Hearing was the first sense to return. Voices dancing at the very edge of his consciousness, low and high tones blending into a cacophony of speech but the words they spoke were just beyond understanding. Khan fought to turn his head toward the sound, offer an assurance that he was alive and well; he could hear the steady beat of his heart and the blood rushing through his ears as strong as ever. His muscles were uncooperative, unused to obeying commands after languishing so long.
His eyelids were heavy but with some effort he forced them open, blinking rapidly at sudden light; sensation returned even as his fingers began to twitch, nerves reawakening with agonizing slowness. He could feel cool metal just beneath him as he turned his face to the being standing closest. Human male, approximately sixty-five years. Most importantly, he wasn't crew. When the unknown stretched an overbold hand toward his arm, Khan reached for the frail wrist, intending to crush it in his grip-
Only to find it was clamped in a restraint. This one was not entirely a lost cause.
"Khan Noonien Singh?"
There was reverence in the spoken name, a shade of fear coloring the man's otherwise demanding tone, and well there should be; his reputation for ruthlessness in an age when no mercy was expected had not been easily earned. It was not hard to divine the cause for that distinct undertone of satisfaction, but the restraints could only be temporary measures; he was more of a danger than this creature would credit.
"Yes." He intoned, fighting the stiffness of his own tongue while watching the eyes above him brighten with ill-concealed excitement. This man was not half the professional he sought to portray.
"Admiral Alexander Marcus. Welcome back to the land of the living." Accompanied by a smile brimming with false warmth and containing entirely too many teeth.
Khan mirrored the expression, already rapidly assimilating the available data from his environment: medical facility, obviously. From the absence of any noisy feedback and the relatively few number of personnel he could feel hovering just beyond his sight, it was likely a private facility. He must have been asleep for some time, that uniform indicated a rank he was unfamiliar with. 'Federation' implied a level of organization the non-enhanced hadn't even begun to aspire to, scattered as they were in myriad cells at the time of his downfall.
"Admiral of which fleet?" He enunciated sharply, caught the brief flash of uncertainty across features clearly unaccustomed to contorting in such a way.
"All of that will be explained later. The first, and only, thing you need to understand now is-" Marcus leaned forward, biting out his words, "I own you."
It took a minute for Khan to recognize the barking growl in his throat for laughter, but his body fairly shook with mirth, mouth curving into a genuine smile that had the petty admiral taking a step back.
"I doubt it." He murmured, turning his head to lock gazes with his captor. "Tell me, Alexander, do you have anything stronger than these restraints?" A threatening groan sounded as they were painstakingly separated from the slab on which he lay.
"I have your crew." Marcus shot back, a snarl replacing his falsely genial smile. Khan immediately ceased in his efforts to free himself, lying still and pliant once more.
It was obvious from his arrogant sneer Marcus knew exactly what that meant. If it had truly been as long as it seemed since he was first consigned to his eternal sleep, then sparse records probably existed detailing the bond he shared with his men and women; one that linked them closer than family.
"I suppose you are about to propose an exchange for their release?" Khan stretched insolently, baring his vulnerabilities without a hint of the anxiety Marcus had doubtless expected to see.
Marcus hesitated a second longer, possessed of some foreboding that warned him once these words were spoken they could never be called back. Still, he knew his duty.
"The Federation is prepared to offer you their lives in exchange for services to be detailed at a later date."
Clandestine, then, deeds kept from the censure of the public eye. It would be terribly awkward for Marcus and his colleagues if word of this agreement were leaked, but given the history of his own crew, would it necessarily benefit him to attempt it?
Khan licked his lips, spoke softly, compelling the fool to lean closer in order to catch his muffled words. He could not know how very subservient it appeared, the theoretical superior bowing over the bed of his captive.
"I had expected better from someone of your rank, admiral; cornered animals are known to fight hardest. We are, at our base, no better than they."
"You're very articulate for a man just waking from a couple centuries of sleep-"
Centuries. There was every chance the records of his time were incomplete or flawed, an advantage he intended to exploit when he brought this man and his superiors to their knees for this assault.
"Can I release you, or are you going to give me trouble?"
Oh yes, certainly.
"No." He nodded to the restraints tightly, unresisting when they were finally released. Khan sat up gingerly, dismissing the ringing in his ears and the brief wave of nausea sudden movement sent through him.
He noted the men on either side of the doorway, armed with implements whose use wasn't difficult to divine. It would take some experimentation to see how vulnerable he was to their effects, but all in good time; for now he focused on appearing as non-threatening as possible.
As he moved to fold his hands passively in his lap, Khan's eye was caught by a flash of darkness at his wrist, something new and unexpected.
It can't be.
It took every ounce of his not-inconsiderable discipline to keep from gaping openly at his precious gift before a foe who would certainly exploit it in the same manner as his crew.
Carefully he turned his wrist in toward himself and fixed his eyes on a point just beyond the admiral's shoulder, hearing his words but unable to make any sense of them, caught as he was in the grip of a rapidly burgeoning euphoria.
There is yet a shred of light, even in the darkest of hours. Many of the ancient sages and philosophers had said as much.
Khan Noonien Singh had never been a man to credit such trite homilies, and yet to be given this opportunity now, when his crew was held from him by a man determined to use the blood that flowed in his veins for purposes as yet unknown…
At that moment, Khan made peace with his fate, and in some corner of his spirit offered quiet thanks for this promise, even as his mind was consumed by the obstacle that Admiral Marcus presented in the rescue of his crew.
He would use Marcus as he was in turn used. In the end, his victory was assured; he would have his crew, his vengeance, and his mate.
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Khan trailed silently behind his captor, noting the tense set of the man's shoulders, the tempo of his steps increased each time the distance between them narrowed by the merest centimeter. Even with two 'security' officers trailing close behind, weapons in hand and obviously prepared, this man feared the monster he had woken. What manner of man would be so foolish or so desperate that he would threaten the devil himself?
He could make use of that fear later, play upon it until Marcus' mind was filled with thoughts of how to subdue and control his weapon, leaving him vulnerable to a more subtle method of control.
That was certainly the most appealing option, but hardly to his tactical advantage at this early stage. Unfamiliar as he was with this time and its customs, it would be best to wait and make use of whatever sparing resources Marcus chose to allot him in the name of cooperation. The more information he could collect, the easier it would be to disappear when the time came to put his plans into motion.
Several key differences were already blindingly apparent; social mores had been altered in ways he might not have noticed save for the change in his own unique circumstances: they all covered their marks.
Everyone from the nurse that had stepped meekly aside as he strode from the room where he had first awoken to Admiral Marcus himself, had covered their wrists so that no hint of their Designations would show.
Khan wondered idly if it was a result of the secretive nature of their profession or if the practice had become standard in this Brave New World.
In his time those marks would have been proudly displayed; the circumstances were rare indeed that anyone would voluntarily hide their Designation from even the most inimical eyes. Only Nulls felt any need to hide their wrists, covering their bare skin to hide their shame, their unworthiness made plain as the mark that never manifested.
Most Augments had been Nulls, given strength and cunning that far outstripped their unaltered peers, but left without the brand most considered to be the not only the right, but the defining characteristic of humanity.
A handful of enterprising zealots had been quick to seize the opportunity, claiming that the greater percentage of Augmented Nulls as opposed to "natural" Nulls was proof positive they were abominations that fell outside the natural order.
Their reasoning was positively medieval. Indeed, there had been a time when Nulls were viciously persecuted, their bare flesh seen as a mark of God's disfavor or even a sign of a pact with the devil. Of course, the radicals' message had been suitably adapted so as not to offend modern sensibilities, but their underlying belief remained the same: it was a harbinger of the fall of the Human race- the blight would have to be destroyed wherever it was found lest the malady were passed on to future generations.
One unintentional outcome of the drastic stance was how much simpler it had become to convince Augments that an alliance was in their favor. With the Naturals snapping at their heels and their own innate superiority ready to betray them at any moment, most Augments had seen the wisdom of keeping to their own kind.
Once they were united in purpose it was a simple task to shift from a defensive strategy to an all-out offensive designed to purge the earth of inferior stock, those Augments or Naturals who stood in the way of progress.
It had taken years of careful planning, skillful diplomacy, and ruthless cunning, but it had all been worth it when at last he had found himself the unchallenged governor of the greatest territory yet established by any Augment. With his small crew, Khan had swiftly instituted measures designed to curb revolt and foster an attitude of reverence in those he had spared- those that had surrendered, those that had proved too stupid or too meek to attempt rebellion or that had seen the hand of progress in his work.
Justice had been hard to come by in those days, but he had tried to craft an equitable system where Augments and Naturals could dwell in relative harmony; peace led to prosperity, and prosperity to advancement.
The sheer number of them though! Naturals bred like rabbits, and no amount of the mandatory sterilization campaigns or careful elimination of Designated pairs carried out by his peers had prevented their spread. For all the Augments' superior wits and strength, the Naturals had an army at their command, and once it had occurred to them to unite beneath a single banner and act as one rather than engaging in unorganized guerrilla warfare, it had spelled the end of a dawning age.
Eventually even Khan had been forced to flee and his loyal advisers with him, all of them swiftly disposed of like so much rubbish; presumably few records of the true magnitude of their works remained.
In retrospect, that was all to the better; any part of himself he could keep from Marcus might yet prove useful. The man could not be expected to defend against an enemy he only half understood.
"You will be quartered here."
Khan snapped into the present easily, betraying no sign of his preoccupation. Marcus had gestured to a small room, spartan in decoration and conspicuously lacking in anything that might be fashioned into a conventional weapon.
A bed, a table, a chair. All bolted to the floor, all rounded and without any sharp edges, even the sheets had been stripped from the bed. Did the admiral expect him to hang himself in a fit of despair? How little he knew his prey. At least there appeared to be a change of clothing laid out on the bed; he could hardly do worse than to be dressed as he was now.
"Adequate."
Khan permitted himself a flash of pleasure at the frustration writ plain on Marcus' face; apparently the man had been expecting a protest, something considerably more grand than the single word he had been offered.
"Change, then you will meet me in my office; I'll leave these two to escort you." Marcus gestured briskly to his lap dogs, panting eagerly at the thought of being left alone to perform this insignificant duty. Discipline must be a virtue sorely lacking in the admiral's vaunted fleet if his underlings were so transparent as this.
"We have a few matters to discuss before I'm ready to clear you for transfer."
Khan hummed noncommittally, stepping into his temporary quarters with no break in stride and waiting patiently for the door to hiss shut behind him before he dared glance again at that telling mark emblazoned across his inner wrist.
For a moment he couldn't bring himself to do more than stare in disbelief; his composure was shaken so thoroughly that he allowed his free hand to reach for the firm support of the solitary table in the room.
It was pure superstition, the belief that some higher entity decided whether a person was worthy of being granted a Designation, the gift of another being perfectly matched to their every cutting edge and ringing hollow. It was a child's fantasy to believe that anyone was born incomplete, craving some external element to be acquired later in life. It was the purest romantic drivel, fodder for insipid bedtime stories, to lend any credence to the idea that a man could ache for someone he had never known.
Yet the evidence was here before his eyes, etched deeply into his flesh for anyone to see. Khan could feel it burning there, taunting him with possibilities he had never even dared to consider.
A mate. A match. A perfect equal, here in this time when Augments were no more than a long-forgotten legend, probably bogeymen used to send recalcitrant children scurrying for their beds. The idea was at once too shocking to contemplate and too immediate to ignore.
Worse, it felt right that it should be there, now that he stood on such uncertain ground striving to ascertain which role he must assume to attain his ends. The mark was a lifeline, an indelible promise that his defeat had been preordained those many lifetimes ago, and that victory was yet in his grasp.
If he and his crew had not been consigned to stasis and left adrift for the first ship that happened across them, he would have lived and died incomplete- always something less than whole, a broken tool though he never would have known it.
That had all been changed by some twist of fate he hardly dared question even in the privacy of his own thoughts.
With an effort Khan pushed aside his wild imaginings, the sudden ache of sheer need he'd never credited, the bone-deep regret at the precious time that was already wasted.
It took more than a little effort to focus every shred of concentration on the business ahead. If he did not step carefully now, he would lose any chance of ever finding that perfect complement, and any chance of bringing this new Federation to its knees before them.
One final fanciful thought, only a pipe-dream to dull the edge of suffering unfurling within this new emptiness. When he had resurrected his family, when he had shaken this corrupt union to its very foundations and brought it tumbling down into the dust, he would seek out his missing half at last and lay the pitiful remnants at his feet. Then Khan knew he would finally be worthy of the gift only now afforded him.
It was an unparalleled opportunity, and he intended to seize ruthless hold of it. But first there was much to learn, beginning with how much Marcus knew of him and what he could expect in the days to come.
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"Hey, Bones! You coming or not?"
'Bones' McCoy took a breath, held it for a moment as he counted down the many reasons he owed Jim Kirk a favor… otherwise known as every reason he mustn't toss his nosy captain out the nearest airlock the next time they drew scouting duty.
"Not. We've been over this-"
"I was hoping you might have changed your mind." Jim smiled hopefully, leaning farther into the cozy office. "Uhura's been telling me about this club that just opened downtown-"
"My answer is still no. I promised Jocelyn we'd talk tonight, not that it's any of your damn business-"
"So talk to Jocelyn then join me. Have a few drinks, maybe a dance," Jim wiggled his eyebrows dramatically, "Make nice with the locals."
"Damn it, Jim, take a hint. I'm two weeks behind on these reports and all I want is a single night in to deal with it. You make nice with the fucking locals, or is it the other way around?"
If Jim noticed the strain beneath his smile he was good enough not to comment on it. After years of friendship he had finally reached that point where he could tell when it would be best to back off and drop the argument. Whether he actually chose to do so was still at fifty/fifty odds.
Leonard could see Jim's natural bossiness warring with his common sense, there was a fair bit of worry mixed in too- Goddammit. When was Jim going to learn it was his CMO's job to fret over the welfare of the crew, his own included?
Common sense won out by a small but telling margin; Jim inclined his head in resignation, but he was still visibly concerned. "I'll keep my comm on me, in case you change your mind or anything. Just let me know." A hopeful smile, slightly abashed.
"Sure thing, Jim. Now if you'll kindly get going, I'll give Jocelyn a call and get back to my work."
"No need to tell me twice." Jim ducked out of the room before Leonard had the chance to inform him that he had in fact been told three times, but the fourth time had been the charm.
He waited a moment, listening for the click of boots in the hallway, making sure Jim was really leaving rather than waiting in ambush. A moment longer and he settled comfortably into his chair, bringing up the view screen to enter Jocelyn's personal I.D.
It was only a moment before she answered, still smiling over some joke she would doubtless share with him if he dared to ask, but he didn't. Not now.
"Leonard, you're late." That smile was just for him- fondly exasperated, the sort of smile an old friend might offer another after a long and unexpected absence.
"Nothing new on that front, at least."
The wryness in his voice earned him a snicker; was a time she would have lit into him something fierce for daring to be even a minute behind her schedule. Clay's easygoing manners were rubbing off on her for the better.
"Where's Jim? I thought he'd be hovering again."
"I shooed him off; he's probably already found himself prettier company for the night. In fact I'd wager my last credit on it." He grinned, inviting her to share in his amusement, but the sudden twist of her features warned him he had said exactly the wrong thing and now he was going to be treated to another specialty of Jocelyn's: helpful nagging.
"I was starting to think you two must be joined at the hip. Why aren't you out with him?"
"Bad form to leave a lady hanging, I told him you and I had a date." His attempt at humor fell far short if her deepening frown was anything to go by. His frustration only grew when she answered in that soft, cajoling tone she had only ever used when she thought he was being pigheaded.
"Leonard, you'll never find him if you keep hiding in your quarters or taking on extra duties every time you have a chance to get out. You should have let me know you were going with Jim-" Sometimes he regretted ever showing her his Designation, not that he'd had much of a choice what with the two of them being married and all.
"God damn it, Jocelyn. Can't you leave it alone? I don't recall you objecting so much when I proposed, different marks and all."
"That was different. I didn't know-"
"And I don't care." Leonard sighed, slumping down in his chair, the weight of years worth of disapproval resting heavy on his shoulders once again. "I wish you wouldn't bring this up."
Once Jocelyn had been of the same mind as he. Neither one of them had given half a damn that some birthmark supposedly dictated their One True Love or Soulmate- the bullshit propaganda that blasted them from all sides. Destiny wasn't written plainly in the stars, why would it be engraved on anyone's skin?
The Nullification movement had been at its height then, decrying their slogan of Solitude Is Strength. Leonard had never been much of an activist himself, and with catch-phrases like that he could be forgiven for thinking most of the Nulls must be crackpots, but he had appreciated the message that he was worth something as an individual. Particularly when everyone around him was convinced they were no better than one of a pair, somehow unfinished without that mystical 'other half'.
Senior year in high school and Leonard was one of the few students that didn't waste his time wondering when his 'chosen' was going to come bounding in with a rousing fanfare to sweep him off his feet; the very idea made his skin crawl with uneasiness. Coincidentally, Leonard had found another that shared his distaste for childlike delusions; one surprisingly graceful dance and a laughing conversation later, Jocelyn and he had been fast friends.
A few weeks of taking refuge in each other's company and they had decided to try their hands at something more.
One by one they had stood by and watched as friends found their partners. They deflected well-meant advice and stoutly ignored the superior looks from those that knew their Designations didn't match. Leonard had proposed fresh out of medical school, and Jocelyn hadn't hesitated to accept.
They had both dismissed the disapproval and occasional vitriol thrown their way when someone noted that their Designations did not align.
There was precedent for marriage between those not 'designed' for each other; even now there were the odd cases of Nulls whose marks never appeared. They were reviled by purists and practically worshiped by the Nullification movement that had taken their name for a rallying cry. There had even been cases of Nulls marrying those that carried a Designation; nevertheless, it had caused something of a stir both in the McCoy family and the Darnells when he had dared to present Jocelyn as his intended.
Selfish, his mother had called him. Jocelyn's parents weren't much better, telling her she was bound to come around and wouldn't it be a shame if she met her Designated after she was tied to another man? It was disloyal, unthinkable, a lot of other adjectives that had flown in one ear and out the other. They were in love. Jocelyn knew his story, the Designation he could not read, the mark she could but didn't care for.
They had scheduled the wedding for mid-Autumn and spent the whole Spring looking for a minister willing to perform the rites. That had been beyond even their combined abilities, but they had found a justice of the peace willing to stand as witness in a church Leonard hadn't set foot in since childhood.
Most of the invitees chose not to attend the small ceremony in protest to the affront; only a few close friends came to show their support, and a few curious acquaintances Leonard would just as soon have avoided. To them he and Jocelyn were nothing more than a passing curiosity, some kind of circus act for morbid busybodies. They had both remarked the distaste on the faces of even their most supportive guests when the officiator had pronounced them wed.
Out of respect for Jocelyn's family, Leonard had tactfully postponed the traditional kiss and forbore mentioning their plans for the honeymoon they had painstakingly planned. It was no mean trick to find a city willing to take them as they were, somewhere where Non-Designated pairings were not so odd as to cause remark.
For a while all had been well. They had been good together, Jocelyn and he. Both of them were ambitious and a little too bold, both possessed of a wanderlust that had sent them roaming a time or two only to return to familiar Savannah when luck began to turn against them.
As with any other marriage- and Len defied the Designated pairs to say it wasn't exactly the same for them- there had been a few snags along the way.
Jocelyn had wanted children for one, and Leonard hadn't wanted the commitment that would entail; she didn't care for his protectiveness so he did his level best to to stifle his natural concern whenever possible, and when he couldn't, he had at least made a damned good show of staying collected.
Leonard had wished she could be a little more possessive; Jocelyn's unthinking indifference and complete lack of possessiveness had cut him deeper than he had ever admitted, but there was something to be said for coming home and not having to worry about facing an interrogation every time he was a few hours late. For Jocelyn, it had only been a gesture of her trust in him; he understood now that distance had taken the sting from it.
Contrary to widely held expectations, they had both been faithful, and exactly as they had expected, neither one had found their supposedly ideal 'mate.'
Until the afternoon several years ago when Jocelyn had come home weeping, her cheeks red and eyes puffy with tears. Leonard had known precisely what that meant; there were very few things that could reduce Jocelyn to tears.
She offered to stay once she managed to catch her breath; Len could see that it was a sincere offer, and that it was killing her to make it.
He had filed for an annulment the following morning, and thankfully it had been granted quickly. These situations were not unheard of and were seldom resolved amicably. It was worth the extra trouble; Jocelyn was happy… and Leonard was entirely at loose ends.
Frustrated with the pitying gazes of colleagues and family alike he had finally booked it to the nearest recruiting center for Starfleet. The rest was history, as they said.
"Leonard?" Jocelyn's voice was softer this time; he pulled himself back to the present, scowling at her in warning.
"I'm sorry for lecturing."
Her apologetic smile was enough to soothe his frayed temper, and he offered a reassuring nod. All was forgiven if not forgotten; he signed off soon after, uncertain of what he could offer when the only topic Jocelyn could speak of at length was Clay and his many virtues.
Len couldn't recall anyone ever saying his name in quite that way. For a moment, and only a moment, he permitted himself to regret it.
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Lest I forget: "The Body and the Soul know how to play, in that dark world where gods have lost their way." From "The Partner" by Theodore Roethke.
Considering I have seven chapters written, this one will be updating weekly for at least a couple months. :)
