unconquerable | open post

There is salt on her lips and sand in her mouth, with the whole ocean seemingly filling her lungs as she tears herself from the sea, choking and spluttering and trying to breathe before she collapses on golden sand, only barely beyond the water's edge.

She can't even summon the strength to push herself over to her back or look to see what strange shore she has found herself on. It doesn't matter, all that matters is crawling away from the sea, choking still, spitting up sea water and sand as she slowly, painfully forces her tired body beyond the tide's reach and into looser, softer sand.

It's there she falls asleep, unable to push herself any further and too tired to be concerned about whatever man or beast might find her here in nothing more than what little remained of her dress. She survived the sea, she would survive whatever came next.

So long as she survived the night.

The cliffs above the beach are some of Diana's favorite places on the island. She can see forever, until the edges of the sea meet the sky, carrying the promise of a world beyond her little island. She loves her island and her family here, but Diana is often alone, no one her own age there to relate.

She takes to them between training and hunting and her studies, visiting at least once a day. Sometimes it's not until late when the sun is down and the stars glimmer overhead that she visits. She knows the way by heart, can cross it on days when the moon is gone. That night, however, the moon is out and full, and she spots the figure almost immediately.

Diana doesn't need to be dramatic and jump into the water, as there's a perfectly fine path to the beach, but she's in a rush and simply leaps into the water, swimming to the shore in a matter of moments.

She carefully rolls the figure over, patting her face gently. "Please be alive."

It's been years since Morgana slept with such stillness. Her body aches in protest at even the slightest shift, so she stays as she collapsed, laying in the pristine sand.

There's no room for nightmares, her body is too tired, no room for much more than sleep which means somehow half-drowning was the most peaceful night she had had in years, maybe in her life.

When she's touched, when she's rolled over onto her back she barely moves, she doesn't even blink at the voice, or the hands, some distant part of her brain thinks Mother???? Am I dead? but as long as it's been, that voice doesn't belong to any kin of Morgana's.

That thought stirs her more than whatever words the voice said to her, breath by breath she managed to draw in more of the salty air that tastes like the sea that tried to drown her, and eventually, barely, Morgana managed to open her eyes. It was hard to distinguish the figure in the dark, little more than a shadow against the bright field of stars framing her. She blinks, tries to speak but her lips are too parched and still half covered in sand but her hand manages to find the strangers, gently curling over it in the best hello she can muster.

She's not dead, at least.

Once Diana pushes the drenched and bedraggled lady on her back, she waits, expecting - Diana isn't sure what, but she's expecting something. The slim hand finding hers galvanizes her, makes her realize that she's sitting there unmoving when the figure is still covered in sand and croaking at her.

She gently squeezes the woman's hand in return and reaches over to brush the dirt off her face, careful not to get any in her mouth and sweeping it away from her eyes.

"You are not from Themyscira." She knows everyone on the island, and this woman doesn't look like anyone on the island. "But do not fret. No harm will come to you here."

There hasn't actually been a stranger on the island, as far as Diana knows, but she's confident there won't be a reason to distrust a stranger. Hospitality is important. She stands, extending her hands down to help the woman up, an arm slipping around her back to support her.

'Th-Themys-caria?' she barely manages to choke out, voice little more than a hoarse whisper as she struggles to see her properly in the dark.

There's no time for fretting, or consideration about if the woman ringed by stars means her harm or not because she's getting up and expecting Morgana to follow, and somehow she manages to stand, even if the motion almost makes her regret existing.

The whole world seems to spin beneath Morgana as she straightens up properly, but thankfully she doesn't have to stand entirely on her own, the woman's arm is solid and comforting around her back and she manages to lean only a little into her, she even manages to take a few quick steps. Anything to get away from the water for a while.

'I.. I am, Morgana. Of Camelot.' she says, throat still too dry and lips almost cracking but it seems important to at least tell her her name.

It's close enough and Diana isn't going to quibble about pronunciation, not when Morgana appears to still be suffering. She tightens her grip around Morgana as they stumble forward, taking more of her weight, and supporting her in getting away from the water.

"I am Diana, Princess of Themyscira, daughter of Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons." It's a mouthful, but Diana never minds saying it; she is incredibly proud of her mother and her people.

"You will come to no harm here," Diana reassures her. "We have healers who can help." After all, they are meant to help people, and Diana wants to help so much. "I can carry you."

'Amazons?' Greeks? There are so many questions that swim to the surface of her mind and are quickly drowned in her exhaustion from having foolishly had an argument with the sea about her right to live. But there will be time for questions later, time to wonder at the fact that, if the woman was right, she had happened upon an island full of legends.

'I... I can walk,' Morgana insists, both proud and feeling like too much of a burden already. She straightens herself up and her steps only wobble slightly away from Diana as she does. 'Getting rescued by a Princess seems to be more effective than getting rescued by a prince,' her voice is slowly coming back to her, though her words are slow and too spaced apart to sound entirely smooth. 'Thank you, Diana.'

"There is a story. I shall share later." After all, it is not like Morgana is going to be going anywhere, not as weak as she seems, and she can't fathom the thought that Hippolyta might not allow her to stay. An injured woman, on their shores?

"There are no princes on this island. Have you met one before?" she stays close to Morgana, ready to assist her should she fall, although she doesn't protest Morgana's decision to walk on her own.

It's difficult to walk, her steps weave an uneven pattern on the sand but she manages, more or less, even when her knee tries to stop working she continues to hobble along, reassured by the calming presence of Diana, though why it was so comforting she couldn't really say.

'I was raised with one,' she shrugs, wondering briefly what Arthur might think of her disappearing. This place seemed like it must be far from her home, even from what she could make out in the dark. 'After my father died, the King, his friend, took me in. He has a son, Arthur.' Morgana took a deep breath, trying to make her voice more even, more steady.

'My mother was dead already, and he let my father die. I suppose he felt bad. My father was a Knight, his best friend, supposedly.'

'He went to war for him, and the King never sent them back up her promised, so Da was overrun... I was ten. I have lived with them since.'

Diana knew of Jim Kirk; it was impossible not to know if him, after the incident with the Narada. But she didn't know him and hadn't paid attention to the holovids or images that cropped up as part of the press coverage. Hadn't, at least, until the Enterprise had been sent off on another mission and she happened to catch a glimpse of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed captain of the ship.

Starfleet had long been something Diana admired but carefully avoided, not wanting to attract comments about her heritage. Scientists, the lot of them, would not believe her birth or understand her healing powers or immortality. Better to avoid the issue entirely. But Jim - something about his eyes drew her in.

It took weeks, a few months even, and she managed acceptance into Starfleet. Diana had lived long enough, was intelligent enough, that she had no problem with the tests, and even set her mind to a three-year course. So she was there, in San Francisco, when everything came crashing down, and when Jim landed in the hospital. For what, no one would say, and even the security of his records was more advanced than Diana could hack. She had intended to stay away from him and just watch from afar for the moment, but knowing he was in the hospital, she couldn't resist.

It was late, only a few night shift nurses on duty, when she snuck into his room. Seeing him laid out on the bed, hooked up to wires, she stifled a sob and reached out to touch his hand.

His mind was a vast wasteland of space and void and voices. He fought with them as they swarmed his thoughts and forced his mind down, down-and even then, he wouldn't give in. He struggled against it, like a blinding, burning rope twisting across his chest and then-wake up. His eyelid's fluttered and the pale whiteness of the room had him catching his breath. He swallowed against the panic as sensation came slamming back into him from his head to his feet.

Every part of him vibrated with unspent energy and exhaustion.

Jim flexed his fingers and turned his head to the left and - "Huh. Didn't think I'd earn an angel."

He was meant to be asleep still - Diana had been counting on that. Had she been focused, like she should have been, she could have caught the reflexive action of his throat, the flutter of his eyes, watched his head turn - she could have been away from him. Before this.

Instead, she had been too focused on his face, putting together his features, remembering that beloved face. And when he opened his eyes, she froze, every bit of knowledge escaping her. They were just like Steve's.

His words weren't exactly the same and shook her from her stupor. Caught, there was nothing to do but go along. She could sneak out later, and maybe he'd think of this as a hallucination.

"I'm not an angel."

"Then I'm not dead." Jim pauses and searches her face, but he gets the feeling she wouldn't lie to him. He screws up his face and can't even begin to guess how that was possible. Either part.

There's only one person who can answer how any of this was possible and he's kind of surprised he isn't here looming and threatening his life with medicine.

He really, really should be dead.

"Neat," he muttered.

He looks her over, tired, but careful. "You're not in medical, are you?"

He's just determined to constantly remind Diana of Steve, it seems. His words make her smile; she has no hope that this is anything more than pain medication making him loopy, so it's easy to smile at him and ignore the ache in her chest.

"I'm not. Just a cadet, for now." She's not dressed in red, just casual clothes - jeans and a leather jacket. "And no, you're not dead. You're alive."

At least someone with his eyes will still be around in this world.

"That's something, isn't it?" Jim settles back into his pillow nest and watches her, a small, secretive smile tugging on his lips.

"You snuck in." There was no way they'd let anyone know where his room was. For all the shit Starfleet put him through, they'd give him this. Especially when he wasn't awake. That they would give him. So she wasn't in here by conventional means.

And if she was going to kill him, she was wide open to do it whenever she choses.

She hadn't though. He was going to give humanity some faith. "I'm a little impressed."

"Perhaps." She doesn't confirm or deny the trouble she had to go through to find out where his room was or sneak in without alerting every nurse on the floor. She was still sure someone would come running soon enough.

"You're not the only one capable of hacking a computer system, Jim."

"You did." Why? Jim's mind is whirring away as he tries to place her. She's familiar in a way breathing is, but he doesn't know why. He doesn't know why he feels so goddamn safe with her sitting beside him like that's precisely how things ought to be.

He doesn't know why he hasn't called for security, or asked her to leave, or fuck just pressed her for a better reason for her to be there. Instead he says, "Touche."

"I wanted to see you." Diana can't read minds, but she knows what usually follows a comment like that. "Is there anything wrong with that?"

She shifts from the chair to the edge of his bed, reaching out to touch his hand. "How are you feeling?"

"You don't even know me."

He is almost positive he has never seen her in his life, familiarity aside. He refuses to believe he'd forget someone as attractive as she is.

Jim shuts his eyes for a moment, hoping it'd help, hoping it might clear the persistent ache in the base of his skull that grew the longer he studied her. "Like I could sleep for a week."

"Doesn't mean I can't care. You saved the planet, after all." This time, and with Nero. And someone who had his face, his eyes, had saved the day centuries before.

Of course, she's not supposed to know about those.

"Try and sleep. Your body needs it." She reaches out and clasps his hand, grips it in hers for a moment.

"A lot of people saved the planet." A lot of people lived through it. People on the ground. On his ship. People he had been responsible for and at the last minute sacrificed himself for because he finally remembered what he was about. "You're not in their rooms."

"I'm not sure I'm not sleeping now." His eyes slide closed as he listens to the steady hum of medical equipment, more reassuring of his continued survival than the woman beside him.

"Why do I know you?" he asks her even as his continued exhaustion tugs on his consciousness.

"They were all very brave. But they are not you." They don't look like the one man Diana still loves, the best example of the world of man. "Maybe I'll stop and see them. Later."

She laughs, the sound a little wet. She hadn't even realized she had tears in her eyes, but she can feel them, now.

"Maybe you are, and you only know me in your dreams." She reaches out again, presses her hand to his cheek. "May your dreams be sweet, Jim Kirk."

Jim stretches his arms high above his head, enjoying the feeling of sun burning across his skin as he bends and touches his toes. PT was a bitch, but one that could be done inside or out now that he'd been declared healthy enough to rejoin civilization. The rebuilding of Starfleet HQ was slow work, but he could see the buildings coming back together again. Most memorial services occurred while he was on bedrest, a fact that continued to frustrate him, as much as the brass wanting him to make some grand speech before he was allowed back out in space.

But people were living, moving forward, and for all that he, himself, had been officially dead not even a full month ago, he was glad to see it.

He straightened up and shaded his eyes as he took in the small clusters of cadets and officers moving around the remaining debris and bringing in new landscaping. If he hadn't been given a monitor, (Thanks for the trust, Bones.) he'd be over there helping.

Instead he took a step backward and bumped right into someone. He swore softly and spun around. "Sorry! Sorry, I-"

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~~~~ diana likes a good rescue, right?

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two weeks later~