuffle that made my protective instincts compete with the desire to watch her body jiggle appealingly. “You will injure your limb further if you continue to move like this. The medicine stops it from hurting, but does not knit together bone.”

She let out a quick noise that sounded frustrated and reached out, steadying herself against me. The digits on her hand were both strangely firm and simultaneously limited. “I’m moderate quality,” she told me, and I managed, somehow, not to object. “Are you?”

“Am I moderate quality?” She was so close I could see the strangely beautiful pinkish brown tone of her skin and the deeper brownish orange flecks in the blue in her eyes.

Translator,I reminded myself. “Is your pain manageable?” I asked her, the words struggling to free themselves from my aching throat.

A smile split her face and my suckers flexed again against nothing, helplessly. “My health is moderate quality. What occurred with the net?”

There were words in my head but I wasn’t getting them out. I just reached over, trying not to fumble and hoping I wasn’t visibly shaking, offering her the offending tangle.

She frowned, her brow creasing in a way that made her round cheeks sit lower against her facial structure. I wondered what that roundness would feel like beneath my suckers. I wondered what it might feel like…beneath my lips.

“You require repairing of this item?” she asked me. “Can I assist?”

I nodded, mute.

Her firm-but-limited fingers grasped the threads with more confidence than I’d expected. “Where does the weave reside?” she asked. I stood and, wordlessly, retrieved the rope that I’d brought to do the repairs. Her broken limb stretched out along the floor and her small, bony digits grasped the rope firmly. “I do this for recreational activities frequently,” she said, and the words were cheerful. Then she paused and looked up at me. “Do I have permission?”

There was no chance of a word escaping through my throat. She looked unnatural, sprawled on the ground like that. But her eyes were huge and her throat bare, her hair curling softly to provide a beautiful frame for it.

Her lips rolled inward and the bottom flesh was caught between sweet little teeth. She worried at the surface as if it was irritating her. I tore my eyes away and removed myself physically, my body throbbing.

I’d seen the scans of her body. I knew exactly how we could fit together. But she was injured, and in my care.

Behind me I heard her working steadily on the net, the slip and slide of the twisted fibres slipping against the rock. I stored the food she’d prepared and busied myself until I had myself in hand. It took far longer than it should’ve. Long enough that I’d begun to be concerned for her energy levels. Which was hypocritical of me, considering what I’d wanted to do to her earlier.

My sanctuary in order, I found she’d made surprisingly quick progress with the net. With a clearer head, I was able to enjoy the sight of her digits deftly dancing over the twisted threads. The places she’d repaired would’ve been imperceptible if not for the way the colour had leeched from the old net.

“That looks wonderful,” I said, pleasantly surprised.

She smiled up at me, and it felt like the first touch of the water on my feet in the morning. “As I communicated, I do this frequently for recreation. Notthis.” She flopped the net. “But similar, at home.”

I shook my head, hope blooming in my chest. I struggled to contain it. “Are you willing to return tomorrow to help?”

“Without question,” she agreed, and held up her hands to me. “Can you assist?”

Bracing myself, I wrapped my digits around her arms and helped lift her to her one working limb. “We’ll get some dinner,” I told her, my mind returning to the issue of the stew I’d prepared and its impact on her. It shouldn’t be strong enough to keep her awake, but I wasn’t sure. “I will ready you a different meal. It may take some time.” Tiredness dragged at me, but she kept a hand on me as she hopped along awkwardly, and I was grateful for the slower pace as we crossed the sanctuary.

“I don’t brain,” she said.