Page 23 of Technically Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #4)

The casual way they express interest in my culture, like it's something valuable rather than alien and strange amazes me.

"Has Tev'ra prepared vel'thani for you yet?" Vel'tha asks suddenly.

I look at Tev'ra, who appears confused. " Vel'thani ?"

"A traditional comfort preparation," Mor'en explains. "Nutritionally dense, with complex flavor profiles that most species find appealing. Particularly suitable for guests experiencing environmental adjustment."

"I am unfamiliar with that preparation," Tev'ra admits, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Of course you are," Vel'tha says with fond exasperation. "You've been living on research rations and synthesized efficiency meals for years. I'll send you the preparation instructions immediately."

"That's really not necessary—" I start to say.

"Nonsense," Mor'en interrupts kindly. "Proper hospitality requires ensuring guest comfort and nutrition. Besides, vel'thani is quite delicious. We think you'll enjoy it."

The matter-of-fact way they discuss taking care of me, like it's the most natural thing in the world, is both overwhelming and wonderful. I've never had adults who weren't paid to care about me express concern for my wellbeing.

"Thank you," I say, and mean it more than they probably realize.

"How are you finding the hydration facilities?" Vel'tha asks. "Tev'ra mentioned you were learning aquatic navigation techniques."

"Swimming lessons," I clarify. "And they're going well, thanks to Tev'ra's patience."

"Patience is essential for proper instruction," Mor'en observes. "Though I suspect our offspring has found the experience as educational as you have."

There's something in their tone that suggests they know more about what's been happening between us than Tev'ra's probably told them directly. Which should be embarrassing, but somehow isn't.

"Your son is an excellent teacher," I say honestly.

"He comes from a long line of educators and researchers," Vel'tha says proudly. "Seven generations of our family line have contributed to various knowledge advancement projects."

"What kind of research do you do?" I ask, even though I know from Tev'ra. I want to hear it from his parents too.

"I specialize in interspecies nutritional compatibility," Vel'tha explains.

"Ensuring optimal health outcomes when different species share environments or resources.

We have learned so much about different species through this program, though humans have proven to be the most adaptable, as well as some of the most challenging. "

"And I focus on technological integration methodologies," Mor'en adds. "How different species can successfully adapt and utilize unfamiliar technological systems."

"So you both work in areas relevant to what Tev'ra's doing here," I realize.

"Indeed," Mor'en says. "Though his work represents a far more comprehensive approach than our individual specializations. We are quite proud of his advancement to such a significant assessment role."

The pride in their voices is unmistakable, and I can see how it's shaped Tev'ra into someone who takes his responsibilities seriously while still caring about the people affected by his work.

"We should allow you to return to your assessment activities," Vel'tha says after a few more minutes of conversation about human food preferences and technological adaptation strategies.

"But Finn Sullivan, please know that you are welcome to contact us if you have questions about Nereidan culture or if there's anything you need for your comfort during the assessment period. "

"Thank you," I say again. "It was really nice meeting you both."

"The pleasure was entirely ours," Mor'en says warmly. "Take care of yourself, and take care of our offspring as well."

The holographic projections fade, leaving Tev'ra and me alone in the suddenly quiet quarters.

"That was..." I start, then realize I don't have words for what that was. "Your parents are really nice."

"They are pleased to have met you," Tev'ra says, though there's something in his expression I can't quite read. "I believe you made a favorable impression."

"They were worried about you getting hurt on this assignment," I say, the realization settling fully. "Not just professionally. Personally."

"Creator-parents concern themselves with all aspects of their offspring's wellbeing," Tev'ra says carefully.

"And now they're concerned about both of us."

Tev'ra doesn't deny it, which is answer enough.

I settle back against the seating platform, processing what just happened.

For a few minutes, I experienced what it might feel like to have adults who care about my wellbeing just because I exist, not because they're paid to or obligated to.

Adults who are curious about my life and want to make sure I'm eating enough and adapting well to new circumstances.

It's overwhelming in the best possible way.

"Thank you," I say quietly.

"For what?"

"For sharing them with me. For letting me see what good parents actually look like." I pause. "For letting me be part of something normal, even temporarily."

Tev'ra moves closer, settling beside me on the platform. "There was nothing temporary about their interest in your wellbeing, Finn. That was genuine care."

"I know," I say, and somehow I do know. "That's what makes it so..." I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence. Wonderful? Terrifying? Life-changing?

"Significant?" Tev'ra suggests softly.

"Yeah," I agree. "Significant."

We sit in comfortable silence, and I find myself thinking about family—the kind I never had, the kind Tev'ra was lucky enough to grow up with, the kind that apparently extends care to strangers just because their son finds them interesting.

For the first time in my life, I understand what I've been missing.

And for the first time in my life, I'm not entirely sure I want to keep missing it.

"Thank you," I say again, turning to face Tev'ra fully. "Really. That meant everything."

He reaches up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "They care about you already. That's not something that happens often with my species."

"It doesn't happen often with humans either," I admit. "At least not for me."

When he leans in to kiss me, it's soft and warm and perfect—not driven by desire this time, but by something deeper. Affection, gratitude, the kind of connection that has nothing to do with physical need and everything to do with finally understanding what it means to be cared for.

When we break apart, I settle against his side, his arm coming around me naturally. The empathic connection hums gently between us, carrying contentment and warmth.