Entry tags:
Star Trek XI, "Feed a Cold," pre-George/Winona/Pike, h/c comment ficlet
Title: "Feed a Cold"
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: pre-OT3 George/Winona/Pike
Rating: G
Summary: George brings company home for dinner. Winona takes pity.
Note: Tiny comment ficlet written very quickly for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
possibly_thrice because she was sick. Feel better soon, bb!
"George? You're home early --" Winona stuck her head into the front hall. "And what do we have here?"
It wasn't hard to guess who George was mostly-carrying in, despite his identity being obscured by George's oversized hooded coat, which he was swaddled in.
"About a hundred and fifty pounds of half-alive TA -- and what I'm sure is a fascinating specimen of a live flu virus colony. Poor kid showed up after class to help with grading. I hope you don't mind, I just felt like a heel leaving him in a dorm room."
Winona pulled the hood off of Chris's head and placed a hand on his forehead. His eyes were red around the edges, and his face was shiny with sweat. "You're burning up. George, why didn't you take him to the hospital?"
"I went," Chris, well... croaked. "They gave me a hypo, but they said it takes a couple days to work."
"Great," Winona muttered. "Okay, let's get you lying down. You like soup?"
"Soup sounds good." Chris's voice wasn't more than a hoarse whisper, but she got the general idea.
"George? Replicate us some chicken noodle soup, okay? The code for Grandma Kirk's recipe is 1-1-9-7-4-2. I'm going to find some blankets."
Winona went digging through the hall closet. She wasn't the type to drape a lot of blankets and cushions over all the furniture, but she knew there were some in there. George's family were always sending afghans and things for the holidays. Sure enough, there were three at the back of the closet, behind a box full of scuffed-up old boots that would be perfectly good if anyone had ever had the time to clean them up.
When she got back to the living room, George had gotten his coat, as well as a severely rumpled cadet jacket, off of Chris, and helped him lie down on the couch. She tossed the blankets over him and sat down as best she could, perching on the edge of the seat.
"Now, Chris. Did the doctor say if you aren't allowed to drink while the hypo's taking effect?"
"Nnnn... no, don't think so." Chris pulled the blankets up around him, and sneezed."
"Great. George?"
"Yes, honey?"
"When you're done with the soup, why don't you replicate us three hot rum toddies? I'm going to put that movie you boys like on the holo. Top Gun?"
"Mrs. Kirk?"
"Shut up, Chris. You need to rest your throat.
Chris whispered. "I think I love you, Mrs. Kirk."
"Shut up, Chris," George yelled from the kitchen.
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: pre-OT3 George/Winona/Pike
Rating: G
Summary: George brings company home for dinner. Winona takes pity.
Note: Tiny comment ficlet written very quickly for
possibly_thrice because she was sick. Feel better soon, bb!"George? You're home early --" Winona stuck her head into the front hall. "And what do we have here?"
It wasn't hard to guess who George was mostly-carrying in, despite his identity being obscured by George's oversized hooded coat, which he was swaddled in.
"About a hundred and fifty pounds of half-alive TA -- and what I'm sure is a fascinating specimen of a live flu virus colony. Poor kid showed up after class to help with grading. I hope you don't mind, I just felt like a heel leaving him in a dorm room."
Winona pulled the hood off of Chris's head and placed a hand on his forehead. His eyes were red around the edges, and his face was shiny with sweat. "You're burning up. George, why didn't you take him to the hospital?"
"I went," Chris, well... croaked. "They gave me a hypo, but they said it takes a couple days to work."
"Great," Winona muttered. "Okay, let's get you lying down. You like soup?"
"Soup sounds good." Chris's voice wasn't more than a hoarse whisper, but she got the general idea.
"George? Replicate us some chicken noodle soup, okay? The code for Grandma Kirk's recipe is 1-1-9-7-4-2. I'm going to find some blankets."
Winona went digging through the hall closet. She wasn't the type to drape a lot of blankets and cushions over all the furniture, but she knew there were some in there. George's family were always sending afghans and things for the holidays. Sure enough, there were three at the back of the closet, behind a box full of scuffed-up old boots that would be perfectly good if anyone had ever had the time to clean them up.
When she got back to the living room, George had gotten his coat, as well as a severely rumpled cadet jacket, off of Chris, and helped him lie down on the couch. She tossed the blankets over him and sat down as best she could, perching on the edge of the seat.
"Now, Chris. Did the doctor say if you aren't allowed to drink while the hypo's taking effect?"
"Nnnn... no, don't think so." Chris pulled the blankets up around him, and sneezed."
"Great. George?"
"Yes, honey?"
"When you're done with the soup, why don't you replicate us three hot rum toddies? I'm going to put that movie you boys like on the holo. Top Gun?"
"Mrs. Kirk?"
"Shut up, Chris. You need to rest your throat.
Chris whispered. "I think I love you, Mrs. Kirk."
"Shut up, Chris," George yelled from the kitchen.
no subject
*goes searching for more gems like this*
no subject
This was such a half-assed little drabble, but I hope it made bb thrice feel a little better.