There were periods of times when Khan would be sad. He would just lay around, leaning against things, covering his head and saying nothing. I would rub his shoulders and whisper into his ear, trying my hardest for him to tell me what was bothering him.

Khan told me it was mainly because of me. He knew how I didn't like being on the ship but he couldn't bring himself to get us away. I felt pretty uncomfortable talking about it, though. It was something that he was doing wrong and I was consoling him for it.

I hated to see him like that. That was probably why I stuck around with him during those times. He'd look droopy and depressed, and I did love him. Khan's hair would be flat and eyes watery; childlike. I wanted to hug and kiss him, bring him in my arms and spin him around like a baby. I wanted to tickle him and make Khan laugh. He'd wrap himself up in our blanket and I'd hug him to my body. Sometimes he'd cry in my lap, saying that he never knew what was the right thing to do.

I walked into the bedroom, jumping on the bed next to Khan. He was sitting cross-legged, mighty wrapped up in a book.

"What book is that?" I asked, sitting next to him. He looked at me, then the book, smiling.

"Peter Pan. Here, look at this: 'All the world is made of faith, trust and pixie dust'," Khan said, chuckling a bit. I had leaned in close to read it, too, and he playfully kissed me nose. We giggled together and leaned back again.

"I wish," I added.

A lot of nights had me waking up. Although I grew used to the hum of the ship, it sometimes awoke me. I'd often lean forward, pulling the blankets of me and extending my arm in search for Khan. I'd open my eyes to an empty left-side of the bed.

Feeling slightly annoyed, I slowly slump to my feet, the cool tiled floor making me shiver, and begin to teeter outside. I pressed the door button to exit and made my down the hall. Near the end, I could see Khan's blackened silhouette as he worked around in the Control room. I sighed, unable to tale Khan away from his work. He'd be angry with me anyways. I returned back to our bedroom and fell asleep alone.

I slowly awoke, blinking my eyes open and turning around. Khan was there, sleeping over the blanket and hands curled up underneath his head. I watched him quietly as his chest rose and fell. His face looked tired and worn out, and he was still wearing yesterdays clothing. I leaned forward, planting a warm kiss on his forehead. After I got out from the bed, I pulled the blanket away from Khan and laid it on him completely. I walked off, heading into the kitchen to make us breakfast.

I suppose I did hurt Khan a lot in those two years. Somehow, though, during those times, I justified my actions on accounts for what he was doing to me; the eternal solitude he had use set up in. I would use my emotions against him, often crying and begging him to change our circumstances. Crying would consist of either angry, furious crying, with screaming and shout, or depressed crying, with quivering and whispers. Both would make Khan uneasy. He performed both these tactics on me, too, and I believed we were a couple of sick people.

I quickly hit print on the keyboard, looking behind me back to see if Khan was there. He was cleaning up in the kitchen, though, he wouldn't be done already. The printer sounded and I worried he would also hear it. I watched as the pictures came out and as soon as it did, I deleted the files from the computer and logged out. Photos in hand, I steadily marched into the kitchen, catching a surprised Khan.

"What are those?" he wondered innocently. It almost pained me. I slapped the papers against the table and he dried off his hands to look at them. I watched his eyes as he flipped through them, suddenly slapping them, too, on the table. Khan closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath, leaning on the chair in front of him.

"Mae," he started, but I wouldn't let him finish.

"Those pictures are from my neighbourhood. See," I picked them up, "this is the playground near the school. This is the bike path. And that's my old house."

"Mae," he breathed again, still not opening his eyes. "Why are you trying to make me feel worse?"

"Because you don't seem to understand."

"I understand perfectly, okay?" Khan opened as he came closer. "You think I don't know you wanna go home? You think it doesn't hurt me to know you want to leave? Listen, I want to go home, too. You think I don't wanna see a park? Or your old home? Or go biking? Don't you get why I can't?" He stared madly at me.

"No," I murmured.

"Have you not seen the mugshots? The videos of me? Mae, I'm a criminal! Do you know what that means? It means that as soon as I land this ship, they will arrest me and kill me!" I stood small, staring into his darkened eyes. He turned away, gripping the chair.

"I'm sorry-"

"Please, just, get rid of these pictures."

I don't think I ever imagined that being the reason Khan wouldn't go back. I always just assumed it was because he liked things with only us. I never expected that Khan did have the same dying need for sun and air. He said he never expressed it because he wouldn't want to torment me like that, knowing he wanted something dearly, yet he couldn't have it. I felt awful.