Wrong Day for Shore Leave

Posted on Wed Sep 9th, 2026 @ 6:10am by Petty Officer 2nd Class Ronan Drake & Finn Drake

1,199 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Die Hard: Chimera Edition (main)
Location: Planet > Sky Bridge > Chimera

For the first time in what felt like forever, Ronan Drake had actually managed to forget about the Chimera.

He and Finn had spent most of their forty-eight-hour leave doing exactly what shore leave was supposed to be for. They ate too much, wandered through museums Finn swore were “way cooler than school,” rode the space elevator enough times that Ronan threatened to start charging him credits, and explored enough of the planetary districts that Finn had accumulated a handful of cheap souvenirs and at least three stories Ronan already knew were going to get exaggerated later. Ronan had also managed to keep the eleven-year-old away from the Ferengi-owned, Orion-influenced entertainment house Finn had become inexplicably fascinated with.

Mostly.

Then everything went to hell.

Word started spreading fast through the scattered Chimera crew that something had happened aboard the station. Whatever relaxation had existed vanished almost instantly, and by the time Ronan understood they needed to get back aboard, people were already moving toward the space elevator base station.

“Finn, we’re leaving.”

“But we haven’t even…”

“Now.”

Something in Ronan’s voice killed the argument.

They joined the growing stream of civilians and Starfleet personnel pushing toward the elevator terminal. Then came distant weapons fire, security alerts, shouting, and eventually the sight of injured Chimera personnel being moved toward the elevator. Whatever Finn might have said disappeared when Ronan grabbed his hand.

“Stay with me.”

The elevator doors opened and everyone moved.

Finn tried keeping pace, but eleven-year-old legs had limits and Ronan was not interested in discovering them today.

“Ronan, I can run!”

“Not fast enough.”

“HEY!”

Ronan scooped him up and threw Finn over his shoulder like a duffel bag.

“This is humiliating!”

“You’ll survive.”

“I’M ELEVEN!”

“And surprisingly heavy!”

Ronan ran.

By then Starfleet personnel were helping one another into the elevator, some wounded badly enough that rank had stopped mattering. Ronan shifted Finn higher onto his shoulder and used his free arm wherever he could, guiding people through the doors, helping steady one crewmember, then another, and making sure nobody got separated in the rush. The assault around the elevator base had already left several Chimera personnel hurt, including Commander Espersen, Raven, T’Vel, and an unconscious Chief Enor.

Somewhere during the sprint, Ronan planted his foot wrong.

Pain shot through his ankle hard enough to make him stumble.

“Son of a…”

Finn twisted around over his shoulder. “You said a bad word.”

“Not the time, Finn.”

“You owe the jar.”

Ronan gritted his teeth and kept moving despite the limp. Once the elevator cleared the ionosphere and transport back to the Chimera became possible, he did not relax until Finn’s boots touched familiar decking again.

Unfortunately, neither of them escaped Sickbay.

A medical technician ran a scanner over Ronan’s ankle while he sat on the edge of a biobed, Finn occupying the next one despite repeatedly explaining that absolutely nothing was wrong with him.

“Sprain,” the medic finally announced.

Finn immediately leaned forward. “Can I tell him I told you so?”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You’re eleven. I’ve had eleven years of practice.”

Finn grinned, but Ronan’s attention had already drifted across Sickbay.

There were too many people moving around one particular biobed.

Ronan leaned slightly to see between them and caught sight of the person lying motionless beneath the medical lights.

Senior Chief Enor.

The humor disappeared from Ronan’s face.

He had seen Enor irritated, sarcastic, pissed off, sharp-tongued, and completely in command of whatever room he was standing in. Seeing the Senior Chief unconscious while medical personnel worked urgently around him felt wrong in a way Ronan could not quite put into words. The monitors were not reassuring either. Medical had already found no wounds, no toxins, no obvious physical reason for what was happening, and Enor’s vitals were only being forced to hover above the danger line while they tried to understand what was killing him.

“Shit…” Ronan whispered.

Finn followed his gaze and, for once, went completely quiet.

That was his boss’s boss lying there. More than that, Enor was one of those people aboard the Chimera Ronan simply expected to be there, usually somewhere above him in the chain making somebody’s day more complicated for what was probably a perfectly legitimate Starfleet reason.

Ronan started to stand before his ankle reminded him exactly why he was sitting.

“Damn it.”

Finn reached out instinctively and caught his arm.

“Ronan.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re limping while sitting down.”

Ronan gave him a look, but there was not much fight behind it. His eyes returned to Enor as another medical officer moved around the biobed. For once, Ronan did not have a joke.

“Come on, Senior,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re supposed to be yelling at people, not laying there.”

Finn bumped his shoulder gently against Ronan’s arm.

Ronan finally looked down at him.

“So…” Finn began cautiously.

Ronan narrowed his eyes. “If you say anything about the Ferengi place right now…”

Finn thought better of it.

“…I was going to ask if you wanted some water.”

Ronan stared at him for a second.

“Good save.”

“I know.”

After another few minutes, the medic returned, gave Ronan’s ankle one last scan, and cleared both Drakes to leave Sickbay with strict instructions for Ronan to stay off the ankle as much as possible.

Finn immediately hopped down from the biobed like he had personally beaten medical clearance.

“See? Completely healthy.”

“You were never injured.”

“Exactly. Strong recovery.”

Ronan rolled his eyes, eased himself carefully to his feet, and tested his weight on the bad ankle. It still hurt, but not enough to keep him there, and Sickbay clearly had far more serious patients to worry about.

His eyes drifted back toward Enor one last time.

The Senior Chief was still there, still unconscious, still surrounded by medical personnel and machinery that made Ronan increasingly uncomfortable the longer he looked at it.

Finn noticed.

“He’s gonna be okay, right?”

Ronan was quiet for a second.

“I hope so.”

That was about as honest as he could be.

He rested a hand on Finn’s shoulder and steered him toward the exit.

“Come on. We’ve had enough adventure for one day.”

Finn glanced up at him. “So where are we going?”

“Quarters.”

Finn’s face fell immediately.

“That’s boring.”

“That is the point.”

Ronan limped toward the door, Finn keeping pace beside him.

“I figured we’d head back, get cleaned up, put our feet up, and stay out of everybody’s way for a while.”

“You mean your foot.”

“Yes, Finn. My foot.”

“And maybe food?”

Ronan looked down at him.

“You’re always thinking about food.”

“I’m growing.”

“You’re expensive.”

Finn grinned as the Sickbay doors opened.

Ronan took one last look over his shoulder at Enor, worry still sitting somewhere heavy in his chest, then turned back toward the corridor.

Forty-eight hours ago, his biggest concern had been keeping Finn out of an Orion-influenced entertainment house.

Ronan suddenly missed that problem.

 

RSS Feed