Page 30

Kav'eth

I wake before the ship initiates the morning light cycle, which gives me precious minutes to simply observe.

Derek is draped across my chest like he belongs there, his head tucked beneath my chin, one arm thrown possessively over my torso.

His breathing is deep and even, his body completely relaxed against mine in a way that suggests absolute trust. The geometric patterns of his tattoos are stark against his skin in the dim lighting, and I find myself wanting to trace every line with my fingers, to map the intricate designs that flow across his shoulders and down his back.

But it is not the physical intimacy that has left me fundamentally altered. It is the emotional connection—the way he looked at me, spoke to me, touched me as though I were his sole focus in the universe. As though nothing else mattered.

I have never been anyone's priority. Not in the way Derek made me his priority last night.

The realization should not be as overwhelming as it is.

I am a diplomatic officer, trained in emotional regulation and professional detachment.

I understand the biological and psychological mechanisms behind pair bonding.

I know that intense intimate experiences can create temporary feelings of attachment that fade with time and distance.

The problem is that this does not feel temporary.

This feels permanent. Essential. Like something I cannot live without.

The environmental controls begin their gradual wake cycle, slowly brightening the ambient lighting to simulate natural sunrise.

Derek stirs against me, making a soft sound as consciousness returns.

His arm tightens around my torso, and through our empathic bond I feel his contentment, his satisfaction with exactly where he is.

"Morning," he murmurs against my chest, his voice rough with sleep. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long," I lie, my hand automatically moving to stroke through his hair. The texture is fascinating, soft and slightly unruly from sleep, warmer than I expected human hair to be.

Derek lifts his head to look at me, and I am struck again by the directness of his gaze. Even half-awake, there is an intensity to his attention that makes my bioluminescence pulse involuntarily.

"I can feel your brain working overtime through the bond," he observes with a slight smile. "What's going on?"

The empathic connection works both ways, I remind myself. He can sense my emotional state just as clearly as I can sense his. There is no point in attempting diplomatic evasion.

"I have been considering our situation," I admit carefully.

"Our situation?"

"The assessment was scheduled to conclude today. Protocol requires that you return to Earth to consider your decision regarding the partnership program." I pause, watching his expression carefully. "I find myself... reluctant to implement that protocol."

Derek's eyebrows rise slightly. "Reluctant how?"

This is where my diplomatic training fails me completely. How does one articulate that the thought of separation, even temporary separation, creates something approaching panic? How does one explain that three days have somehow become insufficient to contain what has developed between us?

"I do not want you to leave," I say simply, abandoning all pretense of professional detachment.

Derek's smile is soft and knowing. "Good," he says, settling back against my chest. "Because I don't want to go."

The immediate relief his words provide is embarrassing in its intensity. "You... do not require time to consider your options?"

"Kav'eth," Derek says, his voice warm with amusement, "I made my decision when you cooked me comfort food from your childhood and let me call my ex to figure out my shit. Everything since then has just been confirmation."

"But your life on Earth. Your career. Your apartment, your belongings, your familiar environment—"

"Can all be replaced," Derek interrupts. "What I can't replace is this." He lifts his head again, meeting my eyes with complete certainty. "I can't replace you. I can't replace what we have. And I sure as hell can't go back to my old life knowing what I'd be giving up."

The words settle something fundamental in my chest that I had not realized was unmoored. "You are certain?"

"I've never been more certain of anything." Derek shifts position, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look down at me properly. "The question is, what happens next? Do we need to contact the Council? Get permission for me to come to your planet? Figure out living arrangements?"

"We would need to request authorization for your transport to the homeworld, yes. And there would be integration protocols, language learning programs, cultural orientation..." I trail off, realizing I am already mentally cataloging the logistics of Derek's permanent relocation.

"Kav'eth," Derek says gently, his hand coming up to cup my face. "Are you making plans for both of us without asking what I want?"

The question stops me short. "I... yes. I apologize. I should have asked what you wanted before—"

"Hey." Derek's thumb strokes across my cheekbone. "I want you to make plans. I want you to be excited about this. I want you to think about our future together. Just... make sure you check in with me, okay? This is a partnership. We make the big decisions together."

The correction is gentle but important, and I feel a flush of embarrassment at my presumption. "You are correct. What would you like to do?"

Derek grins, leaning down to kiss me softly.

"I'd like you to contact your Council and tell them they've got themselves a new human resident.

I'd like to start learning your language properly.

I'd like to see your world." He pauses, his expression becoming more serious.

"And I'd like to figure out how to build a life with you that works for both of us. "

"Together," I clarify, making sure I understand the parameters he is establishing.

"Together," Derek confirms. "Every step of the way."

The certainty in his voice, the matter-of-fact way he speaks about our shared future, sends my bioluminescence flaring in patterns that I am learning to recognize as pure joy. This human, this impossible, direct, utterly fearless human, has chosen me. Has chosen us.

"I should contact the Council this morning," I say, my mind already moving through the necessary protocols. "I will need to file a formal report on the assessment outcome and request authorization for your transport to the homeworld."

"What will you tell them?" Derek asks, settling back against my chest, apparently content to let me handle the diplomatic aspects.

"The truth. That the assessment exceeded all expectations.

That you demonstrate exceptional adaptability, emotional intelligence, and compatibility with Nereidan physiology and culture.

" I pause, my hand stroking through his hair again.

"That I formally request permission to proceed with permanent partnership integration. "

"Sounds very official," Derek says with amusement. "Will they approve it?"

"The Council authorized this assessment because they believed you represented optimal partnership potential. The data supports that conclusion." I hesitate, then admit, "Though I suspect they did not anticipate the emotional... intensity of the connection we have formed."

Derek lifts his head to look at me again. "Are you worried they'll disapprove?"

"Not disapprove, precisely. But they may require additional evaluation periods, extended integration protocols, formal partnership negotiations..." I realize I am cataloging potential obstacles and force myself to stop. "Whatever they require, we will address it. Together."

"Together," Derek agrees, then grins. "Though I have to say, if they try to send me back to Earth for more 'consideration time,' I might have to stage a very polite rebellion."

The image of Derek attempting diplomatic protest makes my bioluminescence pulse with amusement. "I do not believe that will be necessary. The Council values efficiency above all else. If you are certain of your decision, they will likely expedite the integration process."

"Good. Because I meant what I said, I don't want to waste any more time apart." Derek's expression grows more serious. "How long does this kind of thing usually take? The transport, the integration, all of it?"

"Typically? Several months of preparation, language training, cultural orientation, living arrangement establishment.

.." I trail off as Derek's eyebrows rise.

"But given the unique circumstances, and the fact that we have already established compatibility, the timeline could potentially be compressed. "

"Potentially?"

"I will emphasize the urgency of the situation when I speak with the Council," I say carefully. "The success of this partnership represents significant value to the program. Delays serve no beneficial purpose."

Derek's smile is knowing. "You're going to argue for fast-tracking based on political value, aren't you?"

"I am going to present a logical case for efficient resource allocation," I correct with dignity that makes Derek laugh outright.

"I love your diplomatic brain," he says, leaning down to kiss me again. "But I also love that you want me there badly enough to argue politics with your superiors."

The casual way he says 'I love' sends warmth spreading through my chest. Everything about this conversation, this moment, this decision feels natural in a way that defies all my training about measured partnership development.

"When will you contact them?" Derek asks.

"The Council convenes for morning briefings in approximately two hours ship time. I can request priority audience for urgent assessment updates." I pause, studying his expression. "Are you prepared for this to become very real, very quickly?"

"Kav'eth," Derek says, his voice gentle but certain, "this became real the moment I decided I trusted you more than I trusted my old life. Everything else is just paperwork."

The simplicity of his perspective, the way he reduces complex diplomatic processes to their essential elements, continues to amaze me. Perhaps this is what I have been missing in my approach to partnership evaluation, the understanding that emotional connection transcends institutional frameworks.

"I love you," I tell him, the words feeling more complete each time I say them.

Derek's smile is radiant. "I love you too. Now let's go convince your Council that they want me around permanently."

"We," I correct gently.

"We," Derek agrees, settling back against me with obvious contentment. "Though I'm probably going to let you do most of the talking. Something tells me 'hey, your guy's amazing in bed and I want to keep him' isn't the most diplomatic approach."

My bioluminescence flares with embarrassed amusement, and Derek laughs at my reaction.

"Too direct?" he asks innocently.

"Perhaps we will focus on the compatibility assessments and cultural integration potential," I suggest with as much dignity as I can manage while thoroughly flustered.

"Whatever you think is best," Derek says agreeably. "You're the diplomat. I'm just the guy who's stupidly in love with you."

And despite all my training in emotional regulation and professional composure, I find myself grinning like the lovesick fool I have apparently become.

Two hours. In two hours, I will contact the Council and formally request permission to build a life with this extraordinary human.

I am no longer afraid of what they might say. Derek has chosen us, and I have chosen him. The rest is simply logistics.