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SYLVIE

W hen the LPN got back with the meds and ice it was just Sylvie in the righted room. “You ok?” Sylvie looked up at him as she emptied the med cup and grabbed the water on her tray. “They seem intense. Pretty sure there were at least three fights in the time they were here.”

“Too much testosterone,” she rolled her eyes. “But I don’t think you can ask for a better example of friends. They took me in and have stayed.” He smiled. She changed the subject, “And how is your family?”

Rave had walked the team out. When he came back Sylvie was stepping out of the bathroom. Genie had done a god job. She had changed into a grandpa sleep set; button up shirt and matching shorts. His mind immediately wandered to slowly unbuttoning that shirt and pulling off those shorts. She moved to the side of the bed, walking past him, “It’s all yours.” Snapping out of his thoughts he shifted uncomfortably. He was glad her back was turned to him; she hopefully didn’t see what she did to him. He had a feeling it was going to be awhile before they could explore any more of the chemistry they had on the ship. He slipped into the bathroom and came back out. She was in bed, with only ambient light left in the room. He laid down on the pull-out chair. Forty-five minutes later he felt Sylvie looking for space. He reached for her, pulling her down beside him. She was cold, and he could feel the hair at the back of her neck was wet; she’d had a bad dream. He tucked her back against his chest and pulled the blanket she had over them both. Too early, Rave’s alarm went off to get to PT. He got off the chair as carefully as he could, trying not to disturb her. She settled into his warm spot. On his way out he brushed his lips across her forehead, she humphed in response. “I’ll be back in a couple hours.”