Playful (for mlefler_no1)
It wasn't by any means an unusual occurrence for the Captain and the Chief Medical Officer to dine together. Many of the crew had come to expect it. Scuttlebutt told a story of past service together, of a friendship forged over time, of a working relationship distinguished and proven. The time of their arrival would fluctuate depending upon the shifts and upon circumstances. At least every other evening though, they could be found in the Mess Hall as the end of the day drew near.
An away mission brought him back late one particular night. Dirty, tired, and desperately wanting food and drink, he entered the empty Mess Hall. For minutes he stood and stared at his options, so thoroughly drained that not even the familiar menu made sense. The will power to choose had left him.
It was then a finger painted hand reached in front of him. Boyce looked up, startled. No evidence of her arrival had he heard. Captain Lefler smiled and ordered his favorite midnight treat. Two bowls of ice cream slid toward them. Two cups of coffee weren't far behind.
"I would have stood here and stared at that damn thing all night long trying to make up my mind," he admitted.
"I know," she chuckled. "I watched you from the door. You look like hell. I hope you feel better than you look."
He glanced down at his sorry excuse for a presentable uniform. "Rather a mess, aren't I? Suppose I should have changed first."
"You can do it later. Why don't you sit down and have something to eat? When you're done you can tell me what happened planetside."
"Can't wait for the report?" he teased.
"The report won't tell me why you're scraped and covered in mud."
They carried their trays to the nearest table and sat down. Without thought, they both reached for the nearest set of silverware. The same silverware.
They both pulled back at the same time.
"Please," Boyce said, gesturing.
"Go ahead," Lefler said on top of him.
They reached again. Simultaneously. Again they both retreated.
The Captain chuckled. Boyce smiled. Again they made their pardons.
The third time, with the right of way clearly Morgan's, Boyce reached on purpose, precisely timed. She stopped, looked up with a questioning glance and met something she didn't expect to see. A mischievous glint was present in his eye. The glance turned into a smile. The smile turned into laughter.
His tired, dirty, and abused state didn't matter anymore. "It's good to see you, my dear."
"Welcome home, Phil."
An away mission brought him back late one particular night. Dirty, tired, and desperately wanting food and drink, he entered the empty Mess Hall. For minutes he stood and stared at his options, so thoroughly drained that not even the familiar menu made sense. The will power to choose had left him.
It was then a finger painted hand reached in front of him. Boyce looked up, startled. No evidence of her arrival had he heard. Captain Lefler smiled and ordered his favorite midnight treat. Two bowls of ice cream slid toward them. Two cups of coffee weren't far behind.
"I would have stood here and stared at that damn thing all night long trying to make up my mind," he admitted.
"I know," she chuckled. "I watched you from the door. You look like hell. I hope you feel better than you look."
He glanced down at his sorry excuse for a presentable uniform. "Rather a mess, aren't I? Suppose I should have changed first."
"You can do it later. Why don't you sit down and have something to eat? When you're done you can tell me what happened planetside."
"Can't wait for the report?" he teased.
"The report won't tell me why you're scraped and covered in mud."
They carried their trays to the nearest table and sat down. Without thought, they both reached for the nearest set of silverware. The same silverware.
They both pulled back at the same time.
"Please," Boyce said, gesturing.
"Go ahead," Lefler said on top of him.
They reached again. Simultaneously. Again they both retreated.
The Captain chuckled. Boyce smiled. Again they made their pardons.
The third time, with the right of way clearly Morgan's, Boyce reached on purpose, precisely timed. She stopped, looked up with a questioning glance and met something she didn't expect to see. A mischievous glint was present in his eye. The glance turned into a smile. The smile turned into laughter.
His tired, dirty, and abused state didn't matter anymore. "It's good to see you, my dear."
"Welcome home, Phil."