Page 41 of Technically Abducted
I stop, because the words I want to use—partner, beloved, the person who changed everything about how I understand connection—feel too large, too soon, despite everything we've shared.
"I'm what?" he asks, and there's a challenge in his voice.
Instead of answering with words, I step closer and kiss him. Gentle, questioning, trying to communicate what I can't articulate. The empathic connection flares between us, carrying my confusion, my regret for causing him distress, my growing feelings that have no proper classification.
When we break apart, some of the tension has left his shoulders.
"I have no framework for understanding your experiences," I admit. "In Nereidan society, children who lose their creator-parents are immediately embraced by extended family networks. Community support ensures seamless transition to stable, loving environments. The idea of temporary placements, multiple moves, lack of consistent emotional security..." I pause. "I can't comprehend how such a system developed or why it persists."
Finn studies my face for a long moment. "You really don't get it, do you?"
"No," I say honestly. "I don't."
Something in his expression softens. "It's not supposed to be like that. The system is supposed to provide safety and stability. Sometimes it does. Sometimes people get lucky and find families who actually care." He shrugs. "Sometimes they don't."
"And you didn't."
"Not particularly, no." Finn moves back toward me, some of the defensive distance dissolving. "But I survived it. Made it work. Figured out how to take care of myself."
The casual way he dismisses what must have been significant trauma makes my heart break for him and the child he once was.
"Come on," Finn says suddenly, taking my hand. "Let's get out of here."
"Where?"
"Back to the pools," he says, and there's something lighter in his voice now. "I believe someone promised me swimming lessons, and we got a little... distracted."
The suggestion surprises me. "You want to return to the water?"
"I want to actually learn to swim this time," Finn says, pulling me toward the door. "Plus, your research can wait. I'm more interesting than whatever's in those files."
His confidence, the way he's choosing to redirect away from difficult topics toward shared activity, shows resilience that our data analysis completely failed to capture.
"Yes," I agree, allowing him to lead me from my quarters. "You're infinitely more interesting."
The hydration chambers welcome us back with warm, humid air and the gentle sound of water. This time, I'm less concerned with proper instruction protocols and more focused on the way Finn's expression lightens as we enter the space.
"So," he says, beginning to remove his clothes with far less hesitation than before. "Actual swimming lessons this time?"
"If you're certain you want to learn."
"I'm certain I want to try," Finn corrects, stepping into the intermediate pool. "There's a difference."
I follow him into the water, noting how much more comfortable he seems this time. The fear that marked his first experience has been replaced by determination and trust.
"The basic principle is buoyancy," I begin, moving to stand beside him. "Your body naturally wants to float. The challenge is learning to work with that tendency rather than fighting it."
"Okay," Finn says, though I can see the way his hands want to reach for the pool edge. "What's the first step?"
"Learning to trust the water," I say, extending my hands toward him. "And learning to trust me."
Finn looks at my outstretched hands, then at my face. "I do trust you."
"Then let me support you while you practice floating."
What follows is an hour of gentle instruction, patient guidance, and gradual confidence building. Finn is a quick learner when he's not paralyzed by fear, and his natural adaptability serves him well in the water. By the end of our session, he's managed several meters of independent movement, though he still prefers to stay within easy reach of support.
"Not bad for someone who was terrified of water this morning," he says, floating on his back with my hand supporting his lower back.
