Chapter 2: Medical

The medical bay was a blur of noise and light. Someone guided Hikaru to a bed and someone else nudged him to sit down and someone else took his vitals while a maelstrom of voices spun around him. 

“I need 75 cc of aprixocin—”

“—internal bleeding in the abdomen, if we don’t get him into stasis now—”

“Heart rate is 98 bpm, can we get that—”

“—experiencing high levels of adrenaline—”

“Dammit, Jim, if you don’t get back in that bed I’ll put you there myself!” 

“Mr. Sulu?” 

Hikaru jumped. The nurse was back—the same woman from the hangar, with dark brown skin and crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. She smiled at him. “It looks like you don’t have any physical injuries,” she said. “You are experiencing abnormally high levels of cortisol—” She was reading off of the PADD in her hand. “But that’s a common stress response. We should see it decline over time.”

Hikaru blinked. “Okay,” he said. Cortisol. Stress. He looked past the nurse, at medical staff gathered around another bed a few meters away. Questions slid in and out of his brain before he could ask them, before he could put words to the fear in his chest. 

“Right now, it’s most important that you rest and recover,” the nurse said. “We’ll hold you here for twenty-four hours, and if nothing pops up, you’ll be free to go.”

“Okay,” Hikaru said. 

“Would you like something to help you relax?” 

“No,” Hikaru said. He took a deep breath and tore his gaze away from the other bed, from Chekov, and tried to focus on the woman in front of him. “I think I just… need to sleep.” 

“Right this way,” she said. 

Hikaru stood up and followed her into a smaller room with three empty beds. He sat down on one of them. The nurse made a few adjustments to the attached screen and then left him alone. Hikaru stared at the wall. 

I should’ve asked about Chekov. 

He didn’t know what he would have said; he didn’t have the right words. He’s going to be okay, the nurse had said. He’s going to be fine. Hikaru believed her, but he wanted to know for sure. He wanted to do something. 

He’s going to be fine. 

He was still wearing his boots. Hikaru looked down at them—standard black Starfleet-issue boots, a little worn, smeared with glowing sap and sludgy purple-brown sewage. He had been wearing them for the past eight days. 

He kicked the boots off onto the floor. The socks underneath smelled rancid, soaked through with days’ worth of sweat. Hikaru peeled them off and tossed them next to the boots, and flopped over sideways onto the bed. A long sigh whistled out of his lungs. The mattress pressed back against his hips, his spine, soft and supportive at the same time. The ground on Tau Beta V wasn’t much softer than the ground on Earth. It had wreaked vengeance on his joints. 

I’m getting too old for this. 

He pulled his arms into the Tauan poncho that was still wrapped around his shoulders. It had a soft woven pattern, different from any fabric Hikaru had seen before. Anthropology would love this, he thought. He would hand it over to them as soon as he had time. Biology, too… He thought the cloth must be woven from plant-based fibers native to the planet. He had mentioned it to Spock, in the early days of the mission. 

“Look at this,” Hikaru said. For once, no one was chasing them. They had found their way into the wilderness outside the settlement, a vast expanse of alien trees and underbrush tangled together. “Look at the weaving. It’s almost… circular.”

He passed the edge of the cloth over to Spock, who sat next to him in the little hollow under a large bush with glowing white berries. Spock wore a similar piece of clothing, a long, flowing shawl that fastened at each shoulder. He had taken it from the body of the Tauan he’d stunned a few hours ago, when the aliens discovered them in the settlement. Their survival hinged on staying hidden; mimicking the local style of dress might help them blend in. Hikaru couldn’t argue with the logic of it. He had stolen clothing, too. 

“It is reasonable to assume any textile production developed parallel to that of Earth might have significant similarities as well as differences.” Spock ran his fingers along the surface of his shawl. It was soft, but Hikaru could see the pattern of the threads. He wondered if they were handspun, or if the local culture had developed some level of industrialization. It was one of the things they had visited the planet to find out. 

“I wonder what material this is.” Hikaru traced the weave with his hand, mirroring Spock. “It feels kind of like bamboo.”

“I am unfamiliar with materials native to Earth,” Spock said. “However—” 

He stopped. Hikaru tensed, because it had been less than 48 hours and already he knew they were in over their heads. “What?”

Spock motioned for him to be quiet. With unnatural silence, he stood up, drawing his phaser. Hikaru drew his own weapon. His heartbeat rose in his ears, so loud that he almost missed the light footsteps through the underbrush— 

Hikaru startled awake. 

For a second he couldn’t remember where he was. Then he saw the ceiling of the medbay, the sleek walls and the dim blue light. He took a deep breath. He was back on the Enterprise, in the medical bay, tucked underneath a soft silvery blanket. Someone had turned down the lights. How long has it been? He sat up, pushing back the blanket.

He sat there for another minute, listening for the frantic voices from earlier, but the medbay was quiet. He stood up. The floor felt cool under his bare feet. His socks and boots were gone from the floor. Someone must have taken them. 

The door opened for him, and he stepped out into the medbay proper. It was quiet here, too, with the same low lighting. Hikaru saw Dr. McCoy first, sitting next to one of the beds. Then he saw Chekov—lying on his back, unconscious, with an arc-shaped osteoregenerator positioned over his torso. His soiled clothes had been replaced with a clean white medical gown. Another machine, the same shape, covered part of his right leg. 

“Doctor?” Hikaru shuffled over. McCoy glanced up at him. 

“Evening.” 

“Is it?” Hikaru sat down on the next bed over. From here he could see Chekov’s face, already in much better shape. The swelling around his eye had gone down; Hikaru could see his eyelashes again. McCoy moved a handheld regenerator back and forth over the bruises that remained. 

“It was 2000 hours,” McCoy said, “last I checked.” 

Hikaru frowned. “When did we get here?” 

“The middle of gamma shift. About 1500 hours.” 

When he looked past McCoy, Hikaru saw someone sleeping in the next bed. A second later he recognized Kirk, curled up in a ball underneath a blanket. He slept on his side, facing McCoy. And Chekov. Spock lay in the bed on Kirk’s other side, on his back with his hands folded over his chest. 

“How are you feeling?”

Hikaru looked back at Dr. McCoy. “Fine,” he said, on autopilot. McCoy narrowed his eyes. “I mean… I’m tired, and kind of sore, but I’ll be okay.” 

There were still bruises on Chekov’s face, but most of them had faded to dull yellow or green. His split lip had healed over. The dried blood was gone. He looked peaceful. 

McCoy snorted. “Jim said something like that,” he said. “Two herniated disks and a broken nose, and he’s ‘just sore’.”

Hikaru had known the captain was probably worse off than he looked, but the confirmation still made a weight settle in his chest. “He was in pain,” he said. McCoy grimaced. “Why didn’t I notice?” 

The handheld regenerator beeped. McCoy switched it off and set it aside. “Well, if I had to guess,” he said, “you didn’t notice because Jim didn’t want you to.” He gave Hikaru a long-suffering look. “He’s stubborn like that.”

Hikaru laughed. “I know that.” He glanced over at Kirk again, fast asleep under a blanket. At least he’s resting now. “The nurse said something about… holding us here?”

“I’m holding you on a twenty-four hour medical rest,” McCoy said. “It’s mandatory for any crew member who’s undergone ‘severe or prolonged stress’, and that’s all four of you. So don’t try and argue.” He picked up the regenerator again. He lifted Chekov’s hand and began healing the bruises on his knuckles. Hikaru recognized the colorful plastic splints still taped in place. 

“You didn’t change the splints?”

“Didn’t need to.” McCoy glanced at him. “Spock said you did these?”

Hikaru nodded. 

“Good job.”

McCoy seemed to be done talking after that. He tended to Chekov’s bruises, while Hikaru sat there, watching him. There was an almost soothing pattern to his movements, as he passed the regenerator back and forth over the same patches of skin. The bruising healed in stages, flaring from purple to blue to dull yellow and green, and finally back to the pale color Chekov’s skin was supposed to be. 

“You want to stay?” McCoy said, presently. Hikaru blinked at him. McCoy paused the regenerator. “You’re welcome to sleep here, if the noise won’t bother you.” He nodded at Kirk’s sleeping figure. “Jim didn’t want to leave the kid either.” 

“Oh,” Hikaru said. “Yeah.” He looked around. “I won’t distract you?” 

McCoy snorted. “Hardly.”

Hikaru lay down again. He heard the biobed pick up on his vital signs. His heart beat slow and steady, amplified by the machine. The medbay was quiet and still. He took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, and breathed out. 

⁂

Hikaru spent the next eighteen hours sleeping, or trying to.

He woke up the first time already tense. He rolled over and sat up in one motion, a hand on his hip where his phaser should be—and then he saw the rest of the medbay and remembered where he was. Chekov lay next to him, still and silent, his heart beating a steady tempo. Jim Kirk sat in the next bed over, reading from a PADD. 

Hikaru let out a sharp sigh. Kirk looked over at him. 

“Hey,” he said. 

Hikaru made a conscious effort to relax his shoulders. “Morning.”

Kirk looked back at his PADD. “It’s 1:15,” he said. He tapped a stylus along the edge of the tablet. “Spock’s still asleep. Chekov is….” He hesitated. 

Hikaru looked down at the bed next to him. Chekov lay in the same position as before, on his back, with the regeneration machines whirring over large parts of his body. Fear stirred in Hikaru’s chest.

“He’s in a coma,” Kirk said, at last. “It’s medically induced. Bones says he needs time to heal from….” He trailed off again. His gaze flickered back to his PADD. He curled his fingers around the stylus until his knuckles turned white. 

“Oh,” Hikaru said. 

Kirk wrote something down. The only noise was the sound of the stylus scratching back and forth, and the low hum of the regenerators. 

You were with him, Hikaru thought. He would never say it out loud, but he couldn’t help thinking it. All that time. He couldn’t imagine it. He didn’t want to. At the moment, he mostly wanted to lay down and go back to sleep, but Kirk had already been awake for a while, and he was trying to work. 

“I should—” Hikaru said. Kirk looked up at him, eyebrows raised, and at that moment, Hikaru remembered where they were. Back on the Enterprise, in the medical bay, on mandatory rest. He didn’t need to negotiate watch cycles anymore. They weren’t in danger. 

“I’m going to be up for a while,” Kirk said. He had focused on his PADD again, which Hikaru appreciated. His eyes kept drifting out of focus. “Gotta finish this log entry. I’ll wake you up if anything changes.” 

“Thanks,” Hikaru said. He lay down again. Before he really had time to feel embarrassed, he was asleep again. 

He woke up again a few hours later, with a lingering sense of danger in the back of his skull. He couldn’t figure out why; the room was empty and silent, except for the ever-present white noise from the machines. Kirk was asleep again, still sitting up in bed, his head resting against the wall and his PADD lying next to him. Spock was gone from his bed. That’s weird, Hikaru thought. He had the vague idea that Vulcans slept less than humans—he had definitely read that somewhere—so maybe Spock’s medical rest was over already. Then he drifted off again. 

The third time, Hikaru knew exactly what woke him: raised voices nearby. He sat up, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Chekov was still there, sleeping—in a coma—but the other two beds were empty, blankets twisted and wrinkled. He heard the voices again, on the other side of the wall. 

“That’s not what medical rest means and you know it.” 

“I require less sleep than a human. Therefore, it is logical to—”

“Don’t give me that logic crap.” 

Hikaru recognized the voices—Spock and McCoy, arguing. He looked around again. They must be in the other room. He didn’t know where Kirk was. 

“We managed just fine while you were gone, you walking martyr complex,” McCoy was saying. “I think we can handle a few more—”

A door slid open at the other end of the room, drawing Hikaru’s attention. Kirk stepped out into the open. He was back in uniform, a bright gold shirt and black pants, though he was still barefoot. He rubbed a towel over his face. Hikaru abruptly remembered that he hadn’t shaved in a week.

“Hey,” Kirk said. He seemed to hesitate. “Bathroom’s open.”

“Thanks,” Hikaru said. 

The voices from next door rose again. Kirk’s gaze shifted in that direction. He crossed the room and ducked around the corner, and then Hikaru heard his voice joining the argument.

“Spock, stop it. If anyone is going back on duty, it’ll be me.”

“The hell you are!”

Hikaru maneuvered himself off the bed to the sound of the doctor yelling. He stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. The argument faded to an indistinct blur. 

The bathroom was small, but not claustrophobic. Hikaru could see the whole room from the doorway. Soft light filtered from fixtures in the walls. A mirror stood over the sink, next to the door. He caught a glimpse of himself without meaning to.

The hair on his face had tipped over from stubble to a patchy beard. He had shadows under his eyes, a faded bruise on his neck. He couldn’t remember where it came from. He was still wearing the alien poncho, pale blue and almost shimmery under the light. He looked… feral. Like the shipwreck victims he had read about, stranded on Earth’s oceans in centuries past.

He thought about taking a shower. He thought about replicating a fresh uniform, like Jim must have done—or else making the long trip back to his cabin to find civilian clothes. He was still barefoot. He would need new socks and boots, too—he didn’t know what had happened to his. They were probably unsalvageable. Another thing to replace at the ship’s commissary. 

In the end, he didn’t take a shower. He relieved himself, washed up, splashed cold water on his face. He tucked his hair back as best he could. I really need a shower. He washed his hands again. Dried them under a jet of warm air. One of the cabinets had a stockpile of single-use toothbrushes; Hikaru brushed his teeth three times, thinking of all the bits of food that must be eating away at his gums. He didn’t look much better at the end of it, but he felt more human than he had in—well, eight days. 

Hikaru stepped out of the bathroom. Kirk was back in bed, sitting on top of the blankets, with his PADD on his lap. He looked tense. Spock sat in the next bed over, his back straight as a line, his eyes closed. He might have been meditating. McCoy was nowhere to be seen. Jim glanced up at the sound of the door, saw Hikaru, and then looked down again. He didn’t relax. 

“What time is it?” Hikaru said. He lingered in the doorway for a few seconds, and then crossed the room, back to his own empty bed. He really didn’t have anywhere else he needed to be. 

“4:28,” Jim said. He spun the stylus in his left hand. “We have ten and a half hours.”

⁂

By 1200 hours, Jim was on his feet. He wandered the medbay, in and out of various rooms, quiet and pensive. Spock sat by on the bed, watching Jim with an intensity that Hikaru found almost intimidating. He had a PADD of his own, by now, with an old favorite book pulled up on the screen. His eyes kept sliding off of it. Jim moved back and forth, restless, and Spock tracked his every movement. A couple of nurses stood in the opposite corner, watching them. 

The door slid open. Jim paused, and Hikaru glanced over at Scotty, standing in the doorway. 

“Captain!” 

Jim gave him a strained smile. “Hey, Scotty.”

Scotty barreled into the medbay in a blur of red. Jim made a noise like he’d been punched as Scotty pulled him into a hug. “Oh, it’s good to see you, sir.” 

Jim wheezed. Uhura appeared in the doorway, her arms folded, smiling just as brightly as Scotty. Spock’s eyes locked onto her. 

“Nyota.” He stood up. 

Scotty stepped back, giving Jim room to breathe. “I never doubted you, of course,” he said, and Jim laughed. Spock drew Uhura into a much gentler hug. He kissed her forehead, and Uhura pressed her fingertips to his. 

“Do I get a kiss?” Jim said.

Uhura glared at him. “Tel-torik etek,” she said. Spock raised one eyebrow. 

“I must concur with Lt. Uhura,” he said. 

Jim laughed again, and like a dam breaking, everyone else did the same. Even Uhura wasn’t immune. She put a hand over her mouth, but her shoulders shook. Spock lifted the corner of his mouth in a half-smile. Hikaru hadn’t laughed in so long. It felt good.

“Okay,” Jim said, when a minute had passed and Hikaru and Scotty were still giggling. He waved at them. “You guys don’t even know what she said.” 

“Seemed pretty clear to me,” McCoy said, which set them off again. 

“Hey,” Hikaru said, when he had finally calmed down again. “We’re all… here.” 

Dr. McCoy stood in the doorway, leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Scotty stood next to Jim, with one hand still on his shoulder. Jim leaned into his touch. Spock and Uhura stood together with their hands entwined; after a minute, Uhura pulled away, and sat down at the end of Hikaru’s bed. 

“We missed you,” she said. 

“Aye,” Scotty said.

McCoy frowned. He was quiet for a minute, staring at nothing in particular, and then something in him seemed to fold. “Dammit, Jim,” he said. He sounded more worried than angry. “I thought I’d lost you this time.”

“Come on, Bones,” Jim said, quieter. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“He’s right,” Scotty said. The laughter faded from his face. “We all thought—well. We couldn’t contact you. Regulations would’ve had us give up the search.” He glanced at Chekov. Jim seemed to flinch. Suddenly it seemed like everyone was looking at Chekov, the one member of the crew who couldn’t laugh with them. 

McCoy sighed and settled further into the doorframe. He looked tired. “He’s going to be alright,” he said. “Physically, at least.” 

“What does that mean?” Jim said. 

“It means all four of you just went through a traumatic experience,” McCoy said, sounding irritated now. Any semblance of laughter had drained from the room. Hikaru had the sense that they were picking up in the middle of an argument. “You’re going to see effects from that. Mentally and emotionally. All of you,” he said again, with a significant look at Spock. “One way or the other.”

“Right,” Jim said. “How long do we have left?”

“What?” McCoy said. 

“How long until I can assume command?” 

McCoy didn’t answer at first. Hikaru glanced at him, then at Jim, and then at Uhura. She met his eyes with a slight grimace. Yikes. 

“Three hours,” McCoy said, at last. “And I’ll be referring all four of you to Dr. Caplan for counseling.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim said.

Scotty cleared his throat. “I should be getting back to the bridge,” he said. Uhura leaned over and gave Hikaru a hug. 

“It’s good to see you,” she said. Hikaru remembered what Spock had said—almost twenty-four hours ago, now. It’s good to see you alive. He smiled, just to see Uhura smile back at him. 

“It’s good to be back,” he said. 

⁂

Dr. McCoy was true to his word. At 1500 hours, Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, and Lieutenant Sulu were cleared to leave the medical bay and report for duty. 

Jim, already in uniform, went straight to the bridge. Spock followed him. Hikaru thought about it for all of three minutes before deciding that he really didn’t need to be on the bridge in the middle of gamma shift. He walked down to deck seven instead, back to his cabin. 

It was the same as he had left it, when he went on duty a little over a week ago. Potted ferns and flowers lined the shelves. A spider vine trailed over the couch in the corner. A hand-knitted blanket, a gift from his mother, lay folded at the foot of the bed. A Doosodarian silkbush sat on his desk, behind the computer, its leaves drooping. It was starting to turn black. 

“Oh, no.” Hikaru crossed the room to the replicator and punched in an order of water. “Nobody checked on you?” The spider vine didn’t look too healthy either, and the tawhiti-para fern by the bed had dry tips on its leaves. “I’m sorry,” Hikaru said, to the room at large. “I was…” 

I was gone. He started watering, watched the water soak into the soil and the silkbush’s leaves begin to lift. The roots popped and clicked. Hikaru moved on to the spider vine. Then the fern. The aconite cultivar next to the desk needed pruning. The silverbane over the bed was dull and inert, its branches drooping. Silverbane needed regular doses of radiation to thrive. With Hikaru gone, no one had been around to bring it to the engine room. 

If Hikaru hadn’t come back, his silverbane would have died. 

The last of the water trickled out into the aconite’s pot. Hikaru set the cup down on his desk. A couple of PADDs lay stacked on top of each other. From the picture frame next to the computer, Ben and Demora smiled at him. 

If I hadn’t come back….

Ben would have woken up to a message from Starfleet. We regret to inform you. He would have explained to Demora that Daddy wasn’t coming home. They would have attended his funeral. 

Hikaru sat down, curling his fingers into fists. He hadn’t even thought about them. There wasn’t time, he thought, against the wave of guilt building in his head, we were a little busy trying not to die— It didn’t stop the tears or the horrible ache in his throat. He had been so worried about Jim and Pavel that he’d forgotten his family. 

He fumbled for the closest PADD and keyed in the number that he could have recited by heart. A video window popped up, and Hikaru sat there staring at it as the call beamed back across millions of light-years, hundreds of subspace amplifiers, all the way to Yorktown. 

The call connected. Ben appeared on the video feed, looking like he’d just woken up. His hair stuck up at all angles, and he squinted against a light source offscreen. 

“Ben,” Hikaru said, more relieved than he could express. 

“Hikaru?” Ben’s eyebrows drew together. He looked sleepy. The Enterprise was almost never on the same day-night rotation as Yorktown, which was why they usually had to coordinate video calls. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Hikaru said. “I’m sorry. I forgot about the time difference. I just—I had to see you.”

Ben sat back against a wall of pillows. He was in bed, and except for the lamp on their nightstand, the room was dark. “It’s okay,” he said. “I figured you might call. Just… not at three a.m.” He tilted his head to the side, and black hair fell across his forehead. It was longer than Hikaru remembered. “Did something happen?” 

Yes. Hikaru bit down on his tongue. He didn’t tell Ben everything about his job. Ben knew that Hikaru didn’t tell him everything. Some things were classified, some were plainly terrifying, and some were beyond understanding. Hikaru didn’t know which category he was thinking of now. 

“Just… another away mission,” he said at last. “It… took longer than we thought. I was gone for a week.”

“That explains why you missed our last call,” Ben said. His tone was playful, but Hikaru felt another pang of guilt. “I thought it was long-range interference.”

“I wasn’t here,” Hikaru said. Where was I then? The shuttle? The sewer? While Ben and Demora went on with their lives. “How’s Demora?”

“She’s great,” Ben said. His face brightened. “She had a field trip to one of the hydroponic gardens yesterday. She came home talking about all the different plants and how they grow.”

Hikaru thought he might cry. “That’s great,” he said. “That’s—really cool.” 

“She’ll be sorry she missed you.”

“I’ll call you back,” Hikaru said. “I just—” He stopped before his voice could break. “I really missed you guys.” 

“We missed you,” Ben said. “I’m glad the mission went well.”

Hikaru flinched. He was suddenly glad that Ben could only see his face. “Yeah,” he said. “I—I’ll let you get back to sleep.” 

“Love you, jagiya.” 

“I love you.” 

The call ended. Hikaru sat in his room, staring at an empty screen. 

⁂

For once, no one was chasing them. They had found their way into the forest on the other side of the settlement, a vast expanse of alien trees and underbrush. They made camp in a hollow under some trees. 

“Look at this,” Hikaru said. “Look at the weaving. It’s almost circular.” He passed the edge of the cloth over to Spock, who sat next to him. Spock wore a similar piece of clothing, a long, flowing shawl that fastened at each shoulder. He had taken it from the body of the Tauan he’d stunned a few hours ago, when they were in the settlement. 

“Our survival depends on our ability to remain hidden,” he had said. “Imitating the native style of dress may help us blend in.” Hikaru couldn’t argue with the logic of it. 

“It is reasonable to assume any textile production developed parallel to that of Earth might have significant similarities as well as differences,” Spock said. He ran his fingers along the surface of his shawl. It was soft, but Hikaru could see the pattern of the threads. He wondered if they were handspun, or if the local culture had developed some level of industrialization. It was one of the things they had visited the planet to find out. 

“What material do you think it is?” he said. “It feels kind of like bamboo.”

“I am unfamiliar with materials native to Earth,” Spock said. “However—” 

He stopped. Hikaru tensed, because it had been less than 48 hours and already he knew they were in over their heads. “What?”

Spock motioned for him to be quiet. With unnatural silence, he stood up, drawing his phaser. Hikaru drew his own weapon. He listened for the light footsteps through the underbrush, the only warning before the aliens found them. His heartbeat rose in his ears— 

Hikaru woke up tense and agitated. 

It was early. He rolled out of bed, hit the cabin lights, got dressed. Checked the time—4:51—and knocked at the bathroom door before he remembered that no one was using it. He shared the suite with Chekov, and Chekov was still in the medical bay. 

He relieved himself, shaved, brushed his teeth. He kept glancing at the door to the other end of the suite, though he knew the other cabin was empty. It was unusual for an ensign and a lieutenant to share a suite; they’d had to apply specifically to room with each other after Hikaru’s last suitemate transferred off the Enterprise. Hikaru had never regretted it. 

His duty shift didn’t start for another hour. Hikaru left his cabin and walked up to deck three, to the rec room closest to the bridge. Punched the usual tape into the replicator, carried the tray to a table in the corner, sat down by himself. 

It had been three days. He still didn’t have his full appetite back. 

Hikaru wrapped his fingers around the cup, savoring the warmth on his skin. Steam wafted up with the smell of coffee and chocolate. Hikaru took a sip and chased the liquid to the back of his mouth. He liked it hot. 

He ate slowly, watching fellow crew members move in and out of the rec room. Members of alpha shift just leaving the bridge; members of beta shift, like him, on their way up. Yeoman Tamura waved at him from another table; Hikaru smiled back. He finished breakfast—as much as he was going to—and deposited the tray in the recycling unit. He walked up to deck one ten minutes early. 

The bridge looked just the same as it always had. The captain was already there, even earlier than Hikaru, and so was Spock. 

“Mr. Sulu,” Kirk said, and Hikaru nodded to him. He took over for Leslie, the alpha-shift helm, and sat down.

We’re back. 

It was a different thought, with the viewscreen in front of him, the endless starlit void stretching out ahead of them once again. The ordeal was over. They were back on the Enterprise, back home, ready to continue their mission. Everything was going fine. 

He looked over the helm display, noting their heading and speed. Ceti 94. An obscure star a few hundred light-years from the edge of the Alpha Quadrant. They were traveling at warp four, making good time.

“Mr. Sulu.”

He looked up. Mae Darwin slid into the seat next to him, smiling. “Good to see you,” she said. 

“Morning.” Hikaru smiled back. Darwin made it a point to greet him every morning. He wasn’t sure why; they hadn’t known each other well before, but he did appreciate it. 

“How are you doing?” Darwin opened a stellar map on her console. Hikaru looked away, back at the viewscreen. Stars distorted around them as they warped past. 

“Fine,” he said. It was true. He was back on duty, on his regular rest cycle, eating and exercising as needed. 

He felt Darwin looking at him and glanced over. He couldn’t quite read her expression. She looked back at her console, so Hikaru did the same. He didn’t know what else to say. 

The first couple of hours passed without incident. He slid back into the familiar routine of the bridge, checking velocity and engine output and minding their course—only instead of Chekov next to him it was Darwin. She sent the navigational data Hikaru requested, kept a close eye on their relative position; but she didn’t tell jokes or meandering stories or random trivia about Russia. She didn’t talk much at all. 

“Captain,” Uhura said. Hikaru turned his head. He took in the rest of the bridge with a glance—Kirk in the captain’s chair, Spock at the science station, Uhura at the comm station with one hand on her earpiece. “Dr. McCoy reports that Mr. Chekov is awake.”

Hikaru tensed. Kirk turned toward Uhura, hesitated for a second, and then stood. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said. “Mr. Spock, you have the conn. I’ll be in the medbay.” He left the bridge. 

Spock moved from the science station to the captain’s chair. If the news had affected him, he didn’t show any sign of it. Hikaru turned around and forced himself to check their speed again. Thrust. Velocity. Power balance. His console showed no current obstacles to their course—at least, none that the computer could see. He could always run a manual observation. 

Chekov is awake. 

He opened velocity readings again without really looking at them. They didn’t vary much from a standard derivative, anyway, unless something had gone very wrong. Is he okay? Is he scared? Does he know where he is? He hadn’t been aware of what was going on the last time Hikaru saw him. The last time he was awake. 

“Captain on the bridge.” Darwin’s voice startled Hikaru out of his thoughts. He straightened automatically. He glanced back to see Kirk in the captain’s chair, Spock right next to him. 

“He’s fine,” Kirk said, to Spock. “He’s okay.” He looked over at Hikaru and their eyes met. “He’s asking for you.”

“Me?” Hikaru said. Kirk nodded. 

“You're not planning to change course anytime soon, are you, Mr. Sulu?” he said. 

“No, sir.” It was easy enough to hide his nerves behind regulation and clear-cut facts. “Our next course change will be on approach to the Comora system. About thirty hours away.”

“Great,” Kirk said. “In that case, you’re dismissed to go to the medical bay.”

Keyed up as he was, it took a few seconds for Kirk’s words to register. “Thank you, sir.” Hikaru stood up, remembered to put his console in stasis, and headed for the turbolift. 

Before he had time to worry, to really think at all, he was outside the medical bay. The door slid open and he stepped into the quiet room, lined with neat beds and sterile equipment. Dr. McCoy met him.

“You’re just in time,” McCoy said, his voice quiet. “He’s asking for you.”

Hikaru let out a breath. “How is he?”

“Fine,” McCoy said, drawing the vowel out. “Just fine. He might be a little scatterbrained, but he’ll recognize you.”

Hikaru exhaled again. “You’ve talked to him?”

“I have.” For a second it looked like McCoy wanted to say more; then he seemed to reconsider. “Go on in." 

Hikaru walked back through the medbay, into a private room. 

Chekov sat on the bed, propped up by a pile of extraneous pillows. He glanced up as Hikaru approached, and his whole face lit up with recognition. 

“Sulu?” His voice was low and scratchy, but excited.

“It’s me.” Hikaru crossed the room and sat down in the chair next to the bed. Chekov reached out—missed him the first time, and then found his shoulder and pulled him into a fierce hug. 

Hikaru hugged him back. Chekov tucked his face against Hikaru's shoulder, pressing in as close as he could get. “Sulu,” he murmured. “Sulu.”

“I’m here,” Hikaru said. “I’ve got you.” He shifted slightly and Chekov pulled back, though he kept his hands on Hikaru’s shoulders. 

“And Mr. Spock? I have not seen him—”

“Yes,” Hikaru said. He couldn’t help laughing a little, at how worried Chekov was about everyone but himself. “Spock’s fine. He’s on the bridge, but I’m sure he’ll visit as soon as he can.” 

Chekov slumped forward. Some of the tension seemed to leave his body. “I knew it,” he said. “I knew they were liars.” 

Hikaru had a sudden memory of Jim, staring at him with empty eyes. They told us you were dead. 

“We’re okay,” he said. “We made it.” Chekov hugged him again. Hikaru leaned in, bracing his hands on Chekov’s back. “What about you?” he said, after a minute. Chekov pulled back to a sitting position on the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

Chekov looked… healthy. Whole. The bruises were gone from his face, his hands, his neck. His eyes were clear. He could breathe again. 

“Dr. McCoy says…” Chekov looked around the room. He frowned. “It has been three days? Since we came back?”

“Yeah,” Hikaru said. “I guess it has.” 

“I don’t remember,” Chekov said. He glanced back at Hikaru, fleetingly, and around the room again. “I don’t remember… coming back.” He glanced at the door. “When I woke up, I thought… maybe I was dreaming again.”

“Again?” 

The question slipped out before Hikaru could stop it. Chekov looked at him again. He didn’t say anything for a minute. He just stared, and Hikaru saw something that he didn’t like behind his eyes. “You don’t have to talk about it,” Hikaru said. He wasn’t a therapist. He didn’t know where Chekov’s head was, what he was thinking about, how he was meant to process everything that had happened. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Chekov nodded. He looked away. His eyes darted around the room, checking the walls, the door, never landing anywhere for long.

“I’m not,” he said, so softly that Hikaru almost missed it. 

“What?”

Chekov looked down. He wore medical whites, a loose shirt and drawstring pants, and some kind of brace around his right leg. It covered his knee. “I’m—” He stopped. Hikaru didn't know what to say, but he couldn't just sit there, as Chekov balled his hands into fists against the bedding.

“What do you mean?” he said. “Pavel, what’s wrong?”

He reached out. Chekov flinched away. He glanced up a second later, something jagged and broken in his eyes. Hikaru froze. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t—” 

“I know!” Chekov’s voice broke. He shrank into himself, lifting his shoulders and lowering his head. He was tense as a wire. He looked at Hikaru again, with the same pained expression. “I know, I—I’m sorry.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Chekov looked away again. Hikaru wanted so badly to comfort him. “Can I give you a hug?”

Chekov nodded. Hikaru reached out and took him into his arms, pulling him close. Chekov tensed for a split second, and then melted into the embrace. He braced his hands against Hikaru’s shoulders, gripping the back of his shirt. 

“They broke my leg.” Chekov spoke into Hikaru’s shoulder, his voice heavy. “They broke it over and over. I thought… maybe it was a dream. When I woke up here. But no.” He lifted his head. In slow, jerky movements, he let go of Hikaru and sat back. “Dr. McCoy says I will not be healed for a long time.” 

Hikaru didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to comfort his friend, how to talk him through something like this. For Hikaru—for everyone else—it had been three days since their return to the Enterprise. For Chekov it had been almost no time at all. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

“Is not your fault.” Chekov ground his fingers against the fabric of his pants. Hikaru saw the brace on his leg again. Chekov looked up at him, with a lopsided smile. “Is over,” he said. “We are safe now. Right?”

“Right,” Hikaru said.

⁂