Chapter Text
Chris glances up at the chronometer, checking the time to find it's about two minutes later than the last time he looked. Just over an hour to go.
Ash is telling a story, something about an aggrieved Tellarite. Chris usually enjoys his stories, but right now he can't seem to keep his attention from wandering, the words washing over him without making an impression. He rubs absently at the scars on his hands, forcing himself not to re-check the time.
"Chris?"
He startles at the sound of his name, looking up to see Ash staring at him with an expression somewhere between amusement and concern. "I'm getting the feeling that my Tellarite drinking contest story isn't gripping you."
"Sorry," Chris tells him.
Ash shrugs. "It's okay." He studies Chris for a moment, expression softening. "Thinking about the operation?"
Chris nods, rubbing at his scars again. He knows it has to happen – he can't wear this life-support device forever, and getting his heart fixed will be one more big step towards having a normal life. But no surgery is without risk, and that's the part that has his stomach tied in knots. After Boreth he got used to throwing himself into dangerous situations, knowing that, whatever happened, he had to live long enough for his vision to come true. But his future isn't set in stone anymore. If something goes wrong this time, he could actually die, and the prospect is terrifying. Especially now he has something – someone – to live for.
He expects Ash to offer some platitude like 'It'll be fine' or 'You don't need to worry', but instead he just moves to sit next to Chris, pressing their shoulders together. Chris leans against him gratefully, drawing what comfort he can from the touch.
It's selfish, he knows. Their relationship is still new, fragile, but moments like this will only make it worse for Ash if something happens to him. After all, there's a reason he spent most of the last ten years pushing people away.
"Gupta's an excellent surgeon," Ash tells him, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. "I was hit by shrapnel in an explosion a couple years back. Tore up my leg pretty good, but she fixed it. Barely even left a scar."
Ash never told him about that. Part of Chris wants to ask for the full story, but his mind is still going in circles and he isn't sure he'd be able to concentrate long enough to hear it. Later, he tells himself.
Assuming there is a later.
"If something happens..." he begins slowly. His speech is halting, the words not as clear as he'd like, but this feels like the kind of thing that should be said aloud. "Don't blame her. Or yourself. You saved me."
Ash grips his hand a little tighter. "Nothing's going to happen," he says, firmly enough that Chris can almost believe him. "But I appreciate the thought."
He presses a kiss to Chris's temple and adds, "Do you want to watch a vid or something? Maybe it'll take your mind off it."
Chris mostly just wants to rest – he didn't sleep well last night, unable to get his brain to shut up long enough, and it's left him tired and achy. But that doesn't really seem like an option right now, so instead he lets his head fall against Ash's shoulder and mumbles, "Sure."
He doesn't pay much attention to whatever Ash chooses, closing his eyes and letting the sounds flow over him. He finds himself drifting, too anxious to sleep but too tired to do much else, until Ash nudges him gently and tells him it's time.
"I'll see you when you wake up," Ash promises before Gupta shoos him away. Chris can only hope that he's right.
Starfleet isn't exactly a low-risk profession, especially in his case, so this isn't his first time being anaesthetised. Gupta injects him with something and tells him to count back from ten, and he doesn't make it to seven before he's out.
* * *
Chris comes to slowly, blinking as the greyness above him resolves into the familiar sickbay ceiling. He's as drowsy and nauseous as he usually is after anaesthesia, but he's alive.
(Well, either that or all those sermons in his childhood were seriously off base in their description of the afterlife.)
Fingers slip into his and he turns his head to see Ash standing next to the bed. He's smiling, which Chris takes as a good sign. "How're you feeling?" he asks.
"Mrrf," Chris mumbles, rubbing his free hand over his eyes. His chest hurts, and talking of any kind seems like far too much of an effort.
"Yeah, that's about what I'd expect," Gupta puts in, and he lowers his hand to look at her. "That was a fairly serious surgery you just went through, so don't be surprised if it takes you a while to recover. The good news is everything went well, and all of the damage has been repaired." She smiles and adds, "Your heart's beating on its own now."
Chris blinks at her, then glances down at his chest. The machinery that has been his constant companion for so long is gone, replaced with bandages. Slowly he raises his hand and places it over the bandages, on the left side of his chest. It takes a few seconds, but then he finds it. His heartbeat.
"There were a few areas where I had to replace your own tissue with bionics, but I don't think you'll argue with the results."
Chris shakes his head, blinking back moisture. He can feel his heart beating. Such a small thing, something he used to take for granted, and yet. On impulse, he takes Ash's hand and holds it to his chest, wanting him to feel it too.
Ash's expression goes soft, affectionate. "It's strong," he says. "Like you."
Chris rolls his eyes at the line, but he can't keep himself from smiling. He feels a little like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders – it's over, and he survived, and now he can get on with the process of living.
He's still very tired, but he curls his fingers around Ash's and manages a single word. "Stay?"
"Of course," Ash says.