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set-phasers-to-whump · 5 years

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whumptober day 11

prompt: stitches

whumpee: will riker (yet another one that like nobody else whumps sorry)

im so sorry this was late i was super busy yesterday and couldnt post it, also i will be posting today’s and tomorrow’s prompts both tomorrow and then i’ll be back on schedule i know nobody really cares but sorry anyway,,,this might be a lil wonky cos i didn’t edit it much

Data sat curled up in a chair in his quarters, carefully working on a needlepointed Enterprise. He had taken up the craft fairly recently, and frequently gifted his fellow Starfleet officers with various designs. They seemed to enjoy them, for the most part, so he devoted quite a bit of his free time to making them. Today’s was going to be a gift for the Captain.

He checked the time-he was due on shift in 7 minutes, 32.4 seconds. He tied off his most recent stitch and removed his thread from the needle, setting the thread onto a side table. He withdrew from his pocket a small case, into which he placed his needle. The case had been a gift from Geordi, who had been none too fond of the small bowl of needles which used to occupy the side table. Data slipped the case back into his pocket and headed to the bridge.

He arrived a few minutes early, but so had Lieutenant Worf, and the two had a conversation about the day’s activities as they waited for their shift to begin. Today, Commander Riker and an away team (which would doubtless include at least one of them) were beaming down to a previously-unvisited Class M planet. Although there had been no signs of life down on its surface, Starfleet headquarters had been curious, and had instructed the closest ship-the Enterprise-to stop by and take a few soil samples and such.

Despite the fact that there was nothing alive on the planet, Data still thought the mission to the surface would be interesting-you never knew what you were going to discover on a planet until you actually went down and investigated. There could be all sorts of fascinating things down there.

About two hours into the shift, the planet came into view. Within moments the Enterprise was in orbit, and Commander Riker was calling out the names of his away team-Worf, Data, a young ensign named Brown, who specialised in geology, and a lieutenant named Hardy, who specialised in meteorology.

The five of them beamed down to the planet. Its surface was desert-like, with rather large, coarse grains of sand and various spiked rock formations, ranging in size from perhaps two feet to vast mountains in the distance.

Everyone set to their jobs, analysing with tricorders, collecting samples, taking photos.

Ensign Brown examined one of the rock formations. “Looks like this area gets hit with sandstorms pretty frequently,” they said.

“More than that, this seems to be an area where they form,” added Lieutenant Hardy.

“There does not appear to be anything remarkable about this planet, Commander,” said Worf. “The sand and rocks are very similar in composition to those of Vulcan.”

“Agreed,” said Commander Riker, tapping his combadge to inform the Enterprise of this information.

“Riker to Picard.”

Silence.

“Riker to Picard. Can you hear me?”

Still more silence.

“Commander,” said Lieutenant Hardy.

“Yes?”

“We may have a problem.”

“What?”

She gestured behind the group. Clouds were forming around 200 meters away.

“Please don’t tell me that’s-”

“It’s a dust storm, sir.”

As she spoke, the wind whipped up around them, sending sand flying around their feet.

“It is coming this way,” Data observed. “At approximately 50 kilometers per hour. It should reach us in 14.4 seconds.”

“It’s interfering with our signal!” Hardy yelled, over the wind. “We have to find shelter! Now!”

Worf pointed to a tall rock formation not far from the group. “I believe there is a small cave within those rocks.”

At this, the five sprinted for the rocks, the wind rushing in their ears. They were nearly there when the storm overtook them. Brown, Hardy, and Worf managed to fling themselves into the cave. Data grabbed the edge of it with one hand, his other just barely holding on to Riker. He tried to pull the commander towards him, but the wind pulled him back.

Their hands suddenly slipped apart. Both of them shouted, “No!,” but it was too late. The storm pulled Riker back, his hands scrabbling at the ground, looking for something to hold on to.

Just before the sandstorm swallowed him up, he managed to grab hold of one of the smaller rock formations, not even noticing its sharp edges digging into his hands. Sand and rock flew around him, his body was lifted into the air, tethered only by his desperate grip on the rock.

Data immediately ran out after the commander-he was an android, after all, and far more resilient than a human. He struggled through the storm, ignoring his teammates, who were yelling for him to come back.

The storm sat still for a moment, and Data could suddenly see Commander Riker quite clearly, holding onto a rock for dear life. He raced to him and this time, got a firm hold of his hand, and pulled him away, sprinting back to the cave at superhuman speed, nearly dragging the commander behind him.

Data flung the pair down into the cave as the sandstorm began moving again. Sand whipped into the cave’s entrance as the storm sat directly atop them.

“Commander!” shouted the frantic voice of Ensign Brown. Data turned to Riker, and immediately saw the issue-he was leaning against the cave’s wall, a hand pressed to his side, which was rapidly turning red with blood. Smaller cuts and scrapes littered his face, product of his brief time in the storm.

“What has happened?” Worf asked.

“Piece of rock...lodged in my side...it came out, in the wind.” His voice was tight with pain.

Each of the crew members tried their combadges again, but to no avail.

“The storm has gotten larger,” Hardy observed. “It’s slowing down a bit. It’ll take a while for us to be completely away from it, for our signals to start working again.”

“So we’re stuck down here for sure?” asked Ensign Brown. “What do we do?”

“May I observe your injury, Commander?” Data asked. When Riker nodded, he gently moved the commander’s hands away from his side and removed his shirt. Blood pooled around the cut, which was deep and jagged and dirty.

“What do we do?” Brown asked again. “That’s a lot of blood, and who knows how long we’re gonna be stuck here!”

Data ran through his medical files and addressed the group. “We must prevent him from bleeding out,” he said. “In Sickbay, there are machines which could fix this very easily, however, we are going to have to use more primitive methods.”

He briefly explained what they were supposed to do-clean the wound, smooth out the edges, apply stitches.

“We should use an anaesthetic,” he said. “But we do not have any, nor do we have anything to disinfect the wound, or to clean up its edges. I have needles, and our uniforms can supply the thread.”

“Could we use a phaser?” Worf asked.

“Negative, Lieutenant,” Data replied. “If we do that, we run the risk of damaging his internal organs.”

“Then just...do these stitches,” Commander Riker said. Although he was now lying down, he felt dizzy, and everything around him was blurring in and out of focus.

“I must warn you, it will not be pleasant.” Data said.

“Do we have a choice?”

They did not. So Data set to work, having evidently been deemed this mission’s doctor. The first step was to clean out the wound-there were particles of sand and fabric from the uniform stuck inside, and these could cause infection.

Data had nothing to clean the wound out with, so he did what he could with his own shirt, turned inside-out to prevent the introduction of more sand into the wound. It didn’t do much, but anything would help.

The second step was to irrigate the wound, which would have to be skipped, as they did not have anything to do it with. The next step would also have to be skipped. It was important that the edges of the wound be made smooth for stitching, but again, they had no tools to do this, so Data moved on to the most important step-the stitches themselves.

He carefully ripped thread from the cuff of his shirt-it was not the ideal type of thread, but it would do. He then pulled out his needle case, which had been stowed safely in his pocket, and selected one which he had not used before.

“We should find a way to sterilise it,” Ensign Brown pointed out. “A phaser might be able to do that.”

Data followed their suggestion and set his phaser to the lowest possible setting, heating up the needle until Brown said they thought it was probably sterile.

As Data poised himself to begin stitching, Brown, Hardy, and Worf backed away, giving them some space.

“This will hurt, I am afraid, Commander,” Data said, as softly as he could.

“Doesn’t matter.”

So Data began the first stitch, pinching together the sides of the cut and poking through the commander’s skin as though it was one of his needlepoint canvases.

As the needle went into his skin, Riker instinctively curled up, jerking away from Data’s hands with a soft whimper.

Data had not heard the commander make this sound before, but he recognised it as a human sound of pain or distress, both of which he was certain the commander was feeling a lot of. He attempted some words of comfort. “It will be okay, it will be over soon,” he said. “But you must not move, or you may make the injury worse.”

Riker nodded and took a shuddering breath. Data began stitching once again.

It did not take many stitches to close the wound, but it did take a while, for although he tried, Riker was unable to completely stop moving, and still jerked slightly at each movement of the needle.

Finally, however, it was done. “I have finished,” Data said. “However, we must prevent you from going into shock. Your legs are meant to be raised, but there is nothing here to do that...just stay lying down, that should be sufficient.”

He gathered up the shirts of his fellow crew members and carefully laid them across Riker, in an effort to keep him warm until they could beam back up.

They stayed in the cave for nearly thirty minutes, unable to get a signal. Commander Riker’s face was growing steadily paler, and every few minutes Worf would have to tap his face to make sure he was still awake.

The away team sat in silence around the commander, none of them entirely sure what to do beyond try to keep their ‘patient’ awake.

Finally, finally, the dust storm passed, and suddenly Picard’s voice was coming through Riker’s combadge.

“Commander Riker, report! Do you hear me?”

Data grabbed Riker’s discarded, bloody shirt and took the combadge off of it. He tapped it. “Data to Picard,” he said. “Five to beam directly to sickbay.” It was only logical for all of them to go, they may have inhaled something dangerous during the storm.

Within seconds, they were all in sickbay, Riker still lying down, the rest of the team crouched around him.

Doctor Crusher ran to them immediately, taking in the pallor of the commander’s face and the crude stitches in his side, and noting the discarded shirts of the entire team.

“What happened? The Captain said there was a dust storm on the planet, but how in the world did you wind up giving Commander Riker stitches?”

Data explained their situation as best as he could, while around them members of the medical team lifted the commander onto a bed and began working on his wound.

“We did not have much of a choice,” he said. “We did not know how long we would be unable to contact the ship, and we could not have let the commander bleed out.”

“Well, we’ve got him now,” said Doctor Crusher. “And he’s going to be just fine, thanks to your quick thinking.”

Data found himself...not feeling anything, as he could not feel, but there was something there, something that was...different. His quick thinking-obviously he thought quick, he was an android, but it had been him to save the commander. He attempted a warm smile at the doctor, who smiled back. “Good job, Data.”

this ending SUCKS but oh well sorry

#i kinda dont like this kinda do #like i wrote most of it yesterday and that part is ok #the ending is kinda abrupt and i hate it but #whumptober2019 #no.11 #stitches #star trek tng #will riker #impaled #blood #my writing #i say things

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