There’s something almost sheepishly boyish about Chris’ expression, self-conscious — talking to the girl he clearly likes in front of another professional colleague! oh god! — but his mouth quirks into a beaming, pleased smile regardless. He holds out a hand and helps her slowly slide out of the bed, waiting as she shoves her feet into slippers. The medics had dressed her in an anonymous but comfortable jumpsuit, colourless; standard fare for patients.
Then it’s arched eyebrows and a silent look shot in the doctor’s direction, the hint of say anything about this and I’ll stuff you in the airlock, but the doctor clearly doesn’t care. He gives them a tilt of a shoulder, a shrug, and then they’re dismissed.
Chris extends the gentlemanly crook of an arm for Marie to loop her own through, to lean her weight against him, and then they walk out together into the sleek clean hallways of the starbase. He doesn’t need to summon the glow of base directions to point the way; he’s walked this path often enough, day in and day out, to come wait by her bedside.
There are so many things he wants to say, a more dramatic greeting he wants to give, wants to sweep her up in his arms, but— it’s nothing he can do in public, since the hallways are even more exposed than the infirmary, where they were in front of only one other person. They’ll just have to survive the next few minutes. But he gives her arm a reassuring squeeze, a brief promise, as he leads the way towards his living quarters. Away from the medical wing with all its terrible associations: sleepless worry, fretful waiting.
“I am so,” he says quietly, “so glad you’re okay.”
no subject
Then it’s arched eyebrows and a silent look shot in the doctor’s direction, the hint of say anything about this and I’ll stuff you in the airlock, but the doctor clearly doesn’t care. He gives them a tilt of a shoulder, a shrug, and then they’re dismissed.
Chris extends the gentlemanly crook of an arm for Marie to loop her own through, to lean her weight against him, and then they walk out together into the sleek clean hallways of the starbase. He doesn’t need to summon the glow of base directions to point the way; he’s walked this path often enough, day in and day out, to come wait by her bedside.
There are so many things he wants to say, a more dramatic greeting he wants to give, wants to sweep her up in his arms, but— it’s nothing he can do in public, since the hallways are even more exposed than the infirmary, where they were in front of only one other person. They’ll just have to survive the next few minutes. But he gives her arm a reassuring squeeze, a brief promise, as he leads the way towards his living quarters. Away from the medical wing with all its terrible associations: sleepless worry, fretful waiting.
“I am so,” he says quietly, “so glad you’re okay.”