Archive of Our Own ^beta

Una Chin-Riley made a habit of avoiding sickbay. As first officer on the flagship, she couldn’t afford the downtime. As an Illyrian, she couldn’t afford the exposure. But sometimes even the most careful officers found themselves in an impossible situation. 

“Don’t you think you should be letting me do this by now?” she asked, eyeing the spoon as it inched closer to her mouth. 

Chris laughed, which caused the broth to spill over the edges of the spoon and back into the bowl beneath it. “What, less than a day after major abdominal surgery? Not a chance.” 

“You’re as bad as M’Benga,” Una grumbled, but opened her mouth to accept the soup all the same. 

“M’Benga nearly put this through the mass spectrometer before agreeing to let me in here,” Chris said with more than a little consternation. Even now with the ship falling apart around them, he was so prickly about his cooking. It was endearing. “I’m surprised he didn’t insist on taste-testing to make sure I hadn’t poisoned it,” Chris continued. “Like a cupbearer. Honestly, you’re lucky you’re getting any dinner.” 

Una winced as she shifted to relieve a minor muscle twinge. “Well you can’t exactly blame him for being cautious. He did just pull a bunch of shrapnel out of my torso.” Her very bruised and sutured torso. Gods, she couldn’t wait until the surgical bays were up and running. 

Chris sobered, and Una groped for a lighter avenue of conversation. “When did you find time to make soup, anyway?” 

“It’s not soup,” he said, tipping another spoonful onto her tongue. “It’s broth. Packed with electrolytes but easy on the stomach because there aren’t any solids.” 

“Thank you for that fascinating lecture on soup mechanics,” Una quipped. “Still doesn’t answer my question.” 

Chris shot her a look of mild annoyance, though it quickly softened into something sheepish. “I keep some stashed in the freezer for emergencies. It’s easy to heat up on a battery-powered stove.”  

Leave it to Chris to break out the camping equipment just to feed her a homecooked meal.  

“You’re spoiling me.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“You’re the captain, Chris. There are plenty of more important tasks you could be doing.” 

“Could, should, and will eventually. But right now I’m taking care of a gravely injured friend.” 

He said it with a smile on his face, but Una still felt a stab of guilt. And... anxiety? Yes, anxiety. Little crackles of it up and down her spine. And why shouldn’t she be anxious? She was stuck on display in a room full of people. At any moment, her body could betray her nature.   

Una thought of that night all those years ago, the throb of her leg and her parents’ hushed whispering growing more and more frantic in the background. She pushed the memory down. 

The lights flickered above her bed, and Una closed her eyes against the sudden dizziness it induced. They’d made it out of the well of the black hole and escaped the Gorn, but Enterprise was bruised and battered. Almost as bruised and battered as her torso, held together with hope and prayer and engineering’s equivalent to sutures. Based on the report La’An had managed to sneak into her an hour ago, it would be at least a week before they were back on normal power levels, longer if the starbase they were hauling ass to didn’t have the parts they needed. Chris had called ahead with a list of repairs, but this far out, it would be a miracle if they didn’t have to sit around waiting for a supply transport. 

“Stop worrying about work.” 

Una fluttered her eyes open. “What makes you think I’m worrying about work?” 

“You’ve got that crease in your brow. The one you get when you’re chewing on a problem.” 

“So?” 

“So you’re only job right now is to get well.” 

“Now you sound like Chapel.” 

The spoon nudged her lips again, and Una dutifully swallowed. The broth was lukewarm but tasted good, and its mild, gingery scent was a welcome respite amidst the cloying smells of blood and antiseptic she’d been subjected to for the past three days.  

Una couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent this long in a medical facility. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent this long anywhere, stuck in one place with nothing to do but fend off anxiety and manage her own pain. Probably it was in the prison cell on Kiley 279. She’d been injured there, too, though luckily it hadn’t been nearly as bad as the injury she was recovering from now. Held captive on a hostile planet with only a slim hope of extraction, sporting what was almost certainly a greenstick fracture while held in close confines with officers trained to alert themselves to the slightest changes in their crewmates, the situation had hardly been ideal.  

Una was permanently leery of injury, a consequence of the compound fracture she’d sustained in her childhood that could have killed her and very nearly outed her entire family in the process. She had become an expert, through the years, at disguising the wounds she sustained in the line of duty until such time as her immune system was able to repair them. Usually, it happened quickly. But sometimes the hurt was just too big to hide.  

“You okay?” Chris asked as she closed her eyes against another wave of dizziness. She didn’t answer right away, focused instead on breathing through her nose in the hopes of keeping the five spoonfuls of broth she’d managed to swallow from coming right back up onto the polished floor. The orderlies had just managed to wipe it clean of all her copious amounts of blood. She didn’t want to embarrass herself further. 

“Fine,” she managed to say at last, though when she opened her eyes the room still spun around the edges. 

Chris looked doubtful, but let the falsehood slide. 

Concealing the severity of her injury on Kiley had been... unpleasant. Una had had to account for so many unknown factors—the potential length of their imprisonment, the hostility of their captors, the attentiveness of the Archer crew when stuck together in close quarters—all while resisting the urge to cry out as white-hot pain drilled into her tibia. She remembered that first night (or what they had treated as night, not having the benefit of windows or even artificial darkness) when she’d waited for the others to fall asleep before tentatively exploring the damage to her limb. Gripping the edge of the stone bench she sat on, one eye trained on her sleeping companions, the other coolly assessing the damage to her leg, Una had vowed to be more careful moving forward. Space was dangerous, but exposure was deadly. While Starfleet didn’t enact the death penalty, plenty of people panicked when confronted with the realities of genetic engineering. There was no telling how someone might react under the right conditions. 

Or the wrong conditions, as it were.   

At the very least, exposure would mean the death of her career. 

Of course, she had escaped the Kiley situation with minimal complications. Captivity had its benefits; she hadn’t had to move around that much, which sped up the healing process and made the pain both easier to bear and simpler to conceal. Between that and their own worry and exhaustion, her cellmates had assumed she was merely suffering from a bad sprain. By the time Chris and the others showed up, the fracture had been mostly healed. She’d made it out with a limp and a deep bone bruise that M’Benga fixed with a few minutes of osteoregeneration before proclaiming her lucky and sending her on her way. 

He’d been none the wiser. 

And then three weeks later she’d outed herself without even really needing to. 

Chris held the spoon up again but let it fall back into the bowl when Una shook her head. Despite her protestations to the contrary, she was exhausted. She wasn’t even sitting upright, and sweat was still popping out across her forehead and chest, limbs trembling with the effort it took to hold herself in check. The stitches were beginning to pull and ache, a different kind of pain than what she’d grown accustomed to. She should probably ask M’Benga for more meds. Or Chapel. She thought she’d seen the nurse flitting around recently, but how either of them was still on their feet was beyond her. Una guiltily suspected they were pulling overtime to make sure they were around in case her condition worsened and they needed to operate again. 

As the only two medics on board who knew her true identity, it was smart. And she appreciated the dedication. That didn’t stop her from feeling awful about keeping them from resting. 

Another wave of agony hit, and Una bit back a hiss. “Can you find Chapel?” 

Chris sat up straighter. “Is something wrong?” 

“Can you just find her? Please?” Tears stung Una’s eyes and prickled down the back of her throat as she spoke, causing her voice to pitch dangerously upward. 

She wanted to go home. She wanted to get away from the light and noise of sickbay, out of this liminal, too-open space and into a place where she felt safe, or at least safer. She wanted to shower, to sleep in her own bed, to remove her bloodstained clothes. But most of all she wanted to be free from this crushing worry of exposure. 

Una pulled in a breath and willed herself to hold it together as Chris went in search of Chapel. Thirty seconds later, the nurse was beside her, cool hands sliding across her brow.  

“Hey there,” she said, smiling softly even as her eyes darted between Una’s bandages and the biosign readouts above her. “You feeling okay?” 

“Fine,” Una said, reaching down deep inside herself for a measure of her normal steel. “I’m ready to go home now.” 

Chapel’s smile faltered. “Home?” 

“To my quarters.” 

“I knew what you meant, but I— You just had surgery. Pretty major surgery. I mean, you’re being held together with literal thread.” 

“I’m aware of that. I was there when you put it in me.” 

“Well were you there when you lost a liter of blood? Because I sure was.” 

“It’s been replaced.” 

“Partially.”  

Una propped herself up on one elbow even though it hurt like hell and glared at her stubbornly.  

Chapel looked at her helplessly. “In situations like this it’s not as simple as just putting in what came out. You’ve been through a major tr—” 

“Christine.” 

She stopped.  

“Please,” Una said, gripping her forearm, using every ounce of strength to fight back her body’s tremble. “Send me home.” 

Christine met her gaze, and Una willed her to hear what she wasn’t saying. What she couldn’t say. There were so many people around them, people she knew but didn’t know. People who might not be as accepting as Chris and Christine and M’Benga.  

Her body shook with the effort it took to hold herself up as she waited. Chapel’s eyes flicked once to the monitor, then back down to Una’s face.  

She could see the exact moment when Christine stepped out of the role of medical professional and into the one Una had thrust upon her three short weeks ago. She saw it in the way Christine’s brow smoothed and a mask of calm dropped across her weary features. She wasn’t just a nurse anymore. She was a sympathizer. A secret keeper. Bearer of the burden Una had for half her life borne on her own.   

“How about a compromise?” 

Una’s heart sank. She didn’t want a compromise. She wanted sanctuary. 

But wasn’t that what Chapel had offered when she first outed herself? Sanctuary. Acceptance. A safe space. And now again today. Una swallowed and blinked to clear her vision as the pain in her gut bloomed into a steady, pulsing ache. “What kind of compromise?” 

Christine’s eyes softened. She reached up and smoothed the sweaty, tangled hair back from Una’s face, and tears stung her eyes at the tenderness of the gesture. “Joseph comes back on duty in an hour. Hang out here ‘til then, and I’ll take your side when you ask him to discharge you.” 

Una lowered herself back down to the bed and closed her eyes as the pain thrummed through her body. One hour. She could do one hour. If things quieted down, she could maybe even sleep. And if she slept, her body would heal faster, which meant M’Benga would have a harder case to make for keeping her here much longer. “Okay,” she conceded. “On one condition.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Those pain meds you mentioned a couple hours ago—they still on the table?” 

Christine’s fingers were warm as they brushed away a tear Una hadn’t even noticed was sliding down her cheek. As her touch lingered, Una became aware of something else rearing up inside her—something bigger and more unruly than the pain. “Of course,” Christine said. “Be right back.” 

She dashed off, and Chris stepped forward in her place. Una had honestly forgotten about him, that’s how tired she was, but one look at his face had her steeling herself for another round of debate.  

“Una—” 

She held up a hand, though she was so weak that it barely cleared her torso. “Don’t start.” 

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” 

“I said drop it, Chris.”  

She kept her voice low, but sickbay was crowded enough that people overheard her. Una felt too many sets of eyes fasten upon them and was grateful when Chris positioned himself to block everyone else’s line of sight to her face. She curled her fingers around his wrist and pitched her voice even lower. “There are things—” She paused and let out a breath. “It’s just better if you don’t know, okay? Trust me on this. Please.” 

They had talked, briefly, about what they would do in the event of her exposure. Not as much as they needed to, but it was a start. They had the beginning of a plan, at least. But she hadn’t told him all the ways in which discovery could happen. She hadn’t told him about her broken leg, about almost dying, about her body’s beautiful, treacherous, celestial glow.  

Chapel came back with the hypospray, and Chris nodded his understanding. “Rest up, Number One. That’s an order.” 

And then it was just Una and Chapel in the open confines of sickbay. 

Christine stuck around for a few more minutes, waiting to make sure that the meds took effect. Then she excused herself to look in on another patient, and Una closed her eyes. She had little hope of actually sleeping, but at least with her eyes closed she could block out some of her anxiety and concentrate on breathing. It shouldn’t be so hard to perform such a simple task, and yet here she was. She had almost lulled herself into a trance, so great was her concentration, when she felt a hand settle on her shoulder. 

She dragged her eyes open and looked up into Chapel’s face.  

“You up for an adventure?” 

Una swallowed thickly. “M’Benga?” 

“No, sorry. It’s only been ten minutes. But I thought, if you’re up for a walk, I could move you to the bed in his office.” She glanced over her shoulder, and Una followed her gaze to the wall of frosted glass that separated the CMO’s inner sanctum from the rest of sickbay. “Next best thing I can offer, aside from sending you home. You know, if you’re about to protest about not wanting special treatment.” Chapel offered a one-shoulder shrug, followed by a wink. 

Una smiled wanly. “Accepted. And—thank you.” 

“Of course. That’s what friends are for.” 

Again, her gaze lingered.  

Again, Una was the first to look away. 

Saying she wanted to move rooms was easy. Getting there was another matter entirely. Even with the pain meds and Christine’s considerable support, Una bit her lip when sitting up. She bit it harder when her feet touched the ground, and by the first step, she tasted blood. Chapel had given her a cane, and it helped to lean against it as well as into the nurse’s solid counterweight against her hip. But Una had never been this badly injured. The stitches hurt so bad it felt impossible to do anything but feel them. Halfway to the office, Christine actually had to stop and remind her to breathe. Una was so out of it that she wasn’t sure what Chapel meant at first, but then the nurse’s hand splayed across her chest and pressed, and it jolted Una’s lungs into motion.  

She squeezed the cane, then flexed her sweaty fingers against its curved head and drew in a ragged breath. 

“You’re doing great,” Christine said, even as Una shut her eyes against a wave of vertigo again. “Just keep breathing and follow the sound of my voice. You’re almost there.”  

She kept up the soothing patter the whole way to the office and didn’t stop until Una had sagged against the bed. 

“Shit,” she breathed, eyes closed and forehead pressed to the bed’s padded edge. She rested her right hand on the bed’s vinyl surface and felt her fingers shaking as they struggled to un-grip the cane. Her arms were shaking too. Her whole body was shaking, and all she had done was walk ten steps across a room.  

Una gave herself a few more moments to recover and then pulled herself upright as best as she could with the cane.  

“Before you sit down,” Chapel said, “La’An dropped these off a couple hours ago. She thought you might like a fresh set of clothes.” 

She held up a pair of plain black leggings and a shirt, and Una’s eyes stung. “Please,” she said, too weary to stop herself from crying, too overwhelmed to say anything else. “You’ll have to help me though.” 

Christine’s hands were smooth and efficient as they removed her uniform, and the gentle brush of skin on skin was better than all the pain meds they’d pumped into her system in the past three days combined. She had her undressed and sponged down in less time than it had taken them to shuffle to the office. When she paused to check her sutures after helping her into a fresh set of leggings, she even managed to peel the bandages off so gently that Una only flinched twice. 

“Healing up nicely,” Christine said, flashing her a crooked smile. “Almost like you’re built for it or something.” 

It was a joke Una had heard far too many times in her lifetime, one that always hit too close to home and shot terror up her spine. But Christine’s eyes were soft as they gazed up at her, and her hands were warm as they splayed across her torso. Una looked down at the woman kneeling in front of her, felt her careful fingers as they spidered down her sides. She sensed Chapel’s kindness rolling in warm soft waves across her and wished she could put words to the feeling in her body. 

Perhaps, she thought, she didn’t need to retreat to her quarters. Perhaps the safety she was seeking was right here in this room.  

Chapel finished securing the bandages around her torso and stood up. She reached for the shirt La’An had dropped off and tugged it gently over Una’s head. 

“There,” she said, smiling softly once the fabric settled over Una’s hips. “Good as new.” 

Una held Christine’s gaze for longer than was appropriate, and as she did she noticed things she had not noticed before. Things like the arch of her brows and the curve of her lips and how very pink they were. Involuntarily, Una swayed forward. Chapel caught her, and as her thumbs pressed into the tender skin of her shoulders, Una felt that same sensation rear up in her chest, the one she’d felt a half hour before, when Christine tucked her hair behind her ear. Before she could stop herself, she canted her face into the curve of Christine’s neck and nuzzled the soft skin there. It was warm and velvety and smelled of sweat and dirt and other people’s blood and Una wanted to stay there forever. She wanted Christine to wind her fingers in her hair and hold her. She wanted her to—  

She blushed and jerked back, wincing as she did so.  

“I’m sorry,” she said, steadying herself against the biobed. “That wasn’t— I don’t—”  

She didn’t know what she was trying to say. 

Christine tapped a knuckle beneath her chin, and the gesture was unbearably tender. Una blinked back a surge of tears and made a noise of embarrassed frustration.  

“It’s okay,” Christine murmured. “No big deal. You’re stressed, you’re tired, you took a gutload of shrapnel. Happens to a lot of people.” 

Una didn’t know how to say that it didn’t happen to her. She smeared tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand and groped for some semblance of control as desperately as she groped for the support of the bed. “A gutload of shrapnel? That can’t possibly be common.” Then she remembered the war and sobered. “Oh. And now I’ve put my foot in it again.” 

Christine tilted her head. She reached out and ran her fingers down the length of Una’s hair, stopping several times to work out the tangles. Then she combed the strands back from her face and tucked them carefully behind her ear. Their eyes locked, and Una thought of how casually Christine had accepted the news that she was an Illyrian. Like it didn’t even matter. Except it did matter, just not in the way that she had worried it would matter. Instead, Christine had seen her. She had protected her. Just as she was now.  

Una dropped her gaze to her lips and felt the weight of Chapel’s palm against her ear. She closed her eyes and pressed her toes against the cold deck plates, letting the firmness of the surface ground her. She would have to move on soon enough. Climb up in the bed. Rest. Recover. But with her eyes closed like this, she could pretend that this small moment could go on forever.

Christine didn’t rush her. She just stood there, warm and waiting, tender fingers in her hair.

By the time Una opened her eyes, she could almost imagine what it would have felt like to kiss her.