Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure AP Biology wouldn't be so darn evil.

Unfamiliar voices heard between constant beeping. Blurry faces staring down at her, hands pinning her down to a cold, hard surface.

Beep.

"She's lost too much blood."

Beep.

"Is there anything we can do?"

Beep.

Darkness again. The beeping continues for an eternity, but the voices are unintelligible.

Tonia Barrows stared down at the still body of Christine Chapel; she had an incalculable number of tubes and needles covering nearly every inch of unclothed skin. Returning to the PADD in her hand, she noted the young woman's brief bouts of consciousness; about once or day, or so, her eyelids would slowly uncover her once-illuminant eyes, only to immediately sink back into the lifeless state of being she had been in for the past two weeks.

When she had been brought back to Earth nearly a fortnight ago by a special team from the emergency corps, she had suffered severe blood loss. Christine had been one of the people who was in charge of evacuating a starbase that was being attacked by a Klingon Warbird. The vessel had retreated upon being fired upon by the Enterprise. Tonia, who had been reassigned back to Earth after her father was diagnosed with a rare and incurable form of cancer, was very concerned to see her former shipmate in such a dire condition.

Just as Tonia turned to go and check on the other patients in the critical care unit of Starfleet Medical, she heard a small pain-laced groan from behind her.

She turned her head slightly to glance back at the bed-ridden patient, thinking her mind was just playing tricks on her. But, the moment she saw a familiar pair of blue eyes staring at her through baggy, squinted eyes, her suspicions were confirmed.

She hurried to the door of the small room and peered into the corridor.

"Doctor! Come Quickly!"

Christine felt a nauseous pang in the pit of her stomach as her eyes reacted to the brightness of the room. She groaned loudly as a ripple of pain ripped through her arms and up into her shoulders. As she attempted to adjust her vision, she heard a woman's voice yelling.

This was promptly followed by loud footsteps that hurried into the room. The owner of said footsteps loomed over her numb body, peering down at her. She was unable to make out his face, but judging by the white coat he seemed to be donning, he was a doctor.

"Miss Chapel? Can you hear me?" The man's voice said. Suddenly, a very cold sensation was pressed upon her chest. As her vision began to slowly grow clearer, she recognized it as a handheld device that monitored one's breathing levels.

The doctor then looked up. "Nurse Barrows, would you kindly hand me the hypospray?"

The brunette assistant, who seemed very familiar to Christine, quickly handed the man a silver, syringe-like mechanism, which he promptly jabbed into the crook of her neck. Christine yelped suddenly in surprise, unused to the sudden energy that was now being transported throughout her still body.

"Miss Chapel?" the doctor repeated.

"Ugh…" she groaned, doing her best to regain her voice. Her throat was very dry and felt as if she hadn't spoken in an eternity. "Whuhh…"

"Miss Chapel," he said, "You are currently in the intensive care unit at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco. Can you remember anything at all?"

It took her a moment to answer. She closed her eyes and attempted to remember the last time she wasn't bedridden in a hospital. "St-Starbase 23..." she recalled suddenly, remembering the chaos that she had been beamed down in the middle of.

"You are correct, Miss Chapel. A Klingon Warbird was in the process of attacking the starbase and when your ship arrived, you, along with a few others, were beamed down to assist in the evacuations. You were somehow knocked against a wall, injuring your head. However, your traumatic loss of blood is mainly due to the shrapnel that had torn the skin on your arms to pieces. You're lucky to be alive."

"Enterprise…What about the Enterprise?" she stuttered, suddenly remembering her loss of communications with the ship.

"Most of your crewmates are fine. An emergency corps group brought the injured back home."

"Most…The injured…Are there more?"

It took a moment for the doctor to answer. "It would be best if you resumed your rest. Numerous family members and friends have been visiting you since your arrival two weeks ago --"

"T-Two weeks?" she exclaimed.

"Just relax, Miss Chapel. You will be back on your feet again quite soon." He then pulled out another hypospray and immediately jabbed it into Christine's right shoulder.

"Wuh…W-Wait," she sputtered, doing her best to fight the sudden fatigue that fell over her. "What about Sp--"

But she was unable to finish her sentence. The medication in the hypospray had thrown her into a spiral of darkness.

"Hey, Christine."

Christine pulled her eyes from the window directly facing her bed. The brilliant view of San Francisco's bridge had dimmed somewhat after nearly a week's worth of staring at. It was her only outlet to the outside world, but the only thing it would tell her was the weather or if it was day or night.

Standing at the doorway of her room was Nyota Uhura, dressed in her black command uniform.

Christine lifted herself up from her pillows as she approached the bed. "Ugh, I know, I look horrible," she said. "They won't let me use a mirror in this place."

And she had no idea why. It had been nearly a week after she had regained consciousness and she had more than enough time to assess her injuries: severely lacerated arms and stitched-up cut on her forehead. She supposed it keeps patients from worrying about petty things, such as physical appearances, and more about their road to recovery.

"Well, let's just say you've looked better," Nyota smiled, pulling up a chair.

"Ugh, God," Christine groaned, surveying the room for the billionth time that week. "You've no idea how sick I am of this place. And to top it all off, they're not telling me a thing about Spock."

Nyota shifted in her chair and stared out the window.

"What?" Christine sensed something was amiss judging by the unusual display of discomfort from her friend.

"Nothing…It's nothing. He's fine, I've seen him. The doctors say that he just regained consciousness the other day, a day or so after you did. But he suffered a little more than you did."

Christine suddenly recalled the shred of shrapnel that had protruded from his chest, nailing him the ground. "Tell me."

"His left lung was punctured severely, making it difficult for him to be able to breathe on his own. They don't know if…If he will be able to do so for a long time. They said he's lucky, though. His Vulcan physiology saved him. If he were Human, his heart would be wear his lungs are." Nyota offered Christine a smile, but it did very little to comfort her.

"This is all my fault," Christine groaned. Her eyes began to fill with hot tears.

"Don't say that, Christine. You were doing your job. If it wasn't for you, those scientists wouldn't have made it alive. You should be happy."

"Happy? Because of me, Spock might not be okay after all this. Because of me, he's --"

"Going to be alright," cooed Nyota. "Don't worry about it, Christine. You've been through too much in the past year and a half. You don't need to add this to the list of negatives."

Christine sighed inwardly and fell back against her pillows. "I hope you're right, Nyota."

Little did Christine know, Nyota's expression echoed her exact sentiments. Me too, Christine…Me too.

A/N: :O ME TOO CHRISTINE. Next chapter, Spock appearance. That is, if you review :D