PART I. CHAPTER II: Harper
a/n: thank you so much to my first reviewer :3 this story will begin to pick up from here.
"Your funeral, Captain." She muttered, and reached for a scalpel.
"FUCK!" He couldn't help the expletive from bursting forth. Augments didn't feel much pain, but apparently that rule didn't apply to when you were having a bullet dug out of your chest cavity whilst fully conscious.
"Sure you don't want me to knock you out?" The little red-head asked, wiping her blood-spattered hands on her lab coat. He glowered at her.
"Quite sure," he said through gritted teeth as she practically attacked the wound again.
"Almost got it," she muttered. A few uncomfortable moments later, the girl pulled a lump of chalk-sized shrapnel out of the wound. He winced.
She tossed the shrapnel aside, more concerned with the deep red blood pulsating out of the wound.
"Well fuck," she muttered, grabbing the required surgical equipment.
"What's the verdict, doc?" He teased her when her panic was over and his wounds stitched.
"You'll live, Captain." She replied shortly, but she dared to press a kiss to his forehead before she crossed the room to clean up. She stripped off the blood-stained lab coat, revealing the cotton shirt and skirt she wore underneath.
"Harper." He said, annoyed to find his voice hoarse.
The girl turned around at once at the sound of her name.
"Come here."
She obeyed.
"It was you, wasn't it? You set my cryotube to deactivate." The girl - Harper - said. It wasn't a question. The man - handsome, muscled, dark haired, nodded.
"Why?" Harper asked, "there were better doctors among us."
"I knew you would return." He said simply.
Harper smiled, kissed his forehead again, and softly told him to get some rest.
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"We slept for three hundred years. I have just reawakened, and you want me to sleep?" He growled.
"I am your doctor," she said, more trying to tease than antagonise.
"And I am your Captain." He returned, pulling her to him, "among other things."
Harper smirked at him. He growled low in his throat, like a wild animal cornering its prey. Except, she wasn't his prey. They were equals.
"You're the one with shrapnel wounds," Harper began, "therefore, I -"
He cut her off with a sharp "shut up and kiss me, woman." And then crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her hard and with a feral sort of passion that came from three hundred years of forced separation.
"Say my name." He growled against her neck as he kissed and bit down her throat. She had no qualms whatsoever about that - it was as though she had been set on fire in every place he touched her.
His name on her lips was more like a prayer, a cry of love and reverence.
"Khan..."
