Chapter Text
The blushes. The new, testy personality. The constant interruptions. The occasional bids for company. All of it made sense now, but Worf didn’t have the chance to work it through. He was still struggling to accept the fact that Riker might have feelings for him — for Deanna — for both of them — when Riker went on an away mission.
He came back, bloodied and unconscious, beamed straight to sickbay.
“I knew it,” Deanna said, blinking back tears. “I felt it, Worf. I told you! I felt his pain!”
Worf shifted uneasily. They were stationed outside sickbay, waiting for Dr. Crusher to give them the go-ahead. It had been over an hour since Commander Riker returned, but they’d only heard bits and pieces from the away team. There had been a swarm of Romulan commandos — a sneak attack — a primitive, rusty blade wedged between Riker’s ribs — a gruesome, near-deadly battle with cudgels and swords—
Worf groaned. Deanna patted his arm.
“He has all the fun,” Worf said.
“I know,” Deanna said. She wiped the moisture from her eyes. “I think he’s almost ready. He regained consciousness ten minutes ago. And his pain is fading now. Maybe—”
The sickbay doors hissed open. Dr. Crusher leaned out, eyeing Worf and Deanna where they stood comforting each other.
“Visitors for Commander Riker?” she said a little dryly.
Worf and Deanna looked to each other. They each gave Beverly a nod.
“Well, come on in. Try to stay quiet, though. He took a nasty blow to the ear and we’re still trying to repair it.”
Worf, who had been charging forward at his normal warrior-like pace, slowed to a hunter’s crawl. He padded silently to Riker’s bed, where his uniform had been stripped away and his bruised chest swathed in bandages. Riker turned his head wearily and cracked open a black eye.
“Easy,” he said when he caught sight of Worf. “It’s not very honorable to kill a man when he’s already beat to hell.”
Worf bristled. “I am not here to kill you,” he said with great dignity. “I have elected to forget your tasteless remarks.”
“Oh?” Riker’s face softened a little — at least, the unbruised, unswollen portions of it did. “That’s good to hear.” His eyes flicked over Worf’s shoulder. Slowly, Deanna circled the bed to sit on the other side. “You both came to visit me?”
“To keep you company, yes,” Deanna said smoothly, as if she hadn’t been crying a moment ago. “And to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m alright,” Riker mumbled. “Beverly hasn’t killed me yet. I don’t know how long I can stay awake, though.”
Clearly, the painkillers were hard at work. His eyes slid closed even as he spoke to them, lips barely moving. Worf settled in on the other side and surveyed Riker’s bruises and bandaged wounds while Deanna took his hand.
“How are you feeling?” Deanna asked.
Eyes still closed, Riker managed a half-smile.
“You fought honorably,” Worf cut in. “I understand it is against Human custom. But I must urge you to keep these battle scars. They are … most appealing.”
Riker snorted out a laugh. He barely seemed to hear.
“Can we stay?” Deanna asked softly.
“Of course you can stay.”
“Both of us?”
Worf waited anxiously for an answer. A line appeared between Riker’s eyebrows.
“Of course,” he said. “Why wouldn’t—”
Worf struck fast, allowing his opponent no chance for defense. With all his years of battle-hardened instincts, he lunged forward and conquered the battlefield.
He took Riker’s hand. Gently. And Riker finally opened his eyes, his lips parting. He stared at Worf in surprise. Deanna on his left, Worf on his right, both twisting their fingers through his… The surprise melted into an easy, delighted smile, one that made Worf’s heart lurch. Slowly, Riker raised Worf’s hand and brushed his lips against Worf’s knuckles.
“Don’t push it,” Worf said.