[ It's not that he doesn't spend time thinking about Loki, about that dream-like afternoon spent on that backwater little moon, about the smell of pine needles and the chill of winter snow, but... Chris loves his job, and his job loves him back, and oh boy, does his job eat up all of his time.
When he's not reading reports he's writing his own, when he's not on the bridge trading too-friendly banter with his navigators he's holed up in his ready room with his head of security or his XO, when he's not making the rounds of all the varied departments in the ship he's prepping for whatever diplomatic delegation he's supposed to make nice with next.
Most days he winds up snatching at least one meal in the mess instead of his own quarters, not wanting to deal with cooking for himself but also being of the firm belief that the replicator in the ready room is sub-par compared to ones in other areas of the ship. He's aware of the ebb and flow of the crew around him, some of them greeting him, most of them just giving him a nod as they pass, but since few of them are brave enough to strike up a conversation with him outside of their work duties, he mostly remains unmolested and is able to focus on his work in peace.
The first time he gets any inclination that something is amiss happens on a totally random day as he's walking through the hallway listening to Spock give him a verbal synopsis of the report he'd already submitted hours ago. Chris has read it, of course, but he's no scientist, not in the way Spock is. Sometimes he likes to have things explained to him properly, so he can ask questions. And, also, because Spock is much funnier in person than he is in writing, and Chris needs to get his giggles in where he can.
He's just managed to goad Spock into explaining something very obvious that he understands just fine when he feels a prickle on the back of his neck. In and of itself, it's not so strange. He knows many of the crew watch him as they pass, either through wariness or awe, but there's just something to the quality of the stare that's making his hindbrain perk up and pay attention. Tuning out Spock's droning recitation of facts, he scans the people in the hallway around them as they walk, noting the familiar and unfamiliar faces both. Of a ship with over five hundred enlisted crewmembers — plus some family members, to boot — he doesn't know all of them by sight, but...
That young man looks very familiar.
They're nearly around the corner before Chris's brain clicks on, and then his head swivels quickly back to look over his shoulder, his eyebrows drawing down instantly in a frown.
no subject
When he's not reading reports he's writing his own, when he's not on the bridge trading too-friendly banter with his navigators he's holed up in his ready room with his head of security or his XO, when he's not making the rounds of all the varied departments in the ship he's prepping for whatever diplomatic delegation he's supposed to make nice with next.
Most days he winds up snatching at least one meal in the mess instead of his own quarters, not wanting to deal with cooking for himself but also being of the firm belief that the replicator in the ready room is sub-par compared to ones in other areas of the ship. He's aware of the ebb and flow of the crew around him, some of them greeting him, most of them just giving him a nod as they pass, but since few of them are brave enough to strike up a conversation with him outside of their work duties, he mostly remains unmolested and is able to focus on his work in peace.
The first time he gets any inclination that something is amiss happens on a totally random day as he's walking through the hallway listening to Spock give him a verbal synopsis of the report he'd already submitted hours ago. Chris has read it, of course, but he's no scientist, not in the way Spock is. Sometimes he likes to have things explained to him properly, so he can ask questions. And, also, because Spock is much funnier in person than he is in writing, and Chris needs to get his giggles in where he can.
He's just managed to goad Spock into explaining something very obvious that he understands just fine when he feels a prickle on the back of his neck. In and of itself, it's not so strange. He knows many of the crew watch him as they pass, either through wariness or awe, but there's just something to the quality of the stare that's making his hindbrain perk up and pay attention. Tuning out Spock's droning recitation of facts, he scans the people in the hallway around them as they walk, noting the familiar and unfamiliar faces both. Of a ship with over five hundred enlisted crewmembers — plus some family members, to boot — he doesn't know all of them by sight, but...
That young man looks very familiar.
They're nearly around the corner before Chris's brain clicks on, and then his head swivels quickly back to look over his shoulder, his eyebrows drawing down instantly in a frown.
Surely not. Could it be? ]