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Rostov awoke to the sound of beeping and a strong antiseptic smell; strange rustling noises, too. His chest hurt when he breathed, his head pounded, and - he twitched, and let out a tiny groan - his shoulder throbbed. Actually, he ached all over, but his chest, shoulder, and head seemed to want to be noticed more than any other pain he might be experiencing.
There was a sort of cotton-wool feeling to everything, even overlaying the pain; with some thought, he realised that he was probably in Sickbay, and probably on painkillers. The last thing he remembered was the console in front of him exploding just before he reached it. No wonder he ached all over; it had thrown him backward, at a strange angle because he'd been turning toward it, and he'd hit something hard - he remembered a searing pain in his chest - and then fallen onto something soft before passing out.
He became aware of two things at the same moment: someone was holding his right hand - not the one attached to the painful shoulder - and that particular someone was trying to stifle sobs. His mind was fuzzy, but he thought he recognised that voice, and if it was who he thought, he didn't want them to cry on his behalf. So he made a supreme effort to open his eyes.
His vision swam a bit, then slowly cleared, and there she sat, his Janelle, both her delicate hands wrapped around his much larger one, her beautiful brown eyes swimming with tears. No, that wasn't allowed. No crying, no worry. Whatever had put that woebegone expression on her face had to be nipped in the bud.
He forced his eyes to open further, and watched hers widen. "Hey," he managed, as she leapt to her feet - albeit with a wince - and leaned over him, still holding fast to his hand. "No crying."
She gave a small, damp laugh, and he was pleased to see a little smile make its way onto her face. "You're not the boss of me, Mike Rostov," she said tremulously, but let go with one hand to swipe at her eyes with her forearm before returning it to grip his hand tightly once more.
He was too exhausted to do much more than smile back, but he squeezed her fingers and gave her an approximation of a wink, trying to better focus his eyes on her. Her hair was awry, pulled out of its neat bun, and there was soot on her face. She looked a mess, and at the same time, like the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Then his brain picked up that she was clad in her black undershirt, and there was a bandage around one wrist; not the one she'd used to wipe her eyes.
"You were hurt?" he asked worriedly. Janelle shrugged, but nodded. "What happened? I remember the explosion, but not much after that."
"You were heading for the console, but the overload made it through the relays faster than you could run, and it exploded just before you reached it - luckily, or you'd have been caught directly in the blast. It threw you back hard enough to hit the side of the warp core platform, and that's probably how you broke a rib and dislocated your arm, and hit your head hard enough for a concussion. And then you fell on me and I broke your fall."
"I fell on you?" She nodded again, looking sheepish. "But I'm twice your size. I must have hurt you!" Looking alarmed and casting a glance in the direction of the door, Janelle patted his hand.
"Hush, Mike, or the doctor will be annoyed that you're agitating yourself." With an effort, he tried to calm himself, raising an eyebrow as an indicator for her to continue. "I came out of it with a sprained wrist and knee, and a few bruises, but you were mostly limp by then. And you didn't fall on me with your full body weight, so I was able to wriggle out from under you and drag you away."
His brain fog was clearing faster, but Rostov was still a little confused by what she was saying. "Janelle, I weigh ninety kilograms and you can't weigh more than sixty-five, soaking wet. And you had an injured knee. How were you able to drag me?"
She grinned, and there was a hint of his happy-go-lucky Janelle. "I'm pretty strong, Mike, and I know how to lift heavy things," she said. "I'm not an engineer for nothing. And I was already full of adrenaline, running after you, so I was pumped up and ready. I probably couldn't do it as easily now as I did earlier, but I could move ninety kilograms if I had to. Besides, I only dragged you to the door, not all the way to Sickbay."
"I'm still impressed. And thank you for getting me out of there."
"I couldn't just leave you there. And I know you wouldn't have left me if the tables had been turned." Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Though I guess it would have been a lot easier for you to carry me out of there. But you were in front, so…"
He rolled his eyes. "Wait, don't tell me - I was pulling the jackass move?"
She chuckled. "I wasn't going to say so, but yeah, I guess you were."
"And there you were, hot on my heels, close enough for me to fall right on top of you."
To his amusement, she blushed. "Shut up, you."
She looked so lovely, he thought, even so dishevelled, her uniform rolled down to her waist and undershirt pulled up along one forearm to allow for the bandage on her slender wrist.
"Janelle," he said softly, his gaze fixed on her.
"Yes, Mike?"
"I really, really want to kiss you right now."
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, and dear lord, now she looked even more lovely, a little flustered, but determined. "Will it help you feel better?" Concern radiated from her voice, but her eyes were drawn to his mouth.
He widened his eyes just a fraction, knowing it made him look disarmingly vulnerable, and tried to look as pathetic as possible. Well, he was in pain, after all.
"It can't hurt to try," he said hopefully, and watched her lean forward, her beautiful face moving closer. Her eyes started sliding shut, and Rostov closed his in anticipation…
"Well, crewmen, how are things going here?" came the cheerful voice of Doctor Phlox, and Janelle jerked backward, Rostov taking in a huge gulp of air in shock and immediately yelping as his abused rib protested.
"Could be better, Doctor," he managed, unable to hide the wince and deciding to lean into it as he saw the doctor's shrewd gaze move between him and his now fiercely-blushing colleague. "When can I get out of here?"
Phlox sighed and shook his head. "Now you sound like Lieutenant Reed, crewman," he said, "so I will tell you what I would have told him in your shoes. You have a cracked rib, a dislocated shoulder, and a mild concussion. I'll be keeping you overnight for observation, and tomorrow we'll see what sort of state you are in and whether you're ready to be released. But don't count on going back to work for at least a week."
His gaze turned to Janelle. "And as for you, crewman, you might not have a concussion, but you have a badly-sprained wrist on your dominant arm and a torn anterior cruciate ligament on the opposite knee. Neither are life-threatening, but I would like you to stay overnight so I can keep you off that knee for as long as possible - especially since you were still using it for leverage when you dragged a weight somewhat excessive for your musculature, hmm? And you will also not be returning to work for a few days."
Janelle looked at Rostov almost guiltily and then nodded at Phlox, saying "Yes, Doctor," without demur. Rostov followed suit, albeit without the slightly guilty face, and rolled his eye at Janelle in a bid to indicate that they would be talking later about how she'd downplayed her injuries. She might be ranked higher than him, but he still didn't want her hurting herself for his sake.
Although, well ... this was Janelle. Not like he could actually take her to task, not if he valued his skin; she was too feisty for that, and he didn't want a strip torn off his hide for presuming, even if she was acting guilty right at this moment. That was probably just because she felt sorry for him, and judging by the new spark he saw in her eyes, the guilt was rapidly dissipating.
Well, if they were going to be in Sickbay overnight at the same time, that wasn't too bad. And booked off work for a few days? Perhaps they could recuperate together, Rostov mused. As the doctor took himself off, drawing the curtain around their beds, he raised his hand carefully to avoid hurting his rib again, bringing Janelle's to his lips.
"Are you going to give me a lecture?" she asked diffidently. Mike hesitated.
"Not if you're willing to give that kiss another try," he hedged, and watched mischief bloom in her eyes.
She leaned over him again, and he watched in fascination as those beautiful eyes stared into his before sliding closed as her lips met his mouth. They were incredibly soft, incredibly gentle, and he felt his own lips opening beneath hers as he inhaled the taste and scent of her.
All too soon, she drew back, and he let out a little sigh of frustration; he wanted nothing more than to keep tasting that wonderful essence that was Janelle. Opening his eyes, he watched her compress her lips between her teeth as though she was tasting him, and a flush of pride washed through him.
Now she was watching him, looking a little shy and apprehensive, as though she was worried he might not have found it as wonderful as she had. On the contrary; he wanted more.
So he gave her his biggest, saddest, softest eyes, and whispered, “Can we do that again? I think we may need to practise some more.”
The brilliant smile that blossomed on her face was ample reward; made even better by hearing her murmur, "Hopefully there won't be any further interruptions.”
And to Rostov’s satisfaction, there weren't.