Page 35 of Reluctantly Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #3)

Ry'eth

I wake before Owen does, his arm still draped heavily across my waist, his breath warm against my neck.

For several minutes, I simply lie there, cataloging sensations.

The pleasant ache in my body. The lingering traces of his touch on my skin.

The memory of last night still vivid enough to send small pulses of light rippling beneath my skin.

It's an unusual experience for me, this desire to remain still and simply... feel. Typically, I wake and immediately begin my day—no lingering, no indulgence in the comfort of bed. Efficiency has always been my priority.

But this morning, I find myself reluctant to move, to break the connection with Owen's sleeping form.

His face is relaxed in sleep, softer somehow, the slight furrow that often appears between his brows when he's thinking completely smoothed away.

I study him with the same attention I would give a rare specimen, memorizing details I hadn't noticed before.

The faint scar at his temple. The exact pattern of stubble along his jaw.

The way his eyelashes rest against his cheeks.

Eventually, though, I carefully extract myself from his embrace, moving slowly to avoid waking him.

He stirs slightly, mumbling something unintelligible before settling back into sleep.

I stand beside the bed for a moment, watching him, struck by how right he looks there, in my personal space that has never before contained anyone else.

I consider getting fully dressed—my standard protocol upon waking—but instead find myself reaching only for a pair of loose pants, leaving my chest bare. It's a small deviation from routine, but it feels significant somehow. Less formal. More... intimate.

The ship's environmental controls adjust automatically to my movement through the corridors, lights brightening slightly along my path to the nutrition center.

Once there, I instruct the synthesizer to produce the beverage Owen introduced me to during his previous stay—hot chocolate.

The rich, sweet scent fills the air as the dark liquid pours into a mug.

I take a sip, closing my eyes briefly at the sensation. Sweet but not cloying, with a complexity of flavor that still surprises me. A completely unnecessary indulgence that I have, nevertheless, found myself craving since Owen's departure.

Rather than returning to my quarters, I make my way to the hydration chamber.

The large pool that dominates the space glows softly with the mineral-rich water that Nereidans require for optimal health.

I set my mug on the edge and activate the environmental controls, adjusting the atmospheric composition to a balance comfortable for both human and Nereidan physiologies.

I step out of my pants and slide into the water, the familiar embrace of it welcoming and soothing. My skin responds immediately, the bioluminescence brightening slightly as the minerals in the water are absorbed through my pores. I float on my back, looking up at the ceiling, my thoughts drifting.

Last night was... I search for the appropriate terminology and find scientific precision inadequate. Transformative, perhaps. Not just physically, though that aspect was certainly significant. Something deeper changed as well, some shift in my understanding of connection that I'm still processing.

I've never been comfortable with imprecision, with the messiness of emotional responses that can't be quantified or measured. Yet here I am, floating in a hydration pool, attempting to analyze something that defies analysis.

"There you are."

Owen's voice pulls me from my thoughts. I right myself in the water to see him standing at the edge of the pool, completely naked and seemingly comfortable with it. His hair is tousled from sleep, his expression warm as he looks down at me.

"I didn't want to wake you," I explain, suddenly aware of the increased bioluminescence beneath my skin at the sight of him. "You seemed to require additional rest."

He smiles, that particular smile that appears when I say something he finds endearingly formal. "I would have preferred waking up with you still there," he says, "but finding you here is a pretty good second choice."

Before I can respond, he dives into the water with a fluid grace that catches me by surprise. He surfaces close to me, droplets clinging to his eyelashes, his hair slicked back from his face.

"Good morning," he says, closing the distance between us.

"Good morning," I reply, feeling oddly shy despite the intimacy we shared just hours ago.

He seems to sense my unexpected hesitation, because instead of pulling me against him as I half-expected, he simply reaches out to brush a strand of wet hair from my face. "You okay?" he asks.

"Yes," I say immediately, then amend with more honesty, "I am... processing."

"Processing last night?" His hand remains near my face, a light touch against my cheek that sends ripples of bioluminescence across my skin.

"Yes." I lean slightly into his touch, allowing myself this small vulnerability. "It was more... significant than I anticipated."

His expression softens. "For me too," he admits. "I've been with people before, obviously. But that was..." He trails off, seeming to search for words. "Different. Special."

The simple acknowledgment eases something in my chest. "I find myself experiencing a strong desire to kiss you," I tell him, the directness of the statement surprising even me.

Owen's smile widens. "Well, we can't have unfulfilled desires, can we?" he murmurs, closing the last bit of distance between us.

The kiss is gentle, unhurried—nothing like the urgent passion of the previous night. His lips move against mine with careful attention, one hand cupping my face while the other finds my waist beneath the water. My own hands come up to rest on his shoulders, feeling the solid warmth of him.

When we part, I'm glowing brightly enough that the water around us is illuminated with blue-green light. Owen looks at me with such open affection that I feel an unfamiliar tightness in my throat.

"I made hot chocolate," I say, gesturing toward the mug on the edge of the pool. "Though it has likely cooled by now."

"We can make more later," he says, not looking away from my face. "Right now, I just want to be here with you."

"In the hydration pool?"

"Anywhere," he says simply. "As long as it's with you."

The sentiment should seem excessive, hyperbolic. Instead, it sends a wave of warmth through me that has nothing to do with the temperature of the water. "I find that I share that preference," I admit.

Owen smiles, then moves away slightly, floating onto his back. "This feels amazing," he says, eyes closed as he drifts. "No wonder you need this every day."

"The mineral content provides essential nutrients that are absorbed through the skin," I explain, falling back on scientific fact out of habit. "It's particularly important for maintaining proper bioluminescent function."

"Mmm," Owen hums, clearly not particularly interested in the scientific details at the moment. "It just feels good. Like floating in the ocean, but better."

I watch him for a moment, struck by how comfortable he seems in an alien environment. Then, making a decision, I move to float beside him, our shoulders just touching as we drift together.

"This is nice," he says after a while, his hand finding mine beneath the water. "Just being here. No rush."

"Yes," I agree, surprised to find I mean it. I, who have always prioritized efficiency and productivity, am enjoying simply... being. Floating in water with no purpose beyond the pleasure of it. "It is nice."

We stay that way for some time, occasionally shifting positions but always maintaining some point of contact—a hand, a brush of legs, a shoulder.

At one point, Owen pulls me against him so my back is to his chest, his arms around my waist as we float together.

The position should feel constrictive but instead feels secure, grounding.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, his voice close to my ear.

"The unexpected comfort of inefficiency," I reply honestly.

His laugh vibrates against my back. "Only you would phrase it that way," he says, but there's obvious affection in his voice. "Most people just call it relaxing."

"Relaxing," I repeat, testing the word. "Yes, I suppose that is the common terminology."

"And how do you feel about this relaxing business?" he asks, his hands tracing patterns on my abdomen that match the bioluminescence flowing beneath my skin.

"I find it has certain merits I had not fully appreciated before," I admit.

"High praise," he teases gently, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. "Coming from you."

We fall into comfortable silence again, the only sounds the gentle lapping of water against the edges of the pool and our synchronized breathing.

I find myself calculating how long we've been floating here—approximately 37 minutes of unstructured time that I would previously have considered wasteful.

Now, though, I find myself reluctant for it to end.

There will be time later for assessments, for measurements, for the formal evaluation protocols that are ostensibly the purpose of these seventy-two hours.

For now, I am content to float in Owen's arms, my skin glowing with a steady, peaceful light that reflects off the surface of the water around us.

"Owen?" I say after a while.

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

I consider the question carefully. "For teaching me that efficiency is not always the optimal approach."

His arms tighten slightly around me, and I feel him smile against my hair. "You're welcome," he says simply. "Though for the record, I think you're pretty perfect exactly as you are—efficient tendencies and all."

The words create a sensation in my chest that I can't quite name, but that sends waves of bioluminescence pulsing outward from my heart. Not for the first time since meeting Owen Hayes, I find myself at a loss for precise scientific terminology.

And not for the first time, I find I don't particularly mind.