If YOU were going to give Samuels something meaningful, what would YOU give him? Would it be something you think he'd find meaningful (and what would it be), or would it be something you find meaningful and pass onto him to find meaning within for himself as a source of comfort-passed-down (and what would it be)?
You'd given it to him in passing. You were on your way to the bridge and he'd intercepted you outside of the lab to ask you if you'd been assigned to Alpha Shift that month.
"Yeah," You groan, briefly closing your eyes as if to shield yourself from your obligations, "I hope my coffee stockpile holds out. Will you come and visit me?"
Your hopeful gaze marks the start of a potentially positive interaction. Samuels leans into it with no hesitation. Tells you he'd be happy to come and see you. How does 04:00 sound? Your answering smile triggers a cascade of positive signals, and he notes that his internal temperature has gone up by two degrees as a result. You startle and hold up a hand to stop him from walking away (not that he would have- he wants to prolong this interaction as much as possible) while you dig through your uniform's pockets for something.
"I had this printed for you," You mutter, fishing a 5" x 5" black square out of your pocket and offering it to him, "It was just to pretty not to make a copy of."
You flip the square over to reveal a white frame around something that he can't see because of the glare from the overheads. He takes it from you, and your fingers are warm when they briefly brush against his. You flash him a quick, embarrassed smile, and he barely has time to glimpse the smattering of dark blotches that appear on your cheeks before you're mumbling a shaky, "See you around, Chris," and ducking your head as you hurry past him.
Samuels allows himself a small, private smile at your use of his first name. No one else has bothered to call him Chris- let alone Christopher. It's unusual. It's new, but it sparks something positive within him. He's replayed a few memories of you calling him by his first name. He finds that he likes the way that your lips move to form it- the warmth that you unconsiously inject into your voice.
He pushes that train of thought away in favor of looking at your gift. He recognizes the image instantly. It's a snapshot of him, mouth open and hands waving, as he speaks to someone out of frame. The sun is high in the sky, casting everything in blazing orange light. The light in the image is bright enough that he can see the shadows of his eyelashes standing out in stark relief against his skin. And there's your handwriting, loose and casual, scrawled across the bottom of the paper frame.
Alpha Centauri Parts Exchange, Third Quarter 2123
He can parse through his video logs and replay the memory with perfect clarity, down to the smell of the spices in the market and the feeling of the Centaurian sun licking at his back while he stood at the dealer's counter and haggled for more fusion cells. But this... This is a physical manifestation of that memory. Something personal. You chose to take this picture- to capture his likeness in a rare moment of casual interaction. And you gave it to him. You gave it to him in the same way that you'd give it to any other person- to any other friend. He can see the ship's lights glaring off of its glossy surface and hear the rasp of the paper beneath his fingers as he runs them over your writing once more.
Samuels becomes acutely aware of the hydrogen cell thrumming in his chest. He feels a sudden urge to go after you- a pulling sensation in his stomach. He needs to thank you. To see your face again and watch your lips stretch into the smile that you reserve just for him. But, his social inhibitors are still intact. He's aware of how odd it would be to track you down immediately after you chose to termimate a conversation. Perhaps he'll pay you a visit during one of your late shifts next week. If he's lucky, they might turn into something more, but he doesn't allow himself that hope. Not yet. For now, he pockets the photograph and considers taping it to the wall behind his workstation.
