In the beginning, there was darkness. And the darkness was without form, and void.
And in addition to the darkness there was also me.
It swallowed them whole, comforting and warm. Wrapping around them like a blanket, they felt no pain for the first time in so, so long. It was so nice, they never wanted to leave.
Sometimes in the darkness they thought they heard the sounds of distant murmurs, but they didn't care who they were, who was whispering to them. They didn't matter. None of it mattered as much as this tranquility and peace. Was this what death was like? Had they died? Perhaps it wasn't so bad after all, not something to be afraid of like they'd always thought.
It was nice.
Hours turned to days, days turned to a week, and the week turned into more.
On the 15th day, the darkness suddenly ended. The sounds started slowly fading in, getting louder and more crisp, and before they realized what they were doing they were opening their eyes. Opening their eyes in what proved to be a feat, because they had crusted a bit and their lids felt so, so sluggish and heavy.
They saw the ceiling again but this time they saw it in much better definition; though their vision would never be the same as before, it wasn't like they were completely blind. They blinked, seeing the textures, studying them, while they did a mental checklist to see what was going on, where they were at.
They felt clean, warm, secure. Something they hadn't felt in so so SO long, and it felt so nice. Maybe this was where the nice feeling had come from in their sleep. Their brain sent the impulses to their arms and their fingers twitched; slowly raising a hand, they saw they were covered in small bandages here and there, and that they looked just slightly less thin than when they'd last seen themself. It was very slight, though.
They reached up and their fingertips brushed over bandages, and then what used to be unkempt blonde hair was now soft and combed, and so silky in comparison to how it had been before they almost couldn't believe it.
Finally, they became aware of a kind of tingling feeling at the base of their tail, and realizing they were laying on it, they slowly started to push themself up, careful of the IV taped down on their arm. It was when they shifted that they noticed two things:
First, their leg was gone. Not their leg leg but their prosthetic, the one that Andy had managed to make for them. Frantically they reached forward, patting around the bed for it as if they thought it would magically reappear under the blankets.
And second, as they were patting and looking desperately for their lost limb they saw him: Hannibal.
He was sitting in a chair, next to their bed, head resting on his arms, asleep. But he looked different; he had a beard for one, and for another his head was closely shaven... His nice long hair gone. He almost looked like a completely different person, and if they hadn't paid so much attention to memorizing every feature of him and his body they might not have recognized him at all.
What... Why... How long had they..?
The panic was still rushing through them, the beeping on their heart monitor loud and quick now as opposed to the serene and even pace it had had earlier. All they could do was sit there and stare at Hannah, mouth slightly agape, as they tried to figure out what... What they could possibly do.
Did they wake him up? Where were they? How long had they been here? How long had they been asleep? Where was Andromeda? Were they still Pilots? Was she alive? Why did Hannibal look so different? He hated having facial hair before, and what made him shave his head? Where was the rest of the squad? What--