The Alien Pollen Trapped Me in Quarantine With the Stoic Commander

Dr. Aris Thorne adjusted the magnification on the enviro-scanner, his reflection a pale, serious ghost in the reinforced plasteel of the containment unit. Inside, suspended in a soft, golden stasis field, was the reason for the past three weeks of sleepless nights and bureaucratic wrangling: the Amorexia Bloom. It was deceptively beautiful. A single, bell-shaped flower of deep, velvety indigo, its petals edged with a shimmering, bioluminescent silver. It pulsed with a slow, rhythmic light, like a sleeping heart. A beautiful, incredibly volatile heart. The station’s charter was clear on Class-7 bioforms, and the Amorexia’s unpredictable reproductive cycle, which involved explosive releases of neuro-affective pollen, put it squarely in that category.

The lab door hissed open, cutting through the low hum of the life support systems. Aris didn’t need to look to know who it was. The shift in the room's atmosphere was tangible, the quiet focus of his lab suddenly disturbed by a presence that was anything but quiet. It was solid, disciplined, and currently radiating a faint air of disapproval.

Commander Jax Volkov stepped inside, his black security uniform seeming to absorb the lab’s sterile white light. He was a tall man, built with the dense, powerful muscle of a career soldier, and he moved with an unnerving lack of sound. His dark hair was cropped short, and his face, all sharp angles and a strong jaw, was set in its usual stoic mask. Only his eyes, a startlingly clear grey, showed any sign of life as they swept the room, cataloging every piece of equipment, every potential threat, before finally landing on Aris.

“Doctor,” Jax’s voice was a low baritone, calm and devoid of inflection. It was a voice used to giving orders and being obeyed without question.

“Commander,” Aris replied, not taking his eyes off the bloom. “Come to ensure I don’t accidentally unleash a botanical apocalypse?”

A flicker of something—not quite amusement, but close—passed through Jax’s eyes. “Standard protocol for a specimen of this risk level. My presence is non-negotiable.”

Aris finally turned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m aware. I read the directive.” He gestured vaguely at the containment unit. “As you can see, everything is perfectly stable. I’m merely prepping for the initial cellular analysis.”

Jax didn’t respond. He simply took up a position near the main console, arms crossed over his broad chest, his gaze fixed on Aris’s hands as they moved with practiced precision over the control panel. Aris tried to ignore him, to lose himself in the familiar comfort of his work, but it was impossible. He was acutely aware of the Commander’s stare, the sheer physical space he occupied. Jax watched him work often, a silent, unreadable sentinel during Aris’s more hazardous experiments. Aris had always assumed it was simple duty. He never suspected that Jax found a strange sort of peace in the quiet intensity of the scientist's work, a fascination with the way Aris’s slender fingers could coax secrets from the universe’s most dangerous creations.

"Engaging micro-samplers," Aris murmured, his fingers flying across the console. Inside the unit, a series of hair-thin probes advanced toward the Amorexia Bloom. He leaned closer to the plasteel, his entire world narrowing to the delicate dance between machine and organism. He could feel Jax’s stillness behind him, a silent, heavy presence at his back.

Without warning, the lab’s main lights stuttered and went out. The hum of the primary systems died, replaced by the stark, crimson glow of the emergency lighting.

"Power fluctuation," Jax stated, his voice tight with sudden alertness.

The golden containment field around the bloom flickered violently. For a single, fatal second, it vanished. The indigo flower reacted instantly, convulsing as if struck. Its petals ripped open, expelling a dense cloud of fine, iridescent dust. The pollen billowed out, a shimmering, swirling galaxy of microscopic particles that caught the flashing red lights. It was a complete disaster.

A deafening klaxon began to shriek, the sound vibrating through the floor. With a heavy, final thud and a sharp hiss of hydraulics, a thick plasteel blast door slammed down, sealing the lab entrance. A second one covered the observation window, plunging them into a world of pulsing red light and ringing silence.

Aris felt the breath leave his body. He was frozen, watching the last of the glittering pollen settle on the consoles, the floor, the sleeve of his lab coat. On the smooth face of the sealed door, crimson digits ignited, stark and unforgiving.

QUARANTINE PROTOCOL: ACTIVE
DECONTAMINATION CYCLE: 24:00:00

Twenty-four hours. Locked in a sealed room with an unquantified amount of a potent neuro-affective agent. And Jax.

He finally turned from the catastrophic sight of his experiment. Jax was already at the door, his palm pressed flat against its cold surface. He wasn't trying to force it; he was assessing it, the soldier in him taking instant command of the new, hostile territory. He turned to face Aris, his grey eyes sharp and unreadable in the crimson gloom.

"Status, Doctor," Jax said. His voice was low, but it seemed to vibrate in the suddenly close air. The air. It was thicker now, warmer. It carried a strange, sweet scent, like night-blooming flowers and something else, something musky and warm that Aris couldn’t immediately identify. He took an involuntary breath, and the scent filled his lungs, clinging to the back of his throat.

“The pollen is a potent neuro-affective agent,” Aris said, his own voice sounding distant, disconnected from his body. He forced himself to think, to be the scientist. “Primary exposure vectors are inhalation and dermal absorption. Effects are… not well-documented. Anecdotal reports suggest rapid onset of heightened emotional and physical sensitivity. Disinhibition. Compulsion.” He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The sweet scent was stronger now, a thick, cloying perfume that made his head feel light.

“Can you override the lockdown from the lab-side terminal?” Jax’s voice cut through the haze in Aris’s mind. He was all business, his focus absolute. It was grounding.

“Possibly,” Aris replied, grateful for the task. “The quarantine system is designed to be failsafe, but there are maintenance backdoors. I’ll need to access the core programming.”

He moved toward the main console, the one Jax had been standing near. Jax stepped aside to give him access, but the movement only served to shrink the space between them. The warmth radiating from the commander’s body was intense, a palpable heat that seemed to soak into Aris’s skin. Aris tried to focus on the screen, but his fingers felt clumsy on the interface. He could feel Jax standing just behind his shoulder, could smell the clean, sharp scent of his uniform mingling with the heavy sweetness of the pollen. Every nerve ending in his body was suddenly awake and screamingly aware of the man’s proximity.

He needed a datapad to cross-reference the station’s schematics. He reached for one on a nearby tray, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Jax shifted his weight, his arm brushing against Aris’s back. The contact was brief, accidental, but it sent a sharp jolt of pure electricity through Aris’s system. His breath caught. His fingers spasmed, and the datapad slipped, clattering loudly on the floor.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The sound echoed in the crimson-lit silence. Aris stared at the datapad, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt a hot flush creep up his neck, spreading across his face. He was never clumsy.

He bent to retrieve it, a simple motion that suddenly felt fraught with meaning. As he straightened, he saw Jax looking at him. But the commander’s gaze wasn’t on his face, or on the datapad in his hand. It was fixed on the pale, exposed curve of his neck.

Jax felt the heat spread from the center of his chest into his limbs, a slow, heavy burn that had nothing to do with the lab’s temperature. He had watched Aris bend over, the fabric of his lab coat pulling tight across his shoulders, and an unfamiliar, possessive urge had tightened deep in his gut. He saw the delicate skin just above the scientist’s collar, the fine, dark hairs at his nape, and was seized by a raw, inexplicable need to touch. He wanted to place his thumb on the pulse that he could see fluttering there, to feel Aris’s life beating against his skin. The thought was so vivid, so powerful, it momentarily stole his breath. This was not discipline. This was not control. This was something primal, a low thrum of want that vibrated in his very bones, and it was directed entirely at the flustered, brilliant man in front of him.