Chapter Text
She pushed the scrambled eggs and potatoes around on her plate. She didn’t have an appetite for such fare today, so she pushed the plate aside and pulled the bowl of ale and bread porridge closer. She coped with slight nausea by taking small spoonfuls followed by sips of water.
At a nearby table sat Len, his position meant he had license to be unashamedly nosey when it came to the crew’s eating habits. She risked a glance in his direction. Yep, he’d been watching her and winked as their eyes met.
Nevermind, she pretended to message him telepathically, I’ll scan myself again later, before shift-end.
She stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth at him, and turned back to finishing her gruel. She knew he wouldn’t join her at her table because he gleaned more information by keeping a short distance; besides, there wasn’t room.
She sensed him enter the room as she always did. She no longer had to prevent herself from acknowledging his presence. The seal was broken and the entire crew knew by now. She tried her coffee, finding to her relief this agreed with her stomach, she rationed her sips. Her porridge was half-eaten and he nearly always took a finished meal and drink as a sign their shared meal was over.
“You are not hungry?” he asked as he joined their two-seat table. He arranged the items on his tray more neatly, as she internally prevaricated. He could tell because of where she rested her eyes, towards the floor to his left.
“Not for my usual breakfast, Spock. It happens.”
“You will, of course-“
“…Check myself,” she finished for him. “You know I will.” She smiled in effort to reassure him. His expression was stern as he took another bite.
//You will send me the results this way, he sent her mind-to-mind, //Christine, you will. This is an order.
She winced slightly, he knew she hadn’t learned the knack of distorting the truth through their link, yet she still reserved a sense of her privacy. Not until he took their relationship further would he be privy to more, she thought. She knew she lied to herself.
“No,” she said, “No way. I’m not sharing every random form of space cooties I might get unless it could affect you or others. You’ll have to trust me.”
Spock sighed in his almost imperceptible way, then ate his meal in silence.
“I dream about you, have done for awhile,” Chapel said after they’d finished eating, flicking her balled up napkin onto the tray. “You knew that already, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Christine,” he said, “I would be surprised if you did not.”
“And my dreaming hasn’t contaminated you, yet?” she asked, laughing, underneath seriously wanting to know.
“I experience the odd leakage of thoughts, dreams, memories and emotions from those I share links with,” he replied. His expression suddenly contemplative as he gazed at his clasped hands. “I am not always certain of the source. Meditation helps to categorise these emanations without intruding on the privacy of the unwitting source.”
“That’s good to know,” she said, her jaw muscles contracted as she set her coffee mug down a little too forcefully.
How many others, she wondered, did he share links with?
“Miss Chapel,” he said, formally, as McCoy passed close by on the way to drop off his empty tray, “it is a hazard of the occupation. Indeed, our shared link began as such.”
Chapel put her hands up to cut him off. “It’s okay, it’s a reflex urge to feel jealousy. In time, it should mostly go away…”
…Just like these dreams, she thought to herself.
“I heard that through the link, Christine,” Spock warned.
“Yeah,” Chris said after she giggled lightly, “I noticed just after it was too late. Maybe I needed you to hear it. Maybe I need someone to talk to about night journeys I’ve taken. Sometimes it feels as though I’m dreaming the dream someone else dreamed ages ago. Or they’re still dreaming; or I’m remembering dreams other me’s had. It’s unsettling, richly evocative and darkly beautiful.”
She placed her palms down on either side of her tray, her usual signal that she was about to stand, and hesitated. She glanced at him. His expression was intense, his eyes gleaming.
“I would be honoured to share your dream journeys with you. Past, and future.” His cheeks creased slightly, and she spotted those rare dimples of stealth-smile. He was magnificent to gaze upon when he granted her these. The butterflies in her stomach eased.
“Tonight,” he said quietly after they’d met walking away from their table.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered as they left their trays at the wash station near the door.
“There is no need,” he reassured, “to be ashamed of what I might think, or my reactions.”
He walked her to sickbay, brushing his fingertips over hers before heading alone to the bridge, a slight spring in his step.