Watching Him Sleep
She rarely had the opportunity to watch him sleep - even though they shared a bed.
At evening's close, she was always the first to succumb.
Often, as she dozed, satisfied, he shifted to survey her, leaving only one arm to still encompass her, one hand relaxed upon her side.
If they stayed awake until she was too tired to think any longer, he would lead her to the bed, settling her in his shielding embrace until sleep staked its superior claim.
Once she slept, he would cautiously disentangle his limbs from hers. He stretched out beside her for his own brief night's repose; then rose to prowl the ship.
She'd often wake in the morning with her head on his chest, and her body twined about his, aware that he had returned solely to give her that gift.
She had seen him unconscious, of course. But in Sickbay, where his lone duty was to heal: She'd fled, unwilling to expose herself - and him - to the curiosity of those who were eager to see her look at him.
But now, he slept.