Mene
His mate managed to take up the entire sofa. With her head at one end, her feet dangled off the side. After cleaning dinner, she declared that it was movie night. They watched a classic Terran film about an archaeologist searching for a lost relic. Rosemary said there were four films but only the first and third were enjoyable.
The archaeologist was incredible and bordered on the implausible. He spent more time throwing punches than in academic research. Of course, it was a historical piece and did not reflect the current academic environment on Earth. Still, he wondered. "Do scholars steal each other's research? Is that standard practice?"
Michael sat on the floor, hugging a pillow, with his eyes fixed on the screen. "It's just a movie," he said.
"I understand some liberties must be taken for the story, but even if it is only partially accurate, I worry for your planet," Mene said. The fact that Terrans made entertainment out of their scholars said interesting things about their culture, but the scholar was so violent. Many situations could have been remedied with stealth or even incapacitating the foe. Instead, this archaeologist used a gun in a sword fight.
It was dishonorable, yet his mate and son were riveted by the deeds of this scholar.
Mene sat on the floor, next to Michael. Rosemary's foot dangled between them. Her foot bounced to the music during dramatic sequences. It proved a tempting target. He wanted to snatch her foot and press kisses to the turn of her ankle and up his way up her thigh.
He ignored that urge and ignored the dangling foot.
"Yeah, it's just a movie," Rosemary said, nudging his shoulder with her foot. "Relax."
"I will not. It is nonsensical. Why make elaborate traps yet leave a priceless treasure unguarded?" he asked. That, truly, had bothered him the most about the movie. Giant boulders, poison-tipped darts and a pit full of vipers. Ridiculous.
"There were traps," she said.
"Complex traps that should have decayed with age yet somehow remained operational. Why not use that engineering skill and build a box with a lock?"
"And your movies are so perfect? Did we not spend two hours watching a movie about a man in love with a statue?"
"It was a parable."
"I'll tell you what it is, it's two hours of my life I won't get back." She nudged him with her foot again.
With a playful growl, Mene grabbed her by the ankle. Careful not to apply too much pressure, he held her in place while he inspected the bottom of her foot. The skin was thicker on the sole. "What is this?" He stroked the rough skin at the ball of her foot and at the heel.
Rosemary giggled and rolled on the couch, trying to break his grasp. "Stop. I'm ticklish."
"Why is your dermis layer thicker here? Is it damaged?"
"It's a callus." Her laughter continued.
Intrigued, Mene continued to stroke the sole of her foot. "Why do you have those?"
"Because I work for a living, now let go." She kicked, and he released her. She moved to a seated position and tucked her feet under herself.
He moved to sit next to her and slung his arm over her shoulder. She leaned into him and did not protest. Little by little, he was winning his mate.
***
Sitting on the edge of the bed, his mate brushed out her wet hair and patiently worked it into a braid. When ready for sleep, she would curl up on her side, placing distance between them. During the night, she would toss and turn. Slowly, she would inch her way towards him. Once she nuzzled her face to his chest and he put an arm over her, did she settle into a true, deep sleep.
Stubborn, his mate's body accepted what her head would not. She desired him. She found peace with him.
He wondered about the males who had damaged her heart in the past. He knew about Michael's sire, Vince. She made brief mention of "other relationships" but those males did not warrant an explanation. Vince must be the one who hurt her.
As if sensing him watching her, she looked over her shoulder. "What?"
"I am admiring you."
"Really, because it's a bit like a hawk watching a field mouse."
He did not know what those were but he inferred a Terran predator and prey animals.
Her sunshine yellow hair darkened when wet to a dull blonde. He liked the way it gleamed in the light and the sound of the brush made with each stroke. The soaps his mate used had a light floral scent that he now only associated with her. He admired the strength she carried in her back. He admired his mate's courage despite her fear. However, he suspected that same fear made her overly cautious.
He bore his scars on the outside. Hers were hidden away on inside.
Mene took the brush from her and placed her on his lap.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"You do not braid evenly. I will remedy that." He undid the partially finished braid and fanned the damp hair across her shoulders. He leaned in and took a deep breath of that light, floral scent.
Perfection.
His.
"I'm only sleeping. It doesn't have to be perfect." She spoke words of protest but her tone implied that she wanted to be pampered for a moment. She was a female unused to having someone else care for her.
"Let me do this for you," he said and worked the brush through her hair in long, even strokes. "Tell me about Earth."
"It's mostly water. Green and blue."
"That is not what I mean."
Her back tensed. He continued to work the brush through her hair, letting the rhythm soothe her. "You want to know about the Invasion," she said.
"I want you to tell me about your life experiences. Help me understand you."
She chuffed, almost a laugh. "I see what you're doing. You want me to talk about the Invasion and how scary it was. Then you'll tell me that I'm overprotective because of that. Well, news flash, I already know."
"Then tell me." He divided her hair to work into a braid. Taking the first hank, he pulled it taut but not too tight.
"You have no idea what it's like to be helpless, you know. Even if you have zero weapons and you're down to just your bare hand, you're still... you."
"A warrior."
"A super soldier, yeah. I hate feeling helpless. I was young when the Suhlik came. Too young to pay attention to the news reports. I just know that one day there was no more school. One day soon after that, my father didn't come home from work. Maybe he got caught in a raid and was injured? Maybe he was waiting for us in a safe location? For the longest time we hoped to find him in a refugee camp when it was all over but we never did. Then there were fires from the raids. Then we had to leave our house. It was chaos and I was completely and totally helpless the entire time."
He worked the braid, keeping his voice soft and calm. "You survived."
"Right, by luck more than anything. And yes, I know I'm always comparing Michael to what happened to me at that age. So I don't want him to get hurt? Big deal. The world is pretty horrible place that hurts people all the time. I'm not a monster for wanting to protect him. And I'm not sorry for trying to spare him the pain and fear that I went through."
He wanted to see her face to better gauge her emotional well-being, but he suspected that facing away from him was the only thing that enabled her to be so candid. "I make no criticism," he said.
She sighed, and her shoulders slumped. "But that's a criticism right there, implying that you could criticize but you're holding your tongue."
"My little prefed, that is not what I intended." He finished off the braid and draped it over her shoulder.
"I know." She turned to take the brush. "What does that mean? Prefed?"
"It is a burrowing insect. They eat wood and destroy buildings. Very invasive and troubling."
She grimaced and stuck out her tongue. He could think of many ways to use that tongue. "Sounds super cute," she said.
"They represent the way you have burrowed into my heart."
A smile flickered across her face. "See, that's sweet but you're still comparing me to what sounds like a termite."
"Do not over think." He stretched out on the bed and motioned for her to join him. With hesitation, she crawled under the blanket with him. He pulled her to him, savoring her light, floral scent and the softness of her curves against him. "Just sleep for now, my prefed."