Popular Post Samira Neathler Posted July 11, 2022 Popular Post Share Posted July 11, 2022 Auw. @Jo Marshall ((Personal Quarters, USS Gorkon)) Despite living in space for numerous years of his life, Chris still found waking up in the middle of the night oddly satisfying. Black space outside of their window, the quiet hush of the starship, the thrumming of the engine beneath his feet, and the tranquillity of it all leant a serenity to it. Like a chaotic explosion of silence where it could be as loud as an actual explosion when it wanted to be. Lay in bed, he stared up at the curved ceiling above them, listening to the soft, gentle noises of Valesha breathing beside him. They'd had easier times, and without a doubt, they'd had worse ones, and maybe still worse ones to come. But the last few had torn a shred out of the young Russian in ways he couldn't quite explain. His best friend, the most Vulcan of Vulcans, had accused his wife, the woman he loved beyond all else, of trying to murder everyone on the starship they called home. Moving as slowly as he could manage, he dropped a bearded, delicate kiss on Valesha's warm forehead. Though she'd found sleep eventually—the three of them had curled on the sofa, enjoying the comforting presence of their tribe and the intimacy it afforded—Chris knew the torrent of thoughts would be twirling in her mind, pirouetting through memories of what happened in the laboratory, and if she had missed anything vitally significant, like the burning desire to set the laboratory ablaze in a fiery inferno. Worry deepened the crevice between his eyebrows as he turned, setting his feet down on the floor and his hands running over his face, through his hair. Desperation kindled low in his gut; the need to protect his family, to be the shield between Valesha and Vorin, all the while unable to reconcile the accusor with his friend. They were not the same man. They couldn't be the same man. A small, radiating rumble tumbled out of the basket beside their bed—their daughter awake, maybe sensing his mood, feeling the vibrations of his turmoiled emotions on the air. Not loud enough to wake Valesha, not strong enough to be a real cry for attention, but a grousing noise, reaching for what she didn't know how to explain yet. Chris stood, his ballerino feet flexing into the lush carpeting as he padded around to their protesting baby. Her tiny arms stretched up over her head, legs tried to kick at the covering beneath her, lips pushing at an invisible source of food. Seeing her little face brought a wide grin to his and he scooped her up gently to his shoulder, his hands almost as big as her body, cradling her head in his palm. C. Sienelis: There we go, krasivaja. You hungry, huh? Definitely my daughter if you're ready for a midnight snack. Noises emanating from the infant made his heart twist, to think they'd waited for her to come into the universe, watched her grow and take shape, and felt her move and wriggle before she was born. It wouldn't be long before she could crawl, walk, talk, and start taking over the galaxy piece by piece. Until then, she was the grousing baby on his shoulder with tiny fingernails trying to find purchase on his bare skin, and looking at her mother with the same kind of green eyes that Chris did at a full stack of blini. His eyes followed, resting on his sleeping partner, affection brimming in ways that twisted his core beautifully. Love curled around his spine; love for who she was, love for her bravery, her courage, her softness, her endless sarcasm… Their little girl made her presence known once more, this time a little louder, accompanied by a deeper breath through tiny nostrils inflating tiny lungs. With a nuzzled kiss on his daughter's cheek as they walked into the living room, Chris whispered into her tiny ear. C. Sienelis: Let's give her another few minutes. Mama's earned it, don't you think? -- PO First-Class Christopher Sienelis Operations Officer USS Gorkon 4 1 Quote Link to comment
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