Chapter Thirteen
Vel'aan
The afternoon sun beats down on us as we work through Section F, the last of the storm-damaged areas.
Alex moves through the water with more confidence now, his movements less clumsy, more purposeful.
He's learned to read the zhik'ra's health by touch, to identify which clusters need full removal versus careful pruning.
I surface beside him, watching droplets of water run down his chest, catching in the hair there before continuing their path downward.
Even after this morning—the mortifying family encounter, the possessive display I still can't believe I made, the way he dropped to his knees afterward—I still want him with an intensity that surprises me.
"You're staring," he says without looking at me, a smile playing at his lips.
"You stared first. This morning."
"Fair." He turns to face me, treading water easily now. "But can you blame me? You're gorgeous when you're wet."
My bioluminescence flares with pleased purple-gold, and his grin widens.
"See? Beautiful." He swims closer, close enough that our legs brush underwater. "That was quite a display this morning."
"Don't," I groan, but through the bond I feel his genuine delight about it.
"I'm just saying, I didn't know you had it in you." He reaches out, fingers tracing along my jaw. "The way you pulled me against you when Kar'on touched me? Your parents didn't know what to do with themselves."
"It was completely inappropriate."
"It was both protective and possessive and I loved every second of it." His thumb brushes my lower lip. "The bond makes everything more intense, doesn't it?"
Before I can answer, voices carry across the water. Other farmers, working their own sections, but close enough to see us. I pull back, aware of appearances.
"Oh, that reminds me," Alex says. "Finn sent a message a few minutes ago. He invited us for dinner tonight."
"Finn and Tev'ra?" My gut twists at Tev'ra's name.
"Yeah, figured we could use some friendly faces after this morning's family drama." He studies my expression. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just..." I dive under, using the excuse of checking a lower cluster to avoid his questions.
Tev'ra was my trainee in the program, before. Before the accident. Before my spectacular failure that left a human youth in agony. He was young, eager, constantly asking questions about human culture that I pretended to have answers to.
When I surface, Alex is waiting, concern flowing through our bond.
"What aren't you telling me?" he asks directly.
"I knew Tev'ra. Before." I focus on the zhik'ra, cutting away dead growth with perhaps more force than necessary. "I was his mentor in the program."
"Before you left," he says, stating the obvious.
"Before I failed," I correct him "Because I took a human child and nearly killed him with withdrawal." The words taste bitter even now. "I had no business being in a program meant to help humans when I couldn't even execute a simple assessment properly."
"Vel'aan—"
"We should finish this section before dark." I dive again, but he follows, grabbing my arm underwater and pulling me back up.
"Stop running from this conversation." His eyes are intense, concerned. "You didn't fail. You saved my life."
"I caused you pain."
"You didn't know. How could you? Withdrawal isn't exactly covered in interspecies protocols." He cups my face with both hands. "You saved me from a life that was killing me slowly. The withdrawal was going to happen eventually, better with medical help than on the streets."
Through the bond, I feel his sincerity, his complete lack of blame. It doesn't ease the decade of guilt, but it helps.
We work for another two hours, making good progress despite the distractions. Every time we surface near each other, there's a charge between us, an awareness that makes even innocent touches feel loaded with promise.
As the sun starts to sink, we make our way back to shore. Other farmers call out greetings, some curious, some knowing. News of our bond has clearly spread.
"Everyone's staring," I mutter as we reach the platform.
"Let them. I'm the human who tamed the reclusive Vel'aan." He winks. "Or was it the other way around?"
"You're impossible."
"You love it."
The worst part is, I do.
We clean ourselves separately, despite Alex's suggestive looks—and change into dry clothes. The walk to Tev'ra's dwelling feels longer than it should, my anxiety building with each step.
"It'll be fine," Alex says, taking my hand. "It's just dinner with friends."
Friends. I haven't had those in a decade either.
When Tev'ra opens the door, his face lights up with genuine pleasure.
"Vel'aan." He doesn't bow, doesn't stand on ceremony, just smiles. "It's good to see you. Really see you, not just glimpse you at the markets or catch a moment of you visiting Alex here."
"Tev'ra." I manage a nod. "Thank you for the invitation."
"Happy to have you here, old friend." He steps aside to let us in. "Finn! They're here!"
The other human appears from what must be the kitchen, carrying a tray of something that smells sweet and yeasty. "Hey! Finally got you out of those fields long enough for dinner."
"The storm damage won't fix itself," I say, but I'm already relaxing slightly. Finn's easy manner has that effect.
"How bad was it?" Tev'ra asks, gesturing for us to sit. "We could see the waves from here during the worst of it."
"Section F took the brunt," Alex says, settling beside me. "We've been rebuilding the support structures all week. Vel's been teaching me how to read the health patterns in the zhik'ra."
"You're really committing to the farming life," Finn observes, pouring drinks. "Definitely different from hacking and working on code and systems."
"Turns out I prefer working with living things that actually grow. "
"Plus the view is likely better," I add, surprising myself with the attempt at humor.
"The view?" Tev'ra asks.
"He means me. Shirtless. Wet. Working." Alex grins. "I'm decorative and functional."
Tev'ra suppresses a laugh, then looks at me. "The Council told me. About what happened. What you thought happened versus what actually happened."
My whole body goes tense. "Tev'ra—"
"You saved him," Tevra says simply. "That sixteen-year-old boy needed help, and you gave it to him. The fact that you blamed yourself for his withdrawal, something you couldn't have known about or prevented, just proves what I already knew—you care too much, feel too much."
"Is that why you let Alex stay here?" I ask. "Because you knew?"
"I let Alex stay because he needed a place." Tevra smiles. "But maybe I also hoped he'd find you. That you'd finally stop punishing yourself for something that wasn't your fault."
"Okay, this is getting heavy," Finn interrupts, but his tone is kind. "I made bread. From the synthesizer, but still. And we have that fermented fruit drink that's basically alien wine. Let's eat and gossip instead of having feelings everywhere."
The tension breaks. We settle around their table—an odd mix of human and Nereidan design—and share food that's similarly hybrid. The bread is definitely Earth-style, but the spreads are local. The fermented fruit drink is sweet.
"So the parents," Finn says, pouring another round. "Tell me everything."
Alex launches into the story, embellishing dramatically. By the time he gets to me kissing him possessively in front of everyone, even I'm laughing.
The evening continues with easy conversation, shared laughter, the kind of simple socializing I haven't done in so long.
Finn tells stories about Earth that have us all laughing, Tev'ra shares program gossip that I pretend not to find fascinating, and Alex and I explain the zhik'ra farming that's become our shared work.
"You know they're looking for humans to join the program officially," Tev'ra mentions as we're finishing dinner. "Paid positions, helping with cultural exchange."
"Yeah?" Alex sounds interested but not eager.
"I might apply," Finn says.
"You'd be good at it," Tev'ra agrees, his patterns warm with affection. "You're naturally diplomatic."
"I'm naturally nosy now that I'm not so stuck in survival mode," Finn corrects. "But that probably helps too."
"What about you?" Tev'ra asks Alex.
Alex looks at me, and I feel his contentment through the bond. "I'm good where I am. The zhik'ra won't tend themselves."
"You want to be a farmer?" Finn sounds incredulous. "You had a tech job on Earth."
"And now I have this." He takes my hand. "The work's physical, outdoors, with my partner. What more could I want?"
The sincerity in his voice, in our bond, makes me smile.
"You're both saps," Finn declares. "Complete romantic saps."
We stay late, later than I've been awake in years. When we finally leave, I'm slightly unsteady from the fermented fruit, and Alex has to guide me home through the bioluminescent pathways.
"That was nice," I say as we navigate the floating walkways. "Having friends."
"We can do it more often. If you want."
"I want." I lean into him. "I want a lot of things I didn't think I'd want again."
"Like what?"
"Social evenings. Shared meals. Someone to come home to." I pause. "You. Mostly you."
He stops walking, pulls me close. "You have me. Completely."
"Even when my family's difficult?"
"Especially then." He kisses me under the bioluminescent street lights, not caring who might see. "Come on, let's get you home before you fall in the water."
"I don't get that intoxicated from fruit."
"Sure you don't." But he keeps his arm around me as we walk, and I let him.
My dwelling comes into view, glowing softly in the darkness. Our dwelling, I correct myself. Alex's few belongings have already begun to migrate here—a shirt draped over a chair, his scent on my sleeping platform.
"Stay," I say as we reach the entrance, though it's unnecessary. Of course he's staying.
"Always," he says simply, and through the bond I feel he means it.
My family will be back tomorrow with more questions. People will gossip about us for weeks. But tonight, Alex is here, I have friends again, and for the first time in ten years, I feel complete.