Rated G
Disclaimer: Paramount owns the world of Trek
Summary: Inspired by Camryn's fiddle
She sleeps now while he stares blankly at nothing visible. He sees her bleeding, crumpled on the deck, bleeding, bleeding. He wrenches his mind back to the present as she shifts in her sleep. She is here, she is alive, and they have beaten the odds again. He slides his hand over her hair, not touching, just hovering.
The day began at 0330 with the blare of a red alert klaxon jolting him from his bed, the ship rocking from blast after blast. He burst through the lift doors in time to see the console between the command chairs explode into shrapnel, Kathryn hurled to the deck, a mass of burns and blood. The stain quickly spread on the carpet like a crimson halo surrounding her.
He shakes his head in exhausted bemusement. Unknown enemy, unprovoked attack, unexplained reasons. Over and done with in less than five minutes, but leaving forty-two casualties, three of whom are still critical. At least she is fine. Now.
She'd badgered and cajoled the doctor to release her, promising to rest. He smiles thinking that the doctor probably assumed she would head to her bed, not the couch in her ready room, but beggars shouldn't be choosers.
"What are you smiling about?" she asks.
He looks down where her head is propped against his thigh, her blue eyes fastened on his. The skin near her hairline is still slightly red, and he finally allows his hand to stroke the satin of her hair.
The End
On to the sequel -- Gift of the Gab
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© Brianna Thomas, March 2008 Please email me to post/distribute elsewhere.
