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At night hunger keeps her awake. Tossing and turning between soaked sheets. Longing. For her. It's always been her, even though she didn't know before. But now she may never see her again and it's almost unbearable.
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She reaches for the other side of the bed. A reflex. Nostalgia maybe. It's empty. Of course it is. She's not one to dwell on what could have been, but sometimes she cannot help it.
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No regrets. That's how she wants to live, how she planned to die, phasers blasting. Only now, there is another hand, holding hers. Walking through the fire together.