Page 21 of Technically Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #4)
The empathic connection flares gently between us as he leans in for a kiss, this one tasting of mineral-rich water and contentment.
When we break apart, I realize that whatever the Council expects from this assessment, whatever reports they require about human compatibility and integration potential, the most important discoveries can't be quantified in their databases.
They can only be experienced.
"Come on," Finn says, swimming backward with newfound confidence. "Show me what else I can learn."
I watch him move through the water with growing amazement. The transformation from this morning—when he could barely enter the pool without panic—to now, where he's initiating movement and play, demonstrates adaptability that exceeds even my revised parameters for human resilience.
"Underwater breathing techniques," I suggest, moving closer to him.
"Underwater breathing?" Finn's eyebrows rise. "Isn't that an oxymoron?"
"Breath control," I clarify. "Learning to hold your breath efficiently, to move underwater for short distances. Essential for comprehensive aquatic competency."
"Right. Because I might need to swim underwater on an alien spaceship," Finn says with amusement, but there's genuine interest in his expression. "Okay, show me."
I demonstrate the proper breathing technique—deep inhalation, controlled exhalation, the way to maximize oxygen retention. Finn mimics my movements with focused attention, his scientific approach to learning evident even in this physical skill.
"Now," I say, "we'll try brief submersion. Just a few seconds initially."
"Together?" Finn asks, and there's something hopeful in the question.
"If you'd like."
We submerge simultaneously, and immediately the world becomes different.
Underwater, the bioluminescence in my skin brightens dramatically, creating patterns of light that illuminate the space around us.
Through the empathic connection, I can feel Finn's wonder at the display, his amazement at this new perspective.
When we surface, he's grinning widely.
"That was incredible," he says, water streaming from his hair. "You look like... like living art underwater."
"The mineral content enhances conductivity," I explain, though I'm pleased by his description.
"Can we do it again? For longer this time?"
His enthusiasm is infectious. We spend the next period practicing longer submersions, gentle underwater movement, the way bodies behave differently in aquatic environments. Finn proves to have natural breath control, possibly developed from years of stress management techniques.
"I think," he says during a rest period, floating comfortably with minimal support from me, "this might be the first time I've actually enjoyed learning something physical."
"You weren't encouraged toward physical activities during your development?"
"Foster care isn't really focused on extracurricular activities," Finn says without bitterness. "More about basic survival and staying out of trouble. Plus, I was always small for my age, not particularly athletic. Books and computers were safer."
The casual way he mentions these limitations, the matter-of-fact acceptance, makes me understand something about his character that our research missed entirely. His technical abilities weren't just natural aptitude—they were refuge, safety, the one area where he could excel and find security.
"You're not small now," I observe.
Finn glances at me with amusement. "Compared to you, I'm still pretty small."
"Size is relative," I say, moving closer to him in the water. "Strength comes in many forms."
"Is that Nereidan philosophy?"
"That's observation," I correct. "You solved our assessment scenario faster than any individual in our recorded history.
You've adapted to circumstances that would challenge most people.
You trusted me enough to share vulnerabilities and intimacy despite significant personal barriers.
" I pause, studying his face. "Physical size has no correlation with actual strength. "
He purses his lips and considers this before he speaks. "You have a way of making things sound... significant."
"Because they are significant. You are significant."
The empathic connection flares gently between us as he moves closer, close enough that our legs brush underwater.
"I've never had anyone tell me I was significant," he admits quietly.
"Then they weren't paying proper attention."
Finn's smile is soft, genuine in a way I haven't seen before. "Swimming lessons were definitely the right idea."
"Even though we've spent more time talking than swimming?"
"Especially because of that," he says, then demonstrates his growing confidence by floating backward without my support. "Though I am getting pretty good at this water thing."
I watch him move through the water with fluid grace that suggests natural ability he never had the opportunity to develop. "You are. Remarkably so."
"Good teacher," Finn says, then adds with deliberate casualness, "Plus, I like the way you light up underwater. It's beautiful."
The simple compliment, delivered without expectation or artifice, makes me smile.
"The bioluminescence responds to emotional state as well as physical stimuli," I explain.
"So right now it's responding to...?"
I consider how to explain the complex mixture of satisfaction, attraction, protective instincts, and growing emotional attachment that characterizes my response to him.
"Contentment," I say finally, which is accurate but incomplete.
"Contentment," Finn repeats, swimming closer until we're almost touching. "I like that. I don't think I've ever made anyone content before."
"You make me more than content," I admit, then realize how that sounds. "I mean—"
"I know what you mean," Finn interrupts gently, reaching out to touch the bioluminescent patterns on my chest. "And for what it's worth, you make me more than content too."
The empathic connection carries the truth of his statement, the way our shared experiences have created feelings neither of us expected or planned for.
"The Council expects my report soon," I say, though I'm not certain why I'm bringing up the deadline now.
"Are you worried about what you'll tell them?"
I consider this question seriously. "I'm concerned that the most important findings cannot be quantified in their expected format."
"Such as?"
"Resilience that doesn't appear in statistical analysis.
Adaptability that develops in response to challenge rather than comfort.
The way trust can be built through shared vulnerability rather than proven competence.
" I pause, studying his face. "The possibility that compatibility might be more complex than our assessment parameters anticipated. "
Finn is quiet for a moment, floating beside me as he processes my words.
"What happens if your report doesn't match their expectations?" he asks.
"I don't know," I admit. "The program has specific objectives, measurable outcomes they're hoping to achieve. If my findings suggest their approach needs revision..."
"They might not want to hear that."
"Possibly not."
Finn moves closer, until we're touching in the warm water, the empathic connection humming softly between us.
"Well," he says with a slight smile, "I never was very good at fitting into other people's expectations anyway."
"No," I agree, thinking of everything I've learned about him, all the ways he's exceeded and contradicted every parameter we established. "You're far too interesting for that."
"Interesting enough to be worth revising a few protocols for?"
The question is light, but I can sense the deeper concern beneath it through our connection. He's asking if this—whatever this is between us—is worth potential complications with my duties, my career, my standing with the Council.
"Yes," I say without hesitation. "More than worth it."
His smile transforms his entire face, bright and genuine and beautiful.
"Good," he says, leaning in to kiss me gently. "Because I'm pretty sure you're worth revising a few of my protocols for too."
As we float together in the mineral-rich water, surrounded by soft bioluminescence and the gentle sound of movement, I realize that whatever report I submit to the Council, whatever consequences follow from this assessment, I have discovered something unprecedented.
And I have no intention of letting bureaucratic protocols take that away from either of us.