New Fic: Recheck

[jackwabbit]

Recheck

Fandom: Star Trek Discovery
Rated: G
Category: Vignette. Angst, Culmets.
Word Count: 1049
Season: Post-Two, Pre-Three.
Spoilers: General Series Knowledge Only.
Summary: Rechecks are sometimes called “medical progress exams,” and they’re necessary to evaluate healing and progress. This is still the case in the twenty-third century. Paul passes his with flying colors.
Note: This is the first in a series of fics revolving around Hugh and Paul post-season-two, and I think that’s all that needs said. All will be explained in time, which is not likely to be linear. You have been warned. All other warnings and such in each chapter.

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Paul Stamets was a man on a mission.

He practically burst through the doors to sickbay, then hustled over to the nearest biobed.

“I’m here!” he announced, hopping up on the edge.

When no one reacted to his words, he glanced around the room. It was conspicuously empty.

“Hello?” he called.

A moment later, Hugh Culber’s head popped out of the doorway to his office

“Paul?” he asked, clearly surprised by the other man’s presence.

“Hugh? What are you doing here?”

Culber gave Stamets a look. “I work here.”

“Well, yes, obviously,” stammered Paul. “I just… I was supposed to see Dr. Pollard, and…”

Hugh blinked, taken slightly aback. Now it was his turn to babble. “Oh. I’m sorry. I traded shifts with her today. I didn’t think she had any appointments this morning. It’s been quiet, and…”

“It’s OK,” Paul interrupted. “I’ll come back.”

He moved to hop off the biobed, but Hugh was suddenly right in front of him.

“No, it’s alright. What’s going on?”

Paul wouldn’t meet Hugh’s eyes.

“It’s nothing. I’ll come back.”

Hugh hesitated only a moment before laying a hand on Paul’s shoulder.

“What is it?”

Paul pulled slightly away from Hugh’s touch, and Hugh removed his hand. He swallowed thickly. He didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like it one bit.

“Paul, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“I told you, it’s nothing. I can come back. See Dr. Pollard.”

“I don’t understand.”

Paul sighed. “It’s just… I thought they’d ordered you off my case.”

“They did.”

“So…”

“So what?”

Paul gestured vaguely between their bodies.

“So, you’re not supposed to treat me. I’ll come back.”

“Oh! Is that what you’re worried about?”

Paul shrugged.

Hugh waved his concern away.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“I’ll claim it was a medical necessity.”

“It’s a recheck, Hugh.”

“Of my work. So how does it feel, anyway?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Fine,” said Paul, sighing as only he could. He scrubbed a hand lightly over his chest. “It’s a bit itchy.”

Hugh’s brow furrowed and he grabbed a tricorder. “Really?” he asked, running the device over Paul’s left shoulder and chest areas. “It reads fine.”

Hugh continued to scan for a while, then he started to poke and prod at Paul with his free hand.

“I’m not seeing anything that should be bothering you,” he murmured, so engrossed in his exam that he missed the smirk that was blossoming on Paul’s face.

He unconsciously leaned in to get a better look, poked once more at Paul’s pectoral muscles, then looked up at him.

“Where exactly does it bother you?” he asked, very seriously.

But when he saw Paul’s expression, he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“It’s fine, isn’t it?”

Paul snorted a stifled laugh.

“You should’ve seen your face.”

Hugh glared at Paul.

“Not funny,” he murmured, words not sounding nearly as angry as his expression let on.

“I totally had you,” said Paul, still chuckling.

Hugh continued to glare for as long as he could, but seeing Paul happy weakened his resolve.

After a moment, he couldn’t fight a grin.

“Alright, you got me,” he admitted. “I’m just glad you’re OK.”

He lowered his head and caught Paul’s eyes with his own as he spoke, and for a long moment, their gazes held. Then Paul blinked and his eyes skittered away, focusing on a point above Hugh’s shoulder by the door.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled.

Hugh let out a barely audible sigh and turned to set the tricorder on the equipment cart.

“Yeah,” he groused, “You’re fit as a fiddle. Or at least a joker.”

Paul’s snort was nearly as quiet as Hugh’s sigh. Then, voice still carrying a hint of mirth, Paul spoke to Hugh’s back as he rearranged instruments on the cart.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

“It’s fine. I really do think it’s a good sign,” Hugh said with a resigned shrug. “I pronounce you back to your usual, sarcastic self.”

Paul snorted again, but this time, when he spoke, his voice was serious, and he laid a hand on Hugh’s shoulder to emphasize his point.

“I really am fine. Thanks to you.”

Hugh froze, feeling heat both in his face at the compliment and in his chest at the touch. Paul had been distant since recovering from his wounds. He’d largely avoided Hugh, for reasons having nothing to do with Hugh being transferred off his case for being too emotionally involved with the patient. His reaction to Hugh’s touch earlier proved things were still nowhere near normal. In retrospect, Hugh should have expected Paul’s uncertainty, but it had still made for a very long week. So he wasn’t sure what to make of Paul reaching out to him now. He didn’t have to wait long to get an idea, though.

“Let me make it up to you,” said Paul.

Hugh looked back over his shoulder and his brow furrowed in confusion, but he didn’t say anything, so Paul continued.

“Dinner? My quarters? Say, nineteen hundred?”

Hugh heard the tremulous note in Paul’s voice. He also realized that Paul had waited until he could avoid eye contact before asking. And he noted the use of the word ‘my.’

Everything about that hurt.

But the question had still been asked. That was huge.

And frankly, Hugh knew only one way to deal with hurt.

He was a healer, after all.

So he turned around, unable to restrain a smile, and answered truthfully.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Paul blinked silently, and Hugh remembered that sometimes nuance was lost on his favorite scientist.

His grin grew wider.

“Yes,” he clarified. “I’d love to.”

Paul smiled back, if a bit shakily. Then he nodded as if congratulating himself, hopped off the biobed, and left sickbay without another word.

Hugh shook his head slightly and rolled his eyes. Then he chuckled as he walked back to his office to work on his reports for the day. He knew what he’d put in this one, that was for sure.

Because Paul Stamets was indeed back to his usual self. Or at least getting there.

And Hugh Culber loved every bit of it.