He carefully shrugs out of his coat, revealing the full extent of the wound. It’s a clean through-and-through, but the edges look angry and blackened, with dark veins spreading from the entry point like some kind of infection.
“Jesus,” I breathe. “How are you even conscious?”
“Xarian physiology is more resilient than human,” he says, then glances at the spreading darkness beneath his skin. “Usually.”
“Xarian. Right. That’s what you are.” I grab my shop light and angle it toward his shoulder. “So what’s with the black veins? That doesn’t look normal for any species.”
“The ammunition was crude, but effective. Human projectiles cause more tissue damage to my kind than they should.” He goes very still as I examine the wound. “It will heal, but slowly.”
I clean my hands and start laying out supplies. “So you’re saying regular bullets work fine on aliens? Good to know. I’ll file that under ‘things I never thought I’d need to know.’”
“Are you always this... pragmatic when faced with the impossible?”
I pause in opening the antiseptic. “You want the truth? I’m about three seconds away from a complete meltdown. The only thing keeping me functional right now is the fact that you’re bleeding on my floor and I was raised to help people. Even if those people happen to be seven-foot-tall blue aliens who show up on Christmas Eve.”
“I apologize for the timing.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like you could have planned this, right? Getting shot and needing medical attention on Christmas Eve?” I deliberately soak the gauze pad with antiseptic. “This is going to hurt.”
“Do you want something to bite down on? Because I’m about to clean alien gunshot wounds with rubbing alcohol, and I have no idea what that’s going to do to your biology.”
The corner of his mouth quirks upward, revealing those fanged canines. “I will manage.”
“Famous last words.” I start cleaning the wound, and to his credit, he doesn’t even flinch. Just sits perfectly still and lets me work, those impossible blue eyes fixed on my face with an intensity that makes my skin feel too warm.
“You said you’re a courier,” I say, trying to distract myself from the way he’s looking at me. “OOPS, right? That’s got to be the most unfortunate acronym in galactic history.”
“The translation was... unintentional. Human languages often produce unexpected results.”
There’s something that might be embarrassment in his voice, and it makes him seem more approachable. More real.
“So you’re what, like a cosmic mailman?”
“Courier,” he corrects, with the quiet dignity of someone who takes their job seriously. “I transport critical supplies and communications between colonies, research stations, and frontier worlds.”
“And you crashed here?”
“Emergency landing. My ship was damaged, and this was the nearest habitable world.” He pauses, watching me work with focused attention. “The timing was... unfortunate.”
“So what changed? Why approach me now instead of just calling for rescue?”
“I misjudged my fuel reserves and was forced to make an emergency landing. The crash may have compromised my ship’s cloaking system—I’m not certain how long it will hold.” His jaw tightens. “The hunters found me when I was checking the perimeter. And now my cargo cannot wait for standard rescue protocols.”
“What kind of cargo?”
“Medical supplies. Critical medications for a research colony in the Outer Rim.” The careful formality slips, revealing genuine urgency underneath. “Without them, hundreds will die.”
The weight of that settles over me like a lead blanket. “No pressure.”
“I would not ask if there were another option. But you are the most skilled mechanic in the region, and my ship...” He pauses. “It will require improvisation with Earth materials. If anyone can find a way to make different technologies work together, it would be you.”
The confidence in his voice does something warm and dangerous to my insides. When was the last time someone looked at my work and saw mastery instead of oddity?
“I’d have to see the damage first,” I hear myself saying. “Assess what we’re working with.”
“Of course.”
I continue working on the bandage, trying to ignore how warm his skin feels under my hands. “You know, this is definitely not how I planned to spend Christmas Eve.”
