WARNING: Long and really sad! Aside from that, enjoy! I own only that which is mine and let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions! Thanks again, (one more follower gets us to 50! Love you guys!)

Khan had not expected the Vulcan to come to him after the Captain had finished interrogating him. He was rather annoyed by him, but was made content upon dreaming up schemes as to how he would end his life.

They had stood in silence for a while, only glares passing between them as they pondered what to say. It turned out, to both of their surprise, that Khan spoke first. "Where is Verloren?"

The Commander seemed altogether irritated when he mentioned her, but it seemed to the superhuman that he was only there because of her. "She is with the Doctor you've met earlier. She was injured and attempted vainly to hide it. Why is she of particular interest to you? A mass murderer seeking vengeance being bested by a blind woman? That is something unheard of."

"I was not bested by her." He insisted. He was losing his patience with the Vulcan, he did not have to answer to him. "She is of as much worth to me as the dirt beneath my feet."

"Then why keep her alive?" Khan raised an eyebrow. Weren't Vulcans supposed to hide their emotions? Why was the First Commander of a ship in Star Fleet failing to do so? He of all people should know how to control his emotions.

"Entertainment."

The Vulcan looked disgusted with him, and he only gave a dark smile as a reply. His eyes narrowed dangerously, "It seems she has failed, then."

Khan raised an eyebrow, his words troubling him on the inside, though there was no detectable emotion on the outside. "She told you most of her secrets because she believed that you could be cured and that those secrets would cure you. She has failed. You can not be cured."

He felt his inward being flush in realization, "You know her; she was apart of your past."

The Commander gave a single nod, "I am as apart of her past as I will be her future. You will do well to remember that if anything unfavorable happens to her on your account, I will destroy you."

With his back to Khan, he heard the mad-man laugh at his comment and as he left, he caught the faintest words that escaped his lips as the doors hissed closed, "I look forward to it."

"You know, I almost believed you." He was physically startled when she left her hiding place in the shadows and took a position behind the panels controlling the conditions of his cell. This could become a dreadful situation instantly, but something told him she would not try anything like such.

"I spoke the truth," He said, hesitation in his voice proving him wrong. "What cause did I give you not to believe me?"

She smirked and pushed a button, the doors to his cell silently opened. "I guess I became so desperate that I have nothing left in this world but hope that you will do the right thing." She didn't cringe or flinch or flee when he stepped out. Instead, she approached him, fearless in the eyes of someone who was in full control of her fate.

"Why did you let me out?" He was well aware that there was urgency in her eyes. A need to say something, though, for the first time since he saw her, not knowing how to say it.

"I have to show you something." She whispered. The strong, self-minded woman that had come in from the shadows had faded, worry and doubt coming into her expression. She reached a hand up, as if to tell him that they would have to meld in order for it to work.

"Go ahead."

She joined with him and gave a cry as suddenly, her consciousness became bombarded with years of hatred and anger. She tried to fight him, but he was too overwhelming. She no longer had control of what was shown to him and could not stop it.

Her intentions had been of one thing and one thing alone, but now, he was taken too deep into her mind to prevent him from seeing anything he wanted to.

Everything was bright, and full of life. Khan was brought to violent realization that he was being shown memories from a time when Verloren relied upon her vision just as much as anyone else.

Verloren was young; like a human teenager in her older years and she was walking through a dull, tan-colored hallway, seemingly searching for something. "I know you are here, little one," She said calmly, peering behind drapes to find that there was nothing behind it. "Do you really have a hope for remaining hidden from me?"

There was a sniffle, a childish cry that revealed the location of whoever she was looking for. She came to a statue and, looking around the hall to ensure no one else was around, climbed onto it, and then slipped into the gap behind it where a small boy was sitting quietly and wiping the final tear that fell from his eyes. "I never doubted that you would find me. I just preferred to be more presentable when it happened."

She chuckled and ruffled his hair, but her gleeful expression slipped away. "I have heard what occurred today. You gave them an emotional response after their numerous attempts to gain one."

He nodded shamefully and looked away from her. "Father has spoken with me already; if you do not mind, I do not wish to have another talk."

"What did he say to you?"

He was hesitant, but a stern glance from Verloren told him to speak. "He has suggested that I embrace only my Vulcan heritage. That I become only Vulcan."

"Father is a fool." The boy looked up at her in shock, words not coming to his lips. "Those boys are jealous of us, Spock. We have something they do not. It should not be treated as a flaw or a disadvantage. We are capable of loving in a way that they do not know, in a way that they wish they could know. Do not listen to Father, he knows not what he speaks of."

The boy hurried into her open arms and she held him close stroking his hair. "Something is wrong." He stated plainly.

She nodded with a weary smile. "I must leave, brother." She told him. "I must leave for a long while, and begin a family of my own."

"You are leaving me?!"

"No!" She insisted. "No, I am leaving you in body, Spock; but not in spirit and never in your heart."

The scene changed, now they were in another grand hall, but it was different. Silver lights gleamed in lamps set into the marble and tapestries of festivals and joyous times lined the walls.

A young girl was running through the hall with a man chasing after her, grins upon their faces. "you can't catch me, Father!" The girl called.

"I can try!" He replied with a laugh and he scooped the girl up and tossed her into the air, catching her and swinging her in his arms while she let out a shriek of laughter.

"Antian, Asrial, be careful! These halls are not made of cotton!" Verloren was walking down the hall at an unbelievably quick pace for a woman who carried a child, a young boy.

From the corner, another girl, jumped upon her father who grunted from the impact, "Marjan, no!"

They were laughing; they were happy.

Now they were crying. Verloren was cradling the boy she had held before in her arms, her face stained with tears. The man from the previous scene, Antian, had placed a comforting hand on her shoulder before taking the boy from her arms, laying him on the bed, and pulling a sheet over the body.

"Mother," Marjan and Asrial ran to the welcoming arms of their father. Marjan began to cough.

"We need to talk." Antian whispered.

They were outside, presumable, the children in. "Antian," Verloren pleaded. "I must go. I must try to save my family. God has already claimed one of my children, I will not wait to see what becomes of them or my husband."

"You should not test the wrath of God, my love." He replied, cupping her face in her hands. "But if you are so insistent, I will allow you to go, but by God, hurry home."

Everything was moving fast. Scenes of violence and blurred words, travels and pain that would cripple a grown male of any race. Scenes of Verloren chained to a wall, beaten, bloodied, whipped, tortured and kicked to the dirt all for the hope of saving her family. Horrible things that would haunt Khan for the rest of his existence.

But this was not the last of what she had to show him.

Verloren returned to her home, her once flawless body marred by scars and burns. Spock was there as well, holding the hands of a girl of about six years.

She knew what this meant. They were all dead, save for her fourth child, who had been born blind.

"You must leave, brother, before the illness takes you as well." Her voice was choked with sorrow.

"It has not claimed you, or Anika, it will not claim me."

"They have left us, Mother." The child, Anika, said. "Uncle wants to take me to Vulcan, to raise me there."

She looked at Spock, protest in her eyes. She saw how he held back a cough—he was becoming ill as well. But she then understood God's intentions and why her own were wrong and had cost her dearly. "You may take her."

"Makena, I wouldn't if I-"

"Brother! Please, go and rest. I wish to speak with Anika before you leave, which will be as soon as possible." He gave a solemn nod and headed to a room that had always been reserved for him.

Anika sat upon her Mother's lap, her unseeing eyes seeming to watch her. "I don't want to leave. What if something happens to me? What if you forget of me? Where will you go? What will you do?"

"Child, calm yourself." She interrupted soothingly, stroking the hair she had inherited from her Father. "We will be separated for a long while, but it is in your best interest. I have lost a part of myself from this ordeal. I can not raise you in the ways that I would want. But I promise you that by the blood that runs through my veins, I will find you some day, Anika, no matter where you go, no matter how long it takes, I will find you. I love you."

"I love you, too."