Page 12 of Alien Attachment
His expression shifts, something fierce and almost angry flickering in those luminous eyes. “You are wrong.”
The certainty in his voice makes something in my chest tighten. I turn away, unable to bear the naked emotion in his gaze. “Just... let me finish the repairs.”
He retreats to the edge of our bond’s reach, a silent sentinel in the shadows. I force my attention back to the stabilizer, working methodically to seal the remaining cracks. My mind, however, refuses to focus entirely on the task. It keeps circling back to the feeling of being held, protected, seen in a way I haven’t been in years—maybe ever.
It’s terrifying. And I need it to stop.
When the repairs are complete, I pack up my tools without a word and head back to the upper deck, Jhorn following like a silent shadow. In the brighter light of the main corridor, I turn to face him, decision made.
“I need to run a full diagnostic on the ship’s systems,” I say, the lie coming easily. “And I should probably check you for internal injuries from when you burned yourself earlier. The medbay has scanning equipment.”
He tilts his head, studying me with those too-perceptive eyes. “I am undamaged. Regeneration is complete.”
“We should check anyway,” I insist, avoiding his gaze. “ApexCorp might have installed... I don’t know, tracking devices or something. We should know what we’re dealing with.”
He considers this, then nods slowly. “Logical precaution.”
I lead him to the medbay, my heart hammering as I prepare to do something that will probably haunt me later. But I need space. I need time to think without his constant presence, his overwhelming emotions bleeding into mine.
I need to remember who I am when I’m alone.
4
The Space Between Us
Kaylee
IleadJhornintothe medbay, my heart hammering as I prepare to do something that will probably haunt me later. The compartment is barely large enough for two people, making every movement an exercise in not brushing against him. Which is harder than it should be, considering how much space his presence seems to take up.
“Lie down on the scanner,” I instruct, gesturing to the narrow examination bed while trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll run a full bio-scan.”
He complies without question, stretching his large frame on the bed with fluid grace. The movement draws my attention to the way his jumpsuit strains across his chest, and I quickly look away, focusing on the control panel. The tentacle connecting us extends to accommodate the distance as I move to the scanner controls.
“This will take a few minutes,” I say, activating the scanner and watching as blue light passes over his body. “Just... stay still.”
I edge toward the door, my pulse quickening with each step. “I need to check something in the corridor.”
I step outside before he can respond, slapping the door control. It slides shut with a hiss, and I quickly override the lock, sealing him inside. The tentacle connecting us stretches uncomfortably through the small gap I’ve left in the door, but the distance is just within tolerance.
A wave of confusion hits me through the bond, quickly followed by understanding, then hurt so profound it makes my knees buckle. I lean against the opposite wall, breathing hard, fighting the foreign emotions flooding my system like a tide of alien sorrow.
“Kaylee?” His voice comes through the intercom, steady despite the turmoil I can feel raging within him. “You have locked me in.”
“I need space,” I say, my voice tight with guilt and desperation. “I can’t think with you constantly... there. Just stay put for a while. I’ll let you out later.”
There’s a long pause. Then, softly: “As you wish.”
The wave of loneliness that follows nearly brings me to my knees. It’s vast, echoing, like the memory of an endless void—a solitude so complete it feels like death itself. Cold and dark and empty in ways that make me want to claw at the walls just to feel something real. I slam my mental defenses against it, pushing away from the wall and stumbling toward the cockpit like I’m fleeing a crime scene.
Which, in a way, I am.
“Lila, monitor the medbay,” I order as I collapse into the pilot’s chair, my hands shaking as I grip the armrests. “Alert me if he tries to break out.”
“Acknowledged,” the AI responds with her usual maddening calm. “Subject appears to be complying with containment. No evidence of escape attempts. However, I should note that his bio-readings indicate significant emotional distress.”
“I don’t need a psychological profile, Lila. Just make sure he stays put.”
“Understood.”
