AN: The adventure continues in the Star Trek Hobbit collision collab. W'Ren is, of course all kkolmakov, as is our Dashing Captain. Surprise surprise, Berylium and P-Helium are all on me. Enjoy!


Berylium slowly came to in the middle of mayhem. Smoke and fire seemed to box her in on all sides, through the shifting flames, she could see Thorington. His hands were occupied with a very limp, very knocked out W'Ren. She did not look to be in a good way. Bloodstains covered her clothing, and the green blood seemed even to be trickling from the corner of her mouth. Thorington was losing his bottle, if the grief visible on his face was anything to go by. He was all but babbling a steady stream of pleas for her to be alright as well as commanding her to gain consciousness and heal, dammit. At some point, he of course had regained enough of himself to bellow into his comm for a medic and rescue.

Berylium could tell the other two had a mostly clear shot at getting out. She couldn't say the same for herself. The kaboom strong enough to knock a Vulcan unconscious had left her hemmed in on the far side, and what wasn't blocked by fallen beams was full of sparking wires and sputtering fires.

"Hold tight. We will get you out," Thorington yelled to her, his eyes trained on the Vulcan.

"Preferably before I'm barbecued?"

"Preferably." The wry twist of the lips as he answered her was cute, she noticed, just as his attention shifted with W'Ren's partial return to consciousness.

"Ashayam , are you with me?" He cradled her delicate face in his oversized hands, worried gaze scanning over all her injuries yet again.

"Taluhk John… Taluhk nash-veh k'dular…" the Vulcan muttered, her eyes unfocused.

"Later, ashayam ." Thorington pressed a long finger to her lips. "Don't strain. But hold the thought."

" Shok-tor... " The Vulcan's hand flew up, to the dark fur on the Captain's jaw.

"Now you're in the mood, woman?" The frown didn't match the flirty words.

Berylium had both hands fisted around her tail, twisting. One, to keep it out of the many sputtery sparking fires around her, and two, watching those two? Even Grandma Estorium's romantic tales paled in comparison. She'd be sharing this story around hearthfires for decades to come. That's if she survived this mess.

Her appreciation of their tender moment was cut short, sadly. The fire suppression systems came online just as quick hands tugged both Thorington and W'Ren out, and it's lights out. All she could hear and see were a few random sparks that left white starburst afterimages on her eyes. But now she could hear someone else into the elevator. Her sensitive ears caught the sound of a large body carefully moving in.

"Who's there?" Berylium's eyes strained, but even as enhanced as an Eddalar's were, total dark left nothing to work with.

"Help." The voice was most probably male, but anything was possible in space, right? "Trying to move these beams to get you out." As if on cue, she heard the unmistakable sound of a beam shoved and toppled. The grating sounded like painful music to her sensitive ears.

"Good luck, I can't do squat with them. Be careful, though, some are still electrified."

"Good to know." The following low hiss and expletive meant he either found one indeed electrified, or one that was still hot from the fires. "Keep talking. I need to know where you are."

"So, you an officer?"

"Trained under Thorington."

"Oooh! Goody. Hey, can you tell me what shock-tor is?"

She did not expect the rumbly laugh, or how good it sounded to her.

"Tell me. When and where did you hear that?" She swore she could practically hear him smiling. Maybe he'd be an accomplice to her grand plan for those two.

"Just now, W'Ren said it to Thorington. What's it mean?"

"Has our Ambassador lost her decorum in all this danger? Hardly possibly, it would seem." Berylium laughed at the question.

"Only because she was thoroughly knocked out and woozy." The laughter finally weakened her knees to the point she slid down the wall, still giggling. "Now, you gonna tell me what shock-tor means, or no?"

"That would be a Vulcan equivalent for..." Oooh, there was that delicious rumbly laugh again. "Locking of lips."

"I knew it!" She actually heard him jump at her enthusiastic shout. Something hit the floor, and he carried on in an unfamiliar language for quite a bit. "Hey, you okay over there?"

"A beam slipped. I will survive." The dry reply was accompanied by the sound of exertion and screeching metal.

"Breathing there?" Berylium asked; and just then, before the velvet voice in the dark could reply, another explosion rocked their precarious position. Berylium felt the lift drop a few feet, as everything shifted, and she heard her rescuer bellow in pain.

"Officer?" There was no reply, simply heavy breathing in the dark. She waited. "If you don't answer me, I'm coming to you."

"Stay. A beam fell. Right now, I'm pretty sure I'm what's keeping the ceiling from caving on us."

The lift shuddered again. Berylium started whimpering.

"Now where has your spirit gone, Princess?"

"I think it booked it the moment the lift slipped. We're going to fall. I hate falling."

"We will not." Despite the confidence lacing each word, Berylium could hear the strain, probably from keeping the ceiling off them.

"Rumblyvoice, we've already fallen a few feet. What's gonna keep us from splatting?" She knew she was getting catty, but she tended to lash out when strained, and her fear of falling was nothing to sneeze at.

"We're on the SS Erebor. I have full confidence in our Captain. He will get us out. Shall I entertain you until he does? Perhaps translate some of the other Vulcan terms you overheard? Perhaps share the ones she was muttering as I pulled them out?"

"That was you? Share away!"

The gorgeous voice in the dark got quiet for a moment, leaving Berylium on curiosity's edge, before he finally spoke again.

"I believe disclosing too much would be insensitive." Was he kidding her? He had to be kidding her. In fact, there was a decidedly cheeky lilt to the tone he was using. "But I believe our Ambassador will have to face her former spouse enlightened regarding her still present amorous feelings when she returns to her senses."

"Awww! Wait, what?" Berylium was confused.

"Perhaps I should mention the Captain is proficient in Vulcan?" Was that a chuckle? Good grief, it was, and she could feel it shiver its way right down to her toes.

"Oh, she will? Sweet! Seriously, those two belong together if ever I saw a perfect pair." Berylium had folded herself comfortably on the floor. No use being uncomfortable if she was about to meet her Maker, right? She was even stroking her own tail back down from the earlier twisting she had done.

"So, Rumbly-voice-in-the-dark, what's your story?"

"I ran away to space to get away from family expectations. And you?"

"Nope, nope, nope. Pretty sure you already know all about me. Didn't you Starfleet peoples have to endure a whole debriefing about the warring tribes or whatever? Nope, you know about me. So, fair's fair, I want to know about you." Her devious grin felt so wide, she was sure he could see it in the dark.

"Not much to tell, really. Left the family, joined Starfleet." A heavy sigh filled the compartment. The next words sound as if dragged out by force. Her ears perked up, just what great secret was he about to share? "I realised I could use what I learned in Starfleet to help them change, and went back."

"You went back? But then how are you here now?" Before he could answer her, emergency lights came on with an audible buzz, and she got her first look at her rescuer and companion in the dark.

He was tall. He was broad. He was golden and glorious.

He was also wearing the all too recognizable garb of a Phoebian. Berylium could feel even her hind heart falling all the way to her toes.

"No! Absolutely no!" she hollered, wincing away.

And then she could feel anger rising. Anger was good, anger could keep the hurt at bay.

"No! No, no-no-no-no-no-no. No!" She turned her face to the wall, so she wouldn't have to watch his stupid perfect face and stupid broad shoulders hold up the stupid beam that was keeping the ceiling from falling on them both.

Silence filled the compartment until the squeal of the doors being forced open.

"P-Helium!" Thorington, with a deep cut untended still across his cheek, took in the situation in a glance. He turned to call over his shoulder, "Get a brace in here, the ceiling's collapsing!" He took in Berylium's bristly posture against the wall, and the flat expression on P-Helium's face. "I see you've met, then."


Sickbay had special bays, who knew? Berylium was situated in a dim corner, where she could watch the whole place. P-Helium was currently occupying a bed under bright lights. W'Ren on a bed in normal lighting, with Thorington apparently glued to her hand, and others in assorted bays under assorted lights depending on what that crewmember or passenger needed to speed up the healing process. The twin explosions had claimed about a hundred injured. Of those roughly hundred, twenty eight of them found themselves in this medbay.

Berylium wondered why she was even here. There was nothing they could do for hurt feelings. However, she was thankful she was here, since it allowed her to see for herself the care W'Ren was receiving.

Truthfully, if expressions were the measure of injuries, Berylium would guess Thorington were worse off than W'Ren. There were deep furrows in his brow, and Berylium was pretty sure humans were supposed to be a pinkish color, not grey. He had not left W'Ren's side since her coming here. He hadn't washed, eaten, nor drunk. He'd simply sat there, holding her hand and talking softly to her the entire time. Not for the first time, she wondered why they'd ever separated in the first place.


Thorington perked up, and started watching W'Ren's face, and Berylium shifted forward to see whatever it was the Captain saw. W'Ren's eyes, her lovely, Eddalarish, wonderful, manyfired colored, still alive eyes, fluttered.

"I am significantly better, Captain. I believe you can release my hand now." The Vulcan sounded croaky, but already very strict.

"Oh shut up, woman."

The Captain's gruff voice full of pent up feelings gave little warning to the kiss he swooped down to claim. Surprisingly, the Vulcan didn't seem to protest.

Berylium, under normal circumstances, would have started cheering. She glanced over to the brightly lit bay where the reason she didn't sat. He seemed to be regarding the two lovers, his face as lifeless as the mask on Uncle Strontium's mantle. Berylium narrowed her eyes as she regarded the epitome of all things wrong in her people's world.

Despite being in a small area full of snapping sparks and fire, his hair was as neatly braided as if he'd just come from his quarters. She noticed even the moustache he sported was neatly braided. The moment was interrupted by the arrival of a medic at his elbow. He sat still during the scan, but winced away from the hypospray. Were the stories true? Were they truly living robots?