Author's Note: Before I go any further, inspiration for this came from the song No One Mourns the Wicked from the musical Wicked. It just fits with what I'm going for. And if anyone wants me to continue it then I will. It was also intended that the identity of this mysterious woman was not revealed.
~Vision
When Starfleet laid Khan and his crew to rest in their cryotubes, they told the rest of the world they had died and everyone continued living, soon forgetting about the whole ordeal that could have potentially destroyed the entire human race. People didn't cry, they were not upset that Khan and his crew were gone because no one mourns the wicked. Simple as.
It was all over the news; on television, the internet and newspapers. The headlines read:
Good news! He's dead!
Always focused on Khan, every single news report was about him and his plan to obliterate every single human on the planet. It was obvious that most gossip was about Khan, he was their leader after all. But he was safe- as well as his crew- in cryotubes hidden somewhere at Starfleet where only those trusted would know the location.
No one cries; "They won't return!"
She cried, in the privacy of her apartment where he had promised her he would return after he had fixed the situation. But he didn't. He made it worse. He broke that promise and never returned. She found out the hard way- by hearing it from other people. Not even a notification from Starfleet. She was furious.
And even weeks after the incident, people still speculate. It had been lodged in the memories of those it affected, never to be thrown to the back of the mind. Always chewing and clawing with anxious thoughts of 'what if something similar happens'?
No one lays a lily on their grave.
In her hand she holds a bouquet of lilies- his favourite flowers. He had arrived on a date with a single lily which he had proceeded to give to her, within a second her heart had melted and she fell for him. His mannerisms, his appearance- everything about him she loved, she didn't care if he was some genetic brutal maniac. She knew he wouldn't hurt her because he loved her. She trusted him. Between them, lilies were their sign of trust.
With her chocolate brown hair tied up into a simple ponytail she walks. With the flowers in her hand and a basket in the other, she makes her way across Starfleet Headquarters' campus.
Does goodness really know that the wicked's lives were lonely? Does goodness really know that the wicked would die alone? Goodness knows nothing about no one so why would goodness know about the wicked. Almost everyone had been wicked at one point in their life, be it minor or major.
There are murmurs from people huddled into small groups to talk about what had happened, questions rising into the air, travelling between them.
"How exactly dead is he?"
"Why does wickedness happen?"
"Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?"
"Such absurd questions!" she snaps at the first year cadets, "Keep to your own business, you do not need to know his motivations. The past is in the past." she clutches the lilies and basket and briskly strides away before one of the cadets could reply. She's still angry and she's upset, only she knew him. She knew why his was the way he was and she helped him. In a way one could say she healed him. She loved him.
An abandoned shuttle hangar, that is where she halts. Nobody dares to walk past the hangar, let alone go inside. As stated by Starfleet, only trusted officers are to enter and check the hangar that housed the cryotubes and she is one of the trusted. Her fingers lightly grace the keypad, unlocking the huge door to the hanger. Slowly it slides open with the sound of metallic squeaks and rattles.
Once inside and allowing the door to close she wanders her way along the aisle, walking between the two rows of cryotubes under the dim light of the hangar. The sound of her footsteps fill the eerie and silent space, echoing across the high walls.
Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. She counts each cryotube she passes, making sure she has not passed him.
And there, protruding out from the right hand row of cryotubes is the extra seventy-third cryotube and she breaks out into a jog towards it, stopping as his face comes into view. So peaceful in his frozen sleep. The last time she had seen him so relaxed was when he was lying beside her in her bed back at her apartment. She rests the lilies at one end of the cryotube before circling around to the other end to look at him more closely.
No one mourns the wicked!
She sobs, her arms embracing his cryotube into a hug. She misses him, she truly does.
Now at last, he's dead and gone!
He wasn't going to be woken up. If he was he'd pose another threat, unless she could help him escape and they could live in hiding on another planet somewhere away from Starfleet.
Now at last, there's joy throughout the land!
There's never going to be joy. No happiness. When someone dies there are people who are sad and there are people who are happy. But he wasn't dead, he was just gone. And she continues to cry.
"No one mourns the wicked." a faint whisper dances from the tip of her tongue, nobody else would know her pain. People are oblivious, they're out living their lives.
Good news!
"No one mourns the wicked." she whispers again- only I mourn the wicked, for the sake of everyone else's ignorance.
Good news!
Suddenly, she realises her fingers grazing the keypad on the cryotube, the tips of her fingers brush against the cold glass as the numbers light up. She looks up and warily scans the hangar for anyone that could have followed her. Silence. Chewing her lip she inhales softly and begins to punch in a code on the cryotube's keypad without hesitation.
No one mourns the wicked!