Page 13 of Reluctantly Abducted
"That is not what I asked," he says, echoing my earlier words with what might almost be humor. "Why did you choose to heal rather than harm?"
The question hits closer than I expected. I've been both weapon and healer, sometimes in the same firefight.
"Bold of you to assume I didn't do both," I reply, avoiding his gaze by studying the stars outside the window. "Combat medic. It's right there in the job title. Combat first, medic second."
"Yet when I was injured, your first instinct was to provide medical assistance, despite the fact that I had abducted you."
I look back at him, surprised by the observation. "Force of habit."
"Perhaps." There's something evaluating in his gaze now. "Or perhaps your natural inclination is toward preservation rather than destruction."
The conversation has taken an unexpectedly personal turn, and I'm not sure I like being analyzed by the alien I'm supposed to be monitoring. Time to redirect.
"Ry," I say deliberately, watching the familiar flare of light beneath his skin. "You're getting philosophical. Must be the head injury."
He stiffens slightly. "I have told you—"
"That your species is resistant to cerebral trauma, yeah, I know." I wave a dismissive hand. "But humor the primitive human doctor, would you?"
He subsides, the energy of our debate fading. It's been over four hours since I started monitoring him, and nearly six hours since our meal in the nutrition center. His eyes look normal, no dilation or irregularity, and he's shown no concerning symptoms besides the extreme fatigue, which is perfectly understandable after being awake for so long.
"Hey, Ry," I say, my voice gentler this time. The nickname still triggers the glow, but his reaction is more subdued. He's running on empty.
"I am awake," he insists, though his eyes are barely open.
"I think we can call it," I decide, checking the time on a nearby display. "Your eyes look good, no confusion or disorientation beyond normal fatigue, no nausea or memory issues. The risk window for serious complications has passed."
"You are concluding your medical assessment?" There's cautious hope in his voice.
"Yeah. You're in the clear." I stand up. "But you need actual sleep now."
He attempts to rise but sways slightly, steadying himself against the table. Thirty-six hours without sleep plus a head injury would knock anyone on their ass, apparently even an alien with superior physiology.
"I will complete the report first," he insists, though he can barely keep his eyes open.
"The report can wait," I say firmly. "Doctor's orders."
He looks like he wants to argue, but fatigue wins out. He nods once, then starts to take a step and wobbles again.
I move to his side, ready to catch him if necessary. "Let me help you back to your quarters."
"Unnecessary," he murmurs, but he's swaying on his feet. "This location is... adequate."
Before I can respond, he sinks back down onto the couch-like seating we've been occupying. His eyes drift closed almost immediately, his body going slack as exhaustion finally claims him.
"Or you could just crash here," I say to his now-sleeping form. "That works too."
For a moment, I just stand there, watching him. Asleep, with his features relaxed and that perpetual look of irritation gone, he appears younger than I initially thought. Almost vulnerable. It's a stark contrast to the prickly, formal alien who greeted me with scientific detachment just hours ago.
I should leave him there, head to my own quarters now that my medical duty is fulfilled. But something stops me. The common area isn't designed for sleeping, the temperature feels cooler than it should be for rest, and the lights haven't dimmed despite the late hour.
I look around until I spot what appears to be a storage compartment in the wall. I open it, finding what I hope is the alien equivalent of a blanket, a softly glowing material that feels warm to the touch.
I return to the couch and carefully drape the blanket over Ry'eth's still form. He doesn't stir, already deeply asleep, but I notice the subtle patterns of light beneath his skin shift slightly in response to the added warmth.
"Night, Ry," I say quietly, and for once, using the nickname doesn't seem like teasing. It feels almost... affectionate.
I dim the lights using the control panel by the door, then glance around the common area. There's another couch-like seating arrangement on the opposite side of the room. I could easily go back to my quarters, but what if his condition changes during the night? Head injuries can be unpredictable, and after thirty-six hours without sleep, he might not wake up naturally if something went wrong.
