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The morning sun slowly increases in intensity as you jog your habitual route around the perimeter of your shipwreck estate. Routine and discipline are vital if you’re going to endure being marooned on this desolate planet, and you’ve become accustomed lately to waking up at sunrise and jogging to the edge of the rocky cliffs that Chris has named “[Y/N]’s Outlook”. He started calling it this after your propensity to go there for hours, sitting and thinking about life, the universe, and everything.
You slow down as you approach the outlook, walking at an irregular, defeated pace, and you slump your body down onto one of the eroded rocks a safe distance from the edge of the cliff’s overhang. You lean forward, resting your arms on your lap as you catch your breath, bringing your gaze to the horizon and taking in the view. And what a view it is.
A vast expanse of sunbaked, rust-colored rock fills your field of vision, with tall, weather-beaten spires protruding from the ground and reaching into the cloud-dusted sky above. The rising sun melds into the lilac horizon, creating an ombre effect of amber and gold.
It’s contemplatively quiet, with only the whistle of the breeze over your rocky surroundings to disturb your thoughts as you sit and let your body normalize after the intense exercise. Your mouth yearns for water and your tongue instinctively traces over your lips, and you taste the slightly salty essence of perspiration. You sigh, letting the precious, unlabored breath re-energize you, and your mind is clear for several moments as your take in the peace of this place. The emptiness is beautiful, in its own way.
But, inevitably, the reality of your situation dawns on you. Like how Christopher usually comes with you on these morning excursions, but he’s feeling under the weather today. He hasn’t been the same since the two of you landed here. The trauma of the crash left him in a precarious physical state, and though it had seemed that he’d recovered, you still feel uneasy. Your intuition tells you that he needs medical attention, beyond anything you can offer him here.
Your hands trace absentmindedly over your thighs, your unease making you fidgety and uncomfortable. You can’t bear the thought of anything happening to Chris. This time together has brought you so close. You’ve spent every day in each other’s company, getting to know about your past experiences, your hopes and dreams, your deepest fears, and your quirks. Your heart does somersaults every time the man flashes you his sexy, dimpled smile.
“Everything will be okay,” you whisper to yourself, and your words are picked up, syllable by syllable, by the wind, which carries your hopeful intent out into the universe.
You painstakingly peel yourself from your perch on the rock, and take one last look out at the alien expanse before turning and making your way back to your homestead. Your pace gradually quickens, as you long to get back to Christopher and his comforting presence and welcoming embrace.
***
Christopher rests wearily on one of the rocks in front of the ship, watching your sunlit form get ever-smaller as you fade into the distance. Pain radiates from his ribcage, down his spine, reaching his tailbone, and he shifts uncomfortably until he finds the least agonizing position. The crease between his brows deepens as he contemplates his condition, and in his gut he knows that things are taking a problematic turn.
He would never have survived the crash if it weren’t for you. Your care and attention not only nursed him back to health, but have kept him going ever since. Chris’ chest tightens as the image of your beautiful face flashes into his mind’s eye, and the sound of your sweet laughter rings in his ears. No one has ever gotten his humor the way you do, and he loves making you laugh. He loves every sound that comes from your exquisite lips.
Christopher raises his freshly-replicated mug of coffee, black to his lips, savoring the bitter notes and the nutty, roasted smell as the vapor wafts up and into his nostrils. He sits there, slowly sipping the energizing beverage, as the sun rises ever-higher in the sky. He wishes he could be out there with you. He should be. He knows that none of this was his fault, but he can’t help but feel the weight of the situation you’re both in.
He chose you to come on the top-secret, high-stakes mission for the Omega particle. He chose you for your expertise and experience, and your ability to adapt in high-stress situations. You checked all the boxes, and your record was one of the most impressive of all the Enterprise personnel. But there was something else that he couldn’t put his finger on. Not at the time. He just knew it had to be you.
Maybe this was why. Maybe this was the universe’s strange way of showing you to each other. Fate did seem to have a sense of humor. Whatever it was, Chris would never forgive himself if anything happened to you here. Or, if something happened to him, and you were left out here by yourself. “No. That’s not going to happen,” Chris thinks to himself.
He catches a glimmer of movement on the horizon, and he knows it’s you, returning home. Your run seems shorter without him today. He hopes it’s not because you’re worried about him, but he knows it might be.
You approach the ship, and soon Chris can make out your attractive features, and he stands slowly, anticipating your return. You walk up to him, smiling in greeting, out of breath and sweaty, but you’ve never been more beautiful in his eyes. Chris gives you a quick peck on your salty lips, and you sit for a moment, catching your breath before excusing yourself for a quick sonic shower. Chris watches you disappear into the ship, giving you your space and privacy, something he’s always conscious of. Two people spending every moment of every day together could get on each other’s’ nerves, but the two of you have had no issues whatsoever. Your common goal of survival, ample resources to subsist on out here, and mutual respect and care for each other has made you ideal partners in this stranding situation.
***
You enter the compact bathroom of the ship, turning on the sonic shower and listening to the hum of the acoustic inverter change in frequency until you know it’s ready. You step into the cramped chamber, a far cry from the spacious, luxurious sonic showers onboard the Enterprise, and soon the particles of dirt and sweat are being lifted from your physique and sucked into the vents at the chamber’s perimeter. The shower quickly finishes its cycle, the power-saving mode just enough to get you clean, but leaving no time to relax or enjoy the experience. At least you have this much, you think to yourself.
You finish in the bathroom and open the door, coming out into the cabin and pulling on your underwear. Christopher ambles into the ship, hearing that you’re finished, and smiles mischievously as he catches you partially clothed. His strong arms slide around your waist and you feel his torso press into your bare back. You smile and relax into him, your hands meeting his at your waist, and he leans into the crook of your neck, kissing your clean, bare skin slowly and lovingly. He gives you a tight squeeze and then releases you, walking toward the nearby replicator. “Let me get you some breakfast,” he offers, and you finish getting dressed as he taps orders into the outdated machine and waits as it materializes your sustenance.
Soon, you’re back out on your makeshift porch, sipping hot [tea/coffee] and planning your day together. You keep your expression steady as Chris speaks, masking your growing concern at the way he’s guarding his side. You know something is wrong, and it’s only a matter of time before things deteriorate. If you’re ever going to be rescued, it had better be soon.