A/N: The style of writing here is very choppy. This is deliberate and not just because I can't be bothered to write properly. The reasons for this style are because I wanted to try something different and because the story kind of wrote itself like this – and refused to be changed!
...
300 years.
300 years.
Time.
Time.
Always time.
Time in which she'd lived, 'died', been reborn. A relative. A daughter. Or someone new. Another country. Another world to explore.
She'd lived, whilst they'd slept. She'd known, of course.
Created in the same way. But different. Better. Faster. Stronger. The experiment heightened, perfected.
But with something wrong…
Weakness.
Compassion.
Different from the rest.
The tide changed.
War.
An army against an army.
One to win. The other to sleep.
She'd escaped.
Better. Faster. Stronger. She'd escaped.
She'd lived in among them, the humans. Un-aging. Undying. They hadn't known. She'd been careful. So careful.
300 years. Lived, loved, experienced.
Earth. She'd learnt it all.
Then came space. The first explorations. The first missions.
She'd been there. Watched as they'd taken their first trembling steps into the vast world beyond. She hadn't been able to wait. More to see. More to explore. More to learn.
She'd helped. Her mind: A scientist. A physicist. An engineer… Different countries. Different looks. Helping them. Helping them reach the stars.
Then came the discovery. Other species joining them, helping them as well. But not all…
Threats. Confrontations. Wars. She'd seen it, felt it; their fear, their desire, their hope.
A Federation born, then Starfleet. Another life begun. A cadet first. Then an ensign. Then a lieutenant. Back in Space soon enough.
One ship, then another. Finally The Enterprise. Exciting. Dangerous. A young captain; headstrong and reckless, but not cruel. A new life in the stars…
She hadn't known. Hadn't known that the 'Rogue Agent' would be one of them. One of the sleepers.
Worse. It was him. The strongest. The most feared. The one whose blood flowed in her veins. He'd been the beginning. She, the end.
No way could she refuse. A fellow crewman taken ill; human frailty. Her assignment switched.
Now she's here and he's there. Behind the glass. Behind the mask that he's wearing: the guise of innocence.
She doesn't look. Mustn't look. Mustn't let him know.
But his eyes are on her. Cold, like ice. Like his heart. As soon as she'd entered, cold, cold eyes searing her. Don't look. Don't look.
The captain comes and goes. He talks to him but as soon as he's gone, the eyes return to her. Only a few more hours till the shift ends... Don't look. Don't look.
He prowls. From one end of the cell to the next. Looking. Watching. Contemplating.
Finally the silence is broken.
"Don't I know you?" he says. Standing still and staring, demanding an acknowledgement.
She doesn't give him one.
"I asked you a question… Lieutenant." Such a beautiful voice. Deep. Smooth. Made for seduction but made for cruelty as well. She remembers. Memories buried for so long. She remembers them. Her kin. The ones before. Fierce. Beautiful. Bloodthirsty… Him.
"Will you not answer me?" Switched. Changed. The cruelty gone. The seduction in place now. Worse. More dangerous.
"It is against Starfleet protocol to engage a prisoner unless absolutely necessary. Please refrain from speaking unless you need something." Good cadet. Good ensign. Good lieutenant. Voice calm. Hands hidden, shaking.
"Your voice…" he murmurs, thoughtful, wondering. "Who are you?"
I'm not you. I'm not you. Born from his blood but not like him.
Silent again.
She feels his anger. His anger in her blood. He wants the answer.
She remembers. Remembers seeing him the first time. She, a child. He, a man. Anger then too. Anger at her when they'd informed him of what they'd done: Taken his DNA, his blood. Made her. But worse; made her weak. Compassion. Mercy. Not like them. Not like him. No good.
Shift ends. She's relieved. Feels the anger as she walks away. "Lieutenant," he says again. She ignores him.
Anger. Anger from behind the glass, from behind the ice.
She tries to sleep. Likes sleep. Doesn't need it, but finds it comforting. Not tonight. Tonight she sees him, feels him. Shifting. Pacing. Restless. Agitated. Searching in his mind. Trying to remember.
She is ordered to return to the brig. Doesn't want to go. Has no excuse to refuse.
He's there; waiting, watching. Eyes alighting on her as soon as she walks in. Ice that burns.
He comes to the glass. Places his hand on it. Break through the glass and take hold. Wants to. Can't. Watching. Watching.
The captain comes again. Young. So young. Wants answers. The name comes. Khan. A shiver down her spine. A remembrance. She knows he sees it.
A ship approaches. Starfleet. Both of them betrayed. The sleeper and the captain too.
The captain orders him away, away to Sickbay. She's relieved. But then he orders her to be on the team to take him there. No excuse to refuse.
Heart pounds. Hands tremble. She walks in front, him behind.
Sickbay. He stares, watches. The doctor – grumpy and coarse but kind underneath – snaps at him to keep his eyes to himself. He's trying to protect her. A small but grateful smile stretches her lips as she glances towards the gruff man in blue.
That's when it happens.
He remembers. His body becomes tense, alert. Leaning forward towards her, kept back by phasers and shouts.
"I know who you are," he breathes. The ice blazes. Vicious. Calculating.
"What the hell are you talking about?" the doctor demands.
He doesn't respond. Doesn't take his eyes away from her. Calculating. Wondering… Plotting.
It has been a long, long time since she's felt real fear.
The captain returns. Demands more answers. Distracts him from her.
A plan is made. But she isn't forgotten. Before he leaves, he looks back to her, a promise in his eyes.
…
She should have been prepared. Should have guessed but the ship had been damaged – there was so much to do. She was distracted. Too late she recognises the beam of transportation.
He is ready for her.
Stun blast. One after the other as he strides towards her from across the bridge – the bridge of the Vengeance. He's too far for her to reach him. She goes to duck behind a console. Makes it. Charges round the other side.
He meets her.
A fight. A dance. She's stronger but the phase blasts have taken their toll and she's not used to hurting people.
He shows no mercy.
Blow after blow rained down. She staggers. He strikes. She falls. The last thing she sees is his boot before it crashes down onto her skull.
…
She wakes to see glass. This time she is the one in the cell.
She turns over, her body healed now but something still feels wrong…
She gets up to her hands and knees, about to rise. Looks up to see him looking down from behind the glass.
She stands but sways. What's wrong with her? She's never felt like this.
His voice seeps through the confusion, "I've decreased the oxygen levels within the cell. Think of it as a precautionary measure. Also, I've taken… quite a large amount of your blood." An understatement, she can tell. He took far more to make her like this. "I wanted to test it for myself," he says by way of explanation.
She manages to bring her focus to him. Tall. Beautiful. Proud. Cruel. He's watching her. Watching her so intently. Cold, cold eyes traversing every plain, every feature.
"You don't look like I remembered. You have grown up to be… quite beautiful." His voice is smooth now. As smooth as the step he takes closer to the glass. She backs away. He smiles. Beautiful. Cruel.
"What happened to the Enterprise?" she demands. Her friends. Good people.
His face changes. Becomes twisted.
"They lied." His voice like ice. His eyes too. "They tried to destroy me. And you." His lips quirk as if pleased by this. She doesn't say anything. She is not upset – they did what they had to.
"Why did they fail?" she asks – since they are both still alive.
Another quirk of his lips shows his amusement at her calmness. "I realised what they'd done," he states. She can tell he is almost proud at their subterfuge. "The Vulcan practically told me himself. Despite their decimating a substantial portion of my ship, I was still able to scan for remnants of human DNA. There were none. The Enterprise still has our family."
Your family. Not mine. Her gaze says her words for her. He makes no acknowledgement of it.
"Because I was dealing with you, I wasn't able to damage their ship further." He tilts his head in admission, "Which I now realise was a good thing. They were able to escape. But don't worry," his eyes pierce hers, "I was able to get us out of danger before the rest of Starfleet could interfere." His voice is haughty, conceited. He looks to her as though expecting gratitude. She narrows her eyes.
He chuckles at her expression. "Anger really doesn't suit you, my dear."
"You have to let me go."
"No," he replies without hesitation. His voice calculating as he continues, "No, you… You will be very useful to me in getting my family back. Our family."
"I'm not one of you." Never has been. Never will be.
"But you are."
"I'm not."
"You were made from me. Therefore you are mine." Such a forceful intensity in those words. Wonder. Possession… Lust.
She goes to speak again but he beats her to it, his voice now different; casual but not truly,
"Do you know: The reason they brought you to me all those years ago was because they had some very interesting ideas as to how to… fix you. Fix your weakness."
A cold shiver crawls over her. "I do not need fixing." She doesn't. Never has. She knows this. Compassion is not a weakness.
"Yes, you do," he retorts dismissively, casting her beliefs aside; nothing more than delusions. "They believed that because you were created from my own cells, it was entirely possible that we would have a… link. Between us. That I could use my own thoughts to influence yours. I dismissed it, of course. I had far more important things to do than explore some obscure mental connection to a child that they had created without my knowledge or approval. But now…" His voice: slow, savouring, just like his eyes. "Now I find myself quite intrigued. Because I can sense it. When I look at you. It's almost like I can actually… feel you there. I recognised it as soon as I first saw you. Don't you feel it too?"
She shakes her head. No, no, no. Deny it to make it true. But she knew. Knew as soon as she'd laid eyes on him as well. A connection opened – reopened, perhaps? The dreams she'd had, the feelings… She doesn't want it. No, no, no.
"Hmm. Well, not to worry. I'm certain Dear Mister Kirk will ensure our people are safe until we're ready to retrieve them. We'll have plenty of time, just the two of us. I'll come and see you in between repairing my ship." His eyes are light, dancing. He's playing her, mocking her. He knows. He knows.
"I will not help you." Her voice a promise, a resolution. To him. To herself.
"And I," he bows his head tauntingly towards her, "will come back and see you again soon. Very soon."
He walks away, unconcerned, complacent. He has time.
…
A/N: Fudged some details with regard to ST:ID's timeline. And in reference to her helping with going to space and such: Taken at face value, Khan's comment of being 300 years old (taken away from the year 2259 where ST:ID took place) brings us to 1959. In my totally made-up verse for this story I imagine that since humans were busy creating genetically engineered monsters (I mean, incredibly handsome men and women!) they wouldn't have been so advanced with regard to space missions and only after the human experimentation fell flat, did they then begin to seriously start exploring space and looking for other worlds, which would make her back story plausible. That was how I envisioned it anyway – sorry if it doesn't make sense. :-S
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Wouldn't mind some comments on this (if you feel so inclined!). It was supposed to be a one-shot but I've got some vague ideas of what could happen next – mostly involving Khan alternating between being seductive and ruthless – but the muse isn't being all that forthcoming... Do you think I should leave it as a one-shot and let each reader decide their own fate for the OFC or should I carry it on? Is it so rubbish that it should be thrown out the nearest airlock? Okay, maybe don't answer that one... :)
Anyway, thanks for reading. Die Young and Poor – oops! I mean: Live Long and Prosper ;)