Happy Holidays, BROWNGIRL!
Title: Sitting Vigil
Author: katmarajade
Written for: browngirl
Fandom: Star Trek (AOS)
Characters: Gen featuring Sulu, Chekov, Gaila, Uhura, and Bones
Rating: PG
Summary: All they can do is wait and hope. (post ST:ID)
Word Count: 672
Warnings: Spoilers for ST:ID (is that even still a thing to warn for?)
Author's Notes: You prompted Sulu/Gaila/Character of my choice and blanket. While this does fit the prompt, I imagine it's not quite what you were thinking of! That said, despite its gen-ness and slighty bleak premise, I'm very pleased with this one. I hope you like it as much as I do.
The floor of the corridor is cold and hard, but Sulu barely notices. He sits alone, the artificial light flickering around him, and he waits.
Chekov is in there, in sickbay. He had scrapes and bruises, and his shoulder was dislocated from hauling the weight of two grown men to safety, but those are all things that can be fixed. Captain Kirk is in there too, but Kirk is dead, so Sulu is trying to focus on Chekov instead. Because how can someone like Kirk be dead? Kirk has saved Sulu's life and the lives of everyone on board the ship over and over and over again. Kirk is like a cat, always landing on his feet, more lives than any one individual should have. Kirk is a survivor. Yet he's gone. Kirk is gone and Sulu is still here. It isn't like Sulu has a death wish, but that hardly seems fair.
Hearing footsteps, Sulu looks up to see Chekov standing in front of him. He is still in his ruined red shirt and looks exhausted, but he is alive and damn if Sulu isn't thrilled to see his former helm partner.
"Dr. McCoy put the Keptin in one of the ancient cryo-tubes. I overheard them from across the room, but it sounds like there might be a way to bring him back." Chekov reports this news with a detached sort of calm, but his eyes are heavy and he looks confused and lost and unsure … all the things that stubborn, confident, capable Chekov never appears. It's disconcerting, but it also makes Sulu feel a little better; he isn't the only one who is a mess over this.
"We could wait here, so we can see if something happens," Sulu offers, a little relieved when Chekov immediately joins him in his vigil. Sulu doesn't really want to go, but he also doesn't want to wait out here alone for news that might never come.
They're joined soon after by Gaila, who brings a pile of blankets. Hours pass and the three of them curl up like a litter of puppies, wrapped in itchy wool and each other. Sulu must doze off, because he wakes up to find Uhura has joined them. She is talking quietly with Gaila, her head resting on Gaila's shoulder, a cup of steaming coffee clutched in her hands. When Uhura notices Sulu's eyes on her, she nods and offers something that isn't quite a smile.
"Coffee?" she asks and Sulu wordlessly accepts the large, insulated container and pours himself a cup. It's dark and strong and murky, and Sulu drinks it plain, even though he rarely drinks coffee and always mellows it with copious amounts of milk and sugar on the rare occasions he does. The harsh, bitter taste seems fitting right now.
The hours pass in that strange, blurry way where time feels like it's flying by and barely moving simultaneously. Dr. McCoy stumbles out of sickbay, bleary eyed and exhausted. It looks like he might scold them, order them all back to their quarters, but he just sighs and nods like he understands.
"Get some rest," he says gruffly. "That's an order."
They nod their heads and mutter assurances, and he staggers off to sleep; it's been more than thirty-six hours and stimulants can only help for so long. When he returns eight hours later after some sleep and a sonic shower, McCoy silently shoves a tray full of sandwiches into Sulu's hands and a container of coffee into Uhura's.
He meets each of their eyes, one by one, but when he shakes his head in typical exasperated McCoy fashion, there's no real annoyance behind it. He takes a deep breath and heads back into sickbay.
They watch him disappear inside, they sip absently at the coffee, and they hope against hope. A sad little pile of officers sitting vigil, as if through sheer force of will they can save the one who saved them. They curl up even closer together, and they wait.
Author: katmarajade
Written for: browngirl
Fandom: Star Trek (AOS)
Characters: Gen featuring Sulu, Chekov, Gaila, Uhura, and Bones
Rating: PG
Summary: All they can do is wait and hope. (post ST:ID)
Word Count: 672
Warnings: Spoilers for ST:ID (is that even still a thing to warn for?)
Author's Notes: You prompted Sulu/Gaila/Character of my choice and blanket. While this does fit the prompt, I imagine it's not quite what you were thinking of! That said, despite its gen-ness and slighty bleak premise, I'm very pleased with this one. I hope you like it as much as I do.
The floor of the corridor is cold and hard, but Sulu barely notices. He sits alone, the artificial light flickering around him, and he waits.
Chekov is in there, in sickbay. He had scrapes and bruises, and his shoulder was dislocated from hauling the weight of two grown men to safety, but those are all things that can be fixed. Captain Kirk is in there too, but Kirk is dead, so Sulu is trying to focus on Chekov instead. Because how can someone like Kirk be dead? Kirk has saved Sulu's life and the lives of everyone on board the ship over and over and over again. Kirk is like a cat, always landing on his feet, more lives than any one individual should have. Kirk is a survivor. Yet he's gone. Kirk is gone and Sulu is still here. It isn't like Sulu has a death wish, but that hardly seems fair.
Hearing footsteps, Sulu looks up to see Chekov standing in front of him. He is still in his ruined red shirt and looks exhausted, but he is alive and damn if Sulu isn't thrilled to see his former helm partner.
"Dr. McCoy put the Keptin in one of the ancient cryo-tubes. I overheard them from across the room, but it sounds like there might be a way to bring him back." Chekov reports this news with a detached sort of calm, but his eyes are heavy and he looks confused and lost and unsure … all the things that stubborn, confident, capable Chekov never appears. It's disconcerting, but it also makes Sulu feel a little better; he isn't the only one who is a mess over this.
"We could wait here, so we can see if something happens," Sulu offers, a little relieved when Chekov immediately joins him in his vigil. Sulu doesn't really want to go, but he also doesn't want to wait out here alone for news that might never come.
They're joined soon after by Gaila, who brings a pile of blankets. Hours pass and the three of them curl up like a litter of puppies, wrapped in itchy wool and each other. Sulu must doze off, because he wakes up to find Uhura has joined them. She is talking quietly with Gaila, her head resting on Gaila's shoulder, a cup of steaming coffee clutched in her hands. When Uhura notices Sulu's eyes on her, she nods and offers something that isn't quite a smile.
"Coffee?" she asks and Sulu wordlessly accepts the large, insulated container and pours himself a cup. It's dark and strong and murky, and Sulu drinks it plain, even though he rarely drinks coffee and always mellows it with copious amounts of milk and sugar on the rare occasions he does. The harsh, bitter taste seems fitting right now.
The hours pass in that strange, blurry way where time feels like it's flying by and barely moving simultaneously. Dr. McCoy stumbles out of sickbay, bleary eyed and exhausted. It looks like he might scold them, order them all back to their quarters, but he just sighs and nods like he understands.
"Get some rest," he says gruffly. "That's an order."
They nod their heads and mutter assurances, and he staggers off to sleep; it's been more than thirty-six hours and stimulants can only help for so long. When he returns eight hours later after some sleep and a sonic shower, McCoy silently shoves a tray full of sandwiches into Sulu's hands and a container of coffee into Uhura's.
He meets each of their eyes, one by one, but when he shakes his head in typical exasperated McCoy fashion, there's no real annoyance behind it. He takes a deep breath and heads back into sickbay.
They watch him disappear inside, they sip absently at the coffee, and they hope against hope. A sad little pile of officers sitting vigil, as if through sheer force of will they can save the one who saved them. They curl up even closer together, and they wait.