Good to see she's learned not to insist when he's being stubborn. There once was a time when they'd just end up butting heads for a really long time about this.
"Alright," he breathes out, beginning to work on her injuries. Any deeper damage has long been addressed, he just needs to close up wounds now. "Surgery went well, he just needs to sleep of the anesthesia. He'll be back to his chair before long."
They've known each other too long now. Even if she had the energy, if every muscle in her body didn't ache, she'd know he wouldn't rest until she was back in fighting shape.
She lends him her arm so he can work on the scrapes there, splotchy and swollen from her underwater tumble.
"If he tries to tell you the river thing was my fault, just know he's full of shit," she mutters, glancing over him again. They're past the worst of it, but the stress still weighs heavy on his shoulders. Furrowed into his brow, set at his jaw. Not that that expression is all that foreign on his features.
He works on the first few scrapes, ones easier to heal. The larger wounds may need more than one treatment, but at least he'll be able to close them up, start them on the healing process. She will be back to new after a second round, though.
"If you even think for a moment that Jim would ever try to pin the blame on you for whatever happened, then you really don't know your Captain," he retorts, with a faint trace of chastisement. She's just kidding, he knows, but still. Leonard of all people knows that Jim would sooner take the blame, if there was even any blame to assign.
He lets out a soft sigh, then nods. "Alright. Mess hall or my quarters?"
It’s an odd sensation, like her skin purposely knitting itself together, stitch by stitch. The heat starts to subside around the swelling, her fingers flexing as the blood starts to flow properly again.
She huffs a chuckle, because yes, she knows all that. But Leonard’s in business mode, and she’s learned that trying to distract him after a day like today won’t be met with much amusement. Not yet, anyway.
She offers her other arm, toying with the sleeve of his uniform cuffed at his wrist. “Yours. The replicator in your room makes a better peach cobbler.”
He is perhaps a little too tired and a little too tense for jokes right now, that's true. What he needs is a good meal and a hot shower, so her offer is actually very welcome. Besides, spending time with her will vastly improve his mood.
"Think you may just be biased on that," he gives her a faint smile, checking his work before moving on to the next set of bruises. "But alright. You got it."
They’re both in need of some peace and quiet and food and sleep, and the closer they inch towards it, the harder it is to remain patient.
She quirks a smile, tugging playfully at his sleeve. “Wine, too.” The injuries are the worst on her hands and arms, but her legs are smattered with bruises from her tumble against the river’s rocks. She rests back against the bed’s pillows as he works, letting her eyes sink closed a moment. “Rest of the crew’s okay?”
"And wine," he agrees, leaning down for a quick kiss to her forehead. Then he huffs, frowning slightly. "Now, stop interruptin' me. Damn nearly the worst patient I've got."
There isn't too much damage, though, so the treatment is fairly quick to get through. Something he's glad for, because now that the prospect of a quiet dinner alone is in sight, he's very much looking forward to it. "They're alright, in no small part thanks to you. Most of them are back in their own quarters already."
Her smile softens at that kiss, another laugh spilling from her lips. “Oh, I cannot be the worst. Captain has to have be my miles.” It’s probably not true. They’re probably neck and neck, really.
Just for good measure, she reaches out for a squeeze of his ass as he turns.
She’s glad, at least, that none of the crew were seriously injured. She and Jim are used to having the shit beat out of them in defense of their people. But she’s fairly sure it was a small miracle they hadn’t lost someone today.
“Good,” she says finally, letting out a breath. “That’s good.”
"I said nearly," he points out. Jim can be worse at times, it depends on the day. It's like they take turns getting into trouble, but the worst is when they get into trouble together.
"It is. And lucky, too," he agrees with a nod. He's quiet then as he tends to the rest of her injuries, some of them healing quickly and others taking a few more minutes to stitch up with the laser. "We're almost done. How's it feelin'?"
Together, they’re likely to send Leonard into an stress-induced coma. Not that they try, but they’re both prone to self-sacrifice and rule-breaking, which makes for a deadly combination.
It’s nice to finally get a moment of piece though, away from the buzz of the nurses, the poking and prodding. When he does it, it doesn’t feel as… invasive.
“Fine,” she shrugs, but her threshold for pain is higher than the rest of the crew. Her threshold for impatience, however, is another story. “Can we go?”
"I said you're almost done," he scolds a bit, frowning. "Five more minutes, alright? Be real good and I might just reward you."
And really, he does mean five minutes. She'll thank him for it the next morning, when she doesn't wake up sore and aching all over. Once he is done, he sets the tools aside for sterilization. "Alright. Now we can go. Let me just update your chart and take care of your discharge."
She gives him a pout, nose wrinkling a little, shifting impatiently in her bed. Every moment that passes means she’s less sore, less aches, makes her buzz with the anticipation of getting the hell out of this med bay.
It feels like forever, and the moment he turns to sterilize the tools, she’s out of the bed, stretching and gathering her things.
“Paperwork later,” she pleads, taking hold of his hand.
"For God's sake, Sara," he huffs, the usual scowl on his face. "It's not that easy!"
But apparently he's the only one to think so, because just as he's about to resist her tugging, one of the nurses approaches and takes his PADD from his hands, helpfully informing him that she will see to the paperwork herself, and then all but kicking him out of sickbay. His sickbay.
"Some nerve, showin' that attitude to a superior officer," he grumbles, but now he follows Sara willingly. Despite his complaints, he does trust his officers to do the job properly, and he is pretty damn tired.
“Sure it is,” she says simply, grinning when the nurse takes over. She graciously thanks her for taking over all the paperwork, though Sara’s fairly sure it’s to the benefit of the staff just as much as it is to Leonard to have him turn in for a bit of rest.
“We can put in the form for identification of mutiny later,” she smirks, threading her fingers through his and tugging him down the hall. The aches and pains may be gone, but it hasn’t lifted the absolute exhaustion weighing her down. She guides him back towards his quarters, craning her neck to try and relieve some of the soreness in her shoulders.
"Maybe I should," he says, but it's easy to tell that he's joking. If nothing else, because of the small smile on his face. He squeezes her hand firmly, somehow the weight of exhaustion both heavier and lighter the closer they are to his quarters.
He opens the door and leads her inside, finally closing his eyes and sighing in relief once it slides shut and they're alone.
"Lights, 60%." He looks to Sara once the lights come on to a comfortable level. "You can go for a shower, if you want. We'll have dinner after."
Her smile does widen at that little hint of a smile on his lips, fingers threading through his as they make their way into his room.
The doors slide shut and there’s something that unravels in her, something comforting about being in the space, just the two of them. She turns to slip her arms around his hips, tugging him in closer.
“Mm. I just need to wash the river off me. Gimme ten minutes?”
He nods, giving her a small peck on the lips. "Take your time. There's no rush."
A shower will help her relax too, and he can take the time to change out of his uniform and into a comfortable pair of trousers and sweater. He digs his good bottle of bourbon out of his desk next, two glasses already poured by the time she steps out of the bathroom.
She tiptoes to return that kiss, lingering a moment before she squeezes his hand and disappears towards the bathroom. It doesn’t take her long, though she does stand under the heat of the water to let her muscles loosen for a while.
Eventually, she makes her way back to him in one of the sweaters he’d left to dry, the hem of it falling just to her thighs.
“Both of those for me?” she teases, craning her neck to kiss his cheek.
He shoots her a flat look, leaning down ever so slightly to make it easier for her to give him that kiss. Rather than answer, he just hands her one of the glasses, sipping from his own.
"Do you want dinner yet, or just sit for a while?" Leonard's tired but not too hungry yet, but she definitely needs to eat soon. Still, there's no need to rush, so it's up to her.
She smiles at the look her shoots her, nudging his nose with the tip of her own before claiming her glass. She takes a long swig, sighing as she feels the warmth of the liquid hum down to her core.
“I’m starving. But I want dessert first,” she decides, taking her glass to the replicator and coding in an order for peach cobbler and ice cream.
Leonard laughs when the first thing she gets from the replicator is actually dessert. He shakes his head, letting out a disapproving sound. "What are you, a kid? Really."
But she is no kid, she's an adult and he can't really stop her if she wants to start her dinner that way. As for Leonard, he gets a chicken stew from the replicator, taking it back to the small dining table in his quarters to join her. Just saying, his food does smell pretty great. "Well, enjoy your meal."
“No, I’m an adult. And adults get to do what they want.” She flashes him a grin, perking up when the replicator reveals her bowl of food. She takes it to the dining table, perching in her chair and plucking at a few crumbs while she waits for him.
And yes, her gaze does linger on the hearty meal he’s ordered for himself, the robust smell of meat and vegetables wafting to her side of the table.
“Wanna try?” she asks innocently, nudging her bowl towards him with a sweet smile.
He shoots her a flat look, so close to a lecture for a moment there. Instead, he just huffs in amusement and gives her a small smile.
"I can replicate my own dessert when I'm good and ready for it. Think I'll start by havin' this delicious meal first." He picks up some of the food with his fork, tasting it and letting out a pleased hum right after. "Oh, that is good."
The look she shoots him back is absolutely shameless, her foot nudging playfully at his under the table.
Still, she makes a show of wrinkling her nose at his food, taking a heaping spoonful of cobbler and ice cream and swallowing it down.
“Bet yours tastes like shit a la mode,” she counters lamely, curling her legs up underneath herself. Her muscles still ache, the exhaustion still tugging at her limbs, but at the very least the dessert-first tactic does provide some comfort. She hums contently, pointedly avoiding looking at his bowl of stew.
"Oh, really? Guess I'm never takin' you back to Georgia with me, then," he purses his lips, ever so casual. "You know, just in case you feel compelled to insult ma's cooking."
Not that replicator food is as good as his mother's, not even by a long shot, but it's not bad either. Considering they're in deep space, he would say they're pretty lucky for this level of quality.
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"Alright," he breathes out, beginning to work on her injuries. Any deeper damage has long been addressed, he just needs to close up wounds now. "Surgery went well, he just needs to sleep of the anesthesia. He'll be back to his chair before long."
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She lends him her arm so he can work on the scrapes there, splotchy and swollen from her underwater tumble.
"If he tries to tell you the river thing was my fault, just know he's full of shit," she mutters, glancing over him again. They're past the worst of it, but the stress still weighs heavy on his shoulders. Furrowed into his brow, set at his jaw. Not that that expression is all that foreign on his features.
"Dinner when you're done? I'm starving."
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"If you even think for a moment that Jim would ever try to pin the blame on you for whatever happened, then you really don't know your Captain," he retorts, with a faint trace of chastisement. She's just kidding, he knows, but still. Leonard of all people knows that Jim would sooner take the blame, if there was even any blame to assign.
He lets out a soft sigh, then nods. "Alright. Mess hall or my quarters?"
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She huffs a chuckle, because yes, she knows all that. But Leonard’s in business mode, and she’s learned that trying to distract him after a day like today won’t be met with much amusement. Not yet, anyway.
She offers her other arm, toying with the sleeve of his uniform cuffed at his wrist. “Yours. The replicator in your room makes a better peach cobbler.”
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"Think you may just be biased on that," he gives her a faint smile, checking his work before moving on to the next set of bruises. "But alright. You got it."
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She quirks a smile, tugging playfully at his sleeve. “Wine, too.” The injuries are the worst on her hands and arms, but her legs are smattered with bruises from her tumble against the river’s rocks. She rests back against the bed’s pillows as he works, letting her eyes sink closed a moment. “Rest of the crew’s okay?”
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There isn't too much damage, though, so the treatment is fairly quick to get through. Something he's glad for, because now that the prospect of a quiet dinner alone is in sight, he's very much looking forward to it. "They're alright, in no small part thanks to you. Most of them are back in their own quarters already."
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Just for good measure, she reaches out for a squeeze of his ass as he turns.
She’s glad, at least, that none of the crew were seriously injured. She and Jim are used to having the shit beat out of them in defense of their people. But she’s fairly sure it was a small miracle they hadn’t lost someone today.
“Good,” she says finally, letting out a breath. “That’s good.”
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"It is. And lucky, too," he agrees with a nod. He's quiet then as he tends to the rest of her injuries, some of them healing quickly and others taking a few more minutes to stitch up with the laser. "We're almost done. How's it feelin'?"
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It’s nice to finally get a moment of piece though, away from the buzz of the nurses, the poking and prodding. When he does it, it doesn’t feel as… invasive.
“Fine,” she shrugs, but her threshold for pain is higher than the rest of the crew. Her threshold for impatience, however, is another story. “Can we go?”
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And really, he does mean five minutes. She'll thank him for it the next morning, when she doesn't wake up sore and aching all over. Once he is done, he sets the tools aside for sterilization. "Alright. Now we can go. Let me just update your chart and take care of your discharge."
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It feels like forever, and the moment he turns to sterilize the tools, she’s out of the bed, stretching and gathering her things.
“Paperwork later,” she pleads, taking hold of his hand.
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But apparently he's the only one to think so, because just as he's about to resist her tugging, one of the nurses approaches and takes his PADD from his hands, helpfully informing him that she will see to the paperwork herself, and then all but kicking him out of sickbay. His sickbay.
"Some nerve, showin' that attitude to a superior officer," he grumbles, but now he follows Sara willingly. Despite his complaints, he does trust his officers to do the job properly, and he is pretty damn tired.
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“We can put in the form for identification of mutiny later,” she smirks, threading her fingers through his and tugging him down the hall. The aches and pains may be gone, but it hasn’t lifted the absolute exhaustion weighing her down. She guides him back towards his quarters, craning her neck to try and relieve some of the soreness in her shoulders.
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He opens the door and leads her inside, finally closing his eyes and sighing in relief once it slides shut and they're alone.
"Lights, 60%." He looks to Sara once the lights come on to a comfortable level. "You can go for a shower, if you want. We'll have dinner after."
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The doors slide shut and there’s something that unravels in her, something comforting about being in the space, just the two of them. She turns to slip her arms around his hips, tugging him in closer.
“Mm. I just need to wash the river off me. Gimme ten minutes?”
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A shower will help her relax too, and he can take the time to change out of his uniform and into a comfortable pair of trousers and sweater. He digs his good bottle of bourbon out of his desk next, two glasses already poured by the time she steps out of the bathroom.
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Eventually, she makes her way back to him in one of the sweaters he’d left to dry, the hem of it falling just to her thighs.
“Both of those for me?” she teases, craning her neck to kiss his cheek.
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"Do you want dinner yet, or just sit for a while?" Leonard's tired but not too hungry yet, but she definitely needs to eat soon. Still, there's no need to rush, so it's up to her.
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“I’m starving. But I want dessert first,” she decides, taking her glass to the replicator and coding in an order for peach cobbler and ice cream.
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But she is no kid, she's an adult and he can't really stop her if she wants to start her dinner that way. As for Leonard, he gets a chicken stew from the replicator, taking it back to the small dining table in his quarters to join her. Just saying, his food does smell pretty great. "Well, enjoy your meal."
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And yes, her gaze does linger on the hearty meal he’s ordered for himself, the robust smell of meat and vegetables wafting to her side of the table.
“Wanna try?” she asks innocently, nudging her bowl towards him with a sweet smile.
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"I can replicate my own dessert when I'm good and ready for it. Think I'll start by havin' this delicious meal first." He picks up some of the food with his fork, tasting it and letting out a pleased hum right after. "Oh, that is good."
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Still, she makes a show of wrinkling her nose at his food, taking a heaping spoonful of cobbler and ice cream and swallowing it down.
“Bet yours tastes like shit a la mode,” she counters lamely, curling her legs up underneath herself. Her muscles still ache, the exhaustion still tugging at her limbs, but at the very least the dessert-first tactic does provide some comfort. She hums contently, pointedly avoiding looking at his bowl of stew.
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Not that replicator food is as good as his mother's, not even by a long shot, but it's not bad either. Considering they're in deep space, he would say they're pretty lucky for this level of quality.
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