His laugh rumbled through his chest. "That's significant understatement."
"We'll need more research to confirm the results."
"Multiple trials. Control various parameters. Ensure reproducibility."
I lifted my head to look at him. "Are we really discussing this like a scientific experiment?"
"We're both engineers. It's how we process intense experiences." His hand traced lazy patterns on my back. "Though I should note that my research methodology may have been compromised by emotional investment in the outcome."
"Mine too." I pressed a kiss to his chest, right over where his heart beat steady and strong. "I love you."
"I love you." His arms tightened around me. "And I'm coming with you tomorrow. Whatever we find out there, we face it together."
"We should talk about what this means. Establish parameters. Discuss expectations for our professional relationship going forward."
"Or," I said, "we could acknowledge that we're both adults who are capable of maintaining professional boundaries while also being in a relationship. And then we could focus on not dying during this incredibly dangerous rescue mission."
"That's remarkably pragmatic."
"I'm a very pragmatic person." I smoothed his rumpled shirt, trying to calm my racing heart. "Also, I'm in love with you too. Have been for weeks. Possibly longer. My timeline estimation is also imprecise."
His markings flared brilliant blue. "You?—"
"Yes. Obviously. Did you think I spent sixteen-hour days with you just because I'm dedicated to spatial planning?"
"You're very dedicated to spatial planning."
"I'm very dedicated to you." I grabbed his hand, laced my fingers through his. Human-small and Zandovian-large, fitting together despite every logical reason they shouldn't. "Which is why we're both going to survive this mission. Because I just got you to admit you love me, and I'll be damned if I'm going to die before we figure out what that means."
"Statistically speaking?—"
I kissed him again to shut him up. Brief. Hard. Determined.
"No statistics," I said against his lips. "No probabilities. No calculated risk assessments. We're going. We're finding whoever sent that signal. We're bringing them home. And then we're coming back here and having a very long conversation about whether size difference matters when you're in love with someone."
"It doesn't," Zor'go said immediately. "Size difference is irrelevant to emotional compatibility. Though there are practical considerations for?—"
"Later." I pulled back, tried to look stern despite my probably ridiculous expression. "Mission first. Romance calculations later."
"Agreed."
We stood there for a moment, just holding hands and breathing. Three hours until we left. Three hours to prepare for a mission that might be a trap. That might get us killed. That might save lives or end them.
Three hours to figure out how to say goodbye to this fragile new thing between us, just in case we didn't come back.
"I need to change," I said finally. "Get my gear. Check in with Bea so she doesn't worry."
"I need to review the debris field navigation charts and calculate optimal approach vectors." Zor'go squeezed my hand. "Meet at the shuttle bay in two hours forty-five minutes?"
"Yes." I started to leave, then turned back. "Zor'go? Don't die."
"I'll do my best. You don't die either."
"Deal."
I left his quarters and headed for mine. The corridors were busy with shift change, Mothership's organized chaos of fifty thousand beings going about their lives. I passed Kr'yx from Engineering, nodded to a group of maintenance workers I didn't recognize, avoided a food cart that smelled amazing and made my empty stomach clench.
Normal. Everything was so goddamn normal.
