Water.
Water, water, water. Hot water. Piping hot running water. And soap. Scented and luxurious. She'd never take it for granted again.
Not to mention shampoo. Hoshi slathered handfuls of it onto her hair, sighing with relief. Finally, she could feel clean again. She couldn't ever remember an occasion when she'd felt so disgustingly grubby.
Her uniform had been consigned to the laundry chute, handled at arm's length from the moment she'd got it off. Even the repeated and vigorous application of antiperspirants and deodorants couldn't completely conceal the fact that the limited space in the catwalk simply didn't allow room for eighty-three people to bring along changes of clothes.
Naturally she hadn't been the only sufferer. Everyone aboard ship had endured the same wretched conditions, cooped up in the nacelles while they sat out the storm. Sub-Commander T'Pol in particular would have undergone the torments of the damned, considering her sense of smell was so much more acute than a human's; it was a sign of how greatly she had changed since she joined the crew that she'd borne it silently, without complaint, though she must have been close to overdosing on her nasal suppressants by the time the all-clear went.
Malcolm, on the other hand, had not borne his sufferings in silence. He'd made no secret of the fact that the lack of shower facilities in their makeshift quarters was highly unsatisfactory – irritating Trip mightily in the process. At a guess, he was reveling in a shower now too. The ship had limited water supplies, and of necessity it was rationed; she could imagine the lieutenant exhausting his share long before he was convinced he'd washed off the accumulated grime of the days cooped up in the catwalk.
We could have shared one, to save water, she thought, smiling.
Then she realized what she'd thought, and the ramifications of it. Because it wasn't just water rationing that was on her mind.
Before she could get her thoughts under control, images of what could result – what would result – from sharing a shower with Lieutenant Malcolm Reed flashed into her head. And she wasn't pushing them away as an aberration either.
Too long since Risa. She grimaced as she started rinsing. Ravi's lovemaking had been tender, reverent, gentle, as focused on discovery as on pleasure. She'd enjoyed it enormously, had sweet memories of the visit.
So – not that it was ever remotely likely to happen – what would it be like with Malcolm?
She'd spent far too many hours opposite him on the Bridge to have missed the fact that he was probably the most performance-oriented person she'd ever encountered. With a grin, she envisaged him setting up a PADD with a running report on How Long It Takes Me To Give Hoshi An Orgasm. Better not leave that one lying around in the Mess by accident.
But in other respects?
It was hard to say. There were so many sides to Malcolm Reed. Prissy Brit, dedicated weapons officer, prickly perfectionist, supportive friend, paranoid security officer, patient teacher, subtle wit, fierce protector. So much lay behind the barriers that he kept between himself and the world. How far would she be allowed to approach him? What would it be like, to become intimate with a man who habitually kept others at such a distance? And what kind of a lover would he be?
On a physical level, she had to admit she found him quite attractive. Their periodic visits to Decon had given her ample opportunity to check out what was usually hidden beneath the ubiquitous Starfleet coveralls. Human nature being what it is, she'd peeked. That said, he probably had too.
She sighed, switched off the water and stepped out of the shower. The bottom line was, she was almost certainly going over all this (yet again) for nothing. Even if he was attracted to her – and a peck on the side of the mouth wasn't exactly evidence of overwhelming desire – the chances were he'd never act on it. That was another side to him: the obsessive adherence to regulations. He'd know to the last stop on the score what the position was about fraternization. True, she wasn't actually within his chain of command, but she was of a lower rank. It still wouldn't be posted up as something Starfleet would approve of.
She'd slipped his shirt into the laundry chute some days ago. At a guess he'd have had it back by now. Just as well, really. The scent of it would just complicate things. Though she could still remember it.
"Face it, Ensign," she said aloud. "You're about as likely to share a shower with Malcolm Reed as you are to go for a stroll around the hull without an EV suit. So just forget about him."
Easier said than done, however.
The silence was loud with her thoughts. And lying down on the bed wasn't going to cut it either. Better get dressed and go find something to eat.
Preferably not at the same time as Lieutenant Malcolm Reed.