Page 46 of Reluctantly Abducted
That earns me a tiny smile, just a slight upward curve of his lips. I reach up and carefully wipe away the tears that have escaped, my thumb gentle against the delicate skin beneath his eyes.
"Protocol doesn't say anything about this," he murmurs, the light beneath his skin pulsing in complex patterns of emotion.
"I don't think either of us is following protocol very well right now," I reply.
I lean in and press my lips softly to his eyelids, tasting the slight salt of his tears. Then I kiss his cheeks, following the trail the tears have left. Finally, I find his mouth, capturing his lips with mine in a kiss that tries to say everything we're not ready to put into words.
We kiss like drowning people gasping for air, like we're trying to memorize each other through touch alone. His skin blazes beneath my hands, bright enough to see even through closed eyelids. I back him against the wall, my body pressed against his, trying to eliminate any space between us. His fingers tangle in my hair, his other hand sliding down to the small of my back, pulling me closer.
It's desperate and messy and perfect, and I want to stay in this moment forever. I've never been kissed like this, like I'm essential, like I'm being memorized. Not in fifteen months of marriage, not in any relationship before or since. Just here, just now, with someone who isn't even from my planet.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. The blue-green glow beneath Ry's skin is so intense it's almost white in places, pulsing with the rapid beat of his heart. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated, his usual composure completely shattered.
"That was..." he begins, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words.
"Yeah," I agree, resting my forehead against his. "It was."
The ship's systems emit the three-tone chime we've come to dread, followed by an automated voice: "Transport sequence initiating. Subject should proceed to transport chamber."
Ry steps back, his professional demeanor slipping back into place like armor, though his skin still pulses with light. "We should go. The timing is precise."
I nod, not trusting my voice. I take one last look around the small room that's been my home for three days. Nothing here belongs to me. Nothing here is mine to take. Except for the memories, which I'll carry like precious contraband, and the small vial of stones secured against my hip, my only tangible proof that any of this happened.
We walk in silence through the corridors, our footsteps echoing in the empty spaces. The ship feels different somehow, colder, more alien than it has since that first disorienting day. Or maybe it's just that I'm seeing it through the eyes of someone who's leaving, never to return.
"Remember that first day?" I say, trying to fill the oppressive silence. "When I shoved you and you hit your head?"
"I remember," Ry replies, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You looked so angry. And then suddenly you were examining me with such... professional intensity."
"Combat medic training dies hard," I say, returning his smile. "See injury, treat injury. Even if it's on the alien who just abducted you."
"I'm grateful for that training," he says softly. "And not just because of the head injury."
Something in his tone makes me stop walking. We're in an empty corridor, halfway to the transport chamber. "What do you mean?"
He turns to face me fully, his scientific detachment slipping again. "You approached everything with that same care. Even me. Even when you had every reason to be hostile." His skin pulses with light, emotion breaking through his careful control. "You saw problems and tried to fix them. You saw pain and tried to heal it."
"It's just what I do," I say, uncomfortable with the sudden intensity of his gaze.
"It's who you are," he corrects. "And I've never met anyone like you, on any world."
The admission hangs between us, heavy with implications neither of us can voice. I reach for him, drawing him into my arms. He comes willingly, his body molding against mine like it was designed to fit there. I bury my face in the curve of his neck, breathing in his alien scent, committing it to memory.
"Three days," I murmur against his skin. "How can three days feel like this?"
His arms tighten around me. "I don't know," he whispers. "But I feel it too."
We stand there, holding each other in the empty corridor, the countdown to my departure ticking away relentlessly in both our minds. I've never been good at goodbyes. In the military, you learn to compartmentalize, to shut down the part of yourself that grieves for what's lost. But this feeling refuses to be contained or categorized.
I pull back slightly, just enough to look at his face. "Kiss me again," I say softly. "One more time."
He doesn't hesitate. His lips find mine, cool and alien and somehow more familiar than any kiss I've known before. There's desperation in it, and resignation, and something else I'm afraid to name. His skin glows brilliantly against mine, light pulsing between us like a physical manifestation of the connection we're about to sever.
When we finally separate, I keep hold of his hand as we continue walking toward the transport chamber. The small act of defiance feels important, a reminder that whatever happens next, what we shared was real.
The transport chamber is a circular room with a platform in the center, surrounded by equipment I couldn't begin to understand. Unlike the rest of the ship we've explored together, this room feels cold and sterile. Clinical.
I step onto the circular pad, turning to face Ry one last time. He stands at the edge of the room, his posture rigid, his expression once again carefully neutral. Only the chaotic patterns of light beneath his skin betray what he's feeling.
