Page 43 of Technically Abducted
"That's observation," I correct. "You solved our assessment scenario faster than any individual in our recorded history. You've adapted to circumstances that would challenge most people. You trusted me enough to share vulnerabilities and intimacy despite significant personal barriers." I pause, studying his face. "Physical size has no correlation with actual strength."
He purses his lips and considers this before he speaks. "You have a way of making things sound... significant."
"Because they are significant. You are significant."
The empathic connection flares gently between us as he moves closer, close enough that our legs brush underwater.
"I've never had anyone tell me I was significant," he admits quietly.
"Then they weren't paying proper attention."
Finn's smile is soft, genuine in a way I haven't seen before. "Swimming lessons were definitely the right idea."
"Even though we've spent more time talking than swimming?"
"Especially because of that," he says, then demonstrates his growing confidence by floating backward without my support. "Though I am getting pretty good at this water thing."
I watch him move through the water with fluid grace that suggests natural ability he never had the opportunity to develop. "You are. Remarkably so."
"Good teacher," Finn says, then adds with deliberate casualness, "Plus, I like the way you light up underwater. It's beautiful."
The simple compliment, delivered without expectation or artifice, makes me smile.
"The bioluminescence responds to emotional state as well as physical stimuli," I explain.
"So right now it's responding to...?"
I consider how to explain the complex mixture of satisfaction, attraction, protective instincts, and growing emotional attachment that characterizes my response to him.
"Contentment," I say finally, which is accurate but incomplete.
"Contentment," Finn repeats, swimming closer until we're almost touching. "I like that. I don't think I've ever made anyone content before."
"You make me more than content," I admit, then realize how that sounds. "I mean—"
"I know what you mean," Finn interrupts gently, reaching out to touch the bioluminescent patterns on my chest. "And for what it's worth, you make me more than content too."
The empathic connection carries the truth of his statement, the way our shared experiences have created feelings neither of us expected or planned for.
"The Council expects my report soon," I say, though I'm not certain why I'm bringing up the deadline now.
"Are you worried about what you'll tell them?"
I consider this question seriously. "I'm concerned that the most important findings cannot be quantified in their expected format."
"Such as?"
"Resilience that doesn't appear in statistical analysis. Adaptability that develops in response to challenge rather thancomfort. The way trust can be built through shared vulnerability rather than proven competence." I pause, studying his face. "The possibility that compatibility might be more complex than our assessment parameters anticipated."
Finn is quiet for a moment, floating beside me as he processes my words.
"What happens if your report doesn't match their expectations?" he asks.
"I don't know," I admit. "The program has specific objectives, measurable outcomes they're hoping to achieve. If my findings suggest their approach needs revision..."
"They might not want to hear that."
"Possibly not."
