Triara stepped into her stateroom, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss. She let out a long sigh, running a hand through her slightly disheveled hair. The day had felt endless—she didn’t know why though for it was just another day. Perhaps it was because she had a date with Michael that night and that she was looking forward to it.
“Yeah,” she spoke out loud to no one for the suite was empty save for herself, “that must be it.”
A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered him telling her his plans for their date the night before. No formal outings this time, no elaborate plans—just the two of them, together in their cozy quarters, unwinding with more Babylon 5 with some good food, good drink, and even better company.
She still marveled at how he lit up when he spoke about the show. He kept asking her how far along she was in the show, she had disappointed him in that she didn’t have a lot of time to watch it, so he thought that they’d watch it together again and perhaps have a question-and-answer session after each episode they watched. She had to admit that when watching it with him it was more fun, his enthusiasm was contagious, even if she hadn’t quite had the time to immerse herself as fully as he might have liked. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t watched many episodes; she had wanted to watch them with him.
The last episode she’d seen— A Day in the Strife, Episode 3 of Season 3—had left her curious, though she had to admit she was still grappling with some of the intricate politics and character dynamics. She made a mental note to ask him about some things before they began watching another episode.
She sighed as she loosened the collar of her Space Force uniform, a small sigh escaping her lips as the tension of the day began to melt away. Walking into her bedroom, she looked forward to changing into something a whole lot more comfortable and a lot less formal.
As much as she had gotten used to wearing the Space Force uniform, there was just something to be said about coming home taking it all off and letting herself relax and feeling as if she wasn’t just another piece of the military machine.
Moments later, she emerged from her bedroom, her long sweatshirt, a tunic of sorts, brushing against her thighs and the soft swish of her tights whispering with each step. Gone was the strict uniformity of the Space Force, replaced with a sense of relaxation and comfort. After all, it was her comfort outfit, a combination she loved for how the oversized sweatshirt enveloped her like a warm hug, its fabric soft against her skin, while the tights were smooth and hugged her legs snugly.
She appreciated their practicality, as they gave her the freedom to wear human-style clothing, which was often more revealing in nature when compared to the more conservative nature of Zaltaen fashion. They allowed her to maintain the deep sense of modesty that was so important to her. It was a balance she valued, something that made her feel comfortable while looking more human. The bonus was their versatility; they seamlessly complemented almost any outfit, making them an ever-important part of her wardrobe.
She reached for one of the shopping bags from her shopping trip earlier that week and carefully pulled out a small bottle of perfume that she had picked up during her outing and spritzed a bit of it on herself, mimicking the technique the young woman at the Exchange had shown her. The scent was light, yet comforting, and for a moment, she wondered if Michael would notice.
She went to her liquor cabinet and began browsing her rather sizable collection, which featured everything from American-style bourbon and Irish whiskey to Scotch, vodka, and even a few bottles of tequila. It was an eclectic collection that she liked to think would suit anyone’s tastes.
After a moment of thought, she settled on Johnny Walker Black. It was a familiar choice, one that she and Michael had often shared in the past. The rich, smoky flavor carried memories of quiet evenings spent together, and she figured it would be a fitting addition to their night—especially since he had mentioned he’d be taking care of the food.
She cracked open the bottle for the first time, her enhanced sense of smell immediately catching the subtle hint of smokiness that wafted from the Scotch. Carrying it over to her kitchenette, she set it down on the table with a soft, deliberate thud, mindful not to place it too hard on the surface. Opening a cabinet, she retrieved two rocks glasses and, with a practiced hand, poured a generous measure of the amber liquid into each, the aroma deepening as it swirled in the glass.
She took the two glasses over to her living room and sat down, awaiting Michael’s arrival. It had been a few weeks since they had last seen each other, as his temporary two-week long posting at the neighboring space dock had kept him away. The thought brought a twinge of longing; she hadn’t realized how much she’d come to appreciate their regular run-ins until they were gone. Reflecting on it, she imagined how much harder it must have been for her friends Richard and Rachel, separated by his duties and her life. The thought of being so close yet so far away struck her as profoundly lonely. She could only imagine how it felt, and the very thought of it unsettled her.
She sighed as she waited for Michael to arrive, curling her legs up underneath her on the couch. The soft warmth of her tights made her feel cozy despite the growing anticipation of seeing him. Her thoughts wandered as she absently traced the rim of her glass, wondering where he was.
And then there was the sound of her doorbell, its sharp tone breaking the stillness. “Who is it?” she called out, the words slipping out easily.
“It’s me,” Michael’s voice answered.
Without hesitation, she was quick to tell the computer to let him in. The door slid open at which a small thrill of excitement came over her as she waited for him to enter.
“Hi there,” she smiled as she leapt to her feet. She had intended to take him in her arms stopping only when she realized that he was holding a pizza box in hand. Taking the box from him and placing it on her kitchenette counter, she pulled him into her arms; her embrace warm and tight. There was just something about holding that just felt so right and she didn’t want to let go.
Meanwhile, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her just as tightly, knowing her alien physiology could easily handle it. He breathed deeply, inhaling the delicate fragrance of her perfume. He couldn’t name the scent, but it was intoxicatingly beautiful, a soft blend that lingered in the air and made everything feel just a little more intimate.
“I missed you,” she said, looking into his blue eyes. “Yeah,” she rested her chin upon his shoulder, her voice soft. “I really did.”
She slowly backed away from him, reluctantly breaking the embrace but keeping her hands gently resting on his shoulders while his hands rested on her hips. “It’s the little things,” she said softly, her gaze meeting his. “Things like running into you, seeing you in the hallway as we passed each other, having a drink with you in the lounge at the end of the day.” She paused for a moment, her voice tinged with a trace of longing. “It was things like that I missed.”
“I know what you mean,” he smiled as he hugged her once again, “I missed that kind of stuff too.”
She sighed, the weight of her thoughts settling in as she considered what her friends Richard and Rachel must go through. “It’s times like this that make me wonder how Richard and Rachel endure the time apart from each other,” she said softly, her voice tinged with empathy for her friends. She pulled back slightly to look at him, her expression thoughtful. “I can’t imagine being so close, yet… so far away. The waiting, the uncertainty… it must be so hard for them.” Her gaze drifted, as if thinking about the deep bond between Richard and Rachel, and the silent strength they had to summon every day to keep going.
Michael nodded, his arms still loosely wrapped around her. “Yeah, I’ve thought about that too,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with understanding. “It’s not just the physical distance, but the emotional part of it all too. Then factor in how she has a baby to take care of. Not having him there to help out…” He trailed off.
“I didn’t think about that,” she frowned, her brow furrowing as she processed the added difficulty. “I have no idea how she does it.”
“Neither do I,” he shook his head, his voice filled with admiration. “She’s a strong woman to have to deal with that all alone.” He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at Triara. “I don’t envy her.”
“No,” she shook her head, her expression thoughtful. “I don’t either.” She exhaled slowly, a slight sadness in her voice as she added, “but I respect her. I can’t imagine the weight of it, especially with everything else going on, like her career.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “That too. It’s a lot to carry on your own.” His eyes darkened with empathy, the thought of Rachel’s burden weighing on him. “She’s juggling so much yet… she keeps going. However, I digress… you don’t realize what’s important until it’s gone.” He gave a quiet, rueful smile, the words resonating more deeply than he’d intended. “Makes you appreciate the small things more.” He gave a small smile, more to himself than to her. “It gives me hope, you know? That no matter the distance, the connection doesn’t have to fade. Even when everything feels uncertain, the bond can still be strong.”
“Yeah,” she smiled as she leaned in for a kiss. “I understand.” Their lips met, and she felt him pull her close, his hand tracing the small of her back. As his hand drifted lower, she didn’t pull away, her body responding to the familiar warmth and closeness.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads gently touched. Triara’s smile was soft, full of quiet understanding, and her voice was a tender whisper as she murmured, “it’s good to have you back.”
“Likewise,” he gave her lips a small peck. “I’m glad to be back,” he replied, pulling her into a tighter hug. “Being out in the shipyards was,” he scoffed, his tone laced with frustration, “not ideal at all. I hated it.” He shook his head slightly, his hands resting firmly around her waist as he pulled her even closer. “I missed this—being here, with you.”
Despite being away from her, even for two weeks, it gave him time to think about their relationship and where it was going. The quiet moments without her had forced him to confront how much she had become a part of his life, how natural it felt to have her around, and how much he looked forward to the simplest things—just spending time together, sharing quiet conversations, and yes, even the intimate telepathic sessions that they often shared.
He realized how much he had grown to care for her, how deep his feelings ran, even if the complexities of their relationship sometimes weighed on him. It wasn’t just about her being an alien, or the challenges of their cultural differences. It was about how she made him feel seen, understood, and even more capable of embracing his own vulnerabilities. And it wasn’t just his past, either—the shadows of grief and loss that had once clouded his heart seemed to grow less imposing with her by his side.
He didn’t have all the answers yet, but he knew one thing: he didn’t want to go back to a life without her. The thought of losing her, of returning to the solitude he had known for so long, seemed unbearable. And that realization felt like a turning point, one he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much their differences had once seemed insurmountable. They had found something real, something worth fighting for, and that was enough to give him hope.
“Triara?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with curiosity. She hummed in response, wondering where his line of questioning would lead. “I’ve been thinking about you, about us. Being away from you has given me some time to think.”
Her heart skipped a beat at his words. She met his gaze, her eyes searching his face for clues. “And what have you been thinking?” she asked, her voice gentle but steady, bracing herself for whatever he was about to say.
He took a deep breath, his eyes softening as he studied her. “I’ve been thinking about how much I’ve come to rely on you, how much I’ve come to… care for you. The more time I spend with you, the more I realize that I don’t want to be without you.” His voice was steady, but there was a sincerity to it that made her heart flutter. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I want you in it.”
Triara felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. She had never expected him to be so open, so vulnerable, and yet, here he was, laying bare the depth of his feelings. A soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she reached out, gently cupping his cheek. “I feel the same way,” she whispered, her voice filled with quiet conviction. “I’ve never felt more at home than when I’m with you.”
“That’s why I have to say…” he trailed off for a moment. “I don’t know if I can say the words yet, but I feel something… something I haven’t felt in a long time.”
Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and she could feel the weight of his sincerity. With a gentle reach, she extended her abilities, sensing the depth of his feelings—feelings that were unmistakably real. And as she did, the undeniable pull of her own emotions grew within her.
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze softening. “I understand,” she said quietly, her voice laced with both empathy and hesitation. “Sometimes, words don’t come easily. But the way you speak to me… the way we are together… I feel it, too. I feel something, something I never thought I’d…” She paused, her throat tightening as the depth of her emotions caught her off guard. “…ever find this in my life.”
“Me too,” he nodded, his voice low and sincere. “For a long time, after my wife died, I felt the same way. I didn’t think I’d ever feel this again, not with anyone. But then you came into my life, and… it’s different with you. It’s something I didn’t expect, but I’m grateful for it every day.”
He let out a quiet sigh, his gaze softening as he took her in. She was so… so beautiful, in a way that went beyond just her appearance. There was a depth to her, a strength that resonated within him—one that, despite her being an alien, reminded him so much of his late wife.
“So,” he said, his gaze following her as she pulled away, “what have you brought for us to eat?” His eyes lingered on her as she walked across the room, appreciating the graceful sway of her hips and how the light caught the smooth nylon of her tights, highlighting the elegant simplicity of her movements.
Meanwhile, she knew exactly where his eyes were. Though she didn’t want to say anything that might embarrass him, there was a certain kind of satisfaction in knowing how captivated he was with her. In a way, she took a quiet pleasure in how his gaze lingered on her, though she kept it to herself. With a soft smile tugging at her lips, she continued toward the kitchenette, the sound of her footsteps quiet against the floor and the swishing of her tights accompanying each purposeful step.
He coughed, snapping out of his reverie. “I’ve brought Hawaiian pizza—a mixture of ham, olives, and pineapple.” He opened the pizza box, and immediately, her heightened sense of smell kicked in making her stomach rumble in anticipation.
“Well, I’ll admit,” she said, eyeing the pizza, “it does smell… interesting.”
“I’m sure it’ll taste as interesting as it smells,” he said with a grin as he picked up a piece of the pizza, put it on a plate, and handed it to her. “Tell me what you think.”
She hesitated for a moment, eyeing the slice in her hand as if trying to make sense of the strange combination of ingredients. Then, with a soft shrug, she took a small bite. Her eyes widened slightly as the flavors hit her—a blend of sweet, salty, and savory that danced across her taste buds. For a moment, she was silent, her mind processing the unexpected fusion.
After a beat, she tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well… this is certainly unlike anything I’ve had before,” she said, her voice mixed with curiosity and mild surprise. She took another bite, the pineapple and ham melding together in a way she hadn’t anticipated. “I think… I think I like it,” she admitted, her tone more amused than anything. “It’s odd, but… it works.”
He chuckled softly, watching her reaction with a gleam in his eye. “I’m glad you’re not totally horrified,” he said, still grinning. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about pineapple on pizza. It’s a bit of a debate among people, you know.”
She took another bite, her eyes softening as she chewed, clearly appreciating the unexpected combination. “It’s… definitely unconventional,” she mused, savoring the taste. “But I can see why it works. The sweetness of the pineapple balances the saltiness of the ham and the olives add a nice sharpness. I don’t think I’ll make it a regular meal, but it’s surprisingly enjoyable.”
She met his eyes again, a playful glint in hers. “I suppose I should trust you more when it comes to food,” she said, teasing, “you seem to have a knack for surprising me.”
“Thank you!” he beamed. “I certainly aim to please.”
She laughed softly at his enthusiasm, the sound warm and genuine. “Well, you’ve certainly succeeded,” she replied, her smile lingering. “Who knew that ham, pineapple, and olives could create something so… unexpectedly harmonious?”
He shrugged modestly, though the playful glint in his eyes suggested he was enjoying the compliment. “Sometimes the most unusual combinations work out the best.” He took a bite of his own slice, his grin widening as he watched her take another bite.
As she chewed, her gaze shifted toward him, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “It’s a good reminder,” she said after a moment, “that sometimes, the most unexpected things can turn out to be… exactly what we need.”
“Like us.”
Her eyes softened at his words, and she paused for a moment, the weight of his sentiment settling between them. She met his gaze, her lips curving into a gentle smile. “Yes,” she murmured, her voice quiet but full of meaning. “Like us.”
He sat down across from her at the island in the middle of her kitchenette and bit off another piece of the pizza as he reached for her hand. There they were, enjoying dinner together; it was something he had been waiting for a long time to experience with her after his temporary reassignment to the shipyards.
Triara looked at their joined hands, a soft smile forming on her lips. It wasn’t just the closeness that mattered, but the fact that she had found someone who understood her—someone who didn’t just accept her differences but embraced them. The moment felt perfect, almost surreal, and yet so natural at the same time.
“This,” he said softly, his thumb lightly brushing the back of her hand, “feels good. Just being with you like this.”
She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, it does.”
—
As dinner concluded, Triara began to clean up when she felt him come up behind her, his warmth pressing against her back. His arms wrapped around her gently, pulling her close.
“Triara,” his voice rang in her ears, playful and teasing, “I do believe that it’s a Zaltaen custom that the guest of the house cleans up after dinner.”
She turned in his arms, a smile tugging at her lips as she met his gaze. “Right,” she said, her voice soft but amused, “it is.” She leaned back slightly against the sink, her eyes meeting his with an unspoken challenge as she watched his expression shift. His eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and affection—something she was quickly learning to love.
“Be my guest,” she said, her tone light yet carrying a hint of invitation.
She eased herself back onto the stool at the island in the center of her kitchenette, acutely aware of his gaze tracking her every movement. A playful, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she crossed her legs in a slow, deliberate way. The gesture seemed casual, effortless, yet there was an undeniable elegance to it—something subtly sultry. Her eyes lingered on his for just a moment longer than necessary, as though daring him to look away, as though she knew exactly the kind of effect it had on him.
He paused for like half a second, the shift in her demeanor wasn’t lost on him. Is she playing with me? he asked himself as his gaze caught the slow, absent motion of her hand caressing her nylon-covered thigh. It was an innocent enough gesture, yet it carried an unspoken weight, a quiet pull that tugged at something deeper. He swallowed, almost imperceptibly, as if to steady himself. Does she know what she’s doing?
He thought for a moment. She’s an alien, yet he continued to watch her, his gaze lingering despite himself. Yet she’s… He gulped. There was no denying it—she was playing with him, and she knew it. Even the look in her eyes told him so, a spark of mischief dancing there like she was enjoying the game.
Get a hold of yourself, he thought, a faint, self-aware smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The urge to look back at her, to see that mischievous gleam in her eyes nearly made him forget the task at hand. He forced himself to focus, gripping the dish in his hand with more intensity than necessary. If I don’t look away, he reasoned, I’ll get nothing done. The thought of her sitting there, watching him, still lingered in his mind, but he shook it off, scrubbing a plate with exaggerated focus.
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. Yeah, he thought, she may be an alien, but she’s learning all the tricks of human seduction. The realization made him smile despite himself. It was almost impressive how effortlessly she could turn the tables on him, how quickly she’d picked up on the subtle dance of teasing and control. Her confidence was undeniable, and it had a way of throwing him off balance, making his thoughts stumble over each other.
He glanced at her again, just a quick glance, before he caught himself. Focus, he reminded himself, turning his attention back to the dishes. But the smile didn’t leave his face. Even if he was trying to remain composed, a part of him couldn’t deny that he was enjoying this strange, unpredictable new dynamic between them.
A small, satisfied smile curved on her lips as she sat back slightly, watching him. Wow, she thought, as Rachel would say, I have him in the palm of my hand. It was a thrilling feeling, knowing she could so easily control him, pull him in without even trying. The way he looked at her—flustered, trying to act casual—it was almost too easy, but that didn’t make it any less enjoyable.
Zaltaens didn’t act like that. They had much more control over their desires than humans, a strict discipline ingrained in them from a young age. Yet, that didn’t stop the thrill of her having the power that she seemed to have over him. A part of her wanted to test how far she could push him. She imagined that she’d have a whole lot of fun at his expense.
No, she thought. I don’t want to do that to him. I respect him far too much to play with him like that.
She got up from the island and walked into her living room, leaving him to finish the dishes. As she moved, her mind wandered, wondering if she should go into her bedroom and change into something different—something less… enticing for him. Then again, it was one of her comfort outfits, the kind that made her feel at ease. She hadn’t meant to play with him that way, not really, but the way he had reacted—flustered, caught off guard—had been enough to make her pause. A part of her relished the control she had, but another part, the part that respected him, felt a pang of hesitation. Was she going too far?
She paused in the living room, the silence around her settling in. The faint sound of the water running in the kitchen was the only reminder of Michael, still there, still thinking. Maybe it was time to give him space, time to let the moment pass. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that things between them were changing, and she wasn’t entirely sure where that change would lead.
She stood there for a moment—the silence of the room, save for the sound of running water and the clinking of dishes—allowed her to think. She was a Zaltaen woman, she was used to taking what she wanted. After all, it was her birthright. She had every right under Zaltaen society to take him, claim him as her own, and have her way with him.
She looked back at him and noticed that without her sitting right behind him, toying with him, he was much more at ease—capable of concentrating on cleaning the dishes.
Great Maker, she thought. I so very much want him. I need him. She pressed her thighs together as a thought came back into her mind, the thought that she had back when she was sitting with Richard and saw how a certain part of his anatomy was reacting to how she had been dressed. She had openly admitted to Richard that she had ached for something real, something… intimate—so much so that it hurt.
And here she was, that hurt was there yet again. She looked back at him over her shoulder as he was drying the dishes off and putting them away, she didn’t have much time to think any more. She had to decide quickly.
No, she thought. I won’t do that to him. I can’t do that to him. I want something real—I want him to want me like I want him and if I push things too far, it could all be ruined. I could never live with myself if that happened.
“Alright Triara, I’m done.”
That brought her out of her reverie. She had to face him.
“Michael?” she asked as she felt him take her into his arms. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what, my dear?”
She felt the warmth of his embrace, his arms wrapping around her in a comforting, steady hold. His voice was soft, the words sincere, but she could sense the curiosity in the way he asked. She shifted slightly in his arms, feeling the weight of her own thoughts press against her.
“I’m sorry for… what I did earlier,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper as her gaze flicked down to the floor. “I didn’t mean to… confuse you. Or make things—” She glanced at the front of his pants, then back at him with a teasing smile. “Well, hard for you.”
“Yeah, well,” he chuckled, a grin tugging at his lips. “Guess it’s a little too late for that one.”
She chuckled as well. “It’s just that, you know, I have my own desires too.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “It’s just that—you’re so… distracting.”
“You mean to say that I’m just… that handsome, right?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.
“Michael,” she teased, her voice dripping with mock disapproval, “you’re bad.”
“Yeah,” he smiled mischievously, “but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Right?”
In that moment, all her nervousness and doubts about whether she had crossed a line vanished. He was playing along, just as teasing and carefree as she was.
“Nope,” she closed in for a kiss, “not at all.” She chuckled as their lips met.
As the kiss ended, she smiled. “Let me change into something that’s a little less enticing.”
He pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on her hips as he looked at her, a playful glint in his eyes. “Oh, come on,” he teased, “you think you can get away with that? I’ll have you know,” he pointed at her, “you’re pretty irresistible no matter what you wear. Hell, you could wear a burlap sack, and I’d still find you sexy.”
She raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “A burlap sack, huh? That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
He shrugged, his grin widening. “I’m just saying, it’s you that makes it work, not the clothes.” He looked down at her as he hugged her close, playfully letting his hands roam down to her shapely backside. “Though I’m not above admitting that your choice of clothing makes you… very hard to resist.”
She laughed softly, a teasing sparkle in her eyes as she pulled back slightly to look at him. “Oh really? Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” he said, his voice laced with a playful seriousness. “You’ve got this way of wearing things that make my mind wander… in the best possible way.”
She raised an eyebrow, feeling a flush spread across her cheeks at his boldness. “Michael, you’re impossible.”
He chuckled, his hands still resting on her hips as he looked at her with a mix of admiration and amusement. “I only speak the truth.”
“Well,” she said, her voice lowering to a playful murmur, “I guess I’ll just have to be more mindful of what I wear around you, then.”
“Oh, no need for that,” he replied quickly, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’m not complaining—just stating the obvious.”
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head but unable to suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re terrible.”
“But you love it,” he teased, his tone softening as he pulled her back into his arms.
She let out a breathy laugh, her head resting against his chest. “Yeah, I do.”
As he let go of her, she walked away, putting an exaggerated sway in her hips. His eyes, of course, were drawn to her, following the motion of her steps, and he couldn’t help but smile at her playful confidence. She knew exactly what she was doing just like how she knew what she was doing back when he had been washing the dishes.
She glanced back over her shoulder with a mischievous grin, catching him in the act. “Caught you staring,” she teased, her voice light and full of mischief. “I could sense it in your thoughts.”
His grin widened, unabashed. “Guilty as charged,” he replied, not even attempting to hide the admiration in his gaze. “How could I not?”
She spun around to face him, her hands on her hips. “You do realize you’re just making this harder on yourself, right?”
He stepped toward her, his expression turning mock-serious. “I don’t mind a little challenge now and then,” he said, his voice playful but sincere.
She shook her head, the teasing light in her eyes never fading. “You’re impossible,” she murmured, but there was no real irritation in her tone—just affection.
“Impossible? I prefer to think of myself as… irresistible.” He winked, his tone low and filled with quiet confidence.
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at her lips. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”
“Only the ones who deserve it,” he said softly, his gaze softening for a moment, the playful banter giving way to something more sincere.
She walked toward him, her smile widening as she approached. “Well, in that case,” she said, stopping just in front of him, “I think I’ll let you off the hook. For now.”
With a playful glance, she turned and sank gracefully onto the couch. Crossing her legs in one smooth motion, her movements were slow and deliberate, the soft sound of her tights brushing against each other breaking the quiet. It was a subtle sound, but it caught his attention all the same.
He swallowed, trying to steady himself against the sudden rush of heat that washed over him.
“Come,” she said, patting the cushion beside her, her tone light but inviting. “Sit down next to me.”
He settled down beside her, and as soon as he did, she tucked herself against him, pulling her legs up beneath her in one fluid, effortless motion. There was nothing overtly suggestive about the gesture, but it carried a quiet intimacy—a kind of unspoken trust in him that didn’t require words. Her closeness said more than anything she could’ve spoken aloud.
He slipped his arm around her, drawing her closer after which she snuggled in closer as though it were the most natural thing in the world for her. The warmth of his embrace felt grounding, comforting, and deeply intimate. As she lowered her head, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head—a tender gesture that spoke volumes more than any words could.
She closed her eyes, letting the moment envelop her. Slowly, she allowed her mind to open, and with it, the connection between them deepened.
It wasn’t just a physical attraction that he had for her, though one glance at him might’ve confirmed the physical attraction that he had for her, his thoughts told her so much more. Among her people, humans were often seen as overly driven by physical desire—creatures ruled by impulse rather than substance. But as she let her mind brush against his, she found none of the shallow urgency her people so often assumed about his kind.
His mind wasn’t overwhelmed by physical desire alone. No, what she felt in his thoughts was something quieter, something deeper: admiration, affection, and a profound sense of connection. He wasn’t drawn to her merely for how she looked—he was drawn to her, to the person she was, to the complexities of her thoughts and the spirit she carried. And in that moment, he was quietly, undeniably proving everything her people believed about humans wrong.
Opening her eyes, she felt an unspoken pull toward him and turned her face to his. Without overthinking it, she leaned in and kissed his cheek, the soft brush of her lips a quiet promise, a gesture of gratitude, trust, and something deeper she couldn’t quite name yet.
“Weren’t we supposed to watch Babylon 5 tonight?” she asked, her voice light and teasing. Yet beneath the playful tone.
He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the shift in topic. “We were?” he asked, arching a brow. “And here I thought we were just going to snuggle all evening.” A coy smile tugged at his lips.
“You’re bad,” she said, smacking his hand where it rested on her thigh, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. “I won’t lie—snuggling sounds like a great idea. But…” She sighed, her voice softening. “I wanted to watch it with you.”
“Alright then,” he said, turning to her with an easy smile. “We’ll watch Babylon 5 together.”
He was about to tell the computer to call up the show, he paused, glancing back at her. “Where did you leave off?”
“I stopped after A Day in the Strife, Episode 3 of Season 3,” she replied, her tone tinged with anticipation. “I paused it when you got temporarily stationed at the shipyard.”
“Why’d you stop?” he asked, his voice gentle but curious. Tilting his head slightly, he studied her with that familiar mix of teasing and concern. “That’s right when things start getting interesting.”
She hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass as she seemed to weigh her words. Finally, she looked at him, her expression a little shy but honest. “I wanted to watch them with you. It gives us something we can do together.”
His expression softened, the teasing spark in his eyes replaced by something warmer, more understanding. He gently cupped her hand with his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a comforting gesture. “You know,” he said quietly, “it does. Instead of watching this on our own, we’ll watch it together.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “That sound good to you?”
“Yeah,” she said, a shy smile spreading across her face, her cheeks warming. “It does.” She took a sip of her whiskey and rested her head on his shoulder. “It really does.”
Michael glanced over at the monitor, his free hand gesturing toward the coffee table. “Computer, play Babylon 5, Season 3, Episode 4, Passing Through Gethsemane.”
The room dimmed as the monitor flared to life, casting soft shadows across the walls. He leaned forward, reaching for the two glasses on the coffee table. Lifting one to his nose, he sniffed, grinning. “Johnny Walker Black?”
“Yeah,” she said with a small shrug, taking one of the glasses from him. “I thought it would be nice to have something to sip while we watch.”
He clinked his glass gently against hers, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “Sounds perfect to me.”
As the opening credits rolled, they settled into an easy silence. The rich, smoky scent of the whiskey mingled with the faint hum of the station, creating an atmosphere that was both intimate and relaxing. The warmth of her presence pressed against him, her quiet excitement for the show, and the shared comfort of the moment made him realize just how much he’d missed this—this kind of connection, this kind of peace.
They took their first sips of whiskey as the episode began, the smooth burn matching the slow, cozy warmth that enveloped the evening.
—
Later that night, around 0200 hours12 AM in the morning., the stillness of the station enveloped them as they finally stirred from the couch. The warmth between them lingered, a comfortable silence filling the air. Michael stretched, his muscles loosening with the movement as he let out a contented yawn. His body, still relaxed from the calm of their time together, moved with ease, a stark contrast to the tension he had carried earlier. He glanced over at Triara, her presence comforting, like a steady anchor in the quiet of the night.
The soft, low glow of the stateroom’s lights painted the room in shades of muted gold and gentle shadows, giving everything a peaceful, almost intimate atmosphere. It felt like a small, perfect moment in time, shared between two people who, despite their differences, had found something rare and true in each other. Triara stood up with him, her movement graceful, as though she too was reluctant to break the spell of the evening.
“I’m getting tired…” Michael murmured.
“I can tell,” she replied with a soft smile, her eyes still bright, though they held the same weariness. “Maybe we should call it a night.”
“I think so too.” She reached for him, her arms open. “Come here, Michael.”
He let her wrap her arms around him, and without thinking, he found himself pulling her close, his arms encircling her in return. They had hugged many times before, but this felt different. There was something more between them, though neither wanted to dig too deeply into what they were feeling. They didn’t want to risk overthinking it, to ruin the delicate balance they had found.
“Good night, honey,” he murmured, blushing slightly as he pulled back.
“Good night.” She repeated the word ‘honey’ in her mind, a term of endearment she’d heard so often from him. Saying it out loud felt silly, but the way he looked at her—soft, understanding—made her feel like it was okay.
As he pulled away from her, his lips brushed hers in a gentle, lingering kiss before he turned and walked out of her stateroom. She stood there for a moment, the silence rushing in to fill the space he left behind. The door slid shut with a soft whoosh, and the absence of his presence hit her like an unexpected chill.
She hadn’t realized just how much she’d come to rely on him—his warmth, his steady presence, the quiet way he always seemed to anchor her, even with the smallest of gestures.
Shaking her head, she tried to dispel the oppressive weight of the silence pressing in around her. It felt too heavy, too still. She moved into her bedroom, catching her reflection in the mirror. For a moment, it felt distant, unfamiliar—like the face of a stranger staring back at her.
Do I love him? Does he love me?
The questions gnawed at her, persistent and unyielding. She reached inward, searching for the emotions swirling within her, even extending her thoughts outward in the way only she could—with her telepathic gift. But the answers remained elusive, slipping through her grasp like water through her fingers.
I don’t want to be alone anymore.
The thought surfaced unbidden, raw and unguarded, and it startled her with its clarity. It felt bigger than she was ready to face. Her hands gripped the edge of the bathroom counter as though steadying herself against the weight of the realization.
She turned on the faucet and reached for her toothbrush, brushing her teeth mechanically, her mind a million light-years away. But the thought wouldn’t leave her—it lingered, shadowing her every move. I don’t want to be alone anymore.
She spit into the sink, rinsing her mouth, the cool water doing little to soothe the warmth building in her chest. It wasn’t just about him, was it? It was about her—what she wanted, what she was terrified to admit she needed.
Walking back into her bedroom, she moved automatically, her thoughts too loud to allow for focus. She undid her tunic, letting it slip from her shoulders and pool at her feet.
The soft pull of her tights followed. She slipped her fingers under the waistband and peeled them off carefully, her movements deliberate but distant, her mind elsewhere. Tossing them onto a nearby chair, she made a mental note to wash them tomorrow, though the thought felt trivial and irrelevant tonight.
Slipping into bed, she pulled the covers close around her, as though their weight could shield her from the vulnerability clawing at her edges. But sleep didn’t come easily. Instead, her mind wandered, replaying the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his voice, the quiet comfort of his understanding.
And then there was the way he had held her, the way it felt so natural—so effortless—when they were together. A Human and a Zaltaen. Two beings from different worlds, yet somehow, in that moment, it had felt like they fit.
—
Do I love her?
The question echoed in his mind as he dropped onto the couch, sinking into it like a sack of potatoes, the weight of the thought pressing down on him even more than his tired body. It felt absurd to even ask, but there it was—lingering, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. Do I love her?
He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. Why was it so hard to answer? He’d spent the evening with her—her presence stirring something inside him, something he couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just the warmth of her touch, the comfort of her nearness. No, it was something deeper.
He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling, where the plain Space Force grey tiles stared back at him indifferently. They offered no answers, only more emptiness.
Why was it so hard to answer?
He knew he cared for her—more than he ever thought possible since losing his wife. She had become a steady, unexpected force in his life, someone he trusted, someone he valued. But was it love? He knew what love was supposed to feel like. He’d felt it before, years ago, with his late wife. But this… this wasn’t the same.
It wasn’t less—it wasn’t more. It was just… different.
It was like standing on the edge of something vast, something unknown. The feeling both thrilled and terrified him. Yet, he wanted more—much more.
The silence of his stateroom closed in around him, amplifying the question until it felt deafening. Do I love her? It wasn’t a simple question anymore.
Rising from the couch, he walked into his bedroom, the movements slow and automatic. The weight of the evening settled on him like a heavy blanket as he began to undress, peeling away the day layer by layer. His thoughts, however, clung to him stubbornly—thoughts of her, of the quiet moments they’d shared, of the way her presence seemed to fill the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty.
He let out another sigh, shaking his head as though it might dispel the questions swirling in his mind. Sleep. He needed sleep. Maybe the haze of exhaustion would give way to clarity, or at least provide him with a brief escape from the constant buzzing of his thoughts.
Pulling his shirt over his head, he tossed it onto the chair in the corner and crossed the room to his bed. The sheets were cool against his skin as he climbed in, but the warmth of her touch lingered in his mind—soft, ever-present, impossible to ignore.
He closed his eyes, willing himself to let go of the questions, to find some semblance of peace. But even in the darkness, the thoughts followed him.
He could still feel the way she had looked at him, the way she had smiled, the way her presence had eased something deep inside him. And yet, that lingering uncertainty remained—a sense that he was standing on the precipice of something big, something life-altering.
Do I love her?
The question refused to leave him. It lingered, unanswered, as the quiet of the night slowly pulled him into sleep. And in that final moment of wakefulness, he hoped—desperately—that tomorrow might bring clarity.
Last updated on Thursday, January 2nd, 2025 at 5:16 PM by trparky.
