Chapter 4
4
D espite the persistent pounding in my head, I force myself up off the rec room couch and head down to figure out what in the void is going on down in the med bay.
Esh’et , why didn’t I lock the door to my quarters? I got barely more than five minutes of rest before Bret’u pinged my comm.
At least while I’m down there, I can get some meds for my headache. I try to avoid them when I can help it, but I’m going to be useless if I don’t take care of it, and sleeping it off is clearly not a viable option.
When I step into the med bay, I freeze.
Paul’s unconscious body is sprawled out on the exam table while Bret’u runs a scanner across the human’s hand.
“Do I even want to know what happened?” I ask, letting out a heavy sigh as I step inside.
Bret’u frowns as ze looks up at me. “Your human broke his hand trying to fight me.”
My eyes flare in alarm. “Why were you fighting him?”
“I wasn’t,” ze says with a billowing exhale. “But he kept trying to shoot me with a sedation dart and then punched me when I was setting him on the table so he wouldn’t knock into anything or fall over again.”
I glance back down at the human, who has a small trail of drool coming from his slack mouth. “Right. And he’s unconscious because…?”
Bret’u’s expression grows sheepish, a cloud of vapor emanating from zir breather as ze lets out another heavy exhale.
“Our doctor administered some sedation to your wayward guest when he wouldn’t calm down,” Rema volunteers when Bret’u hesitates to explain the situation.
“I was concerned he’d hurt himself even more in his…antics,” Bret’u says, glancing down at Paul’s bruised, swollen hand.
“Right,” I repeat.
Stars, of all the people I had to kidnap accidentally, it sounds like the one I ended up with is mentally unstable.
He seemed so reasonable last night. Charming, too. Sure, he sobbed into my chest as he told me how lonely he was, but I thought those were just drunken confessions, not the sign of a deteriorated mental state.
Rema shoots me a shit-eating grin, then looks down at Paul splayed awkwardly on the exam table while Bret’u uses one of zir gadgets to heal his hand. “You didn’t tell me it was the human ambassador in your bed. Way to go, you’re really moving up in the world. ”
“What?” I frown. “He’s not the human ambassador.”
He can’t be. I know Mezli mentioned a friend who works at the human embassy, but she couldn’t have possibly meant that friend was the ambassador.
Vash-ka . Did I abduct the human ambassador?
The space behind my ocular implant feels like someone is taking a drill to it and I squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing them, though it does little to help.
“What do you want me to do with your political hostage once I’ve healed his hand?” Bret’u deadpans, and Rema snorts at zir choice of words.
“He’s not a hostage! Esh’et , can this cycle get any worse?” I mutter.
“Hmm maybe… I heard from Tari that she found a skrall shedding in the maintenance duct,” Rema offers unhelpfully.
I give her a withering look, even as I shudder at the thought of those horrible insects potentially taking up residence on the ship. You screech one time when a skrall lands on your head, and your crew ends up teasing you mercilessly every chance they get. “Don’t joke about that kind of thing. I already have a headache.”
“X1-3452, top left drawer.” Bret’u inclines zir chin toward the medical supplies cabinet, not bothering to look up from Paul’s hand as ze continues to work.
Rema gives me an apologetic grimace and holds up a hand as I take a step toward the cabinet. “I’ll get it for you.”
I move around her, ignoring the offer. “I’ve got it.”
“What a shock, Hadrell refusing to let someone help them,” Rema stage whispers to Bret’u. Ze snorts but doesn’t comment.
I ignore them both and scan the contents of the cabinet, my vision in my implant wavering enough that it takes me a while to find the right one. I grab it and head back over to the exam table .
Rema watches me with a furrowed brow. “You should sit down. You look awful.”
“Wow, thanks,” I reply drolly, though the suggestion isn’t a bad one. I pull out a rolling stool and sink down onto it, some of the tension easing in my spine.
Rema wanders over to the water dispenser to get herself a drink, and I curse internally. I should’ve grabbed some water while I was over there. I consider getting up, but the pounding in my skull is too much to bear any longer.
I unceremoniously jab the hypo into my thigh, wincing as the familiar, unpleasant sensation of all the moisture in my mouth drying up that accompanies the meds hits me.
“Here,” Rema says, holding out the cup of water she poured.
“Thanks,” I croak before downing the entire thing, this time the sentiment much more sincere. My oldest friend in the galaxy loves to give me shit, but she’s kind when it counts.
It’ll be a while before the meds take full effect, but at least the sensation of my brain being hammered repeatedly has dulled enough for me to think.
“All done.” Bret’u sets the device in zir hands down and steps back from Paul, who lets out a feeble whimper.
I feel bad for the human. Maybe he’s mentally unstable, but it’s not his fault he’s been hauled to the other side of the quadrant against his will. I only hope that he’ll see reason once the sedatives wear off, because he’s going to be stuck here with us for the foreseeable future.
As much as I’d like to leave him there for a while so I can have a moment to clear my thoughts and take stock of our situation, the sedative won’t last much longer, and giving him more would cross the line from trying to keep him safe to drugging him repeatedly against his will.
“Give him something for the pain and wake him up,” I tell Bret’u.
Ze grabs a hypo and moves to stand over Paul’s prone form again, but I hold a hand up to stop zir. Zir craggy face and smoke breath might not be the best first thing for Paul to see when he comes back to consciousness. Humans are very jumpy, and it’s possible that Bret’u’s appearance caused him to lash out.
It’s common practice for shikzeth who spend most of their time outside the argon-rich atmosphere of their home world to undergo therapeutic breathing treatments. Everyone knows that. Or at least every Consortium species does. You’d think a human moving to a station full of aliens would know that sort of thing, but it’s possible he doesn’t.
Vash-ka , if that scared him, I hate to think how he’d handle going anywhere outside the sanitized bubble of peace and prosperity that Spire presents. I make a mental note to keep him confined to the ship while he’s stuck with us.
“On second thought, I’ll wake him up. He might be less violent if he sees a friendly face. Why don’t you two go check on Val while I deal with this?”
Rema smirks at me. “Sure. Just don’t fuck him the moment you’re alone. Bret’u hates when I bang in the med bay. Even after I proposed ze play doctor with me.”
The shikzeth glares at her, but there’s a telltale sign of embarrassment in the flare of zir nostrils. “It’s unsanitary,” ze replies, then looks between me and Paul. “I won’t presume to tell you what to do on your own ship, but I’d advise against engaging in any sexual encounters with the human until I’m able to do a comprehensive disease screening on him.”
“Might be too late for that, doc,” Rema says with a knowing laugh. I don’t blame her for making the assumption. I’ve had a lot of conquests, and bringing people back to the ship for casual sex isn’t out of the ordinary for me. Though I’m diligent about using protection and staying up to date on vaccines, so Bret’u’s warning is unnecessary.
“We didn’t fuck, and we’re not going to fuck,” I say.
Both Rema and Bret’u give me an incredulous look
“We didn’t,” I huff. “Both of us were far too drunk to consent. We talked and then passed out.”
“Sure,” Rema says, smirking as she heads toward the med bay exit. Bret’u snorts and follows.
“We didn’t fuck!” I call out after them, but they’re already down the corridor and uncaring about my protests.
The memory of Paul’s scraggly beard scraping across my chest as I pulled him into a hug sends a strange shiver of pleasure down my spine. But they don’t need to know about that. They also don’t need to know how good it felt to be held by him as I drifted off to sleep. Or how I absolutely would’ve fucked him if he’d been amenable when we woke up, and had we not needed to flee from Spire so suddenly.
Sex is completely out of the question now. No matter how I try to spin it in my mind, Paul is here against his will. It was an entirely unintentional kidnapping, and one I’d give anything to go back in time and avoid by not bringing him back to the ship last night cycle, but a kidnapping all the same.
And unfortunately, I can’t let him leave. There are no reputable transports back to Spire in this sector that I’d feel safe using, so forget sending a lone human off on one. For obvious reasons, we can’t contact the closest Consortium presence to ask them to help him find a way home. Even if I wanted to take him back ourselves, and if we could somehow avoid getting caught by security that is on high alert looking for us, our ship isn’t capable of making the trip until we get repairs and recharge the jump drive.
Any way I look at it, this human is our guest for at least the next few weeks. Maybe longer.
His lashes flutter as I gaze down at him with a mixture of sympathy and frustration.
A myriad of questions and regrets flicker through my mind.
Why did I have to sit next to him at the reception instead of any other person there?
Why did his mixture of vulnerability and humor have to be so charming?
Why did the tight muscles cording his arms and thighs, and the glint of his smooth white smile, have to make arousal spark deep inside me?
Why did this human have to be so… compelling?
I’ve met countless people from all walks of life in my time traveling the galaxy. On the surface, this human isn’t particularly remarkable. Yet there was something that drew me to his side from across a crowded ballroom. I’m usually magnetized to the person in a room who looks like they’re the most fun, but that certainly wasn’t the case with Paul.
He looked miserable.
Maybe I chose him because I’d promised myself that I was taking a break from meaningless hookups. The enjoyment I used to get from casual sex has drastically waned as of late. Paul looked like the last person who’d be a fun, meaningless lay, which meant he was a safe choice. There must’ve been something about the bonding ceremonies that left me vulnerable to a more melancholy mindset. As soon as he opened his mouth, it was like looking into a mirror, reflecting all the cravings for intimacy that I’ve done my very best to ignore .
Ugh, when will I learn that kind of connection isn’t meant for someone like me?
Paul groans and I have the ridiculous urge to reach out and smooth away the wrinkle on his brow, but thankfully I resist because a moment later his eyes blink open.
My time for contemplating how I ended up in this situation has ended. The answers are irrelevant now, because we’re in this situation and there’s no undoing it. All I can do now is plaster on a soft smile, and pray that he doesn’t freak out or hurt himself again.