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They get away with it a lot longer than anyone expected, so long that Ortegas begins to wonder if they just might go on getting away with it forever. But then Una walks into the captain’s galley for the monthly senior staff breakfast and Nyota stands on tiptoe to see her over Hemmer’s shoulder. That alone might not have been enough to tip her off, but at the same time Mitchell bends her whole body around Sam to get a look, and, well—there’s no coming back after that.
Ortegas watches it all play out across the room—Una walking in, Mitchell tipping halfway over, the look of disappointment on Sam’s face when he turns around and sees her—and closes her eyes in brief supplication before turning back to her plate with what she hopes is enough innocence to slip past Una’s sensors.
No such luck. She hasn’t even swallowed her bite of fruit salad by the time Una’s hand closes over the back of her chair.
“Is there something on my face?”
“Umm... your makeup?”
“Don’t be a smartass. I meant do I look... weird.”
“Why would you think that?” Ortegas asks around a tremendous bite of bagel. It’s got streusel on top, and she spews a few crumbs of it across the table, which she then focuses her full attention on trying to clean up. (In retrospect, that was her second mistake.) (Her first was getting involved with this on any level.)
Una folds her arms. “All right. Spill it.”
She swallows hard. “Spill what?”
“Whatever you know.”
Ortegas wipes cream cheese from the corner of her mouth and licks it off her thumb. “I know a lot of things. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”
Una gives her a look that verges dangerously on stop fucking with your commanding officer territory. Since she’s standing up and Ortegas is sitting down, it’s even more effective than it normally would be. “For the past three weeks, whenever I walk into a room, everyone turns to look at me.”
“And you think that’s weird? You’re our boss. It would be weird if we didn’t look up when you walked into a room.”
Una arches one upswept brow. “That’s not the weird part. The weird part is the way everyone looks at me after I walk in. Last week Zuniga looked like I’d given him a promotion. Sam just now acted like I kicked his dog.”
“Well maybe you should talk to one of them,” Ortegas says, squirming.
Una narrows her eyes. “No,” she says slowly, bending down to her level, “I think the person I’m talking to right now is exactly right.” She’s looking Ortegas dead in the face now, a dangerous gleam in the blue of her eyes. “You know ship’s gossip like Hemmer knows his engine room. So spill.”
Ortegas sighs. “It’s your hair.”
“What?”
“Your hair. There’s a betting pool on how you’ll wear it.”
“There’s a what?” Una yelps.
Yelp is not usually an action one would expect from Una Chin-Riley; around the room, conversation stops as more than one person turns to stare. Ortegas catches Captain Pike trying mightily to hide a smile and resists the urge to scowl. The bastard looked so smug when Una walked in with her hair loose around her shoulders. Maybe there should be some sort of handicap this next round. Plus five for newcomers, minus five for anyone who’s known her for multiple years.
Una sits down hard in the chair beside her. “What do you mean there’s a betting pool about my hair?” she hisses.
“Dude, relax. It’s just a little bit of fun. Bonding, ship’s culture—you know, all those morale things you’re supposed to care about?”
Una looks like she’s going to drop it, but then something flashes across her face. She leans in. “But why me?”
Ortegas laughs. “You’re kidding, right? You’re the only one who changes it up enough to make it a gamble.
“I am not.” Una looks indignant.
“Yeah,” Ortegas says, spearing a kumquat and waving her fork around, “you are. Everyone else has got their go-to hairstyle that never changes unless we’re on shore leave. It’s boring. Can you imagine betting on La’an? And the winner is—braids! For the forty-seventh day in a row. Come on.”
Una straightens her posture. “It’s not in braids today.”
Ortegas looks around the room. “How could you possibly know that? It’s 0830. This is the first thing on alpha shift’s schedule, and Cap told you and La’an to lay off the doubles last week, so I know you did not just come from the bridge.”
“Sparring session,” Una says, avoiding eye contact. “Ran longer than we expected. That’s why she’s late.”
She can’t be sure, but she thinks she can see color rising in the first officer’s cheeks.
“Uh-huh,” Ortegas says, not looking away as she crunches on a slice of Vulcan pear. “If she’s late and you were both sparring, then how come you’re on time? She lives closer to the gym.”
Una is definitely blushing and this line of questioning is definitely going somewhere, but before Ortegas can take advantage of her fluster, the captain taps a fork against his glass. “All right everyone,” he says, thereby ruining the best day of Ortegas’s life, “we’re still waiting on a couple people, but let’s get this party started. First, I’d like to thank Spock for sacrificing his beauty sleep to help me cook—”
Just then the doors open and La’an barrels through them, the speed of her approach all the more obvious when she skids to a halt beneath the watchful eyes of every person in the room.
“Lieutenant Noonien-Singh,” Pike says, doing an admirable job of hiding his smile. “Nice of you to join us. And with a new hairdo, I see.”
La’an flushes the same shade as her uniform, hands lifting to the messy bun atop her head. “Sorry,” she murmurs, tucking back a few damp strands. “I was, er—running. Lost track of time. Had to shower.”
“Of course,” the captain says, waving her the rest of the way into the room. “You didn’t miss much. We were just getting started. Why don’t you go get some food while I continue to embarrass Spock.” La’an hurries over to the buffet, head down, and Pike turns back to the table. “Number One?”
Una’s head snaps up. “Yes Captain?”
“You might wanna get yourself a plate too. Unless you’ve already eaten.”
A loud clatter comes from the direction of the buffet as La’an drops a serving spoon.
“Right,” Una says, “of course.” She gets up and goes over to the buffet where she and La’an stand on opposite sides of the island, expressions stoic save for their very red cheeks. Ortegas sits back with a smirk, and across the table Chapel catches her eye and quirks an eyebrow, but Ortegas just shakes her head and mouths later.
“Sparring, huh?” she says as soon as Una sits back down.
“Lieutenant,” Una says with total dignity.
“Mm-hmm?”
“Shut up.”