#combatspace

@combatspace​ sent:  “ i love you. ” ( chris @ una )

as much as she may try to hide or subdue it,  the smile that splits across una’s lips is unmistakable.  of course,  she realizes then that she really doesn’t need to hide it with chris,  does she?  the line between on-duty and off-duty has,  through necessity,  become somewhat blurred over the years.  it’s been rare that she’s allowed herself genuine friendships since surpassing the rank of lieutenant,  let alone anything resembling romantic but  ---  with chris it’s entirely different.  he’s her captain,  yes,  but he’s so much more than that.  he’s her friend.  before this moment una may have stopped herself there,  but confirmation that anything she might’ve previously labelled as ‘unrequited pining’   (   despite any evidence to the contrary,  including action and word   )   is more than that is....  god,  it means more than she could express.

and that’s why she doesn’t hold back.  her smile is real,  genuine,  uninhibited as eyes lock with his.  a low chuckle precedes any actual words,  though those quickly follow,   “i  ---  ”  it’s not often she’s speechless,  even when it’s just the two of them she’s typically quick with some sort of retort offered with the intention of changing the subject when she’s caught off-guard   (   not that she’ll admit that she’s ever actually left without some idea what to say   ).   “i love you too,  chris,”

@combatspace​ said:  “ you can talk to me, or not talk to me, but i’m here. “ (from christine!)  /  PINTEREST  STARTERS !   (  ACCEPTING.  )

sometimes,  he  just  doesn’t  know  where  to  START.

sometimes  there  are  things  that  jim  can  only  sit  with  him  in  sympathetic  silence  for.   more  often  than  not  sometimes  there  are  things  that  spock  can  only  explain  the  reasons  for,  in  the  hopes  that  logic  will  provide  a  cushion  between  mccoy  and  the  unforgiving  rock  bottom  of  the  emotional  barrel  as  he  crashes  towards  it.   sometimes  there  are  things  that  he  can’t  explain,  can’t  DEFINE,  things  like  the  creeping  nauseous  certainty  that  his  hands  will  betray  him  today,  that  he  doesn’t  belong  in  the  middle  of  space  with  so  many  competent  people  who  could  easily  do  his  job  a  hundred  times  better.

but  today,  it’s  such  a  simple  thing.   so  clear  to  him,  so  defined,  honed  into  a  razor’s  edge  that  keeps  digging  its  way  between  his  ribs,  prising  him  open  to  get  at  his  heart  and  lay  him  out  for  his  failures.   as  a  man,  as  a  son,  as  a  doctor.   as  a  parent.

“ it  was  that  damn  ion  storm. “      the  glass  of  whiskey  swirls  absently  in  his  hand  but  he  doesn’t  drink,  staring  bleakly  into  the  miniature  amber  tornado  inside.      “ it  blotted  out  communications,  i  couldn’t  .  .  .  i  missed  jo’s  birthday,  chris.   second  damn  year  in  a  row  i’ll  be  late  getting  the  message  to  her. "

@chiefmedical / @logicadhered / @combatspace 

it  had  been  a  long  and  grueling  day:  surgery  after  surgery,  grafting  nerves,  repairing  muscle  ---  by  hand  in  some  places  too  delicate  for  the  machines  to  cover  ---  restoring  motor  functions  to  a  hapless  ensign  caught  in  a  turbolift  crash,  and  all  of  it  being  done  while  the  ship  was  shuddering  around  them  under  the  phaser  fire  of  god  knows  who  this  time.   one  of  those  situations  where  mccoy  is  reminded  with  all  the  force  of  a  BRICK  thrown  at  his  head  that  starfleet  is  a  military  organization  as  much  as  it  is  a  vessel  for  scientific  pursuit.

and  through  it  all,  from  the  second  he  stumbled  half - asleep  into  sickbay  at  the  start  of  the  red  alert  to  right  now,  hip  propped  up  against  a  biobed  and  scanning  blearily  through  reports,  his  head  nurse  is  there.   competent,  cool,  composed,  breezing  from  one  patient  to  the  next  with  a  kind  word  or  an  ironclad  promise  or  just  focused  silence,  passing  him  recharged  laser  scalpels  right  when  he’s  opening  his  mouth  to  ask  for  one  and  nudging  him  out  of  the  way  when  there’s  a  different  patient  he  needs  to  shift  his  attention  to.   even  now,  watching  her  check  the  biofunction  monitors  over  a  sleeping  ensign  from  across  the  room,  mccoy  is  reminded  with  startling  clarity  ---  and  no  lack  of  FONDNESS  ---  that  christine  chapel  could  run  this  whole  sickbay  singlehandedly,  and  that  he’s  damned  lucky  to  have  her  here  with  him.

@combatspace​ said:  “y’know what, i think i need some coffee.” (from christine!)  /  WOLF  359  STARTERS !   (  ACCEPTING.  )

“ what  is  it  you  were  tellin’  me  yesterday  about  havin’  an  ‘unhealthy  over - reliance  on  caffeine’? “

not  like  he  can  fault  her  for  it,  really,  not  with  the  day  ---  week?   month?  ---  they’ve  been  having.   it’s  great  to  have  a  crew  complement  of  450,  to  always  have  someone  ready  to  pick  up  the  slack  in  an  emergency,  but  at  the  same  time  it  means  four  hundred  and  fifty  unique  and  wildly  contrasting  personalities  to  keep  track  of,  and  not  every  single  one  of  them  is  going  to  make  it  EASY  to  care  for  them.

that’s  where  his  team  comes  in.   consummate  professionals,  every  damn  one.   but  not  impervious  to  the  constant  strain  of  away  missions,  space  battles,  and  slapdash  first  contacts,  and  not  impervious  to  certain  aggravating  crewmembers  who  refuse  to  be  polite,  either.

@combatspace​ sent:  ‘ i appreciate your faith in me. ‘ ( chris @ una )

a soft smile presses at a single corner of her lips  ---  it’s not quite a full smile,  but it’s close enough.  it’s rare she’ll allow herself anything near a genuine touchy-feely moment with anyone....  well,  anyone but chris,  it would seem.  he’s got an unparalleled capacity for bringing out the more personable,  off-duty-esqe una.   “and you’ve always got it,  captain.  you’ve done more than enough to earn it,”

@combatspace​ sent:  ‘ i’m not a soldier. ‘ ( chris @ katrina )

her eyebrows lift  at his words,  and it takes enormous self restraint to hold in a sigh.  instead,  kat does her best to maintain diplomacy despite an urge   (   no doubt fueled by perpetual exhaustion   )   to simply snap at him.   “to be entirely honest with you,  captain?  i think you’d be hard-pressed to find a great many starfleet officers who joined up with the intention to be soldiers,”   tactical and security officers,  perhaps,  but she’d argue that even they typically hold more of a role in maintaining peace and helping to quell relatively minor issues.  that’s what her sister had always believed in,  anyway.  finally,  the admiral does sigh,  shaking her head.   “there’s plenty we don’t know about the galaxy at large,  chris.  sometimes new discoveries force us all to take on roles we might not’ve previously imagined,”

𝐒𝐀𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐊 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝟑𝟔𝟖𝟗 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐕𝐔𝐋𝐂𝐀𝐍, a bit over a decade of time since she had been rescued by the man she now called father and brought to the care of her adopted grandparents to watch over her education and upbringing (as per his instructions). There were photos that filled the private quarters of her grandmother, a place she was allowed entry to whenever she desired, that depicted a wild young thing --- hair only recently tamed and skin finally free of the dirt that had become so much apart of her that she’d forgotten what she’d looked like underneath it. The girl in the photos, might have shared the physicality of a Vulcan, but she was unquestionably Romulan in demeanor.  Things she had worked very hard to hold back nowadays, to the point where she no longer recognized the girl in the photos as herself. She was more of a distant dream she could remember in fragments.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 was the feeling of otherness. That had never gone away, but how could it when many sought to remind her of it at each opportunity. Yet, within the walls of her Grandmother’s rooms, she was safe from such judgement. She was not The Romulan, or The Vulcan --- but only Saavik. A feeling she enjoyed greatly; which was perhaps the reason for her melancholy as she sat for her weekly tea with her. This feeling was one she only knew in the homes of her father and his family, be them on land or on Starships. She was to start at the Academy in a few weeks, and such comforts would not be there.   “ Apologies grandmother, ” she admitted with a tone of humility,  placing her tea cup on the saucer once more. Catching herself not paying attention as she spoke. “ it appears my thoughts drifted. I did not mean to be rude. ”