Chris is careful to not bump into her injured arm; he might be a reckless wildcard at times, but he’s all kid gloves when it comes to avoiding hurting Marie. (At least, physically. At least, more than he already had when fucking up their relationship.) So he steers clear of her arm, grasping at her face instead, the angles of her jaw, the nape of her neck and the tangled coil of her hair as they deepen the kiss.
Somewhere during that headlong crash into each other, he bumps into the door and it starts to obligingly open again. “Oh, shit,” he mutters, then waves frantically at it to close it again, before he presses the button to lock it properly.
And then his attention’s back on Marie. He runs his thumb across the line of her cheekbone, tracing the corner of her mouth. She looks more drawn and wan than she used to, the marks of her hospital stay still on her, but there’s a radiant buoyant happiness and relief bubbling up in both of them.
After everything, after Parnassus Beta, and the Gorn, and nearly dying… there’s something so grounding about the careful way he avoids jostling her injured arm, how he kisses her, the warmth of his hands on her face, chasing away the chill of the infirmary and the horror of what had almost happened.
Then he’s muttering a curse as he bumps the door and it starts opening again and it pulls a laugh out of her as he closes it again and locks it. That she could have lost this, lost him… Left him alone…
His hands are back on her face, and she doesn’t want him to stop. Doesn’t want him to ever stop. (They will, they’ll have to leave eventually. She has daily checkups and they’re not going to be quite so blatant in front of others. But for the rest of the night. And however much of tomorrow they can manage. That’ll do.) She can’t help but tip her head into his touch.
There had always been that skittish fear wedged beneath his ribcage, that he shouldn’t inflict her with this relationship when he knew he was going to die; and yet somewhere in all that, he’d never stopped to consider the prospect of her death until it stared him right in the face. Until it was Marie in that nightmare of a colony, looking at him steady and level, accepting her own fate, and he realised suddenly that he didn’t want to accept it for her.
Gazing at her, then, he starts overcompensating, words tripping loose on his tongue and seesawing into tangents: “Whatever you need, Marie. I can cook something if you have an appetite? If you just wanna sleep, my bed’s just over there. I’m sorry I didn’t— I do want to go on vacation with you, I want to figure this out, I just—”
Chris can be so eloquent and well-spoken in front of a crew and his subordinates — motivational speeches are his specialty — but something in him just crumbles in front of her, the composure bleeding away. She’s already seen him at his worst. When he’d been an inch away from a grizzled unshaven hermit, she was the person he let past those doors and to stay with him in Montana.
How absolutely, utterly stupid of him, to squander this.
“I mean, that’s a discussion for later. Obviously. But I’m just saying. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you. Gorn eggs have a way of reorienting your priorities, I think.”
Her heart gives another giddy lurch in her chest, and she reaches up with her uninjured arm to cradle his face with her hand again.
“We’ll figure it out,” she tells him, suddenly certain that they will. That they can. If she can survive something that should have been a death sentence, they can figure out… this. Them. She wants to. Needs to. Almost dying has made a few things crystal clear. And she doesn’t want to waste a second chance she could have easily never gotten.
“I don’t think I care about vacations anymore. I just want this. You. Us.” That’s all she wants. She could have died and she doesn’t want to lose him again. She gives him a slightly sheepish smile. “They do. They really do.” If they do go on vacation somewhere, they can find something that works for both of them. All that matters is spending time together. “I don’t know if I have much of an appetite, but I should probably eat something anyway.” She’s not sure if her stomach is entirely settled, but it seems like something she should try. At least in a bit.
“Mostly I’d like to just stay in your arms a while.” She could probably sleep, shes weak, and shaky, and exhausted, but she’s been unconscious and doesn’t really feel like revisiting that just yet. Even if it’d be voluntary rather than sedation, this time.
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Somewhere during that headlong crash into each other, he bumps into the door and it starts to obligingly open again. “Oh, shit,” he mutters, then waves frantically at it to close it again, before he presses the button to lock it properly.
And then his attention’s back on Marie. He runs his thumb across the line of her cheekbone, tracing the corner of her mouth. She looks more drawn and wan than she used to, the marks of her hospital stay still on her, but there’s a radiant buoyant happiness and relief bubbling up in both of them.
“Hi,” he says.
no subject
Then he’s muttering a curse as he bumps the door and it starts opening again and it pulls a laugh out of her as he closes it again and locks it. That she could have lost this, lost him… Left him alone…
His hands are back on her face, and she doesn’t want him to stop. Doesn’t want him to ever stop. (They will, they’ll have to leave eventually. She has daily checkups and they’re not going to be quite so blatant in front of others. But for the rest of the night. And however much of tomorrow they can manage. That’ll do.) She can’t help but tip her head into his touch.
Her smile absolutely lights up her face. “Hi.”
no subject
Gazing at her, then, he starts overcompensating, words tripping loose on his tongue and seesawing into tangents: “Whatever you need, Marie. I can cook something if you have an appetite? If you just wanna sleep, my bed’s just over there. I’m sorry I didn’t— I do want to go on vacation with you, I want to figure this out, I just—”
Chris can be so eloquent and well-spoken in front of a crew and his subordinates — motivational speeches are his specialty — but something in him just crumbles in front of her, the composure bleeding away. She’s already seen him at his worst. When he’d been an inch away from a grizzled unshaven hermit, she was the person he let past those doors and to stay with him in Montana.
How absolutely, utterly stupid of him, to squander this.
“I mean, that’s a discussion for later. Obviously. But I’m just saying. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you. Gorn eggs have a way of reorienting your priorities, I think.”
no subject
“We’ll figure it out,” she tells him, suddenly certain that they will. That they can. If she can survive something that should have been a death sentence, they can figure out… this. Them. She wants to. Needs to. Almost dying has made a few things crystal clear. And she doesn’t want to waste a second chance she could have easily never gotten.
“I don’t think I care about vacations anymore. I just want this. You. Us.” That’s all she wants. She could have died and she doesn’t want to lose him again. She gives him a slightly sheepish smile. “They do. They really do.” If they do go on vacation somewhere, they can find something that works for both of them. All that matters is spending time together. “I don’t know if I have much of an appetite, but I should probably eat something anyway.” She’s not sure if her stomach is entirely settled, but it seems like something she should try. At least in a bit.
“Mostly I’d like to just stay in your arms a while.” She could probably sleep, shes weak, and shaky, and exhausted, but she’s been unconscious and doesn’t really feel like revisiting that just yet. Even if it’d be voluntary rather than sedation, this time.