The hail appeared to come out of the vastness of space itself. Uhura's voice echoed the surprise and incomprehension that ran through her upon receiving a hail. Then, as though to answer the bridge's questioning looks, a ship materialised on their starboard bow in a collision of light. Kirk peered at them, blinking back his surprise. He registered the Star Fleet insignia on the stranger's ship, and nodded to Uhura.
"On screen," he commanded. A crackle of sound, flickering of light, and an admiral appeared on the screen, inflated beyond normal proportions. Kirk greeted the admiral politely, an inclination of his head deferring his mandated respect. The exchange that followed caught the rapt attention of the entire bridge crew, bated breath holding them to their stations. No one dared interject, merely allowing Kirk to retaliate within the confines of politeness. The twitch in his jaw was all that betrayed his building irritation. Once the admiral's orders had been decreed, Kirk bade him farewell in the expected manner, eternally restraining his anger. Once the screen shut off, revealing only space and the new ship did his face crumble to his fury.
"Ensign Mortimer, report to the bridge."
Hannah looked up from her patient, surprise drawing her gaze towards the sound, as though she'd be able to see the announcement written in the air above her. She snapped shut the tricorder with a definitive authority, and glanced over at McCoy in his office. Dismissing her patient, with a swift injection to the neck and a smile, she threw the tricorder on to a metal tray. The collision of metal on metal resounded through the Med Bay and caused McCoy to look up at the young woman in front of him. Hannah nodded up at the speaker concealed in the ceiling and spoke quietly.
"That sounded serious, do you think if I hide down here, he'll forget he needed to talk to me?" She asked as she sat on the desk. McCoy raised an eyebrow at her, and retorted.
"What do you think?" McCoy leant back in his chair before continuing musingly. "If he's summoning you publicly then you must have done something bad. What was it?" Hannah shrugged helplessly.
"Unless he's going to yell at me for the Klingon thing again, I have no idea. I've been a good wee 'un, kept my head down - haven't even bickered with Cupcake this week!" She protested, slithering off the desk. Groaning like a petulant child, Hannah moved towards the door and then stopped. "He's gonna yell at me for the Klingon thing again, isn't he?"
"You did nearly get yourself killed and led all of us to believe you were willing to commit mass slaughter."
"Yeah, whatever. Mumma McCoy."
Hannah walked on to the bridge, awkwardness causing her to scratch at the side of her neck. As the eyes turned to her, she froze in her step. She glanced around the room, soaking in the watchful gazes flicking back between her and Kirk, fear building in her throat now, instead of simple discomfort. Hannah swallowed, suddenly realising she hadn't faced a group of people this large since before she threatened to kill several hundred Klingons, and herself with them. She faltered the last few steps towards the Captain, and her voice failed her. Swallowing hard for a second time, she tried once more.
"What's happened?" Her voice came out hoarse, uncertain. Kirk stood from the chair he still wasn't convinced he'd earned, and faced her.
"You've been called to a hearing. On Earth." His voice was clipped and as tight as Hannah's own. Kirk seemed to be more distressed by this revelation than Hannah, and he grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her closer to him. "Hannah, the Klingons are threatening war. And Star Fleet is holding you responsible. You leave tonight, at 1800, to be charged by both Star Fleet and the Klingon High Council."
Suddenly the realisation of what this could mean slammed into her. Her eyes widened and she whispered a query to Kirk. He lightly shook his head, and she pressed her eyes shut, tightening a hand into a fist, nails digging into her palms.
"1800 is in two hours. Guess I should go... get ready. Or say goodbyes," she trailed off as she fled the Bridge.
As the doors of the turbolift closed behind her, Hannah found tears choking her throat and threatening to spill. She lifted a hand to her eyes, brushing away a tear as though she was surprised to find it there. She was to be tried as a war criminal, for starting a war that would devastate the universe. She'd known that relationships between Star Fleet and the Klingons were tender - especially after the stunt Marcus had tried to pull - and yet she had insisted on defending Yorktown so clumsily. She had given them a legitimate reason to attack Earth, an excuse of offence to fall back on. Despite them initiating the attack on Yorktown, they could claim so much worse from Hannah, and they'd have the data to back up their claims that she slaughtered a ship. All because she'd been so goddamn arrogant. All because she couldn't bear to see Kirk try to handle the stress of being Captain in a lose-lose situation.
She reached the door of her room without even registering she had left the turbolift. The tears were now flooding out of her eyes, as she spun through all the possible retributions she might face from Star Fleet alone, never mind the Klingon High Council. Death would be too kind for her, too easy to come from the Klingons.
She sat heavily on the bed, and brushed her hair back out of her eyes. Falling backwards, Hannah let herself be consumed by all the possibilities of her future. None were good. None involved Kirk, and that pained her more than she permitted herself to admit. Bile rose in her throat, and she flung herself up off the bed, unceremoniously throwing up in her sink. She coughed at the rancid taste, choking at the smell of vomit. The sight of her own face in the mirror alarmed her. It was barely recognisable as hers. White, shaking and puffy, Hannah looked awful. She looked terrified. She was terrified.
Hannah's farewell to Kirk was the most painful one. It took more strength than she thought she had. The private farewell, the one that occurred in the seclusion of her room, involved more tears, an excess of hugging and a constant stream of apologies. Hannah's uncharacteristic remorse rung through Kirk like an arrow to the heart. He clung to her, arms wrapped tight around her shoulder, and brushed a hand soothingly down her hair, murmuring comforts into her ear as she wept.
The public farewell was more restrained; a single hug, a polite farewell when they parted, and a whispered confession before they parted. The embrace was still as tight, as passionate, and mournful, but the words that fled from Hannah were far steadier than those she had said earlier.
"I love you, Jim," She smiled at him as they parted, and placed a hand on his cheek. Kissing him once, she clenched her teeth to stop the tears from flowing as she turned, maintaining the illusion she worked so hard on. She stepped lightly on to the transporter pad, and grinned at the assembled crowd. Saluting once, her hand froze mid way as the light whirled around her.
Then she was gone.