Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Past
When she decided that she had had enough, she was on the edge of her sanity.
Stonn wouldn't stop calling her to check in and while she cared for him, she was beginning to hate him all over again.
He didn't know Starfleet, not like Spock. He didn't know about the assassinations, backstabbings, and mudslinging-bitch fits that Starfleet had the honor of saying they started, and then promptly finished, usually with a new ruler on whatever throne.
He didn't know what she did.
He didn't know that she had, in fact, started quiet a few revolutions, coups, murders, and…genocides. It was something that she shared with her team only and while it was a small comfort it wasn't enough.
She didn't want any more secrets.
Staring solemnly at the single picture she had of her, her husband, and her parents she traced a finger down the solemn face of Stonn. He could never know.
He wasn't like Archer, who knew her as a target, a fellow soldier, a wife. No, he didn't know about Archer, even if Archer knew about him. And she was going to keep it that way.
But she couldn't go on like she was. She had to re-enlist in Starfleet.
Taking all of the appropriate fitness and mental tests, she dropped her position in Unit 12.
Her record with Starfleet was a golden, glistening thing, and she was quickly accepted as an Instructor with no fuss whatsoever.
Stonn approved, she talked to her parents more often, and she started to lead a fair life.
And if she had nightmares of the green eyes of a certain, so familiar Admiral, she didn't say anything.
Because she was Spock and Grey Hound…
That bitch was dead.
Present
Breathing heavily through her mouth, she clutched at her stomach. Her other hand felt raw, but she still tried to cling to the rough stonework of the alleyway. She clenched her eyes shut as hard as she could. Her head hurt so much.
Why was she so weak as to fall to Archer's needs like this? Hadn't she said that she didn't want to go out again? That her retirement was still in effect?
Why did none of it seem to matter when faced with the face that had once made her so weak?
Opening her mouth she had to just kinda push with her tongue at the blood that filled in her mouth like it was a cup. She couldn't spit on account that every time she even thought to move her jaw, she thought she might die.
Hearing the blood splash on the pavement was oddly comforting without her mask to impede the sound. That whoosh, drip, splat was something she'd listened to often.
Letting her body sag against the wall some she was careful not to jar her opposite shoulder. She hurt just about everywhere and she couldn't think.
Squinting her eyes she limped and shuffled towards the mouth of the alley. The glaring light of the lamppost hurt her sensitive eyes and ruined her night vision.
She hissed a curse and took her hand from her side long enough to aim her gun and shoot the motherfucking thing to hell.
It went out with a spark of glowing embers falling to the ground below and she felt immense satisfaction at the fact that it now felt like she did. Crappy, pissed, and ruined beyond belief. Fucking thing, she had shown it what you get when you fucked with her.
The dark helped some with her sudden angry mood as she tried to calm down and think.
She was tired. Bone achingly tired.
She needed to get patched up before her much wanted nap turned into a dirt nap.
Ignoring the warm blood running down her thigh she pressed as hard as she could on her side without screwing her ribs. They, thankfully, weren't broken.
Most bruised, some fractured, but none broken.
Thank Surak for small gifts.
Unable to breath through her nose, no matter that she'd fixed it on the way back, she had to let her eyes adjust some before she began scanning the dorm key posted on the front of the building. It wasn't the first time she had thanked Vulcan sight.
Top floor, last door, room 1040. Dr. Leonard McCoy, just the man she needed. He had said that he'd patch her up, hadn't he? Oh well. If not…well, that's what Wills were good for. Made sure her mom got everything.
Even as injured as she was, she made little sound as she picked the scan lock with a needle and crept up the stairs.
At the top, she let herself bend some and heave in the oxygen. She didn't touch the walls though, she wasn't sure if her hands were bleeding or not. She couldn't leave evidence. None would know of her trip here. No one would find a trace.
Shifting upright she began her awkward shuffle down the dark hall. When she reached the door she needed, she pulled out another needle of a large size and began picking the door lock. The door opened with a swish and she stepped inside and closed it as she closed her eyes and flicked on the light. There were muffled thumps and she opened her fairly adjusted eyes to watch as two men rolled out of a bed across the room.
She cursed herself when she realized who the second person was. The Annoyance. Shit. The directory, nor her previous research had indicated that the good Dr. had any roommates… or lovers for that matter. She made a small note to add it to the information.
She did an odd impression of clearing her voice without moving her jaw. It was a wet, unpleasant sound and she winced in her head even as two pairs of eyes settled on her. She let herself lean against the wall. She'd wash it herself later if either had a problem with it, but right now, she was just tired.
She took little notice of Dr. McCoy's nudity as a vile curse flew from his lips and he rushed over to her. James T. Kirk was not far behind, but he stumbled for a moment and pulled a pair of neglected shorts off of the ground first.
It amused her and she wondered if he had been raised in such a manor or if he thought that she hadn't seen everything he, as a man, had to offer her. With that thought bouncing in her head, she let herself be led to sit in a chair. It was hard, steel or treated wood- she couldn't tell, and it pressed against her back in a familiar manner.
She didn't slump in it, it hurt to sit, but Spock allowed herself to perch on it as well as she could without pain. It didn't really work and she blinked some when James T. Kirk flashed a light in her eye, her second lid covering her delicate optical. He made an annoyed sound and asked her if she could please, not do that, thank you.
She just stared at him. It occurred to her that Dr. Leonard McCoy was no longer in the room with them. She retracted that internal statement when he walked, covered in a pair of cutoffs, back into the room carrying a tricorder.
Like James T. Kirk, he knelt before her and began running the prob in the air above her skin. She was startled however, the fog lifting of a moment, when James T. Kirk carefully pressed two fingers over her wrist.
It was close enough to her main psy-points and her barriers let down enough that she caught the feelings of concern, anger, and what not that he was feeling for her.
She tried to strengthen her barriers and must have missed something because the next thing she knew was Leonard McCoy's worried voice instructing Kirk.
"Dammit! Keep her with us Jim!"
"Fuck, Bones, easier said than done!" His voice conveyed his worry and she prying her suddenly heavy lids open to look at him.
His brows were furrowed and a frown pulled at his lips. Again. It seemed like each and every time they interacted, he frowned at some point. Strange. Was she really that horrible, she wondered.
Fuzzy and dropping she just tried to listen to them talk. Leonard McCoy was saying something; listing her injuries maybe? And Kirk was babbling to her about how the Academy was hell on Science Majors and how was her time there? Was it nice?
She lost it for what seemed like only a second and came back to a punch in the face and a searing pain in her side. After a moment she realized that, no, she wasn't being attacked, but they were double teaming on her to get her fixed quicker. That that punch was Kirk setting her jaw and the side was McCoy cleaning and bandaging it. But, fuck, did it hurt.
She moaned some and Kirk was still talking to her. Damn that man, but he was persistent.
Then Kirk was cradling her head, his big fucking baby blues looking so pathetic and upset and she…
She couldn't find it in herself to be upset that he was there anymore.
Maybe he wouldn't turn out to be such an Annoyance after all.
She was aware throughout the entire process of fixing her.
Saying that it hurt would be a massive understatement. Truly, it would.
She passed it all in a fog, aware enough to feel and understand, but not enough to really think about what was going on. She vaguely felt the hours pass and wondered at the two men's talents that it didn't take longer; she knew that she was in a wretched state.
When she finally came out of it enough to start thinking again, they were done, and she felt sleep like a metal beast riding her body.
However training long ingrained in her subconscious couldn't heed her body's rising demands.
Paranoia was a good friend for the likes of Spock.
Blinking her opaque second lid open, she brought up a no longer mangled hand and wiped at the slowly tracking tears from her cheek, all caused by the bright light above her.
From a first glance she noted how thick curtains blocked a golden glow; only a small line appearing under the drapes.
She was also alone in the room. Her sensitive ears picked up on a low conversation and the sound of rushing water. Sitting up carefully she swung her legs off of the bed. She tried not to think about how exactly she was on the said bed.
She still hurt everywhere, but as she ignored it and kept her body relaxed, it wasn't all that bad. She could deal.
She pushed all thoughts of sleep to the back of her mind, along with meditation, food, water, and the bathroom. She locked the key and threw it away; she reassured herself that she would come back to them, just not right now.
Flicking the med light off the room was incased in shadows.
Standing she strode over to the window. Her hair felt cool as it whispered over her ears and her fingers could feel the heat of the sun as she played them over the thick fabric.
Their groves caught on the fabric and she gently extracted them and folded the long appendages into a fist, marveling at the minimal amount of green and neon orange bruising that decorated the previously twisted and mangled hand.
Leaning into the heated curtain she took note of the easy rotation of ankle, shoulder, wrist and the tenderness, but painlessness, of hand, side, face, and leg. She hesitantly drew a large breath, holding it, and then releasing it slowly. General soreness, minimal pain of prolonged inhalation, but otherwise… highly manageable.
She was astounded. Yes, she'd need a pillow to stabilize her ribs should she need to sneeze, but she estimated such a need to be gone within the day.
Fascinating.
Grabbing a pillow off of the nearby chair, she softly pressed it into her breast. Just in case, one never really could be prepared for the inevit-
With a snap, what she assumed to be the bathroom door flew open.
It hit the wall behind it and she drooped from her stance.
Judging from the look of near panic in the blue eyes of Dr. Kirk, she theorized that they had realized her absence from her spot. Deliberately shifting against the fabric on the window, she watched as a curse flew forth from Dr. McCoy's mouth and Dr. Kirk's shoulder slump in relief.
She played with the tassels of the throw pillow as she looked them over.
McCoy was wearing shorts, Kirk was now in boxers, and both of them looked haggard. McCoy also looked angry.
Holding the pillow securely to her, she stood straighter as McCoy swore at her soundly, his long strides taking him across the room to her position.
"Damnit! What the fucking hell where you bloody thinking? Getting off of the bed! We weren't even done with our-"
"Doctor," she cut him off abruptly, "While it is entirely correct to assume that I am most grateful for your help in medicating me, do not assume you know what I am thinking. I got off of the bed for good reason. Thanks to you my body is on its way to optimum working order. I am healed. You have healed me. I thank you for both for your help, but I feel I must leave as soon as possible."
She stood there, toe to toe with him, her eyes soundly holding his. She watched as they darkened and his scowl became more pronounced.
"Now look here, you green-blooded hobgoblin, who do you think you are? Putting yourself into our hands and then just deciding to leave! You came to us, Gray Hound, not the other way around, so don't you go talking like you're the doctor here because you're not!"
He snarled at her, his accent was thickening with every word and she watched despondently as Kirk resolutely put himself between them.
"Now look, let us just check you over. You can wash up, eat, and then leave. We won't keep you here against your will, but please, just- just take our advice, alright? We haven't hurt you so far."
His voice was calm, soothing, and slightly cajoling. She closed her eyes and shook her head in defeat. He was correct.
As she put the pillow back into its proper place her ribs protested. She paid no mind and walked back to the bed. It was rather filthy, covered in a layer of what she could smell to be blood, sweat, dead flesh, and antiseptic. Perching primly on the edge she rested her hands on her knees.
McCoy and Kirk conducted the examination. Quite and attentive they poked and probed her until she wanted to rip their fucking heads off and-
"Alright, you can go clean up now," Kirk proclaimed happily as he backed away from her.
She rose, not as fluid as normal, she noticed, but still smoothly. Slowly she pulled the remains of her uniform on and walked to the front door.
She stopped, her hand on the opening pad.
"I owe you guys one," she said. And then she disappeared into the light of the dawn.