#Like why the fuck is Scotty taking orders from Data literally what is going on

[matthewmoorwood]

One thing I like about Star Trek is that whenever we get crossover stuff it's always just like being absolutely sucker punched with the knowledge that these guys are fucking coworkers. I get so emotionally invested in each crew individually that when they interact it feels like seeing people from uni at the supermarket but if you triple the awkwardness.

[rchtoziers]

if you're taking prompts in the martian au universe: i'm sure richie was so fucking touch-starved on mars and the idea of him cuddling with the losers for the first time in years was enough to bring tears to my eyes

athis took me approximately one billion years to get around to writing because 🎶motivation fails when we need it most🎶 but !! better late than never !! ?? i hope u enjoy xoxo.

*

The first thing Richie does after Eddie lets him leave the med bay is make all of his friends sit together in the same room.

Well—that’s a lie. The first thing he does is take a shower and sit on the ground and cry harder than he has in eighteen months. Then put on clean clothes that don’t smell like Mars’s surface. Then ask Stan on a scale of one to ten how dangerous it would be to set his old clothes on fire.

But then. Then. The first thing he does is ask, quietly, over the comms, if everyone can meet him in the rec room.

It’s kind of alarming how fast everyone gets there.

“Jesus,” he says mildly, from his seat on the couch. He’s got two blankets over his shoulders, and in the kitchen area Eddie is brewing him a cup of tea. “Is everyone out of breath? Did you teleport here? Did I miss that while I was away? God, we’re so Star Trek right now.”

“Oh my god,” Stan mutters. “We came here for this?”

“Beam me up, Scotty,” Richie says seriously.

“If we had installed teleportation on the Hermes, we could have rescued you a lot sooner,” Ben points out.

Richie huffs. “Hey, speaking of Star Trek. My dearest Michael, I think we need to have a little chat about what you deem worthy of filling an entire data stick with.”

Mike laughs. “I stand by my choices.”

“Of fucking course you do, Mikey, I would expect literally nothing else of you,” Richie says seriously. “But all of the OG Star Trek? And literally nothing else? Did anyone tell you that you didn’t have to fill out every computer nerd stereotype ever?”

“Drink this,” Eddie says, placing a warm cup in Richie’s hands. Richie pulls a face at the tea. “Knock it off, it won’t kill you.”

“Yes,” Richie says dryly. “I think we can safely say that tea will not kill me. Let’s add that to the list of other atrocities I’ve survived!”

He’s so focused on taking a sip of his tea that he almost doesn’t notice no one responds to him. It’s quiet enough that he could hear a pin drop. When he looks back up, everyone’s eyes are on him.

“Why’s everybody looking at me like this?” he asks.

“Richie…” Beverly says. There’s sympathy in her eyes that he can’t stand to look at.

“What, too soon?” Richie asks, instead of saying anything else. “This is uncharted territory for me, I’ve never come back from the dead before, I don’t know what’s okay to joke about.”

“Why’d you ask us all to come here?” Beverly asks. She leaves no room in her tone for anything besides seriousness.

Richie swallows thickly.

“Richie,” Stan says. He takes a thwarted step forward, like he’s uncertain of whether or not he wants to move closer to Richie. The whole thing hurts a lot more than it probably should.

“I’m so fucking cold,” Richie says, and it isn’t the thing he had meant to say but he isn’t exactly lying. Eddie makes a move like he’s about to get another blanket for Richie’s shoulders. “No—not. Not that kind of cold. I don’t fucking know. I feel like I. Like I couldn’t warm up even if I was on the fucking surface of the sun. I’m not getting any ideas, don’t look at me like that. I don’t know. I just. I needed us all to be in the same place.”

Bill’s voice is quiet as he says, “I f-f-felt like that, too. When we first g-g—got back. Without you.”

“Me, too,” Stan agrees.

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers.

Richie laughs, because he’s not sure what else he can do in this situation. His hands are in his lap, writhing anxiously together. “Did you find anything to make that go away?” he asks, only half-joking.

“Honestly?” Stan says with a shrug. “I’d go bunk with someone else. It helped, sharing that space.”

“Aw, Stan,” Richie says, though his throat is tight and his eyes are burning with tears that threaten to fall. “You were cuddling someone that wasn’t me? How could you break my heart like this? How will I ever move on?”

“It helped all of us, I think,” Ben says. “Holding on to one another. It makes sense. Richie, I mean. Honestly. You’re probably…”

Richie should have known there was no hope for him making it through this without crying. He wipes at his eyes, unsubtle and more choked up than he feels like he should be. “You can say it.”

“You’re probably touch-starved,” Eddie says, instead. “I’m not a psychiatrist, I don’t. I didn’t study that side of medicine. But Christ, Rich, I mean. You were isolated for eighteen months. You probably just need some. Fucking human contact.”

Eddie pauses, and his face goes pink as he rushes to say, “And there’s nothing wrong with that! I just. I don’t know. Maybe it would help.”

Richie laughs wetly. “Crew cuddle pile?” he says, and his tone is light but there’s not a single person in the room who thinks he is joking. It makes him feel loved in more ways than he can even stand to bear.

“Is it too much to say your commander orders it?” Beverly asks. There’s scattered laughter from all of them.

“Hell yes,” Bill says, and he’s the first to take a step forward.

“Gently,” Eddie reminds them, voice sharp and loud as he tries to be heard over the commotion coming from the group getting ready to swarm Richie on the couch. Richie’s laugh is the loudest out of all of them.

There’s not really room on this couch to fit seven people clambering over one another, but Richie’s crew is nothing if not committed. His heart is bursting with love as they all adjust carefully around one another to fit, with Richie at the heart of it all. Stan and Bill flank him on either side, and Richie gets tucked securely under Stan’s arm. He thinks his legs are in Bill and Bev’s laps but it’s hard to tell. Mike takes his spot on the ground, leaning against Bill’s legs but close enough that he can take Richie’s hand when Richie stretches it out to him. Ben sits precariously on the back of the couch, half pressed against Bill as Richie rests his head on Ben’s leg. Eddie, Richie thinks, is on the other side of Stan. He must be the one playing with Richie’s hair, combing through the curls softly. The thought warms him in ways he doesn’t dare break down right now.

“This feels a bit extra,” Richie says, once they’re all situated and the giggles have died down.

“Beep beep,” Stan sighs. “You quite literally asked for this.”

“I can’t tell who you people are, I think someone took off my glasses in the midst of all that,” Richie says. Beverly laughs and squeezes his ankle. “No, I’m serious. I legit can’t find my glasses.”

“You d-don’t need them,” Bill tells him. He puts his hand on Richie’s knee. “We got you.”

And fuck, if that doesn’t make emotions swell in Richie’s chest and throat. They’ve got him. They’ve had his back since day one, and now they all quite literally have his back. He doesn’t doubt them; he never has, if he’s being honest. He wonders what he did in this life to deserve getting put with the crew that would walk through hell and back just for him.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and it’s a testament to how great these people really are that they don’t say anything when he starts to cry. “You guys got me.”