Tina had been having a weird week. Judging by the calls that were coming into sickbay, it was not actually going to get less weird. She'd barely arrived for her shift, and already she was hearing something about Leonard Nimoy being intoxicated on bananas (what?) and Pasha Chekov having fallen into an inexplicable, coma-like sleep
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“She is gonna be okay, isn’t she?” The question hung in the air flatly.
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