I own nothing. For this story I decided to completely disregard the fight in the USS Vengeance and everything after (even though I loved it in the movie), focusing instead on Khan and his complicated feelings for his first officer. Basically, it's just an excuse to pair him up with someone and write some fluff... I feel no shame.
Amelia was still in shock.
People said the man she had known for years, her teacher, her captain, was a terrorist. Her head knew the veracity of the statement, but her heart was in denial. John Harrison's eyes were often cold and his demeanor spoke of barely leashed strength and anger, reminding her of a caged tiger, but not in a million years had she thought it meant something far more sinister than a short temper.
Sometimes she swore she could see that rage he kept so well-hidden, in the way he fought, in his stance, in the bruises he left behind. Amelia should have seen where it would lead, should have known something dark was clawing inside her captain, attempting to leave the confines of his body to wreak havoc on the world. Instead, she had been blind, allowing him inside her heart, a feeling he didn't return and had left her wanting more.
Now she knew why, why he kept everyone at arm's length, why all his relationships were ground on distance, why the very air around him had warned people away. He couldn't allow sentiment to ruin his plans, though perhaps he was even incapable of such a thing. He definitely avoided expressions of affection, not only towards her, but his entire crew. He did right by them, certainly, and he was an authoritative figure, though practically unreachable and capable of frightening her at times. He frightened the others too. Despite the fact that he never harmed a man or woman in his crew during the three years she served under him, they were all still fearful of his reactions and moods.
Amelia thought he despised that attitude, and those who acted on it. She had been one of them, afraid of her captain at times, but she also knew not to let him walk all over her. She had her opinions, her way of doing things, and the autonomy to make decisions, and not even a high commanding officer like Harrison would rob her of that.
He was brilliant and strong, and Amelia often got the feeling he considered himself to be better than her and every single member of Starfleet. The worst part was that he was probably right. No one had his mind, his power.
No one hit as hard too, that was for sure. Amelia was still sporting a shiner where he had struck her. Her ribs were equally bruised by a punch that stole the air from her lungs, and he didn't give her time to gather her thoughts before putting his hands on her throat, gripping it in a tight vise until all she could see was those icy blue eyes, the pretense gone, his features hard and unforgiving.
Amelia had awoken in the hospital after that, confused as to her surroundings and with the tangy taste of blood in her mouth. Her bottom lip had cracked from the first punch, ached as she grimaced from the pain in her head. It was in the hospital that she learnt of Harrison's attack on a meeting of high ranking Starfleet officers. She should have been there. She would have, if not for what he did to her. Amelia didn't understand the reason behind both actions.
She had been discharged in the very same day, though her superiors had insisted she took a few hours to rest peacefully in her apartment, away from everyone else, in preparation for the difficult questions she would have to answer at the end of the day. She had been a little worried about those orders, concerned they might signify a lack of belief in her innocence, a suspicion that since she worked for Harrison, was his first officer and the person he counted on to carry out tasks of importance, she must have been working with him now as well.
Had she known her captain's intentions? No. Was she privy to his plans? No. How could she not see what he was? How could I? The interrogation was brief, thankfully. The rest of the crew was questioned as well, though the search for accomplices, or even mere suspects, led nowhere.
John Harrison was working alone. Amelia found it almost poetic. He had a team, was part of a crew, but he was, first and foremost, an individual who prided himself of sovereignty over his and everyone else's actions, and a man like that had no equals. He had hidden that part of himself, but in retrospect it was easy to see he preferred his own company and avoided familiarities with his men, though he enjoyed a match of chess nearly every single day. Maybe it was a matter of putting his trust in people he viewed as inferior, something he clearly was unable to do. Maybe he simply didn't want the companionship.
Either way, only John Harrison was to blame for the attacks.
Amelia touched the discoloration around her eye, stared at it in the bathroom mirror, a dark mar on pale skin, and flinched when pain lanceted under her skin. She left the bathroom, still wrapped in a towel, and sat on the bed, not quite knowing what to do until her next mission.
She had been transferred to the U.S.S. Enterprise and would start her new duties briefly. Admiral Marcus had told her it wasn't a demotion, seeing as she would still be a commander, but Amelia knew better. On the Enterprise she would serve on the bridge but she was no longer the first officer. Her duties were those of a lieutenant.
The anger at the downgrade went unvoiced. She was lucky to even be allowed in a spaceship, let alone to continue to be a part of Starfleet. Most of the crew would remain under a new captaincy, but a few were assigned someplace else as well. Amelia knew of at least a dozen on the Enterprise, mostly ensigns.
The ship's first mission would be to search and destroy the terrorist menace, and she had been let known, through no uncertain terms, that her performance ought to be flawless. Less than that and she would be suspended, pending investigation. That angered her too. Her behavior had always been exemplary and she was being punished for something out of her control.
Amelia hated John Harrison for that. She had trusted him, believed in him, and he had betrayed them all. She didn't need to be compelled to do a good job. The opportunity to hunt him, to bring him down, was more than enough motivation, especially if she could avenge the deaths of the Starfleet officials he killed.
Jim was just as angry as she was, perhaps even more so. Admiral Pike was a close friend of his, while Amelia only had a few interactions with the man. He didn't deserve to die that way, though. None of them did. He was a fighter, and he deserved a warrior's death. A chance to fight and come out victorious. Of course, he would have lost if he had come head to head with her former captain, of that she was sure, but at least he would have died with honor.
The others didn't know Harrison, but they were starting to see what he was capable of. Turned out she didn't know him as well as she thought she had, but she certainly knew that by launching torpedoes from the atmosphere they were guaranteed a chance to kill him. He wouldn't go down without a fight, and if they opted to engage in close physical combat with the man, they'd lose. He was an amazing tactician, a brilliant fighter. There was no match in all of Starfleet.
Amelia had thought of him as a wonderful teacher too, but now only the thought of his treason populated her thoughts. The positive was slowly, but surely, being erased by all the horrifying things he had done. It was all she could think of, and guilt at her inability to sense his ill intentions drove her to wanting to catch him with everything she had.
Captain Harrison had received orders to come to London, alone, so he left the ship anchored at HQ. Of course, now she knew he had been lying. His plans were in motion, had been for some time, and the next step would soon begin. He needed to be in London at that time, and he did so under no one's orders. The crew found out about the attack on the Kelvin Memorial Archive when they were hailed by none other than Fleet Admiral Marcus, requesting their presence back on Earth.
First officer Amelia Rathbone was debriefed quickly, and her presence requested at the meeting of Starfleet high ranking officers, in order to discuss the next course of action in the manhunt for John Harrison. She was walking from the shuttle base, the sky a dusky color offset by the setting sun, when she was pulled into an alleyway and led deeper into its darkness.
When Amelia saw who was holding her against the hard and cold surface of a wall she froze, incredulous. He was being hunted, chased, and here he was, hiding in plain sight. It was almost as if he was taunting Starfleet officers, telling them that no matter what they did, their ineptitude would never allow them to catch him. That lack of fear was unnerving to Amelia.
She struggled with every ounce of determination in her, tried to reach him to fight, despite the fact that he was practically holding her arms hostage, pinned against the wall. So she aimed a kick at his shins, which he dodged easily.
That's when he hit her.
She went still, dazed and afraid. Of him, her captain, a man she had once trusted and adored. And the worst part was that she knew he was controlling himself, he could do so much worse. He wasn't aiming for broken bones. If he had been, she'd be dead now. Maybe he had wanted to torture, perhaps, or to simply unleash his rage and frustration. She stared into the frozen pits of his eyes, trying not to shake. Her muscles felt tight, painfully so, as her body steadied itself for the next attack.
And she knew there was going to be a next one. It was in his hard face, in the way his always carefully blank features twisted in some dark emotion she couldn't read. Why? She wanted to speak but her voice seemed to have disappeared. Her eyes prickled with tears, but she fought them. She was already prey, no need to incite him further with her weakness.
His arms kept her from falling to the ground when he hit her stomach, bruising her ribs and making her double over. He straightened her, handling her as easily as if she was a doll, and then his hands were on her throat, before she could think of what was happening. The best she could do was struggle as he drained the life from her body, and that had no effect on him whatsoever. His grip never lessened, not even when she pleaded with her eyes, horrified at his actions. I'm going to die at the hands of the man I love. Black spots danced in her vision as the oxygen faltered, and she grabbed at his hands with the little strength she had left. Still the pressure continued, until her eyes closed. The last thing she felt was being lifted in his arms, but she didn't know for sure if it had really happened or if her dying brain had conjured a pleasant image for her to dwell on her last moments.
But then the nurses said she had been brought in unconscious to the hospital, though by whom they didn't know. He was tall and scary, was all they told her, and it was enough. Amelia didn't understand how he could have unleashed on her such a brutal and unprovoked attack in one moment, and then taking care of her in the next. He always did love mental challenges, so the probability that he was playing a game was high. She had no intentions of playing it with him, though.
She chased those thoughts away, shivering, and got up from the bed. Putting civilian clothes on, she decided to visit her family. Amelia would be gone for a while again, and this time she didn't know if she was coming back. She'd like to say her goodbyes, properly this time. It seemed like she never had time to spare before embarking on a new mission, but this time she was to departure the next day, at dawn.
Without any attempts to try and cover the bruises on her face and neck, she left her small apartment on the waterfront, pausing only to pick up a small bag, one that held her uniform and comms device. She loved to watch the Bay, the boats carrying either commodities or passengers at every moment. And at night the sight was lovely, all the ships would be illuminated like fireflies over the water. Countless times had she simply stood by her opened window and admired the view.
Her family lived in San Francisco as well, away from the Starfleet Academy, so she had to take the tram up and down the busy streets for an hour to reach them. The residence she grew up on looked no different than the others flanking it, the neat row of houses facing a well-maintained garden, complete with a copse of trees and a large fountain. She had played in the children's park right in the middle of the garden, and when she would tire she'd stretch out on the grass, looking at the clear sky and dreaming of a bright future.
The same future that threatened to elude her now, if she wasn't careful.