Paramount owns Star Trek, not I. "O Captain, My Captain," the poem I have throughout, is by Walt Whitman. (I did change a word or two of the poem to make it fit better… Actually, maybe just one word. And I think it's misquoted that way fairly often anyhow.) I suppose the way I wrote this makes my inspiration quite obvious: a series of one-shots (mostly Spock-centric because… Spock.) hopefully made cohesive by my inspiration. I know I'm not the only one who misses the days when Star Trek would reference great literature of an episode while taking time out of a life-and-death situation to philosophize about life and death and bigger things… (haha) (but for serious: TOS quotes ftw)

Alright. On to the fic. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!


O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

"Let's give it another go, then," Scotty spoke into the comm panel.

Engineers from their perches around the Enterprise voiced their agreement, saying they were ready, and Scotty set up another test for the primary power converter. It had spontaneously failed yesterday—which wasn't surprising. The day before that she had been in the fight of her life. He'd said she was dead. Gone. Last time he ever underestimate anything. Anyone.

Miracles happened.

But it was impossible to do all this work in the dark, which was what they sat in right now except for the spontaneous flickering of the overhead lights and the flashlight bit between his teeth. The lights fizzed and sputtered and, it seemed, tried to come on.

It was her. She was telling him she was still trying, still fighting for her life. I'm down, not out.

So were they all, he hoped. "All right. Here goes. Keep an eye on your monitors, boys."

If only it were as simple as flipping a switch… He tapped into his control PADD—which was not actually part of the Enterprise, just hooked up by a thin wire—and prayed. The lights flickered on.

And stayed. The lights reflected off every surface like a million fairies gracing all of engineering, maybe the entire ship. They needed the good luck; he saw them that way. The lights coming back on was just another sign. Another way she was talking to him. He listened to his crew of engineers all over the ship whooping and hollering, cheers went up from nearly every living soul aboard.

Except Scotty. He just leaned back against the wall, looked up at the warp engine stretching up into the empty space above, and smiled. Her heart still beat in there… She was a fighter, that was for sure. All the same, he didn't feel like celebrating so boisterously… And, if the Enterprise had feelings, Scotty thought she might agree.

"That's my girl," he whispered.

"What are you doing up there, sir?"

Scotty looked down from the only spot he could configure to have a view of the warp core and an easy reach to the only junction that appeared to be working at the moment, at the curly-haired kid. Chekov wasn't celebrating, either. He was also not an engineer, not technically, but he had apparently done as well as he could have while Scotty was away. He hadn't counted the holes in the ship, yet. Not that they were Chekov's fault…

"Trying to put her back together…" Scotty sighed. "Trying to work."

"Oh…" His voice trailed away for a moment, and Scotty didn't say anything. He looked at his PADD. One item down, however many more to go. He clearly wasn't in the mood for counting today. "Ensign Chekov: reporting for duty, sir," Chekov said next, snapping to a slack, tired attention when Scotty hadn't said anything for a while.

Scotty thought about that a minute. He wasn't even sure where to begin. He had been at this longer than anyone, but…

He lost his train of thought. "Where have you come from?" he asked.

"The bridge, sir," the Russian trilled.

"Haven't you been back yet, then?" he went on. Most of the crew had already begun cycling out to go back down to Earth to rest and swapped out with fresh help. Help that hadn't been awake for the past forty-eight hours. Was it really that long? No, longer. Longer. Longer, really? No. Shorter. Who knew?

Maybe everyone had been moving so quickly that time itself had slowed down.

"No, sir," he answered after a pause.

"Kids…" Scotty muttered, shaking his head. "You cannae do any good half-awake."

The ensign shook his head, "No, sir," but didn't make to leave. He didn't seem to be about to do anything except stand and stare. He had the thought to send Chekov down to the planet. Maybe he had some relatives in Russia that would have been happy to see him. On the other hand… Russian summers, Russian winters. What was the difference?

Ah, well. Scotty hadn't been back yet and he was doing just fine dozing between one task and the next. And he wasn't really a kid anymore. Not really. Best to keep busy, anyway. Not much else to do besides fix what could be fixed and worry and wait about the rest of it.

The ensign looked beaten and defeated. Not like they'd just survived the fight of their lives. Funny, times like these, the only thing he wanted to do was lie down to sleep but as soon as he shut his eyes a moment, the only thing he wanted to do was work.

"All right, come here," Scotty said with a wave, sliding down from his perch to show him the PADD.