[ Chris spends the rest of his shift in an embarrassingly distracted daze, trying to pinpoint when, exactly, Loki might have made his way onto the ship, if he'd been here for longer than just one day, why he wanted to blend into the background and observe.
I wanted to see you in your home, without spoiling it for a while. Spoiling what? The chance to see Chris micromanage everyone beneath him? The chance to see how quickly the salt is taking over the pepper in his hair, every day bringing with it yet more white strands in what used to be a full head of dark brown curls?
He can't make himself believe that Loki was scoping out the ship for nefarious purposes, even though he makes a half-hearted effort to try to convince himself of that very thing, because the hurt when he'd been yelled at had felt so real. Chris likes to pride himself on being a good judge of character, on being empathetic enough to be able to tell when people are telling their truth, even if it's not the truth, but that doesn't mean he can't be lied to. By omission if not by any real malice.
By the time Delta shift comes in to take over, Number One arching one dark eyebrow at him pointedly when she has to clear her throat twice to break him out of his daze so he can give up the chair to her, he doesn't feel all that much steadier. It's apparently noticeable enough that even Ortegas corners him about it as they file into the turbolift, lifting her chin and her brows both at him as she scratches at the shaved sides of her head.
You doin' okay there, sir? she asks, sincerity coming out of every pore.
He doesn't have the heart to lie to her, so he mumbles something about a headache, maybe he's coming down with something, and he only realizes his mistake after her eyes light up and she declares that he should swing by sickbay. Somehow, he manages to convince her that really all he needs is something to eat, but by that point they're well past the officer's mess and on the way to the general cafeteria so he just follows her into the cavernous room and lines up for the replicators like everyone else.
It's only once they've sat down that he remembers that Loki asked to be let free to go to the mess hall. Unable to help himself, he glances around, his eyes immediately caught on a little knot of brightly-colored shirts off to one side, the whole group clustered around a lean figure in bright blue, his dark hair a stark contrast against creamy pale skin.
Ortegas has to call his name to get his attention back to their table. Wincing, he rubs at his temple and makes some stupid quip that at least turns the heat off of him, but he can't help continuing to glance over at the table at which Loki is clearly holding court. Maybe he won't notice that Chris is here. Hopefully he won't.
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I wanted to see you in your home, without spoiling it for a while. Spoiling what? The chance to see Chris micromanage everyone beneath him? The chance to see how quickly the salt is taking over the pepper in his hair, every day bringing with it yet more white strands in what used to be a full head of dark brown curls?
He can't make himself believe that Loki was scoping out the ship for nefarious purposes, even though he makes a half-hearted effort to try to convince himself of that very thing, because the hurt when he'd been yelled at had felt so real. Chris likes to pride himself on being a good judge of character, on being empathetic enough to be able to tell when people are telling their truth, even if it's not the truth, but that doesn't mean he can't be lied to. By omission if not by any real malice.
By the time Delta shift comes in to take over, Number One arching one dark eyebrow at him pointedly when she has to clear her throat twice to break him out of his daze so he can give up the chair to her, he doesn't feel all that much steadier. It's apparently noticeable enough that even Ortegas corners him about it as they file into the turbolift, lifting her chin and her brows both at him as she scratches at the shaved sides of her head.
You doin' okay there, sir? she asks, sincerity coming out of every pore.
He doesn't have the heart to lie to her, so he mumbles something about a headache, maybe he's coming down with something, and he only realizes his mistake after her eyes light up and she declares that he should swing by sickbay. Somehow, he manages to convince her that really all he needs is something to eat, but by that point they're well past the officer's mess and on the way to the general cafeteria so he just follows her into the cavernous room and lines up for the replicators like everyone else.
It's only once they've sat down that he remembers that Loki asked to be let free to go to the mess hall. Unable to help himself, he glances around, his eyes immediately caught on a little knot of brightly-colored shirts off to one side, the whole group clustered around a lean figure in bright blue, his dark hair a stark contrast against creamy pale skin.
Ortegas has to call his name to get his attention back to their table. Wincing, he rubs at his temple and makes some stupid quip that at least turns the heat off of him, but he can't help continuing to glance over at the table at which Loki is clearly holding court. Maybe he won't notice that Chris is here. Hopefully he won't.
But maybe he will. ]