Captain Gar’rath sat next to the bed that Lieutenant Commander Sorreth was sitting upright in, their first real meeting since the Gorn had ordered the injured to be transported off the USS Century. The Vulcan looked pale, a sign that he was still recuperating even if his face remained the picture of cold indifference.

“I was informed of the victory of our forces in the last confrontation,” Sorreth remarked from his reclined position, “It is regrettable that my injuries prevented my participation.”

“Your deputy handled herself well,” Gar’rath offered in response, “I can understand why you appointed her to the position despite her short service record.”

“It was a logical decision,” the Vulcan quipped, “One that has proven to be correct.”

The Gorn let out a small chuckle, “I find it strange that your people… any people actually, could put so much faith in something as cold as logic.”

“I have heard this sentiment from many different cultures,” Sorreth admitted, “But I have never taken much notice of it before. As I reflect on what we have experienced in the last few weeks, I find myself asking similar questions.”

“As have I,” Gar’rath echoed the unspoken statement that underpinned the emotionally sterile comment.

“It occurred to me that I should follow this line of thinking to the logical conclusions that presented themselves. However, upon doing so, I find that I do not have the luxury of choice. The medical staff here have informed me that my recovery will stretch well beyond any reasonable timeline for the Century’s repair and redeployment. Given this, it would seem that the only option available to me is to be reassigned elsewhere in the Fleet upon my clearance for duty. It is… regrettable…” the Vulcan said after struggling to find an appropriately sterile word to use.

“I had suspected as much,” Gar’rath sighed heavily, “No one who survived that explosion came through it unharmed.” The Gorn massaged his left shoulder as if to highlight the point, “I’ll probably never be able to escape the stiffness in my arm, or the ache that comes and goes with no real explanation.”

“I had not anticipated that even you would have lingering physical difficulties,” Sorreth seemed genuinely confused by the Captain’s admission.

“Until yesterday, I hadn’t given myself the chance to notice it. It wasn’t until after we’d finally made it back that it all came at me at once… and it is an adversary that even I cannot defeat with brute strength alone,” the Gorn remarked with somber chortle.

Sorreth closed his eyes for a brief moment before remarking, “I see…”

“Like you, I have some decisions to make about my own future,” Gar’rath informed the Vulcan, “And while I am not tethered to logic as my sole guidepost, it will no doubt play a hand in what I choose to do.”

“Indeed,” Sorreth nodded in understanding before asking, “Have you been given an update on Commander Peters? I have made several inquiries as to her condition, but have yet to receive more than a cursory acknowledgement.”

“That is my next stop,” the Gorn answered, “They have not given me details, but I have been allowed to pay her a visit. I will send word to you afterward, if you’d like.”

“Please do, Captain,” came the curt response.

“Very well,” Gar’rath said as he pushed himself out of the chair he’d been occupying, moving to stand by the bed. He stretched out his massive hand toward the Vulcan, who gave him an appraising look before making a move to take the large creature’s hand. Gar’rath reached past the Sorreth’s hand and gently gripped his forearm, the Vulcan mirroring the gesture only a heartbeat later.

“Rest well, Commander. May we someday stand together on the field of battle once more,” the Gorn intoned with a firm edge to his voice.

“Live long and prosper, Captain,” Sorreth returned. They held each other’s arms for a few beats more before Gar’rath let the Vulcan go and made his way slowly toward the door.

The walk from Sorreth’s recovery room to the intensive care ward slipped by silently, his stride steady but reluctant. Images of Abigail’s departure from the Century were still vivid in his mind; her helpless posture, her dependence on medical technology to even continue to exist was not something he could easily push aside. Worse yet, the medical team assigned to her care had been unnervingly secretive about her condition. It allowed for the mind to wander to the most dire of scenarios with uncomfortable ease.

When he finally stood at the entrance to Commander Peters’ room, the pit in his stomach was so intense that he struggled to will his clawed finger to tap the door control. A part of him didn’t want to know what awaited him on the other side, not knowing suddenly felt less burdensome for some reason. But even with all those emotions swirling inside of him, the duty he felt for not just Abby but his entire crew, finally forced his muscles to flex and his claw to clack purposefully against the control.

The hiss of the door preceded the visual flood that assailed his eyes. He took in the equipment surrounding the woman, the tight feel of the space, and finally, Abigail Peters herself. She still looked serene but lifeless, fragile and picturesque but hauntingly devoid of consciousness. Gar’rath found himself approaching her bedside before he even realized his body was moving, his predatory eyes flickering over her as if to assess any changes that might tell him something that the physicians had tried to hide from him.

Motion caught his attention immediately, so small that most mammals wouldn’t have even registered it. His head snapped over toward Abby’s face, her eyelids quivering as if struggling to recall how they moved. Gar’rath leaned closer, his gaze glued to the spasmatic movements he was seeing.

Abigail’s soft green eyes gradually came into view as her eyelids haltingly opened. Her gaze was unfocused and languid, as if she had only just emerged from a nap that had gone awry. When she finally began to let her gaze drift around the room she found herself in, the reptilian face staring at her with intensity forced her brain to work after so long being dormant.

“I know you…” Abby breathed with so little strength that her voice was almost lost.

A rumble of relief escaped the Gorn as he watched Peters’ eyes gain just a little more focus as she looked at him. Despite everything she had suffered, she was still there… even if only a fragment just now. The twitching of her fingers on her left hand pulled Gar’rath’s focus, the movement looked deliberate but the purpose for it wasn’t immediately obvious. He puzzled over it for a few moments before he concluded that she was reaching for something. Then his eyes drifted back to her face and it dawned on him that she wasn’t just reaching for ‘something’, she was trying to reach for him.

The Gorn scooped the woman’s hand in his with all the tenderness his reptilian frame could muster. The instant his cool scales engulfed her equally chilled hand, relief settled on Abby’s face.

“Not… dreaming…” she whispered, her inflection hinting at profound relief.

“You are not dreaming,” Gar’rath assured her, “I am here.”

“…kay…” Abby exhaled before her eyes drifted back downward.

Several hours later, Gar’rath sat across from Lieutenant Commander Reli Odaim in one of the small lounges that dotted the shipyard control station. He had been ushered out of Peters’ recovery suite as they tended to the now conscious patient in their care, prompting him to reach out to one of the other parties from the Century with a vested interest in her condition.

“She finally woke up,” Gar’rath explained after the two had exchanged social pleasantries for a brief moment, “I was there when it happened… It was… surreal…”

Reli gave the Gorn a small smile, “I can imagine. I’ve had a couple patients with similar conditions during my time as a physician, so I understand how surreal it can feel to see them wake up after being subjected to such overwhelming trauma.”

“Her hand was so… small,” Gar’rath rumbled, his eyes drifting to his clawed hand as he flexed it open and closed a few times.

“I’m going to assume you’re speaking metaphorically rather than literally,” the Betazoid couldn’t help but smirk at the statement.

The Gorn looked up from his hand, “Yes, but not just that. While being overly physical was not a hallmark of our working relationship, there had been a few occasions over the last year that I had taken her hand in some symbolic gesture or another. But she didn’t feel so… fragile…”

“Yeah…” Odaim said with a somber sigh, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Abby in such a state as to be called fragile before. Not even after sitting through her worst break-up did she come off that way. A little frantic, maybe… But never fragile.”

“Are you going to go see her?” the Captain asked, his voice softer than usual.

Reli looked away as she gathered her thoughts, “I want to… but I also don’t… As a physician, I know that having familiar faces around her will improve her recovery, even if only as a placebo. But I… I haven’t sorted out my own feelings about it yet. Abby and I have known each other for a long time… we’ve seen the best and worst in each other. But this…”

“It is different,” Gar’rath finished the sentence she didn’t have the heart to finish.

Odaim nodded bitterly, “I don’t think I could stay objective… Feelings are important but there’s a point where they become dangerous… and I’m afraid I won’t see that line until it’s already too late. Maybe I’ll… try to visit when she’s doing a little better… when it won’t feel so… hopeless…”

The Gorn’s head slowly bobbed in understanding, “We all must face the reality of what has happened in our own way.”

Reli’s lips tugged upward, “I never thought I’d hear something like that from you…”

“Nor did I think it would occur to me. Today is a day full of surprises,” Gar’rath said, an impish lilt in his voice.