"Have you told him yet?"
Hannah didn't look up from the mug of coffee she was cradling. Her hair hung lankly down past her shoulders, tousled and messy from sleep. It was clean, she had managed to bring herself to shower, but that was the extent of her energy. She had needed to scrub that place off of her, finally bringing herself to do it after encountering Kirk in that hallway. And scrub she had. Her skin was pink for hours afterwards, the anguished scream of frustration still ringing in her ears. She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. Words required too much effort, and she was tired. McCoy sat down heavily in the chair opposite, the mug he held slamming into the table between them. The noise caused Hannah to leap in her skin, stared, affronted, at him. "Dammit, Hannah," muttered McCoy, before leaning across the gap between them and grasping her wrist. "Look, I am your doctor, not your therapist. I am not going to go all touchy-feely on you, I am not going to listen to your sob story. But I am Kirk's friend. He has a right to know."
"I know," the sound that fled Hannah was small. She looked up from the hand holding her wrist in place. "It's just…" She trailed off, before snapping her gaze on to McCoy. He was surprised to find the steely gaze that had so often challenged him before staring right through him. "It takes everything I have not to blurt it out when we argue. I don't want to tell him like that, but every time he sees me, he picks a fight." McCoy scoffed to himself, a low noise that was barely audible, but just loud enough to earn him a flashing glower from Hannah. She twisted her arm free of his grip, and wrapped her arms protectively over her stomach. "It'd be easier if he apologised," She muttered to the coffee.
"For what?" Hannah's head snapped back up to glare at McCoy.
"For what?" She echoed, glancing off to her right as though looking for someone to back her up. "Oh, I don't know. For assuming I was the type of person to just leave him hanging like that. For thinking I had a choice in the non-communication situation. And, oh yeah, for flat out leaving me stranded there - every time I could I sent a distress signal directly to the Enterprise. It's not like he didn't know exactly where I was!" Hannah's voice had risen in pitch through her speech, until it ended in a shrill hiss. Low in volume, but high in pitch, her voice pierced through McCoy. Hannah had risen also, leaning across the table, hands splayed flat either side of the small square, her coffee spilling over the edge, staining the carpet a deep, rusted brown. She breathed out heavily, her anger swelling in her throat. "I'll talk to him, when he stops blaming me for his actions," She spat. She stood straight, and moved as though to leave, but her vision suddenly blurred to black, pixelated until the fuzzy ringing swallowed her, and she fell to the ground.
Yorktown's MedBay was near identical to the Enterprise's, only much bigger. Hannah shut her eyes tighter against the light she could feel pressing into her eyelids.
"She's awake," commented a voice from by her feet. A rush of movement flooded her ears, and Hannah lifted a hand to press to her forehead, a tugging on her arm forcing her to open her eyes to see what pulled at her skin. An IV stuck out of her hand and she groaned, closing her eyes once more.
"How have you not found a more efficient means of getting fluids into someone?" She grumbled as hands grasped her forearm tightly. She didn't open her eyes this time, instead tried to work out the owner of the hands from touch alone. It was easier than lifting her eyelids. They were so heavy, and she just wanted to go. To be left alone, or to sleep, or just for this hell of an existence to stop for five minutes. One of the hands released her, and allowed the other to soothingly stroke her arm. It was a tender action, almost motherly, in its blatant affection.
"She's a patient, not a cat," grumbled the Southern Belle of a Doctor. Hannah blearily opened her eyes for a second time, and stared up at McCoy, standing by the foot of her bed. Hannah smiled weakly at him, gaining a grunt in response. She rolled her head to the side, finally discovering the owner of the hand was in fact, Uhura. Hannah slowly moved her other hand across and gripped Uhura's hand. Her question, asked with a glance at McCoy and a raise of an eyebrow, was answered after a hesitant pause. "You had a tear in your uterine wall. When you were yelling at me, you must have ripped it open, and so," McCoy mimed a figure falling over a short flick of his hand. Hannah groaned in response, and forced herself upright. To her surprise, Kirk stood against the far wall, still furious, but laced with concern. Hannah quickly turned on McCoy, her mouth opening to form accusations, but he raised his hands in surrender.
"Did you-?"
-"I haven't said a word!" Protested the Doctor. Hannah's gaze linger on him, before she believed him. She propped herself up on to her elbows, shuffling the pillows up behind her to support her. She glanced between him and Uhura, and smiled apologetically at them.
"Can you give us a minute?" She asked, hand sliding from Uhura's. Uhura lifted her hand and placed it on Hannah's shoulder, a comfort to the bedridden woman. Promises of staying outside flitted through the air, as Uhura moved elegantly across the room, and disappeared out the door, tugging it shut behind her with a definitive click.
Only Hannah and Kirk remained in the room, neither willing to speak first. Kirk pushed himself up off the wall, and sat on the edge of her bed, arms remaining crossed the entire time.
"Are you going to tell me the truth this time?" He asked the white wall. Hannah leant to the side to stare him in the face. Waiting for him to turn to look at her, she withheld her answer, only desperately trying to regulate the breathing which quickened.
"Are you going to listen to me this time?" She retorted, equal venom in her voice. Kirk held her gaze steady, and the silence deafened them. Stubborn to the end, they stared each other down, and watched for the cracks. Hannah broke first. She tore her gaze from Kirk's, glowering intently at the IV in her arm. "Why didn't you come?"
"Where? To Earth, why would I come after you?" Kirk's puzzlement seemed genuine, and Hannah's head snapped up.
"I mean, alternatively you could have come to moon I was on, but sure. Go to Earth, you'd have been equally useless there," She spat. Kirk snapped his mouth shut, teeth clattering together, biting back his response. Hannah clenched her jaw, and hardened her gaze. "I sent distress call, after distress call, after fucking distress call, and you have the audacity to pretend like you don't know what I'm on about?" She scoffed. Her breath caught in her throat, and she pursed her lips together in a thin line in a last ditch attempt to control her breathing. She failed to regulate it, her breaths coming in huge heaving sobs, but no tears fell.
"I don't know what you're on about," Kirk insisted, standing, trying to rid himself of the nervous energy that filled him. "I didn't get any distress call, I didn't get anything from you for nearly a year." Hannah glared at him.
"Get out."
"What?"
"If you're just going to lie to my face, then get. The hell. Out," She spat. Hysterics rose in her, and she snatched the first loose item up off the bedside table and hurled it at Kirk. "Get out!" The voice rose to a scream as the lamp shattered on the wall behind Kirk's head. He stared at her in amazement, then slowly turned and stalked from the room.
Hannah stared at the wall where Kirk's head had just been and curled into a ball. The IV tugging at her skin as she wrapped her arms around her, cradling herself, a false pretence at comfort. The anger no longer ran through her. Fury and sorrow had deserted her, and left her empty, a shell of the person she once was. Loss defined her, and somehow seemed to seep backwards in time, defining her history, guiding all her actions up until this moment. She retreated into herself, and let the hospital room fall away from his vision, and clung on to her own frame.
The Enterprise was due to depart later that day, when Hannah decided that she had moped enough. Steeling herself to go talk to Kirk, to not get angry with him and actually listen to him this time, she stumbled out of the small room. Her legs were weaker than she expected, almost trembling under her weight. They grew steadier with each step, growing in strength and determination. Hannah found herself almost sprinting towards the Enterprise, held back only by the pounding fear of rejection that intersected her desperation.
She passed McCoy in the corridor, who took one look at the hurrying woman, and shook his head. Hannah glanced back at him, and spoke, just loud enough for McCoy to hear.
"You said it yourself, he has a right to know." She grinned at McCoy, spinning back around and continuing to rush towards the Enterprise.
When she arrived, she demanded of the first console she could find whether the captain was on board or not. The computer did not answer, but a voice behind her did. Hannah spun to find Spock, disapprovingly looking down on her. Hannah locked eyes with him and smiled at him.
"I threw a lamp at the Captain. He deserves an apology and an explanation." Was all the comment she offered. This seemed to suffice for Spock, who reminded her she was not authorised to travel aboard the Enterprise, but also told her she would find Kirk in his quarters. Hannah beamed, flung her arms around Spock and rushed off down the corridor. Her thanks flew back at him over her shoulder, lost in the hum of machinery.
The chime at Kirk's door alerted him to a visitor. None but Spock knew he was in his quarters, so Kirk ignored the chime, instead picking up a PADD from his desk and moving over the couch. Scanning through the words scrolling across the screen, Kirk sank heavily into the couch, placing his feet up on to the coffee table. He confirmed pre-flight checks, and continued to ignore the chiming at his door as it sounded again. He knew that it wasn't Spock - by now the pointy eared bastard would have used his override code to gain access to Kirk's room. Ignoring Spock never was successful, as he had access to every room on the ship. Kirk slid further down the couch, hiding behind the PADD, as though his visitor could see him. One more chime echoed at his door, swiftly followed by a thumping on his door, loud; demanding pounding fists colliding with the metal.
"Jim, come on, I know you're in there," came the plead through the door. Kirk looked up slowly. Carefully placing the PADD by his side, he stared at the door. An internal debate fought itself on his face, before he swore under his breath and flung himself upright. The door slid open revealing a sorrowful Hannah. She slowly lowered the fist that was still raised in the ghost of a knock, and looked up sheepishly at Kirk.
"I'm sorry for throwing a lamp at you. But I'm not sorry for my anger," She offered. Kirk rolled his eyes and stepped aside, allowing Hannah to enter his room.
"You never are," He muttered. Hannah's snapped back around to look at him, faltering in her step as the door slid shut behind her. Kirk's gaze softened slightly, and he huffed out a deep breath. "You came here to talk. I won't cut in this time," he permitted, collapsing back on to the couch.