Page 15 of Reluctantly Abducted
He is perceptive for a human, especially one with military training. Combat medic, the title itself is a contradiction. Trained both to heal and to harm.
Yet when I was injured, his first response was to help me, despite having every reason to see me as an enemy. Despite having been abducted and finding himself in an unfamiliar place.
The water ripples around me as I turn to float face-down again, letting the mineral-rich liquid fully contact my back. I should be focusing on the hydration process, not analyzing the human's behavior.
Still, there's something undeniably interesting about him. The way he acknowledged human environmental failures instead of defending them. His surprising insight. The casual competence with which he checked my condition.
The way his hands felt against my skin when he examined my injury.
I push that thought away immediately. This is exactly why proper rest and hydration are essential, to prevent such irrelevant tangents from distracting from the assessment work.
I roll onto my back again, eyes opening to study the curved ceiling above the pool. The assessment. I still need to complete my initial report, documenting the first twenty-four hours of human-Nereidan interaction. The analysis should be straightforward: documenting physical responses, environmental variables, communication effectiveness.
It should not include observations about the way Owen's eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when he's actually amused rather than just mocking. Or how differently he says my name versus the shortened version he uses to get a reaction. Or the unexpected gentleness in his voice when he finally told me I could sleep.
Definitely not relevant to the assessment.
I close my eyes again, focusing on the sensation of water against my skin, the steady flow of light beneath the surface. The hydration process is about half done. Another fifteen minutes, and I can return to my duties feeling normal again.
I don't hear the door open. Sound travels differently underwater, and I'm floating with my ears submerged. My first clue that I'm not alone anymore comes when I feel the slight change in water pressure, a gentle ripple across the pool.
My eyes snap open to find Owen standing at the edge of the hydration chamber, watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
I jolt upright in the water, crossing my arms over my chest even though there's nothing in Nereidan physiology that needs hiding. The gesture is purely psychological, a response to being caught in a vulnerable moment.
"What are you doing here?" My voice comes out sharper than I intended.
"Looking for you," he says simply. His eyes scan the hydration chamber with obvious curiosity. "You disappeared. I wanted to make sure you weren't passed out somewhere."
"As you can see, I'm perfectly fine." I stay in the center of the pool, unwilling to come closer to the edge where he stands. The water distorts the view of my body, but I'm very aware of being completely uncovered while he remains fully clothed. The imbalance is... uncomfortable.
"So this is a swimming pool?" he asks, crouching down to trail his fingers through the water. "Seems fancy for a research vessel."
"It's a hydration facility," I correct automatically. "We need regular water immersion to function properly."
"Like amphibians?" There's no mockery in his tone, just genuine curiosity.
"The comparison isn't perfect but it's not entirely wrong." I drift backward slightly, keeping my distance. "Our skin absorbs essential minerals and conducts bioelectrical processes more efficiently in water."
"So you literally need to soak regularly or you dry out." He nods, as if this makes perfect sense to him. "That explains why your skin seemed different yesterday. You were dehydrated."
The observation startles me. I hadn't expected him to notice such a subtle change. "Yes. Essentially."
He studies me for a moment, his gaze lingering on the light patterns visible beneath my skin. They're more prominent now, flowing in ways they don't when I'm dry. More vibrant. More revealing.
I feel another ripple of light move across my chest in response to his scrutiny and silently curse my lack of control.
"It looks different underwater," he says. "The glowing thing. More... fluid."
"Bioluminescence," I provide, if only to redirect the conversation to something scientific. "The patterns are linked to our neural pathways and circulation. Water conductivity enhances the visibility."
"It's beautiful," he says simply.
The unexpectedness of the comment sends another wave of light cascading across my skin. I have no prepared response for such a direct observation.
"I should leave you to it," he continues, mercifully changing the subject. "How long do you need to... hydrate?"
"About twelve more minutes for optimal function."
