6. Clair
CLAIR
Naturally, when she got back to the lab later on, there was a new rule added to the whiteboard.
Clair was tempted to be irritated…but then she remembered again how panicked he had been when she’d spilled the molecular solvent on herself and how quickly he’d rushed to save her. Honestly, she really should have asked before using the solvent. So she supposed she could tolerate the latest rule.
Maybe Kaelus wasn’t treating her like a naughty child with his rules—maybe, just maybe, he was only trying to keep her safe. Though he certainly had a lot to learn about manners and people skills, she thought.
After the solvent incident, the big Hybrid was gruffer than ever.
It was as though he thought revealing that he cared if she got hurt or not had somehow softened his image and he had to make up for it.
But despite his gruff demeanor, little things started happening that made Clair wonder if her growly lab partner might not be all bark and no bite…
The first thing she noticed was the shelves.
It was about three days after the solvent incident and Clair was running late, which meant she came rushing into the lab with her hair still slightly damp from her morning shower, her satchel hanging halfway off one shoulder, and a large cup of coffee clutched in one hand.
She was already mentally cataloging the seven different things she needed to accomplish that morning and wondering if she had enough nutrient medium prepared to transfer the samples she'd been growing overnight when she stopped dead in front of her workstation.
Something was different.
At first she couldn't figure out what it was.
Everything looked approximately the same—her plants were still grouped haphazardly along the counter under their individual grow lights, her files were still stacked in leaning piles which she knew drove Kaelus crazy, and the three small terra-cotta succulents she'd brought from Earth were still lined up beside her coffee station.
Then she looked at the shelves and realized that nearly everything she used on a regular basis had been moved.
Her bottles of plant growth formula, which had been stored on one of the upper shelves, were now sitting neatly at eye level.
So were her nutrient solutions, her box of sterile specimen jars, and the little case which contained the specialized cutters she used to harvest delicate botanical samples.
Even the extra rolls of sealing film she'd had to climb onto a stool to reach the week before were now arranged in a precise row where she could get to them without so much as stretching.
Clair slowly put down her coffee.
“Kaelus?” she asked, turning toward the other side of the lab.
The big Hybrid was bent over the Molecular Resonance Analyzer, apparently absorbed in whatever he was doing. He didn't turn around.
“What?” he asked shortly.
“Did you rearrange my shelves?” Clair asked.
“No,” he said.
Clair raised her eyebrows and looked at the shelves again. Then she looked at him.
“Really?” she asked. “Because yesterday my growth formula was up there.” She pointed toward the highest shelf. “And now it's down here.”
Kaelus made some adjustment to the analyzer and glanced up briefly.
“The previous arrangement was inefficient,” he said. “Especially since you continue to break Rule number four and refuse to ask for my help to reach things that are beyond your ridiculously short stature. I was afraid you’d fall and kill yourself.”
Clair felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“Oh, I see,” she said. “So you did rearrange them.”
He frowned.
“I did not say that.”
“You just said the previous arrangement was inefficient.”
“It was,” Kaelus said.
“And now it's more efficient because I don't have to climb anything to get what I need,” Clair pointed out.
He looked over his shoulder at her.
“It is also safer,” he growled.
“Aha!” Clair exclaimed, pointing at him. “I knew it!”
Kaelus frowned.
“You know nothing.”
“Oh, I know plenty, sweetie-pie,” Clair told him, smiling as she crossed her arms over her breasts. “You moved everything down because you don't want me climbing the shelves anymore.”
“I moved nothing for you specifically,” he said stiffly. “I merely reorganized the storage area to facilitate a more logical flow of laboratory activity.”
“Uh-huh,” Clair said.
“It was necessary.”
“Of course it was, honey-bun.”
“And if this prevents you from behaving like some kind of deranged tree-dwelling creature and attempting to scale the shelving again, then that is an incidental benefit.”
Clair grinned.
“Why, Doctor Kaelus,” she said sweetly. “I think you were worried about me.”
“I was worried about my shelves,” he protested.
“Which are bolted to the wall,” Clair pointed out.
“They could still have been damaged.”
“By my big fat ass?” Clair asked dryly.
His golden eyes flashed.
“I have told you before that I find nothing objectionable about your generous proportions,” he said. “In fact, they are considerably more aesthetically pleasing than the thin female form which appears to be inexplicably fashionable among humans.”
Clair looked at him in surprise–momentarily out of words.
There he went again, giving her compliments that didn’t really sound like compliments in his gruff, growly tone.
But there was no mistaking what he meant with the way he was looking her up and down with those golden eyes that had gone half-lidded again.
She wasn't quite sure what to do with the compliments Kaelus kept throwing at her in that extremely matter-of-fact way of his.
They never sounded like flattery because he didn't seem to realize he was flirting at all.
He simply stated that he liked her curves in the same tone he might use to state the molecular weight of a chemical compound, which somehow made it harder to dismiss what he said.
“Well,” she said at last, clearing her throat. “Thank you…I think.”
“You are welcome,” Kaelus said and turned back to the analyzer as though the conversation was finished.
Clair watched his broad back for a moment and then looked at the carefully rearranged shelves again. He had even moved her most frequently used specimen jars to the lowest shelf, she noticed.
He did that for me, she thought.
Then she pushed the thought away. No, he hadn't. He'd done it because he didn't want her climbing around and causing another accident–that was all.
Of course, the fact that he didn't want her to get hurt might mean something too. She couldn’t help remembering the relief in his voice and the way he’d said, “Thank all the Gods that ever were,” when he’d realized the molecular solvent hadn’t gotten on her skin.
Clair decided not to think about that. In fact, it was much safer not to think about Kaelus at all.
Unfortunately, that was getting increasingly difficult…
The second thing she noticed happened about a week later.
Clair had a tendency to forget about ordinary things like meals when she was working on something interesting.
She'd been that way since graduate school, when she used to get so absorbed in her research that she would look up from the microscope at nine o'clock at night and realize she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. James had always complained about it when they were married, though not because he was worried about whether she was eating enough.
“You weren't here to make dinner,” he would say irritably whenever she came home late. “What was I supposed to eat?” Apparently making himself a sandwich had never occurred to him.
So Clair had learned long ago not to expect anyone else to worry about whether she'd eaten. Which was why she was surprised one afternoon when something landed with a solid thunk beside her elbow.
She looked down and saw it was a covered plate. She frowned at it, then looked across the room.
Kaelus was standing at his own workstation with his back to her, as though nothing had happened. As though he hadn’t just put a plate full of food beside her.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Nutrition,” he replied without turning around.
“I can see that it's food,” Clair said. “I mean, why is it sitting beside me?”
“You are meant to consume it.”
Clair stared at the back of his head.
“Did you actually get me lunch?” she asked.
Kaelus's shoulders stiffened.
“No.”
She looked down at the plate again.
“Well, unless the lunch fairy has started making deliveries on the Mother Ship, I'm thinking somebody brought it.”
“There is no such creature as a lunch fairy,” Kaelus said impatiently.
“I'm aware of that, sugar-booger.”
“Do not call me sugar-booger.”
“Then answer the question,” Clair said. “Did you bring me lunch?”
Kaelus sighed heavily and finally turned around.
“I obtained additional food when I went to the dining area,” he said.
“For me.”
“There was more than I required.”
Clair lifted the lid. Underneath was a generous helping of blue pasta from the café where Kat had taken her on her first day aboard the Mother Ship. It was Clair's favorite Kindred dish and Kaelus knew it.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“You accidentally got too much of my favorite food?”
“I did not say accidentally.”
“Kaelus…”
“I simply don’t want you fainting from lack of nutrition while we’re working together,” he said stiffly. “That would necessitate me carrying you to the Med Station, which would interrupt my research.”
“Oh, I see.” Clair nodded thoughtfully. “So the only reason you’re feeding me is to facilitate your own research.”
“Exactly!” He nodded triumphantly and then his golden eyes narrowed. “I would not have to do this if you would take better care of yourself. You have not eaten today,” he growled.
Clair frowned.
“What? How do you know that?”
“You arrived at precisely seven-oh-eight this morning,” he said. “Since that time you have consumed three large cups of coffee, one small piece of what you call a ‘muffin,’ and nothing else.”
Clair stared at him.
“You counted my coffees?”
He frowned.
“I do not count your coffees.”
“You just told me I've had three cups,” she pointed out.