Chapter Text
seaQuest
Kristin noticed the change the way someone noticed pressure in their ears: gradual enough that, at first, they couldn't be sure it was happening at all. SeaQuest was busy. It always was. Emergencies blurred into long hours, research windows closed as quickly as they opened, and the quiet moments were usually claimed by charts, reports, or the low hum of machinery she'd long since stopped hearing. Stress explained a lot. She told herself that more than once.
Nathan had been stretched thin lately. She'd seen it in the lines at the corners of his eyes, the way he lingered a beat longer over tactical readouts, the way command followed him home even when he left the bridge. That wasn't new, exactly, but it had been heavier these past weeks. Missions stacked back to back. Political pressure from the UEO. Too many variables, not enough margin.
So when the small things shifted, she tried not to read into them.
And yet...
There had been a rhythm between them once: unspoken, unacknowledged, but real all the same. A look held a fraction longer than necessary. A hand resting at the small of her back as they navigated a crowded corridor. Conversations that drifted away from work when neither of them made the effort to stop them.
Not declarations. Not promises. But something.
Except lately, that rhythm faltered.
Nathan still spoke to her with the same respect, the same warmth. He trusted her judgment implicitly. He always had. In meetings, he deferred to her without hesitation. On the bridge, he listened when she raised a concern, even when it complicated things. Professionally, nothing had changed.
It was everything around that which had.
The glances didn't linger anymore. The quiet pauses between tasks filled with logistics instead of…space. When they crossed paths off-duty, there was a politeness to it now, a carefulness she couldn't quite place. As if some invisible line had been redrawn while she wasn't looking.
Kristin told herself she was imagining it. She was good at that. The scientist in her was always rationalizing, contextualizing, finding the least dramatic explanation and holding onto it with both hands.
People under stress pulled inward. Nathan had always done that. When command weighed on him, he narrowed his focus, trimmed everything extraneous until only responsibility remained.
Maybe I simply misread things before? That thought landed harder than it should have.
She found herself replaying moments she'd once taken for granted. A late night in the lab when he'd lingered in the doorway, asking questions he didn't really need answered. The way he'd smiled – small, private – when she'd teased him about his coffee habits. The ease of it. The comfort.
Had that all existed only because she wanted it to?
The idea left a hollow ache she didn't allow herself to examine too closely.
Kristin threw herself into work instead. It was familiar territory. Safe. Medbay was steady. Routine cases, the occasional emergency, but nothing out of the ordinary. Dr. Levin handled his share competently. The lab was much the same. The junior staff moved with the quiet confidence of people who trusted her, and that trust anchored her more than she liked to admit.
Still, there were moments—passing Nathan in the corridor, exchanging a few clipped words before being pulled in opposite directions—when she felt oddly unmoored. As if she'd missed a step and was still trying to regain her balance.
One evening, long after most of the ship had settled into its nocturnal lull, Kristin found herself staring at a half-finished report, the words blurring together. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.
This wasn't sustainable. Not the work. That she could manage. It was the uncertainty that gnawed at her. The sense that she'd been moving toward something, only to find the path quietly rerouted without her consent.
She considered, briefly, going to him. Asking outright. It would be simple enough. Direct. Clean.
The thought tightened her chest.
Nathan wasn't someone one cornered casually. He gave freely when he chose to, but when he withdrew, it was deliberate. Pressing him when he wasn't ready had never ended well, not for anyone involved.
And what if she was wrong?
What if nothing had changed at all, except her expectations?
Kristin rubbed at her temple and glanced at the chronometer. Shore leave rotations were coming up. She'd been eligible for one for weeks now but had postponed it twice already.
Except now, the idea of stepping away, of putting physical distance between herself and this slow, confusing unraveling, held a sudden, undeniable appeal.
A month, she decided.
That would be plenty of time to breathe. Time to recalibrate. Time to stop wondering what she'd imagined.
She saved the report, shut down her computer, and stood. The decision wasn't fully formed yet, but it hovered close, insistent.
Whatever this was between Nathan and her, it wasn't something she could fix by standing still.
And for the first time since coming aboard seaQuest, Kristin felt the unmistakable urge to leave.
꧁𓊈𒆜ʇɥɓᴉʅʎɐp𒆜𓊉꧂
Nathan learned about Kristin's shore leave the way he learned about most administrative things: secondhand, mid-task, and without warning.
Commander Ford mentioned it in passing on the bridge, his tone casual, almost approving. "Doctor Westphalen put in for shore leave. Starts end of week."
Nathan didn't respond right away. His attention stayed on the tactical display, fingers resting on the edge of the console as if nothing at all had shifted. "Good," he said finally. "She's overdue."
Which was true. He knew that. Kristin was disciplined about her time off to a fault, more inclined to cover for others than take space for herself. If anyone had earned it, she had.
And yet...
He replayed Ford's words in his head as the bridge settled back into its rhythm. Put in for shore leave. Not mentioned. Not talked about. Put in.
It wasn't the leave itself that bothered him. It was the absence of context.
Kristin usually told him things like that. Not as a matter of protocol; they'd never established anything so formal. But because it was...normal. At least with the two of them. Out of courtesy, maybe? Or habit? Or something quieter and harder to name?
The fact she hadn't told him spoke volumes to him now. Something had to be wrong. He intended to find out just what that was.
A few hours later, with the ship steady and his presence less immediately required, Nathan left the bridge and headed for Kristin's office, tucked away between medbay and the science labs.
He told himself he was checking in. Making sure coverage was squared away. That was reasonable. Responsible. He didn't tell himself anything about the small, unwelcome twist in his chest – the one he was trying very hard to ignore.
Kristin was at her desk when he arrived, absorbed in a data pad, hair pulled back, posture straight but relaxed. She looked up when he entered, offering a smile that was polite, professional...and just a shade more guarded than he remembered.
"Captain," she said. "What can I do for you?"
Nathan paused. It was a small thing, that choice of address, but it landed all the same.
"I heard you're taking shore leave," he said.
Her expression didn't flicker. If anything, she seemed prepared for this. "Yes. I put in the request yesterday."
"Ford mentioned it," he replied. "I just wanted to check in."
She nodded, setting the data pad aside. "Everything here is covered. Levin's on rotation, and I've briefed the senior and junior staff both in the labs and medbay."
"I'm sure you have." He hesitated, then added, carefully, "You didn't mention it to me."
He was careful not to frame it as an accusation. Just a statement.
Kristin studied him for a moment, something thoughtful passing behind her eyes. "I didn't think it was necessary," she said evenly. "It's routine, and you know I'm long overdue."
"Of course," Nathan said. "I just—" He stopped himself, exhaling softly. "I wanted to make sure everything was all right."
She smiled again, smaller this time. "I'm fine. I'm just tired. It's been a long stretch."
That, at least, made sense, he decided. Could he really fault her for not checking with him first? After all, they were only colleagues, friends. They hadn't laid anything else out on the table, not in spoken terms anyway.
After a moment, Nathan nodded. "Right. A few days off will do you good."
"A month," she corrected gently.
That stopped him. "A month?" he repeated, before he could catch himself, trying to mask the shock in his voice.
"Yes."
He held her gaze, searching for something. Hesitation, maybe, or doubt? Except he found neither. Kristin looked calm, resolved. As if this decision had been made carefully and long before the paperwork ever reached his desk.
"That's… longer than usual," he said.
"I know."
Nathan leaned back slightly, folding his arms. "A week is time to recharge," he said, not unkindly. "A month feels more…intentional."
Kristin didn't argue the point. She only nodded once. "It is."
The word settled between them, heavier than it should have been.
"I need the distance," she added. "To reset. To get my head clear."
He understood that impulse. Too well. When the weight of command pressed in, he'd often wished for the same luxury. To have space without responsibility, time without consequence. He'd just never been able to take it.
"I won't pretend I don't understand," he said after a moment. "But I am surprised."
"I know. It was a bit of a snap decision, but..." Her voice softened. "Please know this isn't about you, Nathan."
He believed her. Or wanted to.
Still, something about the way she said it—firm, preemptive—made him wonder if it was exactly about him, in ways she didn't want to unpack.
"All right," he said finally. "You've earned it. Take the time you need."
"Thank you."
They stood there, the conversation technically finished but neither of them quite ready to leave.
Nathan found himself wanting to say more. To ask the questions that hovered just behind his teeth. But he'd never been good at pressing when someone clearly didn't want to be pressed.
So he did what he always did. He respected the boundary. "Let me know if you need anything before you go," he said.
"I will."
He turned to leave, pausing at the door just long enough to glance back. Kristin had already returned to her data pad, posture composed, focus reclaimed.
As he walked back toward the bridge, Nathan couldn't shake the uneasy thought that this wasn't just time off.
It was distance by design.
And for reasons he couldn't quite articulate, that unsettled him far more than he wanted to admit.