#biobed systems

[fortheloveoflatinum]

Watching Star Trek: The Motion Picture - Part the Second

First impressions of the second half of the movie:

Just what *is* Spock doing?

“Curiosity, Mr. Decker. Insatiable curiosity.” – Spock

And, for that matter, why do all the uniforms look like pajamas?

I love Decker’s relationship with the Deltan woman. How her “vow of celibacy is on file” and the way she tells Kirk this very flippantly upon first meeting him… Yet she seems to want to break that vow with Decker. Somehow, I think ‘the power of love’ is going to save the day.

Let’s all take a break for Spock on his little unauthorized spacewalk. Dun dun dun.

Spock and Kirk holding hands in the sickbay has me feeling all sorts of things. Kirk holding on with both hands, thinking he’d lost his better half – his science officer – his first officer – his partner – ahem – in crime.

The way Kirk says Spock’s name is like a prayer on a benediction every goddamn time and no one can tell me otherwise.

I like the parallels. Spock comes back changed… H arrives, changed (and not for the better) in his search for logic on Vulcan. He ignores his friends, he barely responds even to orders. Even Kirk can’t reach him. And then he comes back changed from his mind meld with the living machine, in search of that self-same logic. He comes back changed and charged with emotion, more like his ‘usual self.’ And his usual self is half-human and wholly in love with James T. Kirk, and acts like it. In his search of logic, he acts rashly. In search of his Vulcan side – he acts so very human.

Yup and then he goes and starts to cry off his makeup as if just to prove the aforementioned point.

“Each of us, at some time in our lives, turns to someone… A father, a brother, a God, and asks, 'Why am I here? What was I meant to be?'" – Spock to Kirk and Decker.

I think that for Spock, Michael was that person in his youth. And Jim becomes that person. Spock’s ‘forever person.’

Oooh the sheer idealistic ambition displayed by the Voyager 6 probe… Shame we only got up to 2.

… And once again, the Captains of the Enterprise save the day. Or is it the Power of Love? Either way, planet Earth lives to see another day. Yay!

Also is it just me or is McCoy kind of like a Jovian planet orbiting the binary star system that is Spirk? Like, the tension between them all is palpable, but Spock and Kirk’s chemistry just outshines everything else on the screen. So beautiful and so brilliant.

Caption of the GIF for all the Captains out there who can't see it: Spock is lying prone on a biobed in sickbay. Kirk is already holding his hand, and then ever-so-gently clasps his other hand on the reverse side of Spock's hand. Cut to Spock smiling as much as he ever does, nodding a small lil nod. McCoy is in the background, blinking like a cursor when you're typing and stop for any amount of time. Love the parallels between this GIF and the one below of Julian and Garak holding hands in sickbay in DS9, where Garak holds up his hand from a prone position and Julian slides his hand into Garak's, and Garak wraps his fingers around it. Such sweetness....

[swaps55]

Mezzo - 09 - Silent Shout

Pairing: mshenko | Rating: M Tags: Canon-typical violence, trauma, dealing with your problems poorly, body autonomy struggles   Summary: The twists and turns of ME2, through the eyes of everyone but Commander Shepard. Chapter Summary: Krogan, shackled AI, and collectors, oh my! AKA, I’m not sorry. Not even a little bit.   Thank you to @sinvraal for betaing!

Chapter 9: Silent Shout | Read on Ao3

24 November, 2185, Eagle Nebula, Imir System, Korlus Orbit, Normandy SR-2

“I’m fine.”

Karin bites her tongue as Shepard glares up at the ring of onlookers arguing quite vehemently to the contrary. He sits perched on a medical bed, waiting rather impatiently for her to verify the bone knitter has successfully mended the fractured shoulder, broken clavicle, and fractured ribs. She had to reprogram it twice to accommodate for the greater bone density Cerberus gifted him.

Of course, once that had been sorted she’d had to deal with the lacerations earned from an exploding YMIR mech. And yet the hardest part of it all wasn’t the treatment – it was keeping him still and on the table. She’s almost thankful for the presence of Taylor, Lawson, and Garrus. They hover around the biobed like a perimeter fence. She is very thankful, however, they didn’t invite the krogan currently stored in a tank down in the cargo hold.

Lawson likely doesn’t feel thankful. Poor thing is getting a master class in how difficult it is to converse with Shepard when he isn’t interested in listening.

“Shepard, if the implant is malfunctioning—”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You collapsed in the middle of a mission.” 

Karin almost pities her. Can’t be easy to learn your heroic medical marvel comes with as many vexations as he does heroic commendations.

Taylor scowls, opening his mouth, then shutting it again with an irritated shake of his head before taking a few steps away from the others. The questionable conclusion to the Korlus mission has done nothing to dissipate the thundercloud that had descended upon him after Lawson took his place on the ground team.

But right now, Taylor is not her concern. Shepard is.

Garrus hums from the spot he staked out beside Shepard’s bed, rather strategically between Shepard and the medbay door. “Call me crazy, but it might have to do with the spontaneous teleporting.”

The furrows in Lawson’s brow deepen. “People don’t teleport. That isn’t how biotics work.”

“Of course I didn’t teleport.”

“Then what happened?” Taylor asks, in the clipped tones of someone diligently removing the barbs from each word before they’re uttered.

Shepard rolls the freshly mended shoulder, grimacing and putting a hand to his ribs. “Let me worry about it.”

Hardly. Karin gets her scanner back out. Surely the ossification process on that last cycle had been sufficient. Then again, Shepard has always had an oddly low tolerance for bone knitters.

“You were the bullet,” Garrus says, a low rumble in his subvocals. They all turn to stare at him. His brow plates shift. “Look, I don’t know how any of it works. But I know how my gun works. Shepard didn’t fire a projectile. He didn’t make someone else a projectile. He was the projectile.”

For several seconds, the only sound in the room is the hum of the scanner. It chirps the results. Bone knitter cycle was indeed successful.  

Lawson turns back to Shepard, fingers to her chin, gears turning. “How?”  

“I said don’t worry about it.”

Read from the beginning | Read the rest on Ao3 | The Mezzo Playlist

[respondedinkind]

closed starter for @bloodstainedstar

Khan's plan to smugge his crew into safety by putting them into the very weapons he had designed had failed on him; Just when he'd thought he could do it, that everything would go according to plan, the promise of a better future so close he could taste it on the tip of his tongue...

...He'd been discovered by one of Marcus men, and that man had managed to notify the Admiral about his intentions before Khan's hands had brought an end to the unfortunate one's life.

The mentioned one is dead now, yes, but security is onto him and Khan has no other choice but to escape alone, without his people, the ones he holds most dear - because if he doesn't, he will end up being stripped and tied to a biobed, turned into a slab of meat that gives all it has for Marcus to use for his own, sick plans to start a Klingon war.

As much as it pains him, the thought of leaving without the men and women he'd promised to protect - he runs, leaves, manages to steal a shuttle and, somehow, ends up in space. Time feels like a bit of a blur, so Khan doesn't recall every single moment that has happened - he's here, and he has to make some new plans---

---But then, something else happens.

Suddenly, the Universe... opens up in front of him. Quite literally so, as if it tears itself apart, causing blue eyes to widen at the foreign sight. Khan has never seen something like this and he's stunned by the sight, lips parting...

That's when everything happens in such a quick succession that it's hard for even his superior brain to keep up; A white light appears, swallows him, his shuttle shakes and a thousand warning alerts pop up, vanish, pop up before all of the systems are failing. Khan blinks and squints, squeezes his eyes shut at a sudden G-force causing bile to rise inside his throat---

---And then, like that, his shuttle is falling toward another planet that looks remarkably similar to Earth.

What...?

Khan, still confused by everything that has just happened, scrambles to try and get the systems back online but to no avail. The continent grows with the seconds that pass and he gets closer, closer, closer; His shuttle is briefly picked up by a current of wind, it seems, allows it to sail a bit but it's still very much about to crash-land in the middle of what seems to be a rather big city - part of him wonders if no one is actually noticing the aircraft falling like this, if, perhaps, he's too fast for any defense system to react.

He does know, though, that he needs to leave this vessel before he'll hit something with it - bright irises scan what he can see from his position and he makes a split-second-decision he isn't too sure about whether he'll regret it or not.

But, he actually opens the door to his right and---

---Jumps.

The shuttle continues to fly without him, lands somewhere a but further away while Khan flies through the air, toward what appears to be a rooftop of a bulding; He curls his body, lands with his shoulder first and rolls himself off this way, but the impact is still quite rough. He rolls and rolls and rolls, the force of his movement pulling him along - and he manages to hold onto the edge of the building at the very last second before he falls, fingers grabbing onto the stone as he dangles off the side.

Blinking, gasping, Khan needs a second to process this, the whole of what has just happened; He groans, then pulls himself up and back on top of the roof, still catching his breath while allowing his gaze to roam as he crouches there...

...Where the fuck is he? It looks like earth from what he can tell. But... This city is unfamiliar to him.

[raddocwrites]

SNW drabbles

Angst is a friend I know well

Doctor Mbenga and nurse chapel rushed over. Mbenga grabbed his tricorder and quickly scanned his patient. His eyes narrowed. “Her vitals are dropping.” It wasn’t a question but his expression made it into one.

Una felt the words strike her in the chest. She wanted to demand answers but she didn’t want to take attention away from where it belonged-la’an.

Chapel frowned. She looked at the monitors, down to la’an, then at her own tricorder. “The unidentified substance in her blood. Its proliferated.”

Una gut twisted painfully. “What does that mean?” she asked sharply, breathlessly.

Mbenga and chapel seemed to communicate without speaking as they stared at each other. Chapel quickly took a hypospray of la’ans blood and turned towards her lab.

“It means we need to figure out what is causing her systems to…depress.”

Una watched every move the doctor made as he assessed la’an, administered hyposprays, scanned her with his tricorder. His face didn’t change but his mouth tightened at la’ans lack of response. The longer he went without saying anything, the more desperate una felt. She shifted and he finally looked at her. “We will figure this out,” he said calmly. But his eyes told a different story.

Una felt dread sit leaden in her stomach. She wanted to believe him. She knew he and chapel had created miracles over and over. But this was la’an.

Doctor Mbenga left before she had a chance to say anything. Una watched him go and felt a part of herself threaten to break free. She leaned over la’an. She tenderly brushed her hand against la’ans cool cheek. She grit her jaw. La’an couldn’t die. She just couldn’t! Ever since una had pulled the tiny, half feral girl from that liferaft, la’an was a fighter. A survivor. The thought that la’an might actually die…

Unas gut clenched and she pursed her lips. She leaned over her friend and cupped la’ans too cool cheeks in her hands. She stroked softly with her thumbs. “La’an,” she tried. She waited patiently, hopefully.

There was no reply. La’an didn’t move or react in any way. Unas gut coiled tighter. It was so wrong. La’an always responded to her touch.

Unas hands dropped to the biobed. It was wrong. So wrong. Her breathing was too fast all of the sudden. She grabbed onto la’ans sickbed and squeezed as hard as she could. She barely noticed the metal bending under her fingers.

No. Una refused to let this happen. It couldn’t happen. Wouldn’t.

Una swallowed and grit her teeth again. she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to la’ans cool forehead. She let her lips linger for several seconds, trying to imbue la’an with everything that una was feeling. The hope. The desperation. The love.

Finally, she pulled back and whispered, “Im not going to let you die, la’an. I promise.”

Una rose slowly and went to the lab where chapel and Mbenga worked furiously. She eyed them a moment before she asked. “So, what is doing this to la’an. I thought the surgery went well.” Her voice was carefully neutral.

“It did,” Mbenga stated, holding out his hands for emphasis. “But there was a contaminant in la’ans blood. We thought it would resolve with the antibiotics.”

“Instead, it went into overdrive and is now flooding la’ans systems.” The nurse didn’t look up from where she was working feverishly.

Una nodded as she sidled closer to the lab table and casually picked up a hypospray. “But what is it doing?” She eyed the doctor evenly.

“It…is causing all of la’ans organs to shut down.”

Unas nostrils flared but she gave no other reaction to the news. “So, what can we do about it?”

Mbenga flicked his eyes towards chapel who worked frenetically and gave a small shrug as he held out his hands. “We are keeping la’an stable as we search for a cure.”

Una nodded slowly. She shifted closer to the monitor with chapels results on it. It had the chemical compound displayed in a way even una could understand it. “And how is that going? Finding a cure?” Her voice was steady, poised.

Chapel groaned and it was response enough for una. She clenched her jaw once then nodded towards the screen. “And that’s it there? The toxin?”

Doctor Mbenga nodded. “Yes. We believe that the animal might have had a slow acting venom that was undetected by the biofilters.”

Una just nodded again as she adjusted the dials on the hypospray. After several heartbeats she looked back up. She squared her shoulders and drew in a breath. “So how long does she have?” she asked, her voice hard.

Mbenga frowned, at the question and at the way una was suddenly holding the hypospray with such determination. “At the current rate of degradation…about three hours.”

Una nodded then swiftly injected herself.

Nurse chapel cried out in alarm and doctor Mbenga lunged forward. But it was too late. Una just smiled as the hypospray was stripped from her hand and inspected.

Doctor Mbenga looked, his eyes wide. “Una. What have you done?” his voice was quiet but filled with anguish.

Una shrugged. She felt a sudden flush and nausea burned in her belly. “You have three hours to find a cure. Or I will.”

Mbenga shook his head. He slowly rested a hand on unas forearm. “And if your Illyrian system doesn’t counteract this poison?”

Una gave a humorless smile. “Then it wont be my problem anymore.” She turned and headed back to where she belonged. Next to la’an. Because if there was even a chance she could save la’ans life. She had to take it. Una refused to live in a world where la’an didn’t exist. Where la’an wasnt a part of her life.

Una groaned as she broke out in cold sweat. She took la’ans hand. She noted numbly that both of her hands were still coated in la’ans blood. Una knew she should care about that. But at the moment, all she cared about was la’an opening her eyes again.

La’an lay motionless on the biobed. Her chest barely seemed to rise and for a moment, una feared she wasn’t breathing.

Una shivered violently and stroked a hand over la’ans hair. She still gripped la’ans too cold hand with her other. She leaned forward and pressed another kiss to la’ans forehead. She suppressed a tremor.

La’ans eyes were still behind their lids. Her dramatic eyeshadow was even more fierce and intimidating than usual against her ashen skin.

Una wasn’t sure how long she sat, stroking la’ans hair and holding her hand. Time seemed to freeze and pass in the blink of an eye at the same time. The interminable waiting was still better than the agonizing alternative.

But. Eventually. Finally. Every part of una burned as her immune system at last kicked in. She hunched protectively over la’an, insuring the chimeral antibodies transferred to the Lt as well.

After several seconds, una stopped glowing. She leaned forward and took la’ans face in both hands. She searched every inch her friends face, rubbing her cheeks insistently. “La’an,” she called determinedly. She held her breath, barely daring to breathe.

“La’an!” una called again. She couldn’t help but shake la’an gently. “Please. Please. Please,” she whispered desperately. Her eyes roamed over la’an, looking, waiting, hoping for any sign. Her fingers didn’t stop stroking la’ans cheeks. “Please, la’an,” una practically begged.

Una grit her teeth. She shook her head and refused to accept anything less than la’an coming back to her. She drew in a breath and managed to make her tone as commanding as possible. “La’an. You will open your eyes,” she ordered.

She waited. Not breathing. For what felt like an eternity.

La’an coughed and her head twitched to the side. Or would have if una hadn’t still been cupping la’ans face. Slowly, painfully. La’an opened her eyes.

Una sagged into the biobed as she let out a half sob. She brought her forehead to rest against la’ans as her hands couldn’t decide if they wanted to stroke la’ans cheeks or repeatedly tuck the hair behind la’ans ears or something else entirely. She stared into her friends eyes and those dark, endless depths finally stared back at her.

“La’an,” she breathed.

La’an grimaced then managed a small smile. “Hey, chief,” she whispered.

Una did sob at that. She wrapped her arms around la’an and drew her into a fierce hug. She held on as tight as she could and never wanted to let go. “La’an,” she breathed again, convinced that, in that moment, everything was right in the world.

[cicaklah]

Pray tell, what is interregnum?

Interregnum is a lot of things, but it mostly contains MORE one man bullshit, such as this journal abstract!

EMBARGOED: FOR INTERNAL STARFLEET MEDICAL PUBLICATION ONLY Starfleet Journal of Interspecies Medicine  McCoy and M’Benga (2260) Case report of improperly broken Vulcan mating bond in psinull human male Patient X is a 26 year old human male in good overall health. Patient Y is a 31 year old male of Vulcan heritage also in good health. Both presented to sickbay with neuropsychic-related trauma at 0300 hours, with X already in late stage organ failure and cardiac arrest and Y in late stage 4 emotional cascade. Patients had an established psychic bond, which was deemed by both to be surplus to requirements. Patient Y performed neuropsychological surgery on himself and patient X in patient Y's quarters using an adapted widely taught method for 'psychic hygiene'. Breaking of the bond was described as 'disproportionately easy' and symptoms took approximately three hours to fully develop. Treatment with cordizine and resus was sufficient to restart patient X's heart, but insufficient to halt the degeneration of his other organ systems. Surgery was performed on two fronts: organ repair and neuro repair, and patient responded well to biobed protocols. Initially patient X stabilised, but later developed several allergies (see forthcoming manuscript). Neuro repair was performed using an outdated and expired NeuroLink2 (expiration date November 2256), retrieved from the personal collection of author b. Despite warnings, the repair was completed successfully. (Paper on impact of out of date medical equipment forthcoming March 2260)

I will never stop.

[zannithinks]

Some more "Fathom" please!

I swear not all my fics are McKirk, the majority are just in the midst of my Bones indulgence moments 😅 also this is a bit more than three lines, oops! Thanks for the nudge!! 💙

Fathom:

Shoes scuff against the floors. Jim keeps his eyes on the doctor. Sitting is becoming easier, he doesn’t have to hunch so much with strength returning to him, but the shaking remains for another reason than the abating shock.

The sterile white room. The bright overhead lighting. The vulnerability of being in one of these damn biobeds.

A flutter of panic- He’s not going to let them do this again, he’s not.

He lashes out instinctively, ripping away from the hand and the man it belongs to.

The doctor puts both palms up in a gesture of surrender. Jim doesn’t trust it. He curls his own hands into fists.

No. No he really, really doesn’t like doctors. Coming here was a stupid idea, he should have just faked the exam results like he’d planned to.

“I should leave.”

“You should stay, you hard headed fool. Think, you already made it this far, you don’t want to do it twice.”

Jim bites the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping back. What the fuck does this guy know? If Jim leaves, he’s not coming back.

“I’m Doctor Leonard McCoy, you’re James Kirk. We’re gonna do a physical exam of all body systems, as required to enter Starfleet Academy. Sound okay to you?”

The doctor watches him like he’s waiting for a response. He huffs when he doesnt get one and scowls at a tricoder in his hand.

An itch starts up and blossoms into something insistent. Jim scratches his palm. He glances at it without thought and pauses at the thick line of scar tissue across the width of it.

He remembers that.

Not in the way he remembers most things, which is more like knowing a list of facts about what’s happened in this life, and more like he actually remembers living through it.

Doctor Leonard McCoy.

He remembers him, too.

The resting frown is clearly a lifelong habit. His hair is the neatest he’s seen it, a tidy comb over loosened by the day. Shadows under his eyes are small, more a hint of purple than the etched lines that will come.

Jim curls his fingers to cover the scar.

He knows how this ends, but he can’t remember how this exact part is supposed to go.

[weerd1]

ENT Rewatch Starlog, 21 January, 2024: Episode 3.05 “Impulse”

While Trip and Archer examine the Xindi database, they discuss the crew’s mental well-being. Trip wants to bring back movie night. As T’Pol enters she asks why she wasn’t called to help, and Archer explains he didn’t want to wake her. Trip gleefully tells T’Pol there’s a movie coming! Hoshi calls from the bridge: A Vulcan distress signal is coming from a nearby asteroid field. 

Nearing the field, they realize the Vulcan ship is the “Seleya,” a ship that T’Pol had previously served on. The ship was assigned to monitor the thermobaric cloud around the Expanse when it was pulled in. The Vulcan ship Soval showed them footage from with a crew gone mad was the ship sent to find Seleya. Sensors also show that the asteroid field is full of trellium ore. Archer takes T’Pol, Reed, and the MACO Hawkins on a shuttlepod to the Seleya while Travis and Trip try to use the transporter to mine trellium. An anomaly fries the circuits, and they decide to land the second shuttlepod on a large asteroid to grab the ore manually.

Archer and the gang find the Seleya in a derelict condition with minimal life support. They are however picking up life signs.  Docking with the Vulcan ship, they begin to explore and soon find the crew physically mutated and having reverted to almost a primal state. They are soon cut off by the violent Vulcans from being able to reach the shuttle again. Also, slowly, T’Pol’s behavior is becoming more erratic.

Travis and Trip get more trellium, but have to quickly get back to the ship when spatial anomalies send their asteroid farther into the field. They have grabbed a fair amount of trellium, but the pod will need about two hours of repair. This is a problem, as Archer has called to see if they can get a pick up as they are cut off from their own pod. T’Pol’s readings of the Vulcan crew are read by Phlox, and he realizes it is the trellium itself acting as a neurotoxin to Vulcans. The crew of the Seleya have had their minds damaged beyond repair. T’Pol is being affected, but there’s a chance to treat her if they can get her to sickbay. Having had a conversation with Hawkins that Vulcans do have emotions—just controlled—and the species was previously violent and paranoid, she begins to exhibit more paranoia, calling back to Archer accessing the Xindi database without her. The only solution they can find to allow them to access the shuttle means shutting down all the main systems of the Seleya which will result in a warp core explosion. T’Pol is convinced this was always the plan, to kill all the Vulcans. Eventually, Archer has to stun her, and they make their way through the decks, pursued by the savage-minded Vulcan crew.

Making it to the shuttlepod, they find they can’t release the docking clamp, but Travis and Trip arrive in the second pod just in time to phase-cannon the clamps allowing both pods to escape. On Enterprise, a hysterical T’Pol is wrestled into a biobed and tranquilized. Phlox treats her, but Archer realizes that the trellium they need to protect their hull from the Expanse’s anomalies will drive T’Pol mad, She insists on being left behind, but Archer promises to find another way. 

It’s movie night again when there is a tactical alert. T’Pol is heading for the bridge when she is attacked by more feral Vulcans. She awakens in sickbay as the whole event was a nightmare, showing she is still plagued by paranoid dreams.

Popularly known as the “Vulcan Zombie” episode, this one mostly works. Well directed by David Livingston, we do get some horror vibes here, not unlike the Borg episode from season 2. Jolene Blalock does a marvelous job showing T’Pol’s slow descent into madness, though yeah, it is just another “Pretty Vulcan girl is losing it” trope that ENT dips into too often. Indeed, this will begin the arc for T’Pol based on her becoming addicted to trellium-d which I know was not a storyline Ms. Blalock appreciated. Nonetheless, she delivers, and the conversation with T’Pol and Hawkins about whether or not Vulcans have emotions is a particularly good moment. Although it’s in a dream sequence, T’Pol telling Trip and Phlox to “Use logic more quietly” while trying to decipher a film remains one of my favorite lines from the character.

Speaking of the dream sequence, it really feels tacked on.  A little investigation shows that it literally was- the first edit of this episode fell short time-wise, so the sequence was added to make time. Don’t know that I would have done it the same way.

Archer gives a line at the end when discussing whether or not to abandon T’Pol to use trellium to save the crew that, "I can't try to save Humanity without holding on to what makes me Human.” This will come back to haunt him later as desperation endangers the NX-01’s mission more and more. It’s a good marker here for comparison on what the character goes through.  

Finally, the Trip/Mayweather team-up works well here, and definitely speaks to how much more Travis could have been used as a character throughout the show. In my “season 5” headcanon, when Shran joins the crew, Travis begins to work more with the Andorian and they develop a mentorship between them. Alas, just the realm of fanfiction I still haven’t written so far…

Next Voyage: Hoshi gets a little spotlight as she begins to psychically communicate with an “Exile.” 

(Images taken from the main website for @trekcore; I am happy to remove the images if asked.)

[galateagalvanized]

For the WIP name game: I’m very excited about the Highwayman Obi-wan fic but I feel like we already know what that’s about, so can you please tell us about “the devil went down”?

(Public okay!)

this one's very much a character study + porn so I'll just let y'all read the beginning and find out lmao

------------------

Jamie Kirk’s short brown curls splay across the hospital pillows in a wild abandon that matches the preferred state of their owner. Today, though, she lies perfectly still, with no drumming fingers or bouncing knee to mark her as Jamie Kirk, unstoppable object. Stillness is an anathema to Kirk, and the sight of her laying in drug-induced placidity drives needles into McCoy’s heart. 

Kirk doesn’t have any needles left in her, of course; the IV cocktail of drugs necessary to keep her body from tearing itself apart while Khan’s blood integrates itself with her system feeds neatly into a cannula in her arm. The IV system itself is fairly medieval technology, but Kirk is, of course, allergic to anything trying to keep her alive. 

McCoy settles into her chair, watching Kirk’s vitals scroll across the screen connected to the biobed, a serene seismograph of calm and continuous activity. At last, she sees the mountain range of her heart rate rise from a sedate 52 to 56, 61, 65, with Kirk’s breathing rate and body temperature following similar slow inclines. McCoy moves closer to the bed, reaching out two fingers to seek, unerringly, the beat of Kirk’s heart in her wrist. It’s an old habit from southern Georgia, where the old guard still have a distrust of the infallibility of technology carved into their bones.

Focused on the pulse beating across her fingers like ocean waves on the sand, McCoy almost misses when Kirk first opens her eyes. Kirk usually springs awake in the morning, horribly cheerful and already more energetic than McCoy is after her third cup of coffee. Now, though, Kirk’s eyes open slowly, groggily, struggling to keep her eyelids in a full upright and locked position. She has to try twice to focus on McCoy’s face.

“Hey, Bones,” she croaks, her voice rasping through her throat like sandpaper skating across a desert.

“Hey, yourself,” McCoy says, as soft and gentle as she knows how, and she passes over a cup of the gel-pack lozenges that are really just medicated ice chips. Kirk groans. 

“Pain?” McCoy snaps, already calculating morphine totals in her head while reaching for her hypo.

“No, no.” Kirk laughs, a dry rattle of a thing that pulls McCoy up short. “It’s just that you’re being nice to me. That’s never a good sign.”

McCoy glares while gesturing for her to suck on a glorified ice chip, trying and failing not to put her hands on her hips in the way Sulu says looks matronly. “Got plenty of anger in here too, darlin’,” she says, voice still quiet, but edged in a hardness that brooks no quarter. “Fortunately for you, I’ve got more patience than that walnut you call a brain has ever held.”

“You? Patient?” Kirk says, grinning, and her teeth are starting to stain just a little blue from the medication designed to hydrate and reduce soreness in a recently-intubated throat. McCoy’s glare deepens at the reminder.

“I think I’ve been more than patient with your antics,” McCoy grumbles, turning away from Kirk to fiddle with a hypospray. Because of the IV, McCoy hasn’t been able to justify stabbing Kirk once with a hypospray. She’s irritated at being deprived of even this small revenge on Kirk for trying, once again, to martyr herself for the good of the universe. 

A pale white hand flops on top of hers: the skin is pocked with the faint shimmer of new skin over red burns, and the nails are brittle and nearly translucent. McCoy makes a mental note to check the nutrient transfer capacity of Kirk’s healing intestinal system, then looks up.

“Thank you, Bones,” Kirk says, her voice slow and sincere even though her eyes are glassy with exhaustion, and McCoy’s heart lodges firmly in her throat. 

“You gotta stay with me, kid,” McCoy chokes out, turning her hand over and lacing their fingers together. She can see Kirk’s heart rate starting to drop back down into the rhythms of a natural sleep.

Kirk manages to squeeze McCoy’s fingers even as she’s dropping off. “Tryin’,” she slurs, and McCoy holds on as tight as she dares.

“Try harder,” she says, emotion coloring her words in a way she would never allow if Kirk were awake. McCoy’s been here every minute of the last week and a half, through every flatline and code blue, and she’s so, so tired. She’s tired of this room, and she’s more tired of Kirk throwing herself into the gaping maw of danger every chance she gets. 

Kirk doesn’t answer. Her heart rate is a peaceful mountain range, shallow and slow, as even and worn-down as the Appalachians of the home McCoy hasn’t seen in seven years.

“Try harder,” McCoy repeats, low. “If not for you, then for me.”

[procrastinatorproject]

Yes, it is once again abominably late 🙈 In my defense, as of today I am on sick leave, so I have some time to gently coax my sleeping rhythm back into a more acceptable time frame.

But for now: Here is another snippet!

I keep jumping wildly between WIPs. This one also goes into the Emil-prompt-collection, though this is Rios's chapter (which I just started now). Or it will be, eventually. Sometimes you need to spend 500+ words pondering the nature of the medical emergency (hologram)...

---

For the seventh time in the last twelve hours, Emil called up the neurological readings on the biobed’s display and studied them intently. He could have simply let his programme interface with the ship’s medical systems (and somewhere in the depth of this code, this connection was being established to verify his visual input). But the motions of manually checking on his patient had something… calming, perhaps.

Of course, as a hologram, purpose built for medical emergencies, he did not need to perform calming actions for himself. He did not have emotions that needed to be addressed, not in the way his organic patients did. But in the year since his first activation, the EMH had found that his behavioural and socio-affective algorithms did benefit from performing certain actions that, in a human, might have been considered emotional regulation.

If anyone asked him, he could always say that he was gathering the data visually to calibrate his autonomic diagnostic algorithms. If he ever found himself disconnected from the ship’s various systems due to a technical emergency, he would have to deal with whatever crisis demanded his attention by solely relying on his perceptive subroutines.

Not that anyone would ever ask. Ian might give him a knowing look, but none of the other holograms were fully aware of the extent to which Emil could or couldn’t draw information directly from the ship’s computers. And their captain… well.

Emil looked down at the lifeless form of Captain Rios and heaved a deep sigh.

The neurological readings were still unchanged, which was both a good sign, in that his condition hadn’t deteriorated, and also absolutely no help whatsoever. There was no way to know how the radiation had affected the captain’s brain until he was awake, and none of the diagnostic tools could offer any hint as to when that might happen.

Emil dismissed the holographic interface with a huff and went over to the counter to re-sort his instrument stands. Sometimes, he really longed for the sophisticated technology that was standard issue on even modest Starfleet vessels. La Sirena was very well-equipped for her size and especially her age, but her neurological scanner couldn’t hold a candle to a full suite of neuro-psychiatric assessment units. It seemed a cruel twist to give an EMH all this knowledge about the precise function of cutting-edge medical technology and how it would help in any given moment — and then to strand them in a place where they had access to exactly none of it.

Emil twirled an empty hypo-spray through his fingers. Of course, he knew that it wasn’t cruelty. The EHs' creators understood the complexity of the programmes they were working on, and their was growing advocacy to look at complex holograms as more than simple computer routines devoid of dignity and unworthy of respect. But in the end, it came down to thoughtlessness. Both the thoughtlessness of the programmers on Jupiter Station, who did not consider how their decisions might impact a hologram years down the line, and Emil’s own thoughtlessness. Because who could claim that an EMH was ‘thinking’, when he was really just following instruction laid out for him long before his instance of the basic EH installation package was ever compiled?

It was a true philosophical conundrum that —

“Um… excuse me?”

The hypospray clattered to the workbench as, for a fraction of a second, the utterly unexpected input scrambled Emil’s subroutines and made his matrix flicker. He whirled around and found himself face to face with Captain Rios.

[hummingbird-of-light]

Whumptober 2022

No. 17 Hanging by a threat (breaking point)

~

The ship was floating dead through space. Every single engineer on board the Enterprise was working as hard as possible to repair it.

Keenser had been up for nearly three days. And he knew that he didn’t have time for a break.

They had to keep life support going so that the crew wouldn’t suffocate to death… or freeze.

He was in charge of keeping the heating system going.

It wasn’t an easy job, but someone had to do it.

Scotty was trying to get the ship moving again with other engineers.

Keenser’s eyes were about to fall close when suddenly his comm bleeped. He was startled by the sound but quickly grabbed the device.

A grunt was his only answer.

(“Keenser! We need more heat up in sickbay! People are freezing!”)

McCoy. He was yelling at him. Of course… the doctor was under pressure too. He had to keep his patients alive.

Keenser gave him another grunt.

He’d fix it. He’d get them the heat they needed.

Keenser started to sway around. He was just so tired. His vision was getting blurry.

(“It’s getting warmer. Keep the work up.”)

With that McCoy ended the call.

Good. The problem was fixed.

Another call. Another complain. It went on and on.

They were all yelling. They were angry.

Keenser tried his best but… he was at his breaking point.

When he eventually collapsed, he wasn’t done with his work. But his body told him to stop. And he couldn’t do anything about it.

_______________________________

He woke up in a biobed, feeling exhausted like hell. Nurse Chapel was staring at the monitor next to him.

When Keenser grunted softly, the nurse’s head turned towards him.

“Thank goodness, you’re awake Mr. Keenser.”

The Roylan blinked in confusion and Chapel smiled gently.

“You fainted. You hadn’t eaten in three days. Neither did you drink or get sleep.”

Keenser remembered. That was true. He had only focused on getting his work done.

“Work,” he explained but the nurse gave him a scolding look.

“Mr. Keenser…” Chapel sat down beside him and grabbed his hand, “you need to take care of yourself. Or else you can’t take care of the ship.”

Keenser blinked. He knew that. Of course he knew. But he tended to forget.

Luckily there were people reminding him of his needs. And he was grateful to have them around.

[swaps55]

Mezzo - 04 - Peace in the Riot

Pairing: mshenko | Rating: M Tags: Canon-typical violence, trauma, dealing with your problems poorly, body autonomy struggles   Summary: The twists and turns of ME2, through the eyes of everyone but Commander Shepard. Chapter Summary: Shepard’s not dead and it’s everyone’s problem.    Thank you to @sinvraal for betaing!

Chapter 4: Peace in the Riot | Read on Ao3

30 October 2185, Omega Nebula, Sahrabarik System – Omega Approach, Normandy SR-2

Synthetic skin fibers. Skeletal-reinforcing bone weave. Muscle-perforating microfibers. Biomeimetic eyes with nanowire retinas. Biosynthetically fused spinal cord. The more Karin Chakwas learns about Shepard’s reconstruction, the more miraculous – and overwhelming – it becomes.

How did they do this?

Perhaps what distresses her most is the depth of repairs that had to be made. Lumbar burst fractures. Exposure to hard vacuum. Clinical brain death due to asphyxiation.

Shepard’s death hadn’t been slow, but it certainly had not been quick.

Knowing that his death had been all but certain the moment Moreau’s escape pod closed without him – that Alenko’s dedicated but fruitless search had indeed been in vain – somehow is not a comfort. Not when the Lazarus data makes it hard to deny the likelihood that he had lived long enough to know what his fate would be.

But the intel had been true. Cerberus had reneged his death.

She could study the Lazarus records alone for years. It will be studied for years, if she can get a copy of it into the right hands. But research is not why she’s here.

She thumbs through the drug pack stores with a furrowed brow. “EDI, who do I speak to about requisitions?”

“What is it you need, Doctor?”

A uniform without a Cerberus logo, for starters, and a manual on caring for a patient who’s come back from the dead.

“More glucagon drug packs and electrolyte tablets. This is hardly enough for one biotic, much less three.”

“I will see to it crewman Hawthorne is made aware.”

“Thank you. That’s most kind.”

“Is there anything else you require?”

“I’ll let you know.”

The fact that serving on a ship integrated with an AI is so far down the list of her troubles it doesn’t bear worrying about should bother her more than it does. But she does indeed have far more pressing concerns, chief among them, the person walking into her medbay.

“Commander,” she says warmly when the doors swish open and Shepard enters. “You came.”

He nods at her and takes a seat on one of the biobeds, trepidation on his face. “I said I would. And…I had some questions.”

The scarring on his face is the most visible sign of his resurrection. Looking beyond the fissures that glow a pale red, he is exactly as she remembers, with no trace of the two years she’s lived in the meantime. He isn’t the only one with questions. Some of hers she may never get the answer to.

“Ask away.”

Sam Shepard has always had the mind of a surgeon, knowing exactly where and when to cut to get what he wants, so she prepares herself for a question, or a barrage of questions, that puts her to the test. But instead of ask her anything he sits in silence, expression empty, curl in his back. The outline of one of the spinal clamps shows through his shirt.

She hands him a cotton swab to use on the inside of his cheek. Dutifully, he gives it back when he’s done, surely recognizing the reason behind it. There is belief in what she is seeing, and there is supporting it with irrefutable DNA evidence.

Once she plugs the sample in to be analyzed, she picks up the medical scanner and hums an old song her mother used to sing when she was a girl. She’d always found it soothing.

When she reaches the chorus a second time, he speaks up at last, voice soft.

“What happened?”

Read from the beginning | Read the rest on Ao3 | The Mezzo Playlist

[lady-sci-fi]

Writer Emoji Ask: 🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far? ⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped? 🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip? 🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success? ✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. Annnd, pick a question you'd like to answer!!

Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask

Sweetest fic: If you want tooth-rotting sweet, maybe "Venture in Babysitting", with Data and Geordi babysitting Molly :P

One I started but scrapped: There are five total that I started on AO3 and haven't updated for a long time. Two are DS9 that I have zero intent on finishing. The others depend on if I get back into those fandoms. Nothing against the stories, just lost interest in them.

What's a successful fic: If I like it. Of course I love hits and comments and all that, but I write for my own enjoyment. If a lot of people read it or leave comments, that's a great bonus. So I guess pretty much all my fics are successful from that viewpoint.

Compliment: I apparently have the ability to really make people feel what I want them to with scenes.

My choice: Do you listen to music while writing: Yes. I have an "Epic Music" playlist on youtube, which is now at over 24 hours long, consisting of mostly dramatic strings and orchestral stuff. Some of the compilations are lighter or darker, so I choose which ones depending on the fic mood. I also have a bunch of that kid of stuff in my iTunes collection.

There are also some lyrical songs that I've used to get a mood.

WIP Snippet: "Tales of the Dominion War"

 “Doctor Crusher?”

 Beverly turned from the Romulan-occupied biobed to see Julian approaching. “Yes?”

 “We have a problem,” he whispered. He gestured with his head to her office.

 With a nod, she led the way.

 Beverly watched as Julian paced in her office. Now that the adrenaline of the rush of injured in Sickbay had waned, her colleague was jittery and anxious, understandable. No doubt he was starting to experience mental shock.  

 Julian finally stopped and looked at her. “Ensign Nog out there, the Ferengi? He has a prosthetic leg. When that… that energy weapon hit the Defiant…” He trailed off for a couple seconds. “The Defiant, it didn’t just affect the ship. It affected him, too. He’s alright now, but the weapon disrupted the electrical impulses between his leg, nervous system, and brain. His leg locked up, and he had to be carried to the escape pod.”  

 Beverly’s expression fell. More terrible news from today. “So, anyone with similar prosthetics or implants are at risk.”

 “You and the rest of the reinforcements might’ve been far enough away, but it wouldn’t hurt to check anyone to see if they experienced anything at all.”

 “You really think this could’ve impacted us?” It wasn’t really a question. She knew he could be right. An entire fleet had just been lost because of this Breen weapon. This wasn’t a time for second-guessing.

"Beverly, I helped design Geordi's eyes, and Data's certainly at a huge risk from that weapon. I would guess they aren't the only two here who might be affected by it? But we can start with them, if you could call them here?”

 Beverly nodded. “It would also help us learn the reach this weapon has.” She tapped her combadge, requesting her two friends to come at their soonest convenience. She mentally went through the crew in her head, remembering who else. One person jumped to the top of her mind.

 She knew how sensitive Picard could be about his health vulnerability, and would talk with him privately.

[getaway-gatsby]

A Spot of Bother - 1/6

Originally posted on AO3 as @getaway_gatsby

You hadn’t even felt the dart pierce your skin. Later, this would strike you as ironic; that the object that would wreak so much havoc through your system had entered your body in such an innocuous fashion. But it had been Kirk that pointed out the small hole in the arm of your uniform. It had been Kirk that made you go down to the med bay.

However, it was Bones that identified the dart as poisonous.

"What happened?", he had asked, ushering you towards a biobed.

"Natives were hostile, decided to use me as target practice. Kirk insisted I came to the med bay, so he walked me down here."

Bones snorted. "I'm surprised he knows where the med bay is. The man avoids this place like the plague."

Carefully removing the dart from your arm, he had placed the offending object in a kidney dish, running his tricorder over it this way and that, until you thought you’d burst with impatience.

“What’s the verdict, doc? Can I go?”

Now he turned his tricorder towards you, frowning at the results.

“Not so fast, Y/N. The dart is definitely coated in some kind of venom. The strange thing is that I can’t find any trace of it in your system.”

“Surely that’s a good thing?”

The CMO laid his tricorder down, running his hand down his jaw wearily. “Well, yes and no. It’s good in that you’re not displaying any symptoms of being poisoned.”

“I'm sensing a but.”

“But I don’t know how quickly this type of venom acts or how long it would take to show up in your system. I want to keep you in for observation for a couple of days until I can rule out any adverse effects.”

You scoffed incredulously. “Len, I think I’d know if I’d been poisoned. I feel completely fine - I can’t just take the next few days off work on the off-chance something might be wrong.”

Bones opened his mouth to argue; you cut him off before he could get started, softening your tone slightly.

“Look, if I feel ill, I’ll come down to med bay immediately, alright? Just don’t keep me here. I'd be wasting everyone's time.”

When he nodded reluctantly, you knew you’d won.

“Alright, but I’m not happy about this. And if you so much as cough, I want to know about it.” He fixed you with a steely glare. “Promise me.”

“Oh my god, Len, if it’ll get you off my back, then yes, I promise.”

You had never intended to break your word. It was just that there was a reasonable explanation for every symptom you experienced over the next couple of days. If you had a few nosebleeds, so what? It was just the dry air of the Enterprise. And if you woke up on Thursday morning feeling as if you had been hit by a shuttlecraft, it was only a migraine, surely? It wasn't anything to bother the CMO with - it didn’t mean anything.

It wasn't as if you were dying.

[archivewilliamrikerstblog]

I Wasn’t The One Who Got Shot - William Riker x Reader

Summary: After an Away Mission goes awry, Commander Riker finds himself in Medbay.

Word Count: 960+

Rating: SFW

Warning(s): Medbay/Hospital setting

Author's Note: Also Gonna not so subtlety remind everyone that Dr. Crusher does hold rank and she is also a Commander~

- - - - -

It is a wonder the Enterprise doesn't run through more First Officers if damn near every Away Mission was going to devolve into a mess. What should have been a simple supply drop to a needing Colony progressed into hostage negotiations between the Enterprise and Colony elites; ending in a Phaser-Fight and a quick get-away.

Waking up in Medbay is hardly ever pleasant. Medbay was hardly ever a quiet place to begin with - always busy. Between the noise and bright lighting always made for a harsh wake-up call.

The dull soreness that radiated through his right shoulder renders Riker's attempts to move that arm unpleasant. Trying his other, Riker feels it being held secure by some force other than pain. Irritated enough over being left immobile, Riker finally decides to force his eyes open.

Riker rolls his head to the right as be blinks repeatedly to adjust to the overbearing lights in Medbay. Still squinting he takes a glance at his own shoulder, finding little trace of the Phaser-shot that had sent him to Medbay. Little trace other than residual pain that he knew would fade with time - or a hypo.

Remembering that he could not move his left arm, Riker turns his head to further investigate his situation. He draws in a deep breath at the surprise he finds.

You are there; awkwardly situated half on the Biobed he lay on while seated on a metal chair. Tucked close against his hip with your head resting on one of your arms while your other hand clasped tightly around his own.

It is a strange combination of thoughts and emotions that overtakes Riker at just seeing you there. The initial surprise is still there; He knows he shouldn't be, that your care for him was always evident.

Not many had care enough before.

"I told them to go to bed an hour ago, but seems they listen about as well as you do." Riker's gaze turns quickly to the door as Dr. Crusher stepped in, obviously having been alerted to the fact the First Officer was conscious again.

Dr. Crusher places a hand against your shoulder, gently shaking you awake. The action causes you to let go of the hand you held and twist back to look at the CMO.

Riker takes the opportunity to move. Using his now free hand to help, he hauled himself into a seated position. He was quick to adjust the thin blanket that kept him modest. The groan he gave as the action jostled his still aching shoulder caught both Dr. Crusher and your attention.

You remained silent as Dr. Crusher went to work, asking Riker all sorts of questions as to how he was feeling. He tried to down-play the amount of pain that laced his system, but one glance up at the monitor overhead gave the CMO a more accurate answer.

Already prepared for such a case, Dr. Crusher was quick to produce a Hypo. Riker gave a grunt as the Hypo was applied to his neck. With pain managed for now, Dr. Crusher promised to return soon to see if Riker was feeling a little more himself before agreeing to release him from Medbay.

You still hadn't said anything by the time Dr. Crusher took her leave; Only having settled more into the chair but still leaning against the bed.

Riker watched the Doctor leave before heaving a sigh. He had been hoping to be able to leave that minute, but resigned to not argue with the Commander.

"Hey, you okay Y/N?" Riker asks, eager to turn his attention on you now that the pair of you are alone. He reaches out to rest his hand against your forearm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm just fine Will. I wasn't the one who got shot." Your  voice beings in a scoff but wavers, betraying the worry you felt. Physically you are fine, you hadn't even gone on the Away Mission that morning - your life had never been in danger.

"Well, it wasn't the plan. It could have gone a lot worse." Riker tries, hoping the humor in his tone would lighten your mood.  

"I'd rather not think about it." You couldn't help sounding offended. You clearly didn't appreciate being reminded that Riker - or anyone on that Away Team - could very well have been killed.

You pull you arm away as you wipe at your eyes; either to quell the exhaustion your felt or to hide welling tears - Riker wasn't sure, and it didn't sit well with him.

"You can go back to my quarters if you want. I'm sure Dr. Crusher will let me out of here soon." Riker offers; he might not be able to leave with you right now, but at least you would already be there when he could.

"Then I guess you are stuck here with me until she gets back. I'm not going anywhere Will - you . . . really worried me today." Your voice slowly trails off as you fight your composure. You drag you gaze back to Riker and shaking your head as you reject the offer. You'd made your choice over an hour ago when Dr. Crusher tried to order you to bed - you weren't leaving without Riker.

"Are you sure you are okay Will?" You ask. The relief that flooded you over the fact Riker was awake and already trying to act like his usual self conflicted heavily with the dread you endured the last few hours.

"If you are going to be taking care of me, I am sure I'll be just fine." Riker leans closer the best he can, the medication working at intended to lessen the strain. Riker knows he is fine, certainly not the first time he has been shot and seen it though.