Author's Note: Alrighty! This was a quick update but I was struck by the muse. I'll keep it short - thanks to everyone who had followed and favorited, a big thanks for those who've reviewed - you guys make it easier to write chapters - and thanks to everyone else who has read this story so far and given it a chance.

Enjoy.

Chapter 2: First Time for Everything

"How the fuck did he escape?" Kirk shouted right into the face of Admiral Tesius, essentially the highest authority the Captain could find to yell at.

Spock put a calming hand on his captain's arm yet did little to actually stop him.

Immediately after Khan had stepped from the vessel, Spock fired twice in rapid succession, hitting his mark perfectly with little mercy. Had he a moment to truly consider, Spock realized he should have switched his phaser to kill, but reaction had gotten the better of him, and Khan had lain motionless on the concrete, chest still rising, heart still pumping.

The guards swarmed the prone body, dragging him off to a holding cell where he would undoubtedly be transferred back to his cryo-tube as soon as possible. Jim, however, staggered backwards, struggling to get in even one breath. His wide eyes found Spock's own, complete disbelief reflecting the Vulcan's feelings tenfold.

Everything was far off, voices blending into just one massing rush of noise. Jim sank to his knees, phaser falling from his limp hand, as McCoy leaned in to take his pulse. Over the roar in his ears, Spock could here the doctor telling him to breathe, damn it Jim, just breathe.

Without another thought, Spock kneeled before Jim and placed his fingertips along the side of his friend's face. Tranquil, clear, collected. Spock reined in Jim's panic with his own thoughts, soothing the wild beast of traumatic stress with his own mind, careful to mask his own emotions.

The very moment Spock saw reason, sharp and resilient, flash through Jim's eyes, he knew there would be no stopping him. Ignoring Leonard's pleas to sit back down, Jim stormed into the administrative building and demanded to see someone, anyone, to get some answers.

Spock had to give Admiral Tesius credit – for a man who had never served in anything notable, he handled the situation with all the pomp and solemnity possible. He'd assured Jim that no such escape had occurred, and that if such had, he had no knowledge regarding the situation other than that the situation would be handled swiftly and with great prejudice.

In fewer words, Tesius was ignorant to any facts and negligent to his responsibilities.

But in the end, there was little to do other than continue to shout obscenities at the Admiral and so they had been escorted to another area, likely as far away from Tesius as possible, lest Kirk think of new insults to hurl at the man. They could do little more than wait until command had results to actually report.

The wait, it seemed, was short-lived.

"Mr. Spock," a cadet addressed him, saluting briefly before approaching him. Jim instantly perked up, sitting straighter in the chair he'd been provided. "We recovered something from Khan's shuttle that we'd like you to come take a look at it."

Kirk jumped up as if to follow, but the cadet then turned to him as she continued, "Captain Kirk, the fugitive is now awake and in the interrogation chamber of Block C. They are requesting your presence. Yours too, Doctor McCoy."

There was no hesitation in Jim's step as he darted off down the nearest hallway. He sprinted to the cell, his brain a whirlwind of various thoughts, yet he kept coming back to one. How?

Khan had been frozen, sentenced to forever as an ice cube. There was no way he could have gotten out, unless someone let him, unless it had been a backup plan from the beginning. It wasn't in inconceivable thought, but why had it taken so long then? And why beam back down to the same area he got taken down at?

He'd been so caught up in his analysis, Kirk almost didn't realize he was already there until he ran nearly head first into the security guards posted outside. Anxiety built in his gut as he neared the chamber, winding down a few stairs until he'd reached the right floor.

In the following room, an unbreakable glass shield occupied an entire wall; the other three were made of solid concrete, broken up only by a single, heavy metal door on one side. The room was bare, spare the only furnishings which were a metal table and a chair, both fused to the floor below.

And Khan.

The bastard's gaze was trained on the floor, his face a careful mask of practiced indifference. Kirk studied him intently, soaking in every detail as if it might tell him how in the world Khan had gotten out.

A deep purple bruise adorned one of his sharp cheekbones, stretching all the way up his temple and disappearing into the matted mess of his hair. It seemed slightly shorter than before, and infinitely dirtier, as if Khan hadn't seen a shower in months. A faint cut sat on the center of his bottom lip as if it had been previously split and not quite given the chance to heal. His eyes were rimmed with red, a sign of stress combined probably with a lack of sleep, if the bags under his eyes were any indication.

Khan seemed to slump inward on himself, like sitting up straight would require too much effort. Like all he could afford to do was breathe. His clothes were nearly identical to before – simple tight black shirt, simple tight black pants, and black combat boots. But unlike before, they were dusted with a fine layer of dirt and torn slightly in places. One tear ran across his arm, as if he'd been skimmed by a laser shot: the clotted wound underneath seemed proof enough.

In short, Khan had the shit beaten out of him. By who?

Kirk made his way over to the door and mentally steeled himself for the encounter. Khan had a way with words, weaving truths with lies in an ungodly deep voice.

When the door opened, Khan didn't bother to turn around. When the door slammed shut, Khan didn't show any reaction. When Jim stood in front of the war criminal, Khan didn't look up. Khan sat perfectly still, either lost in thought or pretending to be.

"Here's how this is going to work: You're going to tell me how you got here and then, you're going to continue answering for your crimes," the Captain said in an even voice. This time, Khan reacted, but almost violently.

His head jerked up and wide, dubious eyes watched him like a caged animal might match its captor. The look seemed so wholly out of place that for a moment, Kirk felt a stab of guilt in his gut, for what though he had no clue. However, his poker face slowly slid back into position, his face relaxing again into passiveness.

"Captain James Tiberius Kirk," Khan said the name slowly, as if tasting each syllable. Those eyes bore into his intently. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

. . . . .

"Its contents are unknown. Its locking mechanism is unknown. Its alloy is unknown. In fact, the only thing we do know is that it's a case of some sort that may or may not be booby-trapped."

The Head of Security shot Spock an expectant look before flipping her curls back over one shoulder. She was a bull of a woman, all thick thighs and synched waistlines, but her soft facial beauty belied the stern attitude she expressed.

Spock nodded, pushing up his sleeves as he stepped forward to the briefcase, laid out on an equally sterile-looking exam table. The pulse in his temples throbbed with the start of a migraine, a rare occurrence for Vulcans.

Lightly, he ran his fingers over the smooth surface. It was cool to the touch, obviously a metallic substance but not one readily identifiable.

Meaning it may be a special compound, Spock thought to himself. Suddenly, he fiercely wished for the doctor's company or even Carol Marcus' opinion. Anyone with whom he could bounce ideas off of, brainstorm the best way of going about this dissection safely.

Doing any sort of experimentations on would be highly dangerous without any knowledge as to what may be inside. This predicament would require either entirely too much precaution to glean any information or necessary risks, as Jim so called them, would have to be exercised.

It was going to be a long night.