AN: Here's another piece to this one. Admittedly, I've realized that this one is going to be a longer piece. I don't want to cut it short, and I want to be sure to give each piece of this story what it deserves. I promise that everything you (probably) want is coming, but I don't want to rush it.

I'll give the warning of some semi-graphic descriptions of violence/injury here.

I hope you enjoy! If you do, please let me know!

111

Carnage.

Beverly had been in situations where she'd had to handle the fallout of a great many battles between numerous species. She'd seen her share of senseless death, pain, and suffering. She'd had to learn to shut herself down long enough to handle what was in front of her—what had to be handled—and then to deal with her own emotions and feelings later, when the urgency of a moment was done.

Still, it didn't mean that things didn't turn her stomach—especially with the little stowaway that she was currently harboring.

She gave herself the luxury of only a moment to draw three long, cleansing breaths, and to release them with the hope that she could remain firmly in control of herself during the rest of her efforts to save the Romulans and Rangers that had been injured and weren't already dead.

"Beverly—the second shuttle is bringing the supplies from your ship," Mirah said, approaching Beverly. Mirah was a Borandonite. Her species was nearly extinct from a cataclysmic event that had destroyed her home planet and forced the few lucky survivors to seek refuge on another planet. She was humanoid, and she stood at least two heads taller than Beverly. Beverly might describe her as simply long and thin. Some people described Borandonites as reptilian, likening them to snakes. Others saw more of a cat-like appearance in the features of the Borandonites. Beverly knew that those who saw the species as cat-like were far more correct than those who saw some reptilian resemblance.

From her vertical slit pupils, to the sleek layer of green fur that covered her body, to the warm blood and live birth that her species gave—often to litters of three to five babies at a time, which they called "bubs"—Mirah was a mammal.

She was, also, the first Borandonite that Beverly had actually ever met, and she was proving herself to be a friend—even if it took some getting used to her way of being to see that she wasn't as cold as she appeared at first glance.

"From the look of all this blood," Beverly said, already walking toward the rough tents that the Rangers had put nearby, "there isn't enough supplies on my ship. I'm low after the last time."

"There never is enough supplies," Mirah said. "However, most of the individuals here are dead or dying as quickly as we can locate them and move them inside. You won't have many to treat."

"That doesn't make me feel better, Mirah," Beverly said.

"It wasn't meant to," Mirah responded.

"What happened?" Beverly asked.

"The Tal Shiar thought that lessening the number of undesirables would mean that all final rescue efforts could be turned toward saving some select Romulans. We were called by an individual who was working here to say that the Tal Shiar had given an order. Some of their own operatives turned against them, and a fight broke out."

"Rangers dead, too?" Beverly asked.

Mirah barely nodded, purposefully moving slowly because her very long legs would allow her to outrun Beverly without any effort at all.

"Very few survivors," Mirah said. "There are some children, however, who were protected by the Tal Shiar that turned against their own. They have suffered much more minor injuries. My Rangers are checking for dead, and they'll bring you survivors as they find them. It's difficult with the lack of light and the level of destruction."

Beverly saw the small shuttle land near the tents not too far from them. She watched as the Rangers assigned to that job scrambled to unload what supplies she had left. It wouldn't be long and she'd have to leave the area to get more supplies. She'd been trying to help around Romulus for the last little bit, and it had meant that her supplies had really taken a hit. The Romulan Empire might just destroy itself before the supernova ever got the chance.

"Do we have transports to move out the survivors?" Beverly asked.

"We've reached out," Mirah said. "Two shuttles are ready to move those that can move to Heridian."

"That's not a Romulan colony," Beverly said. "It's not safe to move Romulans to non-Romulan spaces right now. Not while everything is…" She gestured with her hands. It was enough to communicate the overall confusion and chaos of everything around them at the moment.

"We have more transports in that area," Mirah said. "They will be moved immediately. Your concern is keeping anyone alive to go onto those transports."

"Point taken," Beverly said, pushing back the cloth that gave the tents some semblance of privacy. Immediately, she had to stop and still herself for a moment. Her baby and her body didn't understand that she didn't have time for nausea over everything she saw, smelled, and heard.

"You can handle the situation," Mirah said.

"I can handle the situation," Beverly confirmed. "Tell me you have another medical team on the way?"

"The Mariposas won't be entering the area," Mirah said. "The supernova is imminent. Many of the Rangers won't enter the area. It would be best if we all leave when we're done here, so that nobody risks being caught."

"Great. It's just me. So, we'll save who we can," Beverly mused, "but we're turning our backs on the rest of them."

"We will do what we can," Mirah said. "Here are the most critical."

Beverly accepted the direction given to her. She prepared as quickly as she could and got to work. It was, for the most part, hopeless, and she knew that from the start. The supplies she had wasn't sufficient. In many cases, it was like trying to put a proverbial band-aid on a gushing artery and expecting to save a life.

Beverly lost nearly everyone she touched, but she willed herself to separate from the situation as much as possible, so that she could keep powering through the survivors and save who she could.

Outside, the Rangers picked through the carnage for survivors and brought them in as they found them. Beverly also knew that a few of them were probably doling out their own form of medical care with phasers—perhaps the most humane thing for some of those who hadn't died already. She tried not to think of that.

When the most critical of her patients had been cared for inside the tent, Beverly found some relief in being able to care for more than a handful of scared Romulan children who weren't too terribly injured. Their little bodies had been protected by the larger Romulan bodies she'd seen torn apart by blades, phasers, and disruptors. Beverly patched the little ones up, comforting them as best she could, and Mirah saw to it that they were sent to board a shuttle that would, eventually, get them to a Romulan colony where they would hopefully have a chance at a future.

"Incoming."

Beverly flinched when she heard the word. They were bringing in survivors practically one at a time now, but she supposed that was for the best. At the very least, she had time to spend with each one that came in, and even as she declared them gone, at least she could feel like she'd done the best for them that she could.

Beverly wiped her brow, expecting to wipe away sweat, and shuddered when she saw the green liquid practically coating her arm. Her whole body was damp, and at this point it was just as much with copper-based blood as it was with the sweat that naturally came from trying to work on the sweltering planet.

The Romulan man that was put before her wore clothing that marked him as Tal Shiar. Beverly didn't know if he was on the side that had given the order to kill the "undesirables," or if he was one who had declared that he wouldn't do so—even under penalty of his own death—but she was giving every Romulan she treated the benefit of the doubt.

She would not, and she could not, let her own personal feelings get in the way of offering anyone who came before her the best care that she could.

The minute she was left alone to study the man, she knew he wouldn't make it. Still, she wouldn't tell him that.

One look at him and she knew that his internal organs were scrambled. They were, more than likely, much like they would have been if they'd been placed in a blender. And many of them were already leaking out of his body through the wound in his gut. To try to treat him would be to waste resources that were limited.

Beverly gave him an analgesic and pretended to treat him, trying not to be sick at what she saw.

"I'm Zhaban. My wife," he said. He'd said the same phrase a dozen times since they'd been carrying him in. "I'm Zhaban. My wife."

"What about your wife, Zhaban?" Beverly finally asked, offering him a smile and deciding that humoring him might at least help him calm down. Maybe, if he was able to express what he had to say, and if she could give him some modicum of comfort, he would pass peacefully and quietly, instead of gasping for his final breath like she imagined would come at any minute.

"Laris. Is she…dead? Laris…my wife."

Beverly didn't want to tell him that she hadn't met any Romulan named Laris—not that she'd met many that were conscious for more than a few screaming moments. She didn't want to tell him, either, that nearly every Romulan adult, with very few exceptions, that had come into the tent was in a pile in the corner right now, because they weren't sure how to handle disposal. Realistically, Beverly wouldn't stay to see the disposal of the dead, and she imagined that the impending supernova would mean that they would all simply be handled by the explosion—along with anyone else living on the planet.

This Romulan was going to die, and he clearly had loved his wife. Beverly thought there was something sweet in the final thoughts of the man being about his wife—his beloved.

She smiled at him and swallowed against the lump in her throat. She wanted him to hold onto the thoughts of his beloved wife. She wanted him to go—since there was no saving him—with happy thoughts of the woman he loved.

"Laris," she said, repeating the name back softly. He looked relieved just to hear it. The sound of it had a soothing quality for him. "Laris," Beverly repeated. "She is…"

"Alive?" He asked, hope bubbling up to the surface—along with the green blood that bubbled up in his throat and stained his lips.

"Yes," Beverly said. "She is. She's…fine. She's…on a transport. We'll take you there as soon as you're stable. You'll go together to Heridian. They're establishing a colony there, and you'll be able to heal and start a new life together."

She could see the life fading in his eyes. He relaxed, though, with her words, and she knew that was the greatest mercy she could grant him. The relaxation would lessen his pain, and it would help him slip away more easily.

"She's alive," he said.

"And she…loves you," Beverly offered.

He smiled.

"I love her, too," he said. "I always have."

And, with that, Beverly saw the last of his life fade out of his eyes. For a moment, she stood and held his arms, just as she'd been doing. She'd lied to him, but she didn't truly feel sorry for her lie. He'd died as much at peace as was possible. That was the greatest thing she could grant him.

"Incoming…semi-conscious, but alive."

"That one's gone," Beverly offered, moving to the other cot where they'd put down another figure practically soaked in the green, copper-scented liquid that, thankfully, Beverly's sense of smell was starting to ignore.

She leaned over the Romulan woman who was, at the moment, gasping for breath. It didn't take long for Beverly to find her injury—or, at least, one of the largest. It didn't look hopelessly fatal, and Beverly felt a fluttering in her heart as she realized she could save this one.

"Easy," Beverly commanded. "Easy. Calm down. I'm going to help you. I'm going to save you, but I need your help. I know it hurts. I need you to breathe with me, though, and calm down."

"Baby…baby…please…" The woman gasped out.

It didn't take long for Beverly to realize what she meant. Her hands, slick with blood that might have belonged to the woman, and might have belonged to any other Romulan they'd come across already, felt the woman's abdomen. She was pregnant, though Beverly couldn't be certain exactly how far along in the moment.

"I'll take care of your baby," Beverly said. The woman seemed to relax a little. Beverly felt an instant pang in her chest—she felt a kinship with the woman on the table. She was afraid for her baby. She feared for her baby's life, it seemed, more than her own. Beverly understood that. "I will take care of your baby," Beverly repeated.

She gave the woman an analgesic and something to help calm her. Neither would be more dangerous for the baby than the woman's current state. She grabbed a portable breather and fitted it over the woman's face, offering her some assistance breathing as she calmed from all she'd been through. Finally, Beverly felt able to assess her numerous injuries and to try to figure out where to begin to stop the blood and treat the injuries.

"My husband," the woman said. "Zhaban…"

Beverly felt a stabbing sensation in her chest. For a moment, she abandoned her work and looked into the dark eyes of the woman.

"You're Laris," Beverly said.

Before Laris could respond, Beverly lost eye contact with her. Her eyes rolled back, and she went limp.

"No, you don't," Beverly said, turning her attention to solving as many problems as she could, as quickly as she could. She talked to the woman as she worked, hoping that she could still hear her and, in some way, listen to her. "Laris? Stay with me. You do that for me, OK? You stay with me. I'll save you, and your baby…but you have to do your part, OK? You can't leave me."

Beverly didn't know, at that moment, exactly how sincerely she meant what she was saying to the Romulan woman whose life she held in her hands. All she knew, was that she had to save her.