<div align="center"><strong>-= Simeon Gaorong - oh my - Sasha's quarters, The Gamble =-</strong></div><br/>"Do tell, Simeon, when has there<em>ever</em>been a situation where you -<em>all of you</em>-<em>didn't</em>need to rely on me? When have I<em>ever</em>let you down?"<br/><br/>It didn't make him happy to say so, but if she had to ask, it had to be said. Si maintained that solemn expression as he answered, "About two minutes ago." Was it letting him down in a life-threatening way, or even in a manner that directly affected him? No...but it set precedent. Letting herself go off on Vincent, whether or not it turned physical on her part, was a concern if it could happen somewhere outside of this controlled little box they were in. Waiting to deal with this kind of behavior until it happened in a dangerous context was waiting too long; it had to be nipped in the bud pre-emptively. He knew that, but it didn't make it any easier, nor would explaining that whole thought process be likely to help her accept it. He's been here before. It was one of those lessons that had to be taught without the expectation of immediate positive effects. It was simply what had to be done.<br/><br/>He didn't hold it against her when she moved away, distanced herself. Natural response, at least in her case. He didn't move to follow, only watched her from where he sat, continued with his piece.<br/><br/>Of course this meant he had an excellent view of her back when she decided to show it off for him.<br/><br/>Si thought about saying something - almost did. Didn't. His lips had parted, but he closed them again. There were certain expectations of behavior in his home context, standards that were set for his class, his station, his family and so on. They were, however, far away from those standards, a fact of which the crew often reminded him in moments when he appeared to be too "stiff" for their liking. Something about a length of wood being lodged in an anatomically impossible position. That he did not choose to loosen up in the same fashion as the rest of the crew did not bother him, even if it did them, but it did on occasion cause some friction or humor when there was a clash of interests, often caused by certain crew members attempting to introduce him to something he did not expect or considered inappropriate even though, as it turned out, it was quite appropriate by standards that differed from his own.<br/><br/>He was seated in Sasha's quarters, on her bed in fact, in private with the lady. She knew this as well as he did and, knowing it, chose to undress in front of him. Now how was he meant to interpret<em>that</em>? If he were back home and such a thing were to happen it would mean any number of negative things: she had dismissed him entirely, or meant to insult his character, perhaps. But here, now? Miss Dearing did not care about his character, not in that way, and as his First Officer she could simply have told him to leave if that was her intention. But she did not. She had done this instead.<br/><br/>How was he meant to interpret that?<br/><br/>The look she gave him when she came back -<em>jen dao mei</em>, she left the shirt open - only added to the confusion of the situation. What was that look?<br/><br/>"Why are you still sitting there?"<br/>"Why haven't you left yet?"<br/>"Like the view?"<br/>"Can you handle it, old man?"<br/><br/>He just didn't know. After the day they'd had, the subtle changes in their usual interaction, he had assumed at first it was change brought about by additions to the crew, but now? He just didn't know.<br/><br/>As one might imagine, he was rather too preoccupied to be prepared for a sudden lurch in the ship and quickly found himself with a new, considerably closer view of his First Officer's features.<em>Facial</em>features, mind you! Despite his uncertainty about the lady's intentions, he knew full well where his own interests lay: whatever he needed to know, he would find it in her face and nowhere else.<br/><br/>His hands, however, were not necessary for that eye contact. While his focus was on Sasha's face, his hands - very slowly, very cautiously - moved up through her open shirt to hold her hips. Nothing more than that. No boorish fondling or stroking; he was no hormonal boy to go about groping the first young thing to have her bare skin so close to his. He was a gentleman, and he could express his interest as such: simply holding her in his warm hands, his thumbs at rest at the inner edge of her hips - he could feel the harder mass of those bones under the skin. And he did not move.<br/><br/>He held her, gently, and he watched her eyes.<br/><br/>And he waited.