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“No one really knows what goes on in anyone’s heart.”
Christine Chapel’s eyes didn’t leave Captain Pike’s as she spoke and La’an shifted her own gaze to the captain’s face to gauge his reaction. She was certain that there was a hell of a lot more to the events in sickbay than Chapel was giving them; but the bare facts were backed up by the evidence and Pike, though troubled, seemed to be taking Chapel at her word. Dak’Rah had attacked the doctor and M’Benga had defended himself with proportionate, deadly, force.
There wasn’t anything left to be discussed after that. The final interview of the investigation into the ambassador’s death was closed with an uneasy nod of Pike’s head and Christine bolted from her chair before La’an had even gotten to her feet. The captain already seemed lost in his own thoughts so La’an gave him a brisk nod then left the ready room for the bridge.
A security chief’s day was almost always unpredictable, that was the nature of her profession, but La’an prided herself on being particularly skilled at the kind of observation and response that kept the erratic nature of the universe from imposing chaos on her crew. Today she hadn’t done a good enough job. And not being good enough got people killed.
Right now all La’an wanted to do was get back to work and do better, but Captain Pike had ordered the entire senior staff to take the day off and he’d been explicitly clear before Chapel arrived that La’an was expected to follow those orders as soon as their meeting concluded. So instead of an empty chair waiting for her on the bridge La’an’s station was occupied by Lieutenant Teddy Ngyen. Of course La’an could order him down to the security section on deck eight, and hope that the captain stayed brooding at his desk where he wouldn’t notice her ignoring his orders, but it seemed peevish to disrupt Ngyen’s shift just because La’an was feeling twitchy.
She did have the option of going to her own office, where Pike definitely wouldn’t come looking, but if she hid out there she’d have to start pulling together the final report for Starfleet Command and honestly La’an didn’t have the energy to think about Ambassador Dak’Rah anymore today. Her whole department had been on high alert since before the ambassador even came onboard. La’an hadn’t been expecting trouble from the Klingon himself but emotions, and thus tensions, had been running high throughout the crew due to the impending arrival, and a single flare of temper or frayed exchange could easily tip into a fistfight after one too many drinks in the galley.
At least one good thing the news of Dak’Rah’s death seemed to have achieved was to dissipate the strained atmosphere on the ship, almost as suddenly as the announcement of his visit had created it. Amongst the lower decks at least.
La’an realised she had paused too long outside of the ready room door when she noticed that Ngyen’s fingers had stopped moving over the console interface and his back had straightened. Instead of issuing the new orders the junior officer had been anticipating La’an walked to the turbolift instead, with Ngyen rotating his chair a little to keep her in his field of vision. She appreciated a second in command who remained alert even during a mundane shift but La’an suspected even diligent Lieutenant Ngyen wouldn’t have been quite so alert if it wasn’t his direct superior striding across the room.
When the turbolift doors shut behind her La’an took a moment to close her eyes and appreciate the quiet before the thrum of the magnetic propulsion sent her hurtling through the maze of turboshafts crisscrossing the ship between decks. She had to give the computer her destination eventually though. La’an sighed. Fine, captain’s orders it was.
“Deck five,” she said.
Waiting for her in her own quarters would be either a half-read and practically abandoned novel or a change into workout gear so she decided on going to Una’s quarters instead. Strawberries and cheeseburgers and milkshakes, that’s what La’an needed. She’d eat so much that even the idea of a session in the gym would make her groan and then she’d ask Una to tell her all about Enterprise’s five year mission. She wanted to soak in every little detail of what Una had seen and done far, far away from the mud and blood of the Klingon War.
The plan had been so firmly fixed in La’an’s mind that she wasn’t sure at all how she found herself standing outside of Nurse Chapel’s quarters instead of Una’s. Or perhaps she just didn’t want to examine the reasons too closely.
What did La’an even expect to do?
She’d observed enough of the interactions between her crewmates to know that Ortegas or M’Benga were the two people most likely to offer Christine comfort and support when needed, but that wasn’t going to happen here. Right now the three of them were all caught up in the same stormy sea, and more likely to pull each other under than save another from drowning.
More recently Spock might have tried, in his own unique way, to be that friend. However the security chief doubted he’d seek Chapel out today. Even La’an, who wasn’t much better than a Vulcan when it came to handling other people’s emotions, could read a room and the already charged atmosphere in the morning briefing had been even more strained between Spock and Chapel. The simple fact that they’d chosen to sit as far apart as the conference table allowed practically screamed that something had happened between the possibly romantically entangled pair. Given the timeline of recent events La’an suspected the disastrous dinner with Dak’Rah had at least played a part; yet another reason to be glad she’d made use of the one ‘free pass’ Captain Pike allowed his senior officers for social obligations.
So La’an guessed that left her.
She touched the door chime and waited to hear Chapel’s voice over the comm asking who it was. In her head La’an began counting down ten slow seconds, resolved to leave Christine be if she reached zero and there was no sign of a response.
The door slid aside at three revealing Christine standing in the opening, somehow more brilliant than the stark white panels and fluorescent lighting of the corridor.
“I wanted to…”
Well, now La’an wasn’t really sure what she’d intended to do. Instead of counting she should have been thinking of what to say.
“Come in,” Christine said simply then stepped backwards, opening up her quarters for La’an to enter.
The cabin had a similar layout to La’an’s own, with the bed to the righthand side of the room, and a lounge to the left. Christine’s quarters were filled with a lot more colour though; splashes of it on the couch cushions and bedding, bold and bright artwork and trinkets lining the walls and shelves. Even the clothes Christine had discarded on the floor beneath the full length mirror on the near side of the bed seemed more vibrant than La’an’s entire wardrobe. The cabin was the antithesis of the immaculate clean lines of sickbay and La’an marvelled at how Christine managed to shape herself into a natural fit for both colourful chaos and ordered white.
Christine stopped in the centre of the room and turned back to regard La’an as she stepped inside and the door closed behind her. The head nurse had her arms folded across her waist, tucking the tumbler she held in her hand into the crease of her elbow. Christine’s long fingers wrapped around the glass stiffly enough to turn her knuckles white, the dark tattoo ink on her skin stark against them. La’an could smell the sharp tang of the alcohol even though they were paces apart and see that Christine’s blue eyes seemed dulled, as if she’d cried herself dry except that there were no sign of tears.
“Are you okay?”
Well that was a stupid question. Christine had watched one of her colleagues, one of her close friends, stab someone to death. Granted he’d been the someone stalking M’Benga and Chapel through their memories since J’Gal, but still Dak’Rah was as much a living, breathing soul as he was a monster.
Christine only shrugged. Her own arms wrapped around her upper body tightened and whether she was intending to keep people away or holding herself back La’an wasn’t sure. The movement rolled the tumbler in her grasp, pressing it against her sternum, and Christine’s fingers clenched so tight that La’an was amazed the glass didn’t shattered under the pressure.
“Sorry,” La’an offered flatly, “I’m no good at this.”
Her confession raised a genuine, if tiny, smile from Christine and La’an felt the desire to keep talking in the hopes that maybe she’d earn herself another.
“I’m sure even Spock could come up with something better to say than that.”
That did not get a smile.
Christine took a moment to silently regard her and under the calm, almost distant gaze La’an felt as though she was being appraised.
It was a sensation La’an was somewhat used at least. Christine seemed to relish in her attempts to make La’an flustered, whether it was when their paths crossed on duty or off. Una had been the one to point out to La’an that she was being flirted with, though she still wasn’t entirely sure if she’d felt better or worse about it after Una assured her Chapel did the same with everyone. Either way La’an always struggled not to squirm under those long considered stares as Christine searched for the perfect opportunity to slip some playful comment into their conversation, or the best moment to let her hand brush feather light down La’an’s arm while pretending to reach for something.
This assessment though seemed to be delving deep into La’an’s soul and she’d never focused harder on holding herself completely still.
Finally Christine said, “Spock and I are taking some time away from each other.”
“Spock away from you, or you away from Spock?”
More serious than the accompanying lazy smirk implied Christine asked, “Is there a difference?”
Oh, there’s a big difference, La’an thought but she didn’t say it. She and Christine, and Spock and T’Pring for that matter, were all adults. They were fully capable of making their own stupid decisions without hunting around for excuses and justifications.
Christine briefly unknotted herself to gesture with the tumbler in her hand. “I would really like to not think about the last couple of days.” She knocked back what remained of her drink and then regarded the shallow shimmer of gold liquid that clung to the glass. “And this isn’t doing the trick.”
“I can help with that,” La’an found herself saying.
She meant it honestly. There was a hollowness in Christine’s eyes that La’an desperately wanted to fill up for her. To give whatever she had of herself that could stand in for some of the usual sparkle that made playful Christine, sharp and funny Christine, really dorky Christine.
Christine slowly reached her arm out over the workspace designed around the cabin’s central support beam, finding a space on the crowded desktop amongst the electronic padds and thick textbooks to set her glass down. Empty handed she stalked slowly toward La’an. Unsure where this was going but entirely hopeful La’an was determined to hold Christine’s gaze. Determination wasn’t enough though and her eyelids fluttered closed the instant Christine leaned in and the other woman’s lips pressed against hers.
Distantly, dimly, La’an was aware that she’d stumbled back a step and hoped that they’d been far enough inside the room that they hadn’t triggered the door’s sensors and opened them to the view of the whole corridor. Every other part of her though was absorbed by the slow kiss. It felt as though they were barely touching and yet she could feel Christine everywhere.
Impulsively seeking out physical contact in order to forget a trauma was not an entirely new concept to La’an. Whenever she’d done this type of thing before, a couple of times during her years at the Academy, and a lot more often during the war, it had always gone one way- fast and wild. Like sparing. All La’an had been chasing after was that endorphin high that would leave her unable to feel anything besides the indistinct yet solid pleasure settling in the pit of her stomach.
This wasn’t about her though.
Ignoring the tingling regret on her lips La’an pulled her head back. She had to swallow hard, her throat suddenly far too dry, to chivalrously offer, “Tell me what you need.”
Christine shook her head.
A no was a no even when it wasn’t verbal and La’an mentally prepared herself for the awkward exit that was coming but Christine dove right back into kissing her. The no was apparently for talking, not kissing. When their lips next separated La’an whimpered at the loss. Then she whimpered for an entirely different reason as Christine’s mouth settled against her jaw; then dropped kisses just below her earlobe and trailed down her neck. Teeth were involved too, small nips chasing her pulse, and La’an was happy to submit to all of it.
Despite most definitely wanting what was happening to continue happening, La’an’s body betrayed her slightly when her stomach muscles jerked in reflex to Christine’s palms landing flat on her abdomen, just above the waistband of her trousers. To calm the older, untamed instinct La’an drew in a slow breath, filling her lungs with whatever perfume Christine wore. Having overcome the impulse to pull away La’an instead leaned into the contact with her whole body, allowing Christine to push up the layered red and black shirts until she’d exposed the flat plane of La’an’s stomach. Both of Christine’s hands ghosted over the defined muscles of La’an’s abdomen before one snaked downwards into tight, hot spaces.
La’an wasn’t sure at all why Christine was the one panting heavily, but she was, raggedly breathing into La’an’s ear. Then against La’an’s throat after taking a swipe of the salty skin with her tongue. And then into La’an’s mouth as they kissed again. When the blonde pressed her entire body hard up against La’an, momentarily trapping her own arm and stilling her fingers, La’an knew what was being asked. She’d always been better with non-verbal cues; she remembered that in one of her psych reports. Eagerly La’an reached for the zipper of Christine’s white jumpsuit. Christine moaned, their lips losing contact and her mouth pressing wetly against La’an’s chin, as La’an’s fingers fumbled with the warm metal pull then she dragged it downwards. When the opening revealed heather-grey lace curving across the hollow dip of Christine’s hips La’an brushed her tongue across her lower lip and allowed herself a dizzy second to just admire what was definitely not Starfleet issue underwear.
The usually tight fitted sleeves of Christine’s jumpsuit had slipped off of her shoulders and the disheveled clothing should have restricted the other woman’s movement even more, but undaunted Christine was already working wonders with her fingers again. Close to miracles in fact. La’an was keen to get her own hands dirty but they’d need to move to the bed for that because La’an wasn’t entirely sure her legs were going to hold out otherwise.
Christine seemed quite enthusiastic when La’an reached down into her own pants and caught hold of the other woman’s wrist. She was less eager when La’an pulled the hand free, actually whining in protest. The sound shot right through La’an almost making her change her mind.
She liked to imagine their relocation to the bed had looked like some choreographed dance but as she and Christine fell onto it in a tangle of limbs La’an had to admit to herself that they probably hadn’t been any prettier getting there. Christine’s hand found purchase again almost immediately, but with the other woman now sprawled on top of her La’an had even less chance to get inside Christine’s underwear than she’d had when standing. She settled instead for finding her way up under the cropped white t-shirt that Christine wore beneath the jumpsuit and past her bra.
All her intentions abandoned her though when she became too distracted under Christine’s touch to even think what her own hands and mouth could be doing. Ultimately La’an was left ineffectually nuzzling against the soft skin at the hollow of Christine’s throat as she rode out her orgasm.
After that it definitely wasn’t her place to tell Christine what she needed, so La’an followed the other woman’s lead as she wrapped a hand around La’an’s wrist, feeling her own heat and wet against her pulse. Christine pressed three kisses against her palm before guiding La’an’s hand to her belly. They were lying face to face now, the full lights of the cabin leaving neither of them anywhere to hide. And La’an didn’t want to. She wanted to watch every reaction pass over Christine’s face as she slid her hand lower. Past a scar she wouldn’t ask about, past lace she’d love to know more about, until Christine’s pale blue eyes blew out into deep ocean black.
La’an had always been quiet during sex, both alone or with partners, but she hadn’t expected the same from Christine. Nurse Chapel was not shy about being heard in every other part of her life, and her unrestrained laughter especially had made La’an daydream more than once about all of the fun noises Christine might make if someone were to touch her in just the right places. Whether this was Christine’s authentic self, or just who she was in this moment they were sharing together, the only sounds La’an heard were shallow breaths and the odd caught gasp, all drowned out by the pulse of Enterprise’s warp core throbbing through the ship.
They’d still been lying on the bed facing each other when all of La’an’s energy gave out. She didn’t really want to examine if she was just too tired to get up and leave, or if she deeply enjoyed snuggling with Christine. The blonde was nestled under La’an’s chin, forehead pressed against her throat. Christine’s warm, sticky hands were tucked up the back of La’an’s shirt and one finger was stroking a slow trail up and down her spine. Even in her stupor La’an’s annoyance flared at the stupid jumpsuit preventing her from doing the same.
La’an wet her cracked lips then asked into Christine’s tousled hair, “Should we…”
Get showered? Get something to eat? Do this again? Talk? Drink? Fuck?
How could La’an be so absolutely sure of herself and also so lost, all in the same moment?
“Shhh,” Christine rumbled against her throat.
La’an could do that.