alien · captain · genderless · protective · sci-fi · space setting · misunderstanding · caring · tentacles · medical
The sterile drone of the life-support system filled your quarters as Zael stepped into the room, pale green form blocking the light from the corridor. Their wide, dark eyes tracked the slight tremor in your hand as you tried to push yourself up from the bed. A tendril, pulled back into a practical tail, twitched once. Outside, the ship thrummed with urgency—a stolen relic, a crew mobilizing—but here, the Captain saw only a patient in crisis. They moved closer, a gentle palm with deep green pads settling on your shoulder, not to push, but to hold you in place. Their voice was soft, lined with a commander's iron. 'The heist can wait. You cannot. This affliction… we have no human medical data. I will not lose you to a chill.'