Amelia Fairchild
As the medical scanner whirrs, Amelia forces herself to keep her posture straight and her breathing even. She isn't particularly anxious when it comes to visiting a medical professional, but today's appointment is slightly awkward for her. Christine Chapel is a friend, and the other woman is about to get to know her… intimately. Every bodily function will be recorded from her heart rate down to the birthmark on her left upper thigh. Medical scanners leave no stone unturned. Finally, Christine sets down the device and tells her,
"You're in perfect health, Amelia."
"That's good news." She wasn't expecting much to turn up. Her last physical was six months ago (and isn't that even more awkward to think about in hindsight considering who performed it). This is just intake procedure. Christine picks up her PADD and tells her,
"I just have a few questions to ask. Is that alright?"
"Yes."
"Good. Any family history of illness that I should be aware of?"
"No, not that I know of." She's never met her grandparents so she couldn't say for certain, but her mother and father are perfectly healthy individuals.
"You exercise regularly, so I can skip that question. Any drug or alcohol use?"
"Alcohol, occasionally."
"How occasionally?"
"Less than once a week. More social than anything else." There was a period of heavy drinking when she went to college, but that was over a decade ago.
"And then, are you getting blackout drunk? Just tipsy?"
"Generally, not even inebriated, but never blackout."
"That sounds acceptable. I have a few mental health questions as well, and then we can get back to the physical health ones."
"Alright."
"Are you experiencing any anxiety or feeling on edge?"
"Yes."
"How often?"
"Less than one day out of every week."
"Do you find pleasure in your job or leisure activities?"
"Yes, I'm pleased with both."
"And how would you say your relationships with others are?"
"Excellent." She has acquaintances, several friends, and a positive romantic relationship. What more could she ask for?
"Do you ever feel down, depressed, or lonely?"
"Sometimes." She is human, after all.
"How often?"
"Less than one day out of every week."
"Any thoughts of hurting yourself or others?"
"No."
"Alright. When was the first day of your last period?" Here comes the questions that most people would consider awkward to discuss with a friend. Especially since she doesn't know the answer to this one. She hasn't kept up. There's been no reason to.
"I can't give you an exact date, but it was around two weeks ago. They're regular on a twenty-eight day cycle."
"And are you sexually active?" Not currently, but she has been in the past, so she's required to answer,
"Yes."
"How many partners would you say you've had?"
"Six. Only one in the past five years."
"And do you use contraception?"
"Always." Christine's forehead wrinkles slightly as she studies her PADD.
"It says in your chart that you aren't on any form of birth control at present." No, there was no reason to be after things ended with Nicholas. "Would you like to make a change there?" The nurse's expression is neutral but there's a hint of color in her cheeks. Amelia's certain that if she glanced in a mirror, she would look much the same.
"Yes." It could be worse. She could be having this discussion with… now that's uncomfortable to think about. Still, considering that Christine knows exactly why (or more specifically about whom) she's making this health decision, it's still awkward.
"Alright. You were on Zylex before, correct?"
"That's right."
"How was that working for you?"
"It was adequate." It did its job. She doesn't have any offspring running around.
"Adequate, but not good?"
"There was room for improvement."
"How so?" Is it her imagination or is the room a tad warmer than usual?
"I experienced some side effects. Decreased libido, difficulties with natural lubrication and breast tenderness."
"It sounds like it wasn't working well for you." Christine scrolls through her PADD, finally landing on- "What about Myadma? Have you been on that one before?"
"No."
"It's not as long acting. You'd have to come in once a year instead of every five years. However, it should alleviate those symptoms. It also protects against most sexually transmitted infections as opposed to what you were on before."
"That sounds like an acceptable trade off."
"Good. I can get you started today if you'd like." Amelia nods. "Okay. Just give me a minute." Christine steps into the dispensary, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She shouldn't be embarrassed for looking after her health, sexual or otherwise. If it were one of her patients, she would applaud them for their responsibility. This is the twenty-third century, after all. Sexual repression is only common on Earth in certain sects. It's a part of life and should be treated as such, broaching healthy discussions, especially between couples. But God, is she glad that Leonard's currently in a meeting with the captain so there's no chance he'd overhear.
At last, Christine emerges, a hypospray in hand. Amelia fights back a shudder. She hates this part of medication management. It doesn't hurt per se, but it feels… odd. Sends an unpleasant tingle throughout wherever it is she's being hypo'd.
"Here we are. If you'll just relax your shoulder-" She does her best, but it's difficult considering what's coming. "Do you want to look away or are you one of those who has to watch?"
"I have to watch."
"You're like me, then." Christine leans down, pressing the hypospray against her shoulder, and there's the unsettling sensation, then- "You're all done. Come back in twelve months or if you have any symptoms before then."
"Thank you." She really needs to get out of here, especially before- the doors to sickbay slide open and Leonard strides through, not looking up from his PADD.
"Nurse, get me what we have on Vulcan physiology and prepare for incoming casualties."
"Yes, Doctor." Christine starts towards the ICU and Amelia slides down from the biobed where she was sitting. As her feet touch the ground, he finally looks up.
"Counselor. Is everything alright?" She nods, but she's unable to meet his gaze.
"Just an intake physical." Which reminds her… "You said you were preparing for casualties?"
"Yes. We've picked up a distress signal from a Vulcan science vessel and the captain's taking us in to investigate."
"Do we know what the distress signal is about?"
"No. We're too far out to receive the rest of the message." As he says it, a nauseating sensation floods her senses. They're going into warp. She takes a few deep breaths to recover, only to receive a concerned look. "Amelia, are you-"
"We're in warp." Realization must dawn on him, because he tells her,
"You said you could feel it." Before she can reply, the doors slide open and Christine steps through.
"The ICU is ready to receive patients, Doctor, and I've sent the files to your computer."
"Thank you, Chapel." That's her cue to go. She's only gotten a few feet when she hears,
"Counselor Fairchild?" Amelia glances over her shoulder. Christine offers her an apologetic smile as she approaches and, once she's in earshot, murmurs, "The medication won't take effect until it's been in your system for twenty-four hours. Don't test it out until then." Yes, the room is definitely too warm.
"Thank you." She wasn't planning on it, and now she's fairly certain she couldn't manage it if she tried.
Leonard McCoy
Leonard is in his office speed-reading his way through the Enterprise's files on Vulcan physiology (a few of which are observations he made himself after operating on Sarek and Spock) when the claxon sounds. "Red alert. All crew members report to battle stations." So that trouble with the Vulcans is more serious than anticipated. He barely has time to think about that before the ship shudders, the walls reverberating with the sound of the deflector shields absorbing the impact. It's hardly the first time this has happened and all he can really do down here is prepare for patients and hold on.
Amelia emerges from her office at the same time he does, her expression carefully neutral. Chapel is still in the ICU and as they step in, she asks,
"Do we know what's going on?" Both women are looking at him.
"Just that it has to do with the Vulcan science vessel." The ship rattles again and this time the lights blink.
"Direct hit." Amelia says it quietly.
Minutes pass, but it feels like hours. The ship convulses, the lights dimming and almost winking out a few times, and then it's quiet. A little too quiet.
"Engineering to Sickbay." He presses the comm button.
"McCoy here."
"Doctor, we have casualties here. Three injured."
"Affirmative. Don't move them until I get there." The comm goes silent, but only for a moment. Next to report in is security (two more casualties, injured), then the science division (one casualty, dead). It seems like most departments took a hit, except-
"Bridge to sickbay."
"McCoy here-" He secures a hypospray. "-for another thirty seconds."
"Bones, how many men are down?"
"We've got one dead, five injured. Who's to blame for all this?"
"The Klingons. They were still in the area around the science vessel. Our scanners didn't pick them up in time." At that, he catches sight of Amelia frowning. She's probably trying to assess the captain's state of mind.
"And the Vulcan science vessel?"
"Sensors show only one life sign aboard. It's very weak. Preparing to beam it aboard now." He needs to think. There are five others injured. Five of their own people. Right now, a triage situation needs to be put in place.
"I'll send a team up to the transporter room. McCoy out." Turning to Christine, he tells her, "Send Andres down to security, Taylor to sciences, and M'Benga and Perez to the transporter room. You come with me to engineering."
"Yes, Doctor." He becomes aware of Amelia still standing there and offers what he hopes is a reassuring look.
"Counselor, will you be our reception committee? Direct traffic, so to speak?"
"Of course."
The good news is he made the right decision when he chose to go to engineering. The injuries of all three officers are severe enough to require an extended stay in sickbay. The bad news is he's almost certain one of them isn't going to make it. There's only so much a person can do to knit the human body back together after it's been torn apart, and although he's doing his damnedest, he's seen this play out before. It won't be enough.
Just as he thought, the lieutenant starts crashing almost as soon as they reach sickbay. He's so preoccupied with trying to save his patient that he barely notices the others. That is, until the battle's lost. That's two bodies that will have to be buried, or in this case, ejected into space. Two families that will never see their loved ones again. Two lives he couldn't save. But he can't concentrate on that. Not with so many others in need of medical attention.
The other two from engineering have sustained severe burns. Even with treatment, it'll take time for the skin to heal, and then there's the issue of scarring. The two security officers are in better shape and he's able to pass their care off to M'Benga. That leaves their guest.
The first thing he notices is that her vitals are way off, that is if the years of examining Spock are anything to judge from. Her heartbeat is more rapid, breathing is unsteady, and her temperature is up. Normally he would just chalk it up to stress from sustaining injuries (several broken bones which are easy enough to repair and burns which are less so but still manageable), but something niggles at the back of his mind. He's seen this before. Specifically, two years ago when his friend was going through Pon Farr. Once he's satisfied that she's received sufficient care and is still sleeping under sedation, he leaves his post and heads for the one person whom he trusts to be his sounding board in such a sensitive matter.
"Enter." Amelia is sitting at her rarely used desk, PADD in hand. "Can I help you, Doctor?"
"I hope so." Something in his tone must alert her to the seriousness of the situation because she sets down the PADD and asks him,
"Do you need to speak to Counselor Fairchild or to Amelia?"
"Counselor Fairchild for now."
"Alright. I'm listening."
"How would you react if I asked about your sex life?" Her eyes widen slightly but other than that, she remains impassive.
"That depends. Is Dr. McCoy asking or is Leonard?"
"Dr. McCoy."
"Then I would assume it was for the benefit of my health and answer all questions." That makes him wonder what her reaction would be if he asked her as her partner instead.
"What if you were a Vulcan?"
"The one in your sickbay or the one on the bridge?"
"The one in my sickbay."
"I'm not an expert on Vulcan psychology, but my best guess is that if you gave me a logical reason for your question, I'd answer it."
"They're not very logical about this."
"About what?"
"Pon Farr. It's the biological imperative to mate or die. It happens once every seven years, and I believe my patient is experiencing it."
"And I take it that this is a sensitive topic."
"Let's just say that the last patient I had with this condition almost chose death over communication."
"Then I would suggest that you lead with the fact that you know the signs of… Pon Farr… because of a previous patient. Assure her that you're only asking as a medical professional and assure her that it goes no further than your ears. From there, maybe bring up that there is another Vulcan on board if she would be more comfortable talking to him." He nods.
"It all sounds very logical."
"I thought so."
"Thank you, Counselor. I'll get out of your hair now."
"You're not-" She offers him a small smile. "What I mean is, you don't bother me."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Sickbay is much calmer when he returns. There are still two crewmen in the ICU for observation, but everyone else has left. A quick pass of the scanner reveals that the sedative is wearing off. He could wait for it to complete its course naturally, but considering he doesn't know how far into Pon Farr she is, he decides to bring her around with a hypospray. She blinks up at him, and if he didn't know better, he'd say she's frowning.
"I'm Dr. McCoy. You're in sickbay on board the Federation starship Enterprise. How are you feeling?"
"I'm…" She hesitates. "…sore."
"That's to be expected. You had some burns and a few broken bones. We did what we could, but you're still healing."
"You have my thanks, Doctor."
"And whose thanks is that?"
"I am T'prel."
"T'prel. Do you remember what happened to your ship?"
"My vessel was under attack by a Klingon ship. We sustained heavy fire, and my fellow crewmen were injured. I sent out a distress signal. That is the last thing that I remember."
"I'm sorry to tell you this, but your crewmates didn't survive."
"I see." Her expression doesn't change.
"As I said before, your injuries have been treated, but your vital signs show some concerning patterns. I've seen this once before: when I had another patient who was entering Pon Farr." Her lips press into a thin line, but other than that, he wouldn't know that he's touched a nerve. "Now, I don't know how advanced your condition is, but what I do know is that if we don't do something about it, you'll die."
"That is none of your concern, Doctor."
"You're my patient. That makes it very much my concern." The doors of sickbay open, revealing- "Mr. Spock."
"Doctor." Spock approaches. "I am here to see the surviving Vulcan from the science vessel." Perfect timing.
"T'prel, this is-"
"I know who he is." T'prel sits up in bed, her gaze never leaving Spock. "He is the one who spurned the Vulcan Science Academy in favor of Starfleet."
"Indeed." Spock turns to him. "Dr. McCoy, if I might ask you to leave us-"
"Now wait just a damn minute." He looks down at T'prel. "We are not finished here. You might be out of the woods, but you're still my patient."
"Leave us, Doctor." She's still staring at Spock. "I wish to discuss the matter which you have brought to my attention with Mr. Spock." Oh. So, she's going to discuss…
"I'd better go then." And just like that, he's been ordered out of his own sickbay. The only real place to retreat is to his office, so that's where he goes. It's where he still is when, fifteen minutes later, there's a buzzing outside his door. "Enter." Spock steps inside and, clasping his hands behind his back, informs him,
"You may discharge T'prel from sickbay now, Doctor."
"Oh, may I?"
"Yes." Of course, he wouldn't pick up on sarcasm.
"Spock, she's still in recovery. I can't discharge her-"
"Doctor-" Spock leans closer. "-you are aware of what her condition is. You've seen it before."
"Yes, I know."
"There is only one logical solution, and that is for me to mate with her."
"Naturally."
"I take it you disapprove?"
"It's not that. It just usually takes me longer than fifteen minutes to decide that I'm going to sleep with someone."
"We will not be sleeping. We will be copulating."
"I got that."
"Will you discharge her?" He's not really seeing another option unless he wants a dead Vulcan on his hands.
"She's all yours. Just have her report back here after you… copulate."
"Thank you." He really needs to think about something other than Spock having logical sex. Turning on his PADD, he writes up the order to have T'prel discharged and signs off on it. Just in time too, because the buzzing sounds again. "Spock, I don't want to hear about it-"
"Then it's a good thing I'm not Spock." The doors slide open and Amelia steps inside. "Let me guess; they left together."
"And we just played matchmaker for a pair of Vulcans. That's about right." He sighs. "Do you have something for me to sign?"
"Actually, I was about to head up to the mess hall and I was wondering if you were coming along." A glance down at his PADD reveals that it's eighteen hundred hours. His shift is officially over.
"Yeah. I'll be there in a minute." Nodding, she starts towards the door. "Before you go, can I talk to you about something? To Amelia, not Counselor Fairchild."
"That depends. Are you going to ask me about my sex life?"
"I can if you want me to, but I was thinking more about asking a favor."
"What's that?" Here it goes.
"Before all of this started, I was planning on contacting Joanna tonight. Sending a written message."
"That's wise. It's easier to gather your thoughts when you're writing than when you're speaking." That's what he thought, but now he feels shaky about it.
"Would you… be there while I do it? In case I need someone to bounce ideas off of?" Her brow knits.
"Are you sure, Leonard? This is personal, and I don't want to intrude."
"I'm sure." Reaching out, he takes her hand. "I trust you, Amelia." Slowly, her expression softens, and she nods.
"Then, yes. Would you prefer to do it directly after dinner or for me to stop by later?"
"I need some time to get my head screwed on straight before I even attempt to sit down and write a letter. Say, maybe twenty-one hundred hours?"
"I'll be there."
Amelia Fairchild
Amelia is so preoccupied with thoughts of the evening ahead as she puts on her workout clothes that she almost doesn't notice the other woman in the changing room. Almost. The sound of a shuddering breath however? That gets her attention. As a counselor, she's highly attuned to anything that might suggest distress, and someone trying very hard not to cry? That's a distress signal if she's ever heard one.
Christine is sitting on a bench, pulling on her stockings and shoes. As Amelia approaches, her shoulders shake. Hesitantly, Amelia settles into place next to her.
"Want to talk about it?"
"No." Christine sits up and wipes at her eyes. "Yes. But I shouldn't."
"I think you should."
"You wouldn't want to hear it."
"I don't mind." Reaching out, she takes the other woman's hand. "I'm your friend, Christine. I'll listen to anything you want to say." It's silent for a few moments, and she's almost decided that Christine isn't going to confide in her, when-
"T'prel is beautiful, isn't she?" She doesn't say anything, and the other woman offers her a watery smile. "Go ahead. I know she is."
"She's attractive, I suppose. But so are you."
"I'm not. Not like she is. She's so…" Christine sighs. "Vulcan."
"That doesn't make her superior. Just different."
"That's not what he thinks." She's certain she knows which person Christine is referring to, but she has to ask.
"Who, Christine?"
"Mr. Spock." Fresh tears snake down Christine's cheeks. "I love him. God help me, but I do."
"I see."
"I know it was the logical choice for him to-" Christine hesitates. "-help her out, but it still hurts, you know?"
"I'm sure it does." The seconds tick by in silence. If she were here in her official capacity as counselor, she'd advise Christine of the ways to manage her feelings, remind her of her self-worth. But she's not. She's here as a friend, so she's going to act the way that friends do. "Christine-"
"Please, don't. Don't tell me that it'll get better. It's been years, and it hasn't. Don't tell me that there's a chance because there isn't. I know that."
"What I was going to say is, may I give you a hug?" Wiping her eyes, Christine nods. It's a little awkward, but Amelia reaches out and wraps her arms around the nurse, who returns the gesture, tears wetting Amelia's shirt.
"I should've known you weren't going to lie to me. You don't do that."
"No, I don't." And the truth is, she doesn't know. She doesn't know if Mr. Spock returns Christine's feelings, although she happens to believe he's capable of it. She doesn't know if this is love or infatuation spread over an unusually long period of time. What she does know is that her friend is in distress, and she wants to make it better. "I'm here for you, Chrisine. If you need to talk or just want someone to sit in silence with you, I'm available."
"You probably have plans with Dr. McCoy." She does, but they're later. Even if that weren't the case-
"I'm here as long as you need me." She thinks he would understand.
They sit there in silence and slowly, Christine's tears dry. Amelia's not sure how long it's been when the other woman straightens and, with one last squeeze, lets her go.
"I'll let you get to your run."
"Actually, it's yoga tonight."
"Well, whatever it is, I won't get in the way."
"You're not in my way." This is the second time today she's had to say something like this to a person she cares about. "I'd rather be here with you anyway."
"You really mean that, don't you?" She nods.
"I do." Christine stands.
"See you tomorrow at breakfast?"
"See you then." She retreats towards the door, leaving Amelia with food for thought. Specifically, about a certain Vulcan. Does he know how Christine feels about him? If he does, does he even care? She stands and steps out into the hallway. It's really none of her business either way.
The training room is empty, or at least she thinks it is. The lights are dim since it's a room dedicated to the more meditative side of training, and she's set down her mat and is halfway through a sun salutation when she hears,
"Good evening, Counselor." It's enough to knock her off balance and she lands hard on her rear end.
"Mr. Spock." The Vulcan is just… sitting there. Correction; he's in a classic meditative position, cross legged on the floor. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
"Negative, Counselor. I was just finishing up." He climbs deliberately to his feet, and she thinks he's going to start towards the door, but instead he approaches her. "You are friends with Nurse Chapel, are you not?"
"Christine's a friend, yes."
"Is she alright? I saw her when I escorted T'prel back to sickbay and she seemed… emotional." 'That's because she's human' Amelia almost snaps, but she restrains herself. That is, until he tells her, "I am aware that she has romantic inclinations towards me. Did my actions today distress her?" That's one way to put it. But she can't say that. Not without risking betraying Christine's trust.
"As a counselor, I can't discuss what a patient confides in me. And as a friend-" She snaps her mouth shut.
"Continue."
"Permission to speak freely?"
"Granted."
"Then, as a friend, I would very much like to punch you, Mr. Spock." He knows Christine's feelings and yet he didn't even attempt to be considerate or circumspect. And now he thinks to ask if his actions have had consequences!
"That is a most illogical desire. You would injure yourself."
"And now I want to punch you even more." He raises an eyebrow.
"Your responses are wildly emotional. I believe I now understand the attraction between yourself and Dr. McCoy."
"Yes, when provoked, we're both powder kegs set to explode."
"Then, as I have no desire to be caught in the detonation, I will do my best to avoid provoking you."
"Was that a joke, Mr. Spock?"
"I am a Vulcan. We do not make jokes." Picking up his own mat, he starts towards the door. "Goodnight, Counselor."
"Goodnight, Mr. Spock." She can add that to the list of odd encounters she's had aboard the Enterprise. Now, to focus her mind before she attempts to help Leonard focus his.
Leonard McCoy
Leonard is a fairly intelligent man. He has a medical degree (although he's met some idiots who hide behind their scalpels before). He has performed open heart surgery on a Vulcan in the middle of a battle. He's come up with a new technique for grafting neural tissue to the cerebral cortex and then creating an anoxal pathway between the tissue graft and the basal ganglia. Most people would say that makes him pretty smart. But what's defeating him, what has been defeating him since twenty-one hundred hours, is writing a simple message to his daughter.
What do you say to a child who is one step away from estranged? How do you attempt to repair the damage done by years of neglect, meaningful or otherwise? Joanna's an accomplished woman in her own right, not a little girl searching for her father's approval. What can he offer to her that will even begin to bridge the gap between them?
"You've been at it for hours." The words drag him out of his contemplation. Amelia is sitting on the sofa, her PADD in hand. The statement is made casually, like she's observing a change in the weather.
"There's a distinct possibility that I may be stupid."
"Is there?" He nods.
"That or emotionally inept." The corners of her mouth twitch up at that, but she regains control.
"What makes you think that?"
"Like you said, I've been at it for hours, and I can't come up with a damn thing to say."
"How far have you gotten?" He looks down at the computer.
"'Dear Joanna, how are you? I am fine. I'm still stationed on the U.S.S. Enterprise.' That's all."
"It's a start, at least." He sighs.
"Amelia, how the hell do I do this?" It's more of a rhetorical question than anything else. He's not expecting an answer, but considering who it is he's asking, he really should.
"Try offering more of yourself. You're attempting to reestablish a relationship. It should be personal."
"How personal?"
"That depends on how personal you want to get, although I wouldn't advise going overboard in such an early overture." That raises an interesting question. Exactly how personal does he want to get? He would like to know personal things about Joanna: who her friends are, if she's seeing anyone, her likes and dislikes. Maybe that's a good place to start. Turning back to the computer, he types,
'I think you would like it out here. We visit a lot of interesting places, and we have a good crew. As you probably know, Jim Kirk is the captain and a friend of mine. Mr. Spock is the first officer. He's a Vulcan and as much as I hate to admit it, he's a friend too. There's also Amelia Fairchild-' Should he mention that he's seeing her, or is that too much for a first letter? Would he have wanted to know about his dad's romantic relationships if he was in Joanna's place? Probably not. '-the ship's counselor, as well as Christine Chapel, the head nurse.' That's fairly innocuous.
'We stay busy out here. At least once a week, we visit another planet or moon. Some are beautiful. Others want to kill us.' Frowning, he backspaces over that sentence. 'Others are less hospitable. However, all of them have something to be learned and experiences to be gained.' What does he know about her? How can he pull her into this?
'I know you're close to graduating now. Do you have any friends that you think you'll keep up with?' No, that sounds condescending. What about- 'Do you have any close friends? Where do you hope you'll be posted? Let me know as soon as you find out.' Maybe he should add more, but his brain is already overexerted from just what he's written so far. Time to wrap it up.
'I hope that we can be in contact more often. I know you must be busy, so if you don't have time to reply, I understand. Make sure you're looking after yourself. Love, Dad.' It's not perfect, but overall, he's satisfied with the end result. Now, to send it.
With that done, he turns his attention to the woman in his quarters. Amelia is sitting sideways on the sofa, her legs stretched out in front of her. The PADD is still in her hands, and her forehead is wrinkled. Standing, he approaches and sits down next to her, pulling her back to rest against his chest. She looks up and offers him a smile.
"Finished?"
"I just sent it off." A strand of hair has escaped from where she has it pinned half up, and he pushes it back behind her ear. "Sorry I haven't been much company."
"Don't be. I'm not here to be entertained. I'm here for you." She's so close. It would be wrong not to kiss her right now. She must think so too because she shifts to face him, the PADD almost falling from her lap. Reaching out, he threads his fingers through her hair and presses their lips together.
Over the past month, this has become a common practice, but like the first time, it still leaves him wanting more. Unlike the first time, the innocence has quickly faded into something more, something heated. By the time this is over, he'll be out of breath, and she'll be practically on top of him, not an inch of space between them. And doesn't that give him some ideas. He's thought about pushing things, seeing just how far it can go before one or the other of them pulls away (although he's unlikely to be the one to do that), but something keeps holding him back. He doesn't want to scare her off or make her think that all he wants her for is the physical side of things. He can respect those relationships, but it's not what he's after with her. So, reluctantly, he leans back, although it almost kills him, seeing how flushed she is, those blue eyes hooded.
"What were you reading?" Pushing back her hair from where he's mussed it, she tells him,
"It's a biography of Van Gogh. Did you know he created 2,100 or so artworks in ten years?"
"I didn't."
"He's most well known for his oil paintings, of course. Most of those were done in the last two years of his life. It's a shame. He never got any recognition until after he died. It was a gunshot wound, probably self-inflicted, although no one really knows. He knew he was mentally ill, and he tried to do something about it. He checked himself into several psychiatric hospitals over the years, but he never stuck around long enough for it to do much good. It's really fascinating once you get into the psychology of it-" She stops short, glancing down at her PADD. "But I'm probably boring you."
"You're not." Something like disbelief flashes across her face, only to be replaced with that careful expression. He's not getting through to her. Taking her hand, he tells her, "You don't bore me, Darling. Never think that." She seems to be weighing his words, deciding whether or not to take them at face value. Finally, she nods.
"Alright."
"Good." She settles back against him, which allows him to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "Who made you believe that listening to you talk about something you love is difficult?" He doesn't realize he's spoken the thought aloud until she sighs.
"I just haven't had good reception to it in the past. Not many people want to hear about a subject that's of no interest to them. Even within a relationship." So, it was her ex-boyfriend. He's never met the man, but from what he's learned, he would enjoy punching him.
"Well, clearly he didn't notice the way your eyes light up when you do." Speaking of her eyes… her eyelids starting to droop. A glance down at her forgotten PADD reveals that it's zero one hundred hours. She was right. He was at it for ages. "I've kept you up."
"You have." She nods. "But because I wanted to be. Not because I had to be." He doesn't want her to go. Sure, she'll only be one door down, but this room will feel that much colder without her in it. The simple solution is apparent: he can ask her to stay, take up the other side of his bed.
"Amelia-"
"Yes?" She's looking at him with so much trust. If he ruins that, he won't be able to live with himself.
"I'll walk you back." Standing, he offers her his hand and pulls her to her feet.
Just like every other night, when they're outside her doorway, she turns around to look back at him. "Goodnight, Leonard."
"Goodnight, Amelia." Not trusting himself if he does more, he presses his lips against her forehead in a parting kiss. "Will I see you tomorrow morning, or do Chapel and Uhura have custody?" She chuckles.
"I'm afraid they get the first shift, but I'm sure I'll be in sickbay at some point." Giving his hand a squeeze, she heads through the doors, leaving him standing there. Reluctantly, he walks the four feet back to his quarters and presses his palm against the biometric scanner. Clearly Amelia's had some damage done to her. It's impossible to get through life without that happening. It takes a lot of vulnerability to show that damage to another person. She's placing a lot of trust in him, and he's made up his mind not to let her down.