Second Flush
Part Three of Cold Snap
Cold Snap | Masterlist | Autumn Flush
Pairing: Old Western Retired!Christopher Pike x Reader
Rating: Explicit - 18+ only (Minors interacting with the work will be blocked)
Notes: *The term ‘flush’ in the chapter titles has nothing to do with skin tone. It’s in relation to the phrase ‘the first flush of spring’; ‘second flush’; ‘autumn flush’.
This was going to be a three part series but uuuhhhh now it’s four, sorry. Points of view switch between Christopher and Reader. There will be explicit content in the next chapter.
*Callin - An old west term for courting
Length: 6.6K
Warnings: Cursing; fluff; angst; point of view shifts between Christopher and Reader; Yearning™; pining; nakedness
Summary: You’ve been thinking, in your time at Baxter's Crossing, that you’ve wanted to be useful to someone that really needs you, and that wants you around. Oh, the baby’s grandparents were kind to you, of course, and had let you stay with them, but they already had a community. They hadn’t needed you.
The creak of the stable door makes Christopher go still mid-chew, his heart thudding low in his chest. Casting an eye toward the door, he finds that the June evening is just beginning to dim. The days have grown longer, the light sinking into the sky later, with lingering lightning bugs winking the sun back into the dark.
Christopher swallows his bite, pushing his chair back and walking slowly toward the back door. He’s reaching for the screen door’s handle when it’s swung open.
Christopher’s heart stops for just a moment, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her. Her eyes are bright with exertion; her dress and boots are spattered with mud (well, they’ve had rain this week—mostly light, intermittent showers, but enough to turn the roads around the house into a sodden mess); there’s a smile on her face the likes of which he hasn’t seen since the two of them were whiskey-warmed just two months ago.
“...What were you doing in my stable?” He finally manages.
“You always gave Tango sugar cubes. They’re his favorite, right?” She asks, stepping into the cabin without invitation. Christopher just takes a couple of steps back to give her room as she hangs up her coat, sets down her bag, and looks around.
“You’ve kept it tidy,” She notes, and a little flutter of pride takes over him.
“What are you doing here?” He asks before he can stop himself. She just plants her hands on her hips and turns to face him.
“I never made you those sweet rolls.”
Christopher looks at her, incredulous as she walks over to her bag.
“I’m sure I don’t have supplies for…Those,” He says lamely.
“No? What don’t you have?” She asks, peering up at him from the floor of the cabin.
“Flour, for one.” His brows raise in surprise at the sight of her pulling out a canister of it.
“...Yeast?” A packet is produced. “Sugar.” Another canister. Christopher folds his arms, arching a brow. “Cinnamon.” A vial—and a smile.
“You ought to know that I come prepared for these things, Mr. Pike,” She says before tucking all of the things back into the bag and carrying them over to his counter.
“You’ll make them now?” Christopher asks.
“I’ll make them in the morning if you let me stay tonight,” She says, rounding the counter and beginning to unpack the ingredients. Christopher nods a little bit, lips quirking with a smile.
“So it’ll be equitable?”
Her eyes sparkle, a sly smile growing on her lips as she shrugs her shoulder a touch.
“Something like that,” She agrees. “Unless you have some objections. I’m sure there are rooms down in Enterprise.” She nods in the direction of the town. “Course, I’ll have to make it through the woods teeming with wolves first.”
“You’ve done it before,” Christopher answers dryly. He’s curious to see if she’ll go, not that he’ll really let her. But when she raises a brow, he knows that she’s got her claws hooked into him…And that she’s never really let go.
--
You’re careful not to be outwardly upset when Christopher offers you the rug again, but you’re relieved that he’s letting you stay at all. You’d gone in and acted with more confidence than you’d felt. You’d wanted—at least, you’d hoped that Christopher would take you in, and he has.
You’re up at the crack of dawn—eggs collected, horses fed, and sweet rolls on their way to being baked.
You’ve been thinking, in your time at Baxter's Crossing, that you’ve wanted to be useful to someone that really needs you, and that wants you around. Oh, the baby’s grandparents were kind to you, of course, and had let you stay with them, but they already had a community. They hadn’t needed you.
You’re certain that Christopher won’t need you, either, and that he’ll tell you as much. So you’ll start by showing Christopher that even if he doesn’t need you, he could use you. That could lead to wanting you, in some mode or another—a maid, maybe; a friend, hopefully. Your eyes sweep across the tidy room, landing and lingering on the wool scarf where it’s hung atop his coat. You’ve made yourself useful to him before.
Of course, there may be opportunities down in Enterprise. You’d seen a sign asking for help at the seamstress’ when you were there last there, but it’s been some time. You’d have to reacquaint yourself with the potential opportunities. If there are none—from Christopher, or in Enterprise—you’ll have to get yourself back home.
Glancing up, you find Christopher shrugging his suspenders on, fingers slipping over where they dent into his broad shoulders. You let your eyes sweep over him before you turn back down to the bread that you’re kneading. Christopher gets a couple steps deeper into the living room, and then goes still.
“...Have you already gotten the eggs?”
“Yes,” You answer. “They’re the only thing I didn’t get at the general store.”
“Oh?”
“I figured you’d have some.”
“...You made coffee?”
“Mhm.”
Christopher steps closer to you, dipping into your field of vision as he comes to stand beside you, watching your hands work steadily at the dough. His hand reaches out, grasping one of the things that you brought from the general store.
“Honey?” He asks.
You nod a touch.
“Can’t have sweet rolls without a little sweet in ‘em,” You tell him, turning to look at him. Where Christopher had had a much larger beard last night, you find it neatly trimmed now. It’s too much of a leap to hope that he’s shaved for you. The weather is growing warmer, after all; you can’t imagine so much facial hair can be comfortable on hot days.
You glance over, spotting Christopher dipping his pinkie into the honey and raising it to his mouth. Your mouth goes dry as you watch him suck it between his lips, humming softly at the taste. Your face goes hot at the sight and the sound, and you turn back to the dough, nudging it aside and sprinkling some more flour onto the countertop.
“What’s that for?” Christopher asks.
“Keeps the dough from sticking. Makes it easier to form it into rolls.”
Christopher watches as you portion off some of the dough, sprinkling a little flour onto it before rolling it into your hands. The honey makes this a touch stickier than other doughs, and a little sticks to your palms as you slide it from your hands, tucking it into the dutch oven. You go on like this for a while, with Christopher watching as you fill about half of the dutch oven. Then he straightens up, knocking lightly on the counter.
“I should go feed the horses,” He says.
“Oh—I did.”
“...You did.”
“I woke up early, figured I may as well make myself useful,” You answer breezily, taking up another portion of dough. Christopher makes no answer, just leans against the counter again, folding his arms across his chest. Once you’ve finished packing the last roll into the dutch oven, Christopher says, “Let me,” As he takes up the lid and covers them. Walking around to the fireplace, he mutters, “May as well do something in my own home.”
Your stomach churns with embarrassment as you wipe your hands clean on your apron.
“Thank you,” You mutter, eyeing the clock to time them.
“How long’ll these take?”
“Maybe half an hour, forty minutes.”
“You wanna go for a quick ride?”
Your brows raise at the question before you give a small, bashful smile.
“I don’t know how,” You admit.
“You don’t know how to ride a horse?” Christopher asks, stunned.
“No! If I did I wouldn’t have walked nearly as much as I did when I was with the baby. But going around with a little’un seemed like a bad time to learn.”
Christopher grunts. “Half an hour isn’t long enough for a lesson, but I’ll teach ya sometime, if you like.”
“That would be nice,” You smile, nodding as you take up a rag to clean the mess made from the sweet buns.
“How about I make us some eggs,” Christopher offers.
“I can—”
“I’m well aware, but I think you’ve done enough this morning.” The scolding is offered with raised brows and a mockingly stern smile.
“Fine,” You mutter, sweeping the remainder of the spread flour into your apron.
--
“How’s the child?” Christopher doesn’t look you in the eye as he asks it, studiously poking at his eggs. “She’s well. Seemed to be taking to life in Baxter’s Crossing well.”
“They name her?”
“Mhm. Margaret,” You smile a little bit. “Margaret Ann.”
Christopher hums softly, eyes sweeping your face.
“You heading back to San Francisco?” He asks, and it’s your turn to look at your eggs.
“I don’t quite know what I’m doing yet.”
“No?”
“Nn-nn…I think I saw a sign for a seamstress needed down in Enterprise.”
“Lookin’ to stay?”
“Maybe. Of all the towns I traveled to with Margaret, this was probably the nicest—in terms of finding help, and milk for the baby…And you weren’t so bad, either.”
“You’re too kind.”
You glance at Christopher, smiling at him from under your lashes as he pops a bit the sweet roll into his mouth. He doesn’t let out the same groan as he did with your bread, but he starts to. Then he notices you watching him, swallows, and clears his throat.
“Good?” You ask.
“S’alright,” he mutters. You fight off a smile.
“The next batch’ll have to be better if they’re just alright.”
“Guess it’s worth a shot.” When he does finally meet your eye again, Christopher’s smiling.
“I’ll give you a ride into town when you finish up,” He nods toward your nearly-empty plate.
“Thank you.”
--
You expect to take the cart again, but Pike tells you to hold onto your bag, helps you up onto the horse, and pulls himself into the saddle behind you. His arms wrap around you as he reaches for the reins, and you pull in a quiet shaky breath as he presses close to you.
Before your travels with the baby, you’d be a little more concerned with how proper or improper this all looks to others. But in your time with the baby, and with Christopher, your views on what’s proper and what you want have severely shifted in priority.
The ride into town is leisurely and slow, and you take in the swell of green in the forest, the chattering and tweeting of birds, the rising hush of the wind.
--
Enterprise is just as you remember it. It’s bustling and busy, with people rushing this way and that, in and out of shops and salons. Everyone seems to know Christopher, and the comfort you’d felt being tucked against him on the ride has shifted to nerves. You find yourself sitting up straighter, putting as much space as you can between you as you share a saddle. Christopher stops his horse in front of the seamstress’, swinging himself down before he takes your bag from you. You watch him set it on the ground beside himself before he reaches up, holding his arms out to help you down. You rest your hands on his shoulders, wobbling a little as you slid off of the horse. Your chest brushes his as your shoes clunk lightly on the wooden slabs of the porch.
“Thank you,” You mumble, eyes set on his throat. You take a moment letting go of one another, and you crouch down, grabbing your bag as you peer around him to the door. There’s still a help wanted sign hanging there.
“I can go in with you—” Christopher starts, but you shake your head a little bit, looking up at him.
“No, it’s alright. I oughta do this myself.”
Christopher’s eyes sweep your face a touch before he nods. “Will you need the scarf?” He asks. You frown, confused, and Christopher fishes into his saddlebag for the navy blue wool.
“I brought it…” He holds it in his hands, fingers seeming to flex around it a little, as if he doesn’t want to let it go. “In case you need…I don’t know. Samples?”
Your stomach twists with flattery and affection. “It’s a sweet thought,” You reassure, resting your hand on his arm. “But I’ve plenty of examples of my work in my bag.” You lean up, hurriedly pecking his cheek before you turn, stepping into the shop.
–
The terms of your employment are seventy-five cents a day, six days a week, with a room to sleep in above the shop. You have the urge to burst out of the shop and throw your arms around Christopher in your excitement. It’s staunched by the sight of him discussing something with a young man. You wait in the doorway for a few moments, and only step forward when Christopher catches your eye and raises his brows.
“So?” He asks.
“Looks like I’ll be sticking around for a while,” You admit, and thrill in the sight of Christopher's pleased smile.
“Well then I oughta introduce myself,” The young man turns to face you with a wide, friendly smile, holding his hand out. “Jim Kirk. I’m the Sheriff here in Enterprise.”
“It’s nice to make your acquaintance,” You say, holding your hand out for the shake, but Jim takes hold of your hand and dips his head, brushing his lips along your gloved knuckles. Your face heats at the gesture, eyes flickering to Christopher—only to find the elder man rolling his eyes openly.
“Alright, Kirk,” Christopher slaps the Sheriff’s shoulder as he straightens up and lets go of your hand, “Don’t scare her off before she even settles in.”
“You always taught me to be welcoming,” Kirk argues, turning to look at Christopher, “Can’t have law and order without a little politeness, that’s what you always told me.”
“There’s politeness, and then there’s *callin’.”
“Oh, this ain’t callin’.”
“No?”
“No, sir.” Jim turns to you, offering you that smile again, and a wink. “Though it could be, if the lady is interested.”
“Alright—” Christopher starts, and you could swear there was a hint of warning there, but it’s cut off by the sound of another man piping up: “Sheriff. There’s been a disturbance at the saloon.”
The three of you turn to see a dark-haired young man approaching.
“This is my Deputy, Mr. Spock. Spock, come say hello,” Jim directs.
“I’m afraid the pleasantries will have to wait. I apologize,” The man adds, tipping his head toward you.
“Not at all,” You shake your head.
“Ma’am,” Jim smiles at you once more, tipping his head before hurrying off with his deputy. You watch them go, brow furrowed, and then look up at Christopher to find him frowning almost fondly after the two.
“He’s smart as a whip, but he’s got a lot to learn,” Christopher says quietly.
“How so?”
“...Oh,” Christopher leans against a post, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He’s quick on the draw, but even quicker to shoot off his mouth. He doesn’t always think things through, he’s willin’ to die standin’ up…But he’s a good kid.”
“What’d he mean, you taught him to be welcoming?”
Christopher’s eyes flicker to you before he admits, “I used to be the Sheriff.”
Your brows rise in surprise. “I thought you came to Enterprise for space.”
“I did…Just didn’t get it right away.” Christopher clears his throat and straightens, tucking his hands into his pockets. “So, you’re all set-up here?”
“Mhm. I’m gonna stay above the shop. They showed me the room, it’s nice.”
Christopher nods, eyes darting to the storefront before he meets your eye again. “I’m glad to hear it,” He says softly.
You nod, eyes drifting to his throat, then his chest. “Thank you for the ride into town.”
“Sure.” Christopher hesitates, and you glance up, finding him watching you with an indecipherable expression. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then smiles just a little. “Don’t be a stranger, huh?”
“You just wait until I get my own horse, Pike.”
“And do what? You won’t know how to ride it.”
“Not until you teach me.”
Pike chuckles, nodding, and agrees, “Not until I teach you.”
--
It doesn’t take long for you to make the little room your own. You spread your quilt out on the bed, and rest the tintype picture of the baby that her grandparents had given you on the mantle. You’ve only enough clothing to fill half of the wardrobe, but that’s more than alright. You can make a few more, if you ever feel like sewing in your free time. The window has a nice view of the road, and you take the minutes before dinner to look at the main street as the sun sinks into the sky. You open the window just enough for you to lean out, and peer down the road toward Christopher’s home.
You know he’s long since made his way home. You’re almost certain you can make out smoke rising from his chimney in the distance. You sigh softly as you hear your name called for dinner, leaning back inside and sliding the window closed again.
Maybe he’s forgotten you already.
Maybe he’s having one of your sweet rolls with dinner.
--
Work at the shop is so busy that you hardly get the chance to take a look at Enterprise in the first week. You don’t have a reason to leave the shop most nights—your meals are provided for you, and your room is comfortable. Now and again, you borrow a book from the shop owners. They mostly have sewing manuals and pattern books, but now and again, you find one of the secret stash of your boss’ among them—Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, Frankenstein. You sneak down to read them at night, hiding in the backroom and reading over candlelight until you grow drowsy.
During the day, you stop expecting Christopher to walk in with a rip in a waistcoat or a snag in his suspenders—something. But your day is primarily spent mending dresses and jackets for the townsfolk of Enterprise. Your employers are kind—they make it a point to introduce you to people that come into the shop. Everyone in Enterprise is very polite.
The sight of Dr. M’Benga and Ms. Chapel makes you grin, and you practically trip over yourself, thanking them again and again for the kindness paid to yourself and the baby when you’d passed through only months before. Both are happy to hear that the baby is well, and are more than delighted to see the little tintype photograph of her.
The first week makes you so tired that you spend most of your first Sunday off, sleeping. The second, however, sees you setting out in town early. Your employers are shocked that a single woman of your age chooses not to attend church. But you find that others in Enterprise forgo the service. You drift along the main street with them, trading polite nods and smiles as you take in your surroundings. Your eyes to dart toward the church as the bell rings. You can’t help but wonder if Christopher is in there, but choose not to stand by the doors to look around.
As the sun begins to grow higher over the town, you find yourself walking in the direction of his cabin. Halfway up the path, you shove the sleeves of your shirt up, beginning to grow just a little warmer than you’d anticipated. It occurs to you, at that point, there Christopher may not even be there. You push on regardless. Surely there’ll be at least a horse and a few chickens to visit with.
The sight of the cabin is a relief. Rather than knock on the door, you walk over to the pump, taking hold of the handle. The water is blessedly cool. You raise the water cupped in your hand and slurp it up before you dip your hand under the nozzle again. You wet your hand just a little more before sliding it up under the high collar of your blouse.
“What are you plannin’ on leaving for that?” You hear. Your head snaps up to find Christopher leaning in the doorway of his cabin, holding the door open. You can’t help the fluttering in your stomach, or the smile that grows on your lips.
“That depends,” You offer, swiping the remainder of the cool water across your hairline to cool your head a touch.
“On?”
“What you want for it.”
Christopher smiles a bit before he waves his hand closer. “Get in here before you burn up.”
--
“So you like it in town?”
“Mhm,” You nod. You slouch a touch unattractively in the chair. You can’t bring yourself to care about your posture just now; the walk has really taken it out of you. “Everyone is just so kind.”
“How kind?”
You glance at Christopher and find his eyes sparkling with a tease.
“Incredibly,” You answer. Then, “Sheriff Kirk’s stopped by a time or two.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. He had a tear in his waistcoat.”
“He tell you how that happened?”
“No he did not.”
“Mm.”
“...Christopher, may I ask…” You trail off in your nerves, but the calm, curious look in Christopher’s face spurs you on: “Why did you become Sheriff?”
Christopher’s expression flickers just a touch, and you panic as he leans back in his seat. His hand rests on the table, fingers flexing a touch.
“When I arrived at Enterprise, it was a small settlement. A handful’a houses, no proper main street, no general store. Everyone was fending for themselves. Bandits and gangs blew through once, maybe twice a week, just to burn down anything that was built. They killed the last Sheriff, no one was willing to step up.”
“But you did.”
Christopher nods a little, eyes set on the table. “There were people here, good people. M’Benga, Spock, Ortegas, Chapel…They wanted to make a life. I knew I could help, so I helped. We organized, kept the roving gangs out.”
“Did you ever regret it?”
“Not for a minute.”
You smile, unable to help it.
“And why’d you stop?”
“I was tired,” Christopher admits. His smile is a little tight as he says it. “Between the town, and the war…I won’t say I felt like I’d done enough. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I’ve done enough. But I needed a break…And the new crop was ready to help, you know, Kirk and Spock. I felt like I was leaving Enterprise in good hands.”
“It’s certainly the calmest town I’ve ever been in.”
“That so?”
“Mhm. Don’t get me wrong, it’s busy, but I’ve never felt…Unsafe.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Christopher smiled.
“Why’d you settle so far from town?”
“Aren’t you just full of questions today?”
Your face went hot with embarrassment, and you lowered your gaze to the table.
“I told you,” Christopher adds, “I wanted more space.”
“Yes, you mentioned,” You mutter, hand scrubbing across the back of your neck. Christopher chuckles softly, standing. You watch him walk back toward his kitchen.
“You want something to drink?” He asks, rounding his counter.
“Sure,” You nod. “Though I should be heading back soon.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
--
It becomes a weekly routine that shocks many of the good, god-fearing people of Enterprise. You forgo worship in favor of a walk up to Christopher’s cabin. You start going earlier and earlier in the morning, trying to avoid walking over in the heat of the day.
Sometimes when you arrive, he’s not home, but it’s rare. The third or fourth time it happens, you look up at the sound of a twig snapping and hurriedly avert your eyes as you pull in a stunned gasp. It’s a few harrowing, silent moments as you hear him tread closer and closer. You’re tempted to look again, but you know better than to do that.
“Wasn’t expecting you this early,” He mumbles as he walks up the porch steps past you. Glancing behind yourself, you spy his bare calf, the drops of water slipping down them. You hurriedly face forward again as he seems to twist and look at you.
“I’ll wait out here,” You offer, studiously eyeing the basket where you left it beside your feet.
“Alright.”
The screen door opens and shuts behind you, and then the other door does the same. You release a stunned, nervey little breath. You wouldn’t say that you’re in shock—surprised, maybe. You’ve just never seen a naked man before. Of course you hadn’t gotten a good look; by the time you’d spotted him, he’d only been halfway across the clearing. But you’d managed to take in the sight of his broad, bare chest—and a few areas a bit lower down.
You glance back hesitantly when you hear the inside door open, the knock of Christopher’s boot, and then the creak of the swing door.
“...I made bread to bake,” You tell him, “I didn’t want the fire to make the cabin too hot.”
“You hungry?”
“A little.”
“I already got the eggs.”
“Okay.”
“C’mon.”
--
The two of you are a little awkward and stilted around one another for most of the morning. It’s strange—like you’ve both walked into unfriendly territory by accident and don't know how to make your way out again.
Christopher makes the first pass at an olive branch— “This one doesn’t need to sit?”
“Hm?”
“The bread.”
You glance up from the book you’ve taken from his shelf.
“Oh—No. I started making it last night, it sat for as long as it needed to.”
Christopher grunts. He isn’t pacing, per se; he’s just taking a few steps away from his window, then toward it again. Then he stops, turns, and leans against the sill.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hm?”
“I said, I’m sorry.”
“...For what?” You ask, glancing up at him. “You’re on your own property, you have plenty of right to be…As you like. I’m the one that ought to apologize, turning up as I did.”
Christopher’s brows raise in amusement at your stilted answer.
“Still,” He adds. “I seem to have shocked you.”
“Shocked is hardly the right word.”
“Surprised?”
“...A little closer, but I expect I surprised you, too.”
“You certainly did.”
You meet Christopher’s eyes and find him smiling slyly. You smile in turn, unable to help yourself. You look down at the book again, resting your chin on your hand.
“In all your travels, I’d’ve thought you’d seen more,” He teases after a moment.
You scoff in embarrassment, eyes set stalwartly on the book.
“Just…Bulls and horses and things,” You mumble.
“Tough act to follow.”
You reach out on instinct, taking up the pepper shaker and lobbing it in his direction. He catches hold of it without missing a beat and strolls back to the table, setting it down. As he does, he rests his hand on the back of your chair, steadying himself. For a few moments, you feel the brush of his beard-roughened cheek, smell the salt of the lake he surely must’ve gone for a swim in.
“...Haven’t you read this already?” You mumble.
“Not in some time.”
There’s a moment before you feel him turn his head. Your eyelids flutter at the brush of his lips against your temple.
“Read,” He urges.
“I am reading,” You mumble.
“Read to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I like listening to your voice.” There’s just a moment before Christopher presses a kiss to your temple in earnest before urging again: “Read.”
Your stomach twists with surprise, heart thudding in your chest at the tender press. It’s a moment before you open your eyes again. He gets a few steps away before you finally begin to do as he asked, though you have to fight to keep your voice steady.
--
As the days grow longer, Christopher starts walking you back to town every Sunday. It’s not uncommon for him to insist that he carry whatever you’ve brought with you, if you’ve brought anything at all. On a particularly calm evening, as the warm breeze slips through the leaves, making them rustle and whisper around you, you take a chance, sliding your arm through his.
You expect Christopher to maybe grow a bit stilted, or, in a worst case scenario, unwind your arm from his. But he just rests his hand atop yours where it rests in the crook of his elbow, and the two of you carry on walking and talking as if nothing’s changed at all.
--
Jim Kirk makes one attempt to call you in earnest. It’s on a warm evening, when you’re escaped the heat of your room in favor of sitting on the porch. The Sheriff had happened past, but then he’d stopped and stayed, taking up the chair beside yours and chatting as you tried to read.
Well, he strikes you as a sincere young man, and a sweetheart at that, but —
“Well, it’s not that I dislike you at all, Sheriff, honest—”
“Thank you—”
“But I…Well, I’m still new in town, you know, still trying to get my bearings—”
“Of course—”
“And…Well, I’m not saying I won’t grow awfully fond of you—”
“I’m sure you will—”
“But…” The protest dies in your mouth as Jim offers you a dazzling grin. You huff out a nervous laugh before you let your gaze drop to your lap.
“But?” Kirk presses gently.
You’re opening your mouth to answer when you hear someone clear their throat. When you catch sight of Christopher, you feel yourself sitting up straighter.
“Hi,” You greet, smiling.
“Evenin’,” Christopher nods, glancing from you to Jim. “Am I interrupting something?”
You start to shake your head a little bit before your eyes dart nervously to Jim. You find him smiling still, a knowing smile cast in your direction before he stands from the chair.
“Not at all,” Jim insists. “I just…I just realized I’m a little late to somethin’. Excuse me.”
He shoots you a wink and a tip of his hat, and pats Christopher’s arm as he passes him. You watch Jim go with a small smile, relief flitting through your system.
“What’s he late to?” Christopher asks, sitting in the seat Jim left empty.
“Oh—I don’t know, couldn’t say. What are you doing in town?”
“I was visiting with M’Benga. I was about to head back, but I heard your voice. Thought I’d come over and say hello.”
“Well. Hello.”
“Hello,” Christopher repeats, chuckling. “Did you have a good time with Jim?”
“We were just talking, that’s all. Did your visit with the doctor go alright?”
“Yes. He’s been considering moving a little ways out of town to give his daughter some room to run around.”
“How old is she?”
“She’ll be seven next week.” Christopher glances in the direction that the Sheriff left in. “So what were you and Kirk discussing?”
“Oh—nothing,” You fib. “Just how I like town is all.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm.”
“And how you like certain of the residents?”
Even in the flickering of the lamp overhead, Christopher’s eyes twinkle with a tease. You bristle bashfully, feeling caught out. Before you can argue, Christopher adds, “The two tongues’ll be wagging—the sight of Sheriff Kirk and the pretty new girl on a Saturday night.’
“And the town tongues won’t wag at my conversing with you?” You bat back. Christopher seems to consider it for a moment before he shrugs and stands.
“Perhaps,” he concedes.
You find yourself rising out of your seat in turn. Your body is still prickling with shyness as you do, but you suddenly have the urge to follow Pike wherever he goes.
“Are you heading home?” You ask.
“I ought to. It’s getting late.”
“Will you walk?”
“No, Tango is tied up back at M’Benga’s.”
“You still have to teach me to ride, you know.”
“I know,” Christopher smiles, “But perhaps not tonight.”
“Obviously not,” You mumble, cowed by your embarrassment. And then Christopher takes a step forward, lifting your hand to his lips and brushing a kiss to your knuckles. He does it so calmly, so easily, as if it’s something he’s done a hundred times. He holds your gaze as he does so, and you feel your mouth go dry, your lips parting just a touch in surprise.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” He asks.
“Of course.”
“Bright and early?”
“Perhaps not too early.”
Christopher chuckles, giving your hand a slight squeeze before letting go.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Christopher.”
--
You don’t notice the whispers at first. Enterprise is populated by such lovely people that you don’t think anything of the way whispers start to follow you. You think, maybe, that some people must’ve returned to town and simply don't recognize you.
And then, as you work on fitting one of little Rukiya M’Benga’s new dresses, you hear, “That’s her,” And then, “Pike’s woman.”
For all that you’ve enjoyed settling into a new life in Enterprise, it’s reminded you of the prim and proper way that you used to live. You’ve begun to second-guess yourself, to consider what may be right before you consider what you want, most dearly and truly. You allow yourself to go still for a split second before you give the confused child a reassuring smile and return to righting her pleats.
“Do you like the color?” You ask, trying to distract yourself from the conversation still being carried out within earshot.
“Very much,” Rukiya insists with a nod.
“You chose very nicely.”
“She has her mother’s eye,” M’Benga comments. You glance at him with a smile before you straighten up.
“I can settle up now,” He adds.
“Of course. Will we be wearing this home?” You ask, looking between Rukiya and her father. The young girl casts him puppy eyes, pouting with all her might.
“It looks as though we will be,” He chuckles, gently patting his daughter’s head.
“Can I go look at the ribbons?” Rukiya plies.
“Of course.”
You smile, rounding the counter and drawing up the remainder of M’Benga’s bill. He glances in the direction of the gaggle still eyeing you before he smiles at you.
“The chatter will quiet down one of these days. They just need something to discuss.”
“I don’t understand why they said what they said, is all,” You admit, passing the bill over for M’Benga to sign. M’Benga gives a small shrug and a thoughtful hum, but he does so in a way that feels suspicious.
“Has he said something to you?” You ply. You simply receive another shrug in turn, a knowing smile, and a bid to have a good day before he turns to urge his daughter home.
--
“You’re awful quiet.”
You don’t answer right away. You take a moment to draw in the way the wind seems to push the water across the lake, the bobbing family of ducks and ducklings not too far off, and the lap of the calm waves against your feet and ankles as you dangle them over the edge of the dock.
“I’m sorry,” You finally say.
“Nothin’ to apologize for,” Christopher says. “Just seems like you have something on your mind.”
You draw your lip between your teeth as you consider that. You have a number of things on your mind. Most of all is the fact that leaving Christopher on Sundays is becoming more and more difficult for you; the comments of M’Benga and the people in the shop follow at a close second; the serenity and beauty of the lake is third. The sun is shining off of the water, and there’s a cool breeze that slices the July heat in two when it brushes over you.
“Suppose I do,” You admit after a moment.
“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
You glance over toward Christopher and find him watching you with a concerned frown. You flash him a small smile.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“Well now I’m even more curious.”
You hum softly, looking out over the lake again.
“I guess I’m just wondering about a few things.”
“Such as?”
“...Well how to ride a horse, for one.” You smile, giving him a sideways glance. Your smile widens as he chuckles.
“What else?” He presses. You raise your hand, scrubbing over the side of your neck.
“I’m not sure I want to bother you with it,” You admit. “It seems sort of silly.”
“Try me.”
You’d love to—and that thought makes your skin go hot with embarrassment. You hesitate before you shake your head a little.
“Not just now, I don’t think. Are you hungry?” You ask, twisting in the direction of the picnic basket you’ve brought with you. Christopher doesn’t answer right away, but you can feel him eyeing you critically.
--
“Will you tell me now what’s troubling you?”
You fight the urge to pout as Christopher poses the question. Your steps are meandering and slow on your way back into town. You’re glad to take your time; lately you’ve felt exposed in town—watched, noted, spoken about.
You don’t try to answer cutely, or say ‘tell you what?’, as if you’ve no idea what he’s referencing.
“I’ve been…Discussed quite a bit these last few days,” You admit.
“That so?”
“Mhm. And your name has been linked in kind.”
“How so?”
“There’s a supposition of a…Romantic entanglement on our part.”
The admission makes you nervous and warm. You don’t dare look at Christopher, to watch how he takes it in and turns it over in his mind. But he doesn’t draw his arm away from yours, nor do you draw away from him.
“...I see,” Christopher manages.
“I suppose I’ve been ignoring the potential impropriety of our association in favor of…Of seeing you.”
“Impropriety?”
“Christopher,” You sigh softly. “I know that this has all been perfectly chaste and so do you, but they don’t know that.”
“Is that important to you?”
You bite your lip, feeling nervous and guilty.
“It is, some,” You admit. “I adore you and your company, but…But I’m new in town, and people talk. No one here really knows me. I’ve a reputation to protect.”
“...Alright,” Christopher nods a touch. You think that may be the end of it, but he says, “Then perhaps we ought to alter the nature of our association.” Your heart ticks up in your chest, and then cools when Christopher adds, “I’ll come and see you in town instead.”
“But I like coming up to see you—”
“And we can sit with Dr. M’Benga, or Spock or Kirk—”
“I like spending time with you alone—”
“There’s no way for us to do so if you’re so concerned with propriety,” Christopher argues. You sigh, lowering your gaze to the ground.
“What do you want to do?” He presses. You come to a stop, slipping your arm from his and folding your arms stubbornly across your chest. Christopher stops just a step or two away.
“Tell me what you want,” He urges softly.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because—”
“Because what?”
You’ve done so many reckless things over the course of the last year—things that you needed to do to survive, and to ensure the baby’s safety. You came back to Enterprise for a new start, and out of pure, ridiculous hope. Now, your eyes flicker up to Christopher nervously. You know that he can’t read your mind. You’re terrified that you’re going to ruin the friendship that you’ve built with him, but you don’t know how to hide yourself from him any longer.
You close the gap between the two of you, cupping his cheeks and drawing him in. You kiss him clumsily—your lips bump chastely against his; your nose mashes into his uncomfortably; your hands settle shakily over his beard. When Christopher doesn’t lean into you right away, you second guess yourself; you start to draw back. And then you hear the faint clink of dishes in the picnic basket rattling together as it’s dropped to the ground, and feel one of Christopher’s arms wind around your middle. His other hand raises, cupping your cheek. He tilts your head gently, carefully. You cede control to him without a second thought, leaning into his chest.
Christopher kisses you carefully, as if you’re a wounded, nervous little bunny; as if you’ll draw away and cease to exist. His fingers curl covetously in the fabric of your top. You loop your arms around his broad shoulders, savoring the way he holds you, and the tender brush of his lips against yours, and the way his beard prickles and tickles along your chin and nose.
The two of you draw away from one another slowly, carefully, as if either of you will scare the other off. Christopher’s breath brushes across your lips, and when you finally find it in yourself to open your eyes, you find him watching you wondrously. You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of the way your heart is pounding roughly in your chest, the heat of Christopher’s chest against your front, and his hand radiating against your back through your blouse.
Your gaze flickers down to Christopher’s lips, plump from your kisses, and you hesitate before you lean in again, giving him a tender peck. Christopher responds in kind, chasing your lips when you lean away just a little bit. He draws you more tightly against him as your kisses grow deeper and more passionate. The sky is light, the afternoon sun peeks through the leaves over you.
By the time you finally manage to draw apart from one another and walk the rest of the way back to your lodgings, the evening’s gone dark around you. Your lips tingle from the kisses traded; your back aches a touch from where Christopher had backed you against a tree and covered your lips and face and neck with kisses.
He gives your knuckles a final kiss at your door, and takes the chance of laying a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth once he’s checked that no one is watching you. You watch him go on his way, and can’t help your smile as he turns to meet your eyes until he’s out of sight.
