Prologue: Hannah

AN: This story ties in with my current epic 'String and Chewing Gum', and is dedicated to everyone who has ever reviewed it (there are too many of you to name, but you all know who you are, and a very special shout out to all of you for making my fic worth writing!) but you don't have to have read that for this story to make sense, as it is essentially a prequel. It will, eventually, chart certain important events within the life of Hannah Valentine, Beka's future daughter. However, much of this is Beka-centric, as she is the one raising Hannah by herself, and as the fic chart's Hannah's childhood, it chart's Beka's life, her relationships, struggles, triumphs and defeats. Hannah is a child throughout. Enjoy!

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The baby's name was Hannah.

Beka had decided that, not long ago. Decided it with as much firmness as she could, considering the situation.

Hannah was a good name. A simple, decent name. Easy to say, easy to pronounce, easy to spell. And it spelt the same thing backwards. A good name. A name for the baby.

The baby's name was Hannah.

She had red hair. Just a tuft of it. All soft, like swan's down. She'd touched it, to make sure, with a single delicate finger, careful not to hurt her, not to break her, not to wake her up. And she had a nose that turned up. She'd touched that too, ever so gently, and felt the breathing, soft and gentle, little in, little out. It made a sound, soft as her hair, a whisper in the air all around her, just beside her. And Beka knew her eyes were blue because she'd seen them, wide and true as buttons; as stars in a velvet sky; each eye ringed with a circlet of long, little lashes, that fluttered sometimes. Careful not to break her…

Her name was Hannah. The baby's name was Hannah.

Her fingers were like birch twigs. They were so long and little and perfect. Her nails were pearly and white and clean, smooth, and the balls of her feet could fit into the palm of her hand, and she made a little burbling sound if you stroked them. Her fingers held things tightly. They held the blanket she was wrapped in, all crushed in that tiny grip.

"You're name is Hannah," Beka told the child, conspiratorially, "and no one else knows you exist. Just me, and the medics, and the ship. And the medics don't know your name. You're my secret, little Hannah."

The baby who's name was Hannah slept on, sucking on her lower lip.

She had red hair. Just a tuft. A button nose that whispered, blue button eyes, birch twig fingers, and ticklish feet.

The baby's name was Hannah.

Her baby, she reminded herself. Her baby.