Page 17

Kav'eth

I wake before Derek, which is a mercy I desperately need.

In the soft pre-dawn lighting of my quarters, I can see him sprawled across my chest, one arm thrown possessively over my torso, his breathing deep and even.

The geometric patterns of his tattoos are stark against his skin in the dim light, and I have vivid, visceral memories of tracing every line with my tongue.

This is a problem.

This is a significant, career-ending, species-endangering problem.

I extract myself from beneath him with careful precision, using years of diplomatic training to move without disturbing his sleep.

The empathic bond we discovered last night has dimmed to a faint awareness in the back of my mind, but it's still there, a warm constant that shouldn't exist, that violates every principle of professional assessment protocol.

The sonic cleansing unit removes all physical evidence of our encounter, but it cannot address the deeper issue. I can still feel the echo of Derek's responses, still taste his skin, still hear the way he commanded me to touch myself while he—

"Focus," I command myself aloud, reaching for my formal attire with movements that are perhaps more aggressive than strictly necessary.

The mirror reflects a Nereidan diplomat in perfect regulation dress. Hair arranged according to Council standards. Expression composed and professional. Bioluminescence controlled to regulation patterns that reveal nothing of the chaos beneath.

Excellent. I can salvage this situation through proper compartmentalization and renewed commitment to assessment protocols.

I move to the workstation and activate the formal reporting interface, my fingers hovering over the input controls as I attempt to formulate appropriate documentation of last night's... activities.

Subject demonstrated significant physiological compatibility during intimate contact assessment. Empathic bonding phenomenon observed, suggesting potential for successful long-term partnership integration.

The words are clinical, professional, completely inadequate to describe what actually occurred.

How does one formally document the moment when every carefully constructed wall of professional composure crumbles completely?

How does one quantify the sensation of losing oneself so thoroughly in another being that individual identity becomes temporarily irrelevant?

One does not. One maintains appropriate boundaries and continues with proper assessment protocols.

I delete the entry and start again.

Day two assessment parameters proceeding within expected ranges. Subject adaptation to ship environment continues to exceed projections.

Better. Factual without unnecessary detail.

The sound of movement from the sleeping area makes my fingers freeze over the controls.

Derek is waking, and I am not prepared to face him yet.

Not prepared to maintain professional composure while looking at him, while knowing exactly how he tastes, while feeling that persistent warm awareness of our connection humming in the background of my thoughts.

"Good morning, gorgeous."

His voice is rough with sleep but warm with satisfaction, and the endearment makes my carefully controlled bioluminescence flicker before I can stop it. I do not turn around.

"Good morning, Derek. I trust you found the sleeping accommodations adequate for your rest requirements."

Even I can hear how formal and distant I sound. Derek, unfortunately, is not particularly susceptible to subtle social cues about maintaining appropriate boundaries.

"Adequate?" I can hear the amusement in his voice as he moves behind me, and every muscle in my body tenses when his hands settle on my shoulders. "Pretty sure 'adequate' isn't the word I'd use for what happened in that bed."

"The sleeping period concluded successfully," I manage, keeping my eyes fixed on the workstation display. "Today's assessment schedule includes—"

"Kav'eth." Derek's hands move to the base of my neck, and I cannot suppress the involuntary shiver when his fingers find the spot where my hair meets my collar. "Look at me."

"I am reviewing today's parameters," I tell him, though the words sound strained even to my own ears. "Proper preparation is essential for maintaining assessment efficiency."

"Bullshit."

The blunt assessment makes me stiffen, but Derek's hands remain gentle as they work their way up to tangle in my hair. When he tugs, not hard, just firm enough to provide the pressure that apparently my nervous system has decided it craves, my eyes close involuntarily.

"Better," Derek murmurs, his voice closer now. "There's my diplomat who completely lost his mind last night."

"I did not lose—"

He tugs again, and the words die in my throat as that warm pressure sends heat straight through my nervous system. Through the empathic bond, I can feel his satisfaction at my response, his understanding of exactly what that gentle pressure does to my carefully maintained control.

"You did," Derek says with absolute certainty. "You lost your mind, and it was fucking beautiful. And now you're trying to put all those walls back up like it didn't happen."

"Appropriate professional boundaries are necessary for—"

"Kav'eth." His hand tightens in my hair, and through the bond I feel his patience mixing with something deeper, something that makes my chest feel tight. "Turn around and look at me."

I should refuse. I should maintain position and continue with proper assessment documentation. I should remember that I am a Council member with duties that extend far beyond personal desires.

Instead, I turn.

Derek's face is serious, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes me want to look away. He's still naked from the waist up, the geometric patterns of his tattoos flowing across his chest in mathematical precision that suddenly seems like the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

"There you are," he says softly, his hand still tangled in my hair. "I was wondering where you went."

"I have not gone anywhere. I am precisely where proper protocol dictates I should be."

Derek's mouth quirks into something that is not quite a smile. "Bullshit. You're scared about last night so you're hiding behind all that formal crap again."

The accuracy of his assessment makes my bioluminescence flicker again, and I know he can see it. Know he can probably feel my emotional state through our connection, which makes maintaining deception effectively impossible.

"The empathic bond," I say carefully, "was an unexpected development that requires proper evaluation and documentation."

"The empathic bond," Derek corrects, "was incredible, and you're terrified because you've never felt anything like it before."

"I am not terrified," I begin, but Derek's expression stops me.

"I can feel it, Kav'eth. The fear, the panic, the way you're trying to lock everything down and pretend it didn't happen." His thumb traces along my jaw, and I lean into the touch before I can stop myself. "But whatever else you do, whatever walls you try to put back up, you can't run from this."

"I am not running. I am maintaining appropriate professional standards."

"You're running," Derek says with absolute certainty. "Problem is, we're on a single ship in the middle of space, and I'm not letting you hide from me. Not after last night."

The quiet determination in his voice makes something in my chest tighten with what might be relief or might be terror. Through the empathic bond, I can feel his resolve, his intention to pursue this connection regardless of my attempts to retreat.

"Derek," I begin, but I'm not certain what I intend to say.

"I know this is new," he says, his hand still gentle in my hair.

"I know it probably goes against every protocol you've ever learned.

But that bond between us? That's real. What happened last night was real.

And you can try to pretend it was just part of your assessment all you want, but we both know that's bullshit. "

"The assessment parameters—"

"Fuck the assessment parameters." Derek's voice is soft but completely uncompromising. "This isn't about your assessment anymore, and you know it."

He's correct, and the knowledge terrifies me more than I am prepared to admit. This stopped being about assessment the moment I lost control completely in his arms, the moment that empathic connection flared to life between us and made deception impossible.

"I don't know how to do this," I admit quietly, the words escaping before I can stop them.

Derek's expression softens immediately. "That's okay. Neither do I. But we'll figure it out together."

"This is not how diplomatic assessments are supposed to proceed."

"Good thing this isn't a diplomatic assessment anymore," Derek says, leaning closer until his forehead rests against mine. "This is just you and me, figuring out what this thing between us means."

Through the empathic bond, I can feel his certainty, his willingness to explore this connection regardless of protocols or procedures. It should be alarming. It should make me reassert proper boundaries and return to professional conduct.

Instead, it makes me want to surrender control all over again.

"Derek," I say, his name rough in my throat.

"I'm right here," he tells me, his hand tightening in my hair. "And I'm not going anywhere. So quit this shit and fucking deal with it."

The choice should be obvious. Professional duty, species responsibilities, proper conduct protocols. Everything I have been trained for, everything I am supposed to prioritize above personal desires.

But Derek's touch in my hair, the warmth of his skin against mine, the steady presence of our empathic connection, it all makes proper choice seem less important than the simple desire to lean into this feeling instead of fighting it.

"I am supposed to be assessing your compatibility for integration into Nereidan society," I tell him.

"Then assess away," Derek says with a grin that makes my chest feel warm. "But you're going to have a hard time doing that objectively when you're already bonded to me."

The reminder of our empathic connection makes my bioluminescence pulse brighter, and Derek's grin widens as he obviously feels my emotional response through the bond.

"See? Can't hide from me anymore, gorgeous. So what's it going to be? Professional distance, or are you going to stop fighting this and let me make you breakfast?"

The casual domesticity of the offer, combined with the endearment that makes my nervous system respond in ways that have nothing to do with proper protocol, creates a moment of such cognitive dissonance that I cannot formulate an appropriate response.

"Breakfast," I manage finally.

"Good choice," Derek says, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead before releasing me entirely. "Though fair warning, I'm making it my way this time. None of that synthesized nutrition paste bullshit."

As he moves toward the food preparation area, humming something under his breath, I remain standing beside the workstation with my formal assessment half-complete and my entire understanding of proper professional conduct in complete ruins.

But watching Derek move around my quarters with easy confidence, feeling the warm awareness of our connection humming in the background of my thoughts, I find that the ruins do not distress me quite as much as they probably should.

Perhaps proper assessment protocols are somewhat overrated.