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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-04
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879
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1/1
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Aftermath

Summary:

Status: Complete
Archive: WWOMB only
Spoilers: Possibly for Ice Station though it was written prior to airing
Rating: PG
Pairing: Slush for Stephen and Frank
Disclaimer: I don't own them and I wouldn't know what to do if I did, so there! I'm making no money off this venture, trust me.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Aftermath
by Mystie
MoonMyst0765@aol.com

 

Dr. Stephen Connor wearily scrubbed his hands over his face. His team had found the culprit behind the dementia along with a way to fight it. The surviving patients were all showing signs of improvement. The worst of the crisis was past so why didn't he feel better about it?

The answer lay unconscious on the cot next to his chair. That Frank Powell had succumbed to this illness still shook Connor. They had come dangerously close to losing the toxicologist. Closer than he was comfortable admitting even to himself.

"How's he doing?" Dr. Natalie Durant's quiet voice broke the silence.

Stephen turned, giving her a wan smile.

"About the same. I'd feel a lot better if he woke up, Natalie." Reaching out, he checked the IV drip that contained the cure.

Walking around the cot's other side, Natalie checked their friend's vitals, then noted them on his chart.

"He was one of the last to be infected, and he isn't the only one who hasn't woken up. Give him a little more time," she counseled. Looking at Connor more closely, she frowned. "You should take it easy, Stephen. You're pushing yourself too hard; you're going to end up collapsing soon if you don't take a break."

"I'm fine." His tone brooked no argument.

"Suit yourself." Hanging the chart on a hook near the head of the cot, she stuck her hands in her pocket and studied Frank once more. Reaching out, she lightly stroked a hand over his forehead.

A soft but insistent beeping broke the silence and she pulled out her pager. Reading the display, she sighed. "I'd better go check this out."

Connor nodded, barely noticing when she left the room. Moving his chair closer to the bedside he reached out, taking Frank's lax hand in his.

"Nat says you're going to be fine and I want to believe her, Frank. I do. But dammit, I'd feel a whole lot better if you'd just open your eyes." He waited for a response, his heart sinking when none came. "Come on, man, I know you can hear me."

Stephen had no idea how long he continued talking to the unconscious man. In an odd sort of way the conversation made him feel like he was at least doing something useful towards his friend's recovery.

Exhaustion finally swamped him, pulling him into slumber.

@~@~@~@~@~@~

Frank woke feeling like a bomb had exploded in his skull. He couldn't remember the last time he had a headache like this. With a groan he tried to move his hand to rub at his temple, frustrated to find it was restrained.

Frowning, he looked closer. Not just restrained. He had an IV in his hand. What the--?

After a moment the memories came rushing back. The Arctic research station, its staff suffering from dementia. His terror upon realizing he was showing the same symptoms and the echoing fear in Stephen's eyes.

Stephen.

Turning his head a bit further to the left Frank grinned weakly. Somehow his friend had managed to fall asleep in the hard plastic chair next to his bedside. Head bowed forward, Connor exhaled soft gusts that could not quite be called snores.

Frank found himself torn. On the one hand he knew Connor needed the rest. But damn, it could not be good for him to be sleeping in that chair. There were other cots around, after all. Finally he made a decision.

"C." His voice came out as a bare whisper and he cleared his throat before trying again. "Stephen."

Belatedly realizing that Connor had hold of his hand, he tried squeezing it though if his grip were like his voice he knew the other man wouldn't notice.

Apparently the combination sparked something and Conner returned to consciousness with a jerk of surprise. Looking around to orient himself, he noticed Frank's eyes were open and staring at him.

Leaning forward, he whispered, "Frank? You awake?"

"Yeah," the other man rasped.

Not letting go of the hand he still held, Connor asked, "How do you feel?"

That got him a weak chuckle. "Like shit . . . beats . . . alternative." He didn't have energy to say more but he knew he didn't need to. He saw the understanding in the shockingly blue eyes.

"Yeah, it sure does." Stephen grinned back at him, his eyes suddenly moist. "You, uh, came closer than I care to admit, old friend."

Powell nodded, knowing that truth for himself. "Wouldn't do that . . . you need. . ."

"More than you can guess," the doctor admitted, blinking rapidly. Normally uncomfortable with such open discussion, he ignored his discomfort for the sake of his friend.

He could see Frank's small store of energy had already been depleted. Gently squeezing the hand he still held, he ordered, "Get some more rest, okay?"

Connor was about to release Frank's hand when the other man returned the grip. Looking up, he saw Powell mouth the word 'stay'. There was an _expression in the dark eyes that he could not quite identify.

Stephen nodded, only too happy to comply. Pulling the chair as close as possible, he left his hand in his friend's grip and watched as the other man slipped into a healing sleep.

 

The end
....or knowing me... the beginning!

Notes:

This orphaned work was originally on Pejas WWOMB posted by author Mystie.
If this work is yours and you would like to reclaim ownership, you can click on the Technical Support and Feedback link at the bottom fo the page.