Work Text:
commissioned artwork by rosenkow on Tumblr
The MedBay is nearly dark when Kristofer slips inside, just the dim lighting from equipment to guide his way, and he pauses to let his eyes adjust while willing the doorto silence as it closes. It takes a moment or two, but soon he can see well enough to locate the familiar shape of Dr. Chakwas at her desk... and her patient just beyond. Approaching quietly, practically tiptoeing so as not to make any loud sound, he asks in a voice barely above a whisper, “How is he?”
He’s gotten to know the doctor pretty well on this tour and can understand most of her body language without having to ask for clarification. Her lips, tight and pressed into a thin line, do not bode well. “Lieutenant Alenko is resting as comfortably as possible,” she explains.
Kris expects her to continue, but he’s only met by silence which does nothing to ease his mind.
Rising to her feet, the doctor rolls her head slowly from side to side in a stretch. She meets his gaze and looks as if she is about to say something else when her eyes suddenly widen and her hand lifts in a rush... to cover a yawn.
As professional as she can be, it's a completely unexpected reaction, and Kris can't stop the grin that slides across his face. He admires her dedication to duty, to the care of the Normandy’s crew, but even she needs a rest once in a while. “Go on, doc,” he insists. “I’ll stay and watch over him. You’ve earned a break.”
Her lips twist to form a protest, but Kris simply lifts one thick, dark brow in quick challenge.
For several seconds, she continues to stare him down, but just when it seems as if he might have to resort to some other tactic, she releases a soft sigh of resignation. “Very well, commander,” she murmurs. “Thank you. I could do with a bit of a walk to stretch my legs, I suppose. Maybe a fresh cup of tea.” Before departing, she walks over to where Alenko rests, checks on him briefly, then adds a notation to her patient notes. Setting them aside, she then gives Kris a nod and heads towards the door.
Alone, it takes him a minute to figure out what to do next. He’s no trained medic, but if he’s going to sit here and keep an eye on Kaidan, he probably should get an idea of what his current status is. Taking up the datapad the doctor set aside, he reads through it. Beneath the lieutenant’s name is a brief list of notations on his vitals and the dates and times they were taken, the last being just before she left the MedBay. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.
Thank God for small favors. If he's honest, Kris was half-expecting to find some sort of comment or reprimand notated after the disaster of a mission which triggered Kaidan's migraine in the first place.
Friendly fire is never 'friendly,' after all.
Setting the notes back on the desk, Kris grabs the doctor’s chair and as quietly as he can, wheels it over beside the medical bed where the lieutenant lies.
Alenko is asleep – whether an escape due to pain or influenced by the meds Chakwas gave him on their return, Kris isn’t certain. Setting the chair next to the medical bed but within reach should he be needed, he then moves next to the bed to get a good look at the other man. It’s a relief to see the tight lines and abnormally pale skin he’d seen up close while helping Alenko back to the ship have mostly faded. A deep creases persist, but aren’t nearly so bad as a few hours ago, and the sickly pale color of his skin has returned to his usual dark tan.
Moving over to sit in the chair, Kris pulls up his omni-tool. They’ve been back on board for three hours. Having no idea just how long Kaidan will be in this state, he pulls up a project he and Tali have been working on to work on. Searching through the code in hunt of what’s causing the latest glitch plaguing their drone prototype, is enough to while away the minutes. It’s quiet work and very easy to lose track of time. Yet, anyone who really knows him expects this. Workaholic is a word that’s been used to describe him many times over the years, to a point where under normal circumstances, he’s agreed to set an alarm to remind himself when to eat or take a break.
But no alarm is necessary this time, and he certainly isn’t about to set one in here. When a soft groan fills the air, it's more than enough to break through his concentration and pull him back to the present, just as easily and effective as any chirrup from his omni-tool.
Kris is on his feet in an instant, closing the device shut in the process, his full focus on the man lying in the bed. Kaidan lies on his back, arm slung over his eyes to block any light, as minimal as it might be, from getting through.
He waits for a moment, listening. When Kaidan says nothing, Kris reaches over to the lieutenant’s free hand, and slowly and very lightly taps the tips of two fingers twice on the back of it, just enough the other man can feel it. This isn’t the first time Kaidan has had a migraine while Kris has been around, and after the first time, Kaidan taught him a simple signal to use to communicate with him.
Another minute or two pass, but eventually the arm lying across Kaidan’s face shifts slightly; his hand forming a closed fist with two fingers raised.
Translation: it’s okay to talk but keep it quiet.
In all honesty, Kris is slightly surprised that it worked. Leaning close, he whispers, “How can I help?”
Kaidan’s lips form a tight, thin line, but his arm stays in place. “Water?” he breathes after a struggle.
It’s an easy enough ask. The doctor keeps small water pouches with built in straws on hand for situations like this, and Kris quickly retrieves one. Upon returning to Alenko’s side, he uses the pouch to nudge gently against the back of Kaidan’s hand. Kaidan fumbles for it, but Kris holds it steady until he has a firm grasp around it. Remaining prone on the medical bed, Kaidan takes a small sip, just enough to wet his lips. Next thing Kris knows, the pouch is being pushed back into his hand. Unsure of what to do with it, Kris tucks it into the crease between the edge of the bed and Kaidan's pillow, within easy reach should he want it again.
Waiting another heartbeat or two, Kris finally decides Kaidan is good and he turns back to sit down. Not even a step away from the bed, however, he's pulled to a stop when Kaidan's hand catches the sleeve of his uniform and tightens there. Turning back, Kris asks, “I'm here. What do you need?”
Kaidan's lips are still tightened in a crease of pain, but there's a bit of movement at the corners as whispers, “Can you… stay?”
His response is immediate. “Of course.” But Kaidan's hold does not release. Carefully, he reaches over to tap again, just once, and he let's the touch linger a bit longer than before, reassuringly, as he whispers, “Kaidan, I promise I will stay. Just let me pull Dr. Chakwas’ chair over to sit on.”
Slowly, Kaidan's grasp loosens and Kris pulls away.
In barely the time it takes to blink, Kris is back with the chair. As he sits, he’s only a little surprised when Kaidan's hand stretches out towards him again, silently searching. The minute Kris wraps his fingers around it, Kaidan all but melts back onto the table, and within moments, his breathing is slow, steady, even.
Unfortunately, it leaves Kris in an awkward position on the doctor’s chair, one arm crossed between him and the bed, and the chair isn’t high enough to sit level with a patient on one of the medical beds.
Still, he is unwilling to let go of Kaidan - a promise, even if only silently made so, is a promise after all. Now unable to continue work on his and Tali’s project, he's left really with only one option. Shifting cautiously in the chair until he can pull his other arm around between his head and the edge of the bed, he uses it as a pillow. Might as well use the time to his advantage; it’s been a long day and the stress from that mission notwithstanding, he’s exhausted.
He’s asleep almost before his eyes close; so deep asleep he never notices when the doctor returns, steaming cup of tea in hand, nor the blanket she lays around his shoulders before heading off to find another chair.