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Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
Supposedly.
The clatter of silverware and mugs rang out in the mess hall as Chris sat nursing his mug of jet black coffee. He watched his crewmates chatter and wake up. His command crew was spaced out throughout the hall. Chris could spot them at a quick glance.
He and Una had shared the night together. His hands reaching through her hair. Her hands gripping his shoulders. Their legs intertwined.
"Chris!"
A chair dragging across the floor at the next table over jolted him back.
Chris looked up before he knew why. There was Una, walking through the mess hall's doors. She was straight-backed as always, chin held comfortably high but not to the point of haughtiness. Her hair was freshly washed and dried, braided up into a crown. Her jaw was set, her expression composed.
It'd been the first thing he'd reached for to brush it out of her face.
Her eyes searched the room even though Chris knew she knew where the replicator was—she always knew where the replicator was— and for a moment they met his. Then they moved on. Last night she'd said his name like it meant something. Right now, he was just another face in the mess hall.
An ache settled in Chris' chest as she walked over to the replicator. He knew he had no right to be sleeping with her.
She was his second-in-command.
His Number One.
He understood it, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow. Twelve hours ago she'd been in his quarters. Now, she was just his first officer.
With a sigh, Chris took another sip of coffee, watching Una from over the edge of his cooling mug.
Another perfectly normal morning on a perfectly normal starship.