Author's Note: Second to last chapter! Thank you, again! You are the reason I keep posting chapters up...because you seem to enjoy this and nothing pleases a writer more than when her scribblings are enjoyed. Bless you. :) **gathers my two readers in a huge virtual hug**


"A terrible fever…he will not survive the week, your Excellency. And I, for one, will not go near him again. Anyone who touches him or even breathes his air will share the same fate." M'dara dusted her hands off carefully as she exited the cargo bay.

Khan closed his eyes for a split second before glancing over her shoulder into the dim interior, "do you have any idea what has caused it?"

M'dara shrugged mournfully, her dusky eyes heavy from lack of sleep, her once lustrous black hair dry and dusty with sand. "That other lichen, the yellow one from the deeper caverns…perhaps it is not as edible as we first thought. I would not risk it anymore."

Khan acknowledged her words with a single nod. "I see. I will ban it from our supplies."

"It would also be wise to exterminate the plant…the children's appetites are not so easily controllable."

"Of course," Khan stepped by her suddenly, grabbed the door and swung it shut with an echoing clang. There was a weak cry from inside.

In the camp, a woman who had been sitting in a despondent heap by the rubbish pit heard the noise. Her head flew up, her grey eyes widened. With a cry, she pelted towards them, sand spraying as her superhuman body ran as if she had never been hungry in her life.

Khan turned to meet her. "Fatima…"

"No!" Her clear, piercing voice cut him off, "you cannot! He is deathly ill…he needs me!"

"You need…" Khan paused, as if trying to find the right words, "to control yourself."

Other Augments began gathering around the commotion, some bringing their work with them. Out of the corner of his eye, Khan watched them approach with a sinking feeling of dread. He looked back at Fatima. "Isham was a valued friend and a good worker and a proud warrior. I was honored…"

"Do not speak of it!" Fatima cried, stepping forward with blind courage and fury, her hands clenched, "I do not care how in the seven hells you feel!" She spat in the sand.

Khan's mouth tightened. "This is beyond my power. The very air he breathes is poisonous…would you prefer I move him out into the desert to die, infecting more of our people?"

"You cannot…"

"I can and I will!" Khan roared back, "You swore to obey me, and I in turn swore to lead you all to the best of my ability." He was speaking now to the crowd as well as Fatima, "I will not allow one tragedy to doom us all…not for the sake of one man would I condemn the rest of us!"

Fatima recognized the hardness in his tone…the inexorable, unmerciful Khan. Her grey eyes narrowed with hatred and desperation. Her voice dropped low, almost afraid of what she said next, "you did for one woman."

Utter silence.

Marla heard, from behind two tall men who wouldn't let her through. She felt dread creep up her spine like a sickly spider. Anxious, she prayed that whatever was about to happen next didn't result in death.

Khan looked down at Fatima with eyes of stone. His brown irises caught beams of sunlight and lit up with fire. His arms, which had been crossed, went down to his sides, loose, but ready to leap into action and do something terrible and unstoppable. He stared down into Fatima's grey eyes. "Say that again."

Fatima met his gaze. For a moment, it looked like she would do it.

Then, she trembled. Her head dropped, her face hidden by sleek black hair. "My death does him no service," she said slowly, thoughtfully. She looked up again, but all the fight had gone out of her body as she realized that, short of being killed, she had only once chance of helping her loved one. "Let me…let me go to him."

Khan's face flushed under the dark tan. This woman had threatened Marla. She had come so close to death that he could hear the ghosts wailing on the hills, calling her name. He wanted her to join them. He wanted to kill her.

But her words reawakened a memory.

"It is weakness."

It is not weakness…it is strength."

"Khan," his head shot up at the sound of her voice. Marla struggled through to the front of the crowd, her red hair flowing around her shoulders, her blue eyes bright and strong. And for a fleeting instant, Khan was relieved, as if he actually needed her presence at this moment, needed her strength. Marla stood apart from the Augments, who stared at her distrustfully, angrily. But she only had eyes for Khan. "She loves him…I think you should let her go."

Khan's hands clenched into fists as he looked back at Fatima, who was staring at her unexpected ally as if Marla was an apparition from heaven. This is not what I would do, his mind screamed, why waste two lives for one!? It is so useless!

"For love of another."

What would I want if Marla was in there?

"There is no better way to die."

Marla's words seemed to pierce his heart and softly touch something there, something that quivered under the recognition of a truth older than the world he stood upon.

He stepped aside. He reached out and grabbed the door latch with his brown hand, scarred and hardened by life in the desert. He stared at Marla, somehow feeling that if he looked away even once, his resolve would come crashing down. "You may go to him."

Fatima looked at him, disbelief shining in her wet eyes. Not gratitude, but shock; she had never expected Khan to relent. An audible sigh rustled through the crowd; the normally stoic Augments were speaking to each other, unable to hold in the explosion of inspiration that had struck them.

Khan swung the door open, exposing the darkness. Fatima looked inside, her eyes wide.

"There is food and water enough for a week or so…you may go in there to nurse him…"

Inside, Isham could be heard weakly protesting. Fatima stepped up to the threshold.

"…and you may never come out."

She turned her head sharply, staring right up into Khan's face. Khan met her gaze, emotionless and unblinking, his eyes dark. Then, Fatima's shoulders straightened. With the deliberate stride of martyrdom, she made her choice and stepped inside.

The door closed, swallowing up the entrance with a loud, echoing clang.


"Let me out!" the door shuddered under the force of the blows as Fatima threw herself bodily against it, her voice laced with panic and pain. "Isham is dead…he is rotting! You cannot keep me in here!"

They told Khan about it. He reaffirmed his decree; she would not be released.

"Khan! Khan! Remember me…I beg you, let me out! I cannot stand to see his face anymore! It is empty and so cold…oh gods, Isham, Isham!" She burst into sobs that floated through the air and brought a pain into Marla's chest. She pitied the poor woman. No one should be locked up for days with the dead body of their husband.

"Khan…" Marla plucked up her courage as they sat around the fire, "we could just back away and let her…"

"I warned her." Khan glared into the fire, his back straight as a ramrod, his eyes hidden in shadow as the other Augments shifted uncomfortably, "She knew exactly what would happen, and yet she still accepted."

The sobs increased into frantic screams that echoed relentlessly through the camp. Marla couldn't bear it. She got up on her knees and stared at the side of Khan's face. "Khan, we have to! We can't…"

"Quiet, woman!" Khan snarled, his black hair whipping his face as he glared at her. Startled, Marla flinched. He had not called her 'woman' in a long time. But she couldn't just listen to that…

"Sariah! Sariah!"

The minute Fatima called out the name, a pensive little girl who had been crying silently suddenly jumped up. "Mother! Mother!"

Khan looked at her and paled, visibly.

The child raced away from the group towards the fatal cargo bay. Khan instantly knew where she was going and reared up like a predator, giving chase. With his long legs, he quickly caught up with her in time to slam the flat of his hand against the door that Sariah was already fumbling at with her tiny hands.

Marla came rushing up, panting, her heart in her mouth. Terrified for the little girl. Again, like a silent jury of specters, the Augments followed.

"No!" Khan caught Sariah's arm in a painful grip and pushed her back, "I forbid it! If you let your mother out you will kill the rest of us!"

"I don't care!" Sariah screamed with the simple-minded terror of children that can neither be reasoned with nor calmed. She stamped her foot into the sand, tears streaming from her eyes as she realized the child-eater she was shouting at could either kill her or her mother at any time. "I want my mother and father! I want them!"

The crowd had turned sullen, hostile. Their sympathy was clearly with the little girl and not with Khan, who had been acting strangely the last few weeks and, besides that, was the one who forced them to work and eat and live on.

But that was alright. Because Khan was not afraid of them.

I've never been afraid.

That had been true when he'd said it…he had never feared another man, danger, or hardship. Not even Marla, although she came absurdly close to it. However, in the midst of all this death and spiritual decay, he realized he was and always had been afraid…of himself.

Was it the right thing to fight so hard for survival? Was it worth all the pain and hatred and ingratitude? Wouldn't it be better just to let the sickness take them all, now, at once? After all, they seemed to want it so badly, seemed to hate him for making them claw their existence back from the jaws of death every waking hour.

Although he would not admit it in words, it was hard to rule and not be loved. Hard to deny himself and sacrifice that love for the sake of those who hated him, who always had, even before the Exile from Earth. Long ago, he had explained to Marla how none of the Augments really loved…it seemed that without constant excitement and action, struggle and reward, they were unable to live either. Once before, he could rule these stubborn, heartless people and shrug it off as a game of war and chance. Now, without that shield, it hurt.

I feel…weak. The idea shocked him as he glanced from Sariah's red, crying face with her accusing brown eyes, to the blank, hostile faces that surrounded him like a merciless wall. I, Khan Noonien Singh, greatest of the Augments…I feel weak and tired and so, so alone. I feel as if I will totter and fall like an old man, before my time. I feel as if I must either break their necks and harden my heart or keep on suffering their insults, leave myself vulnerable…and die.

But I will keep them alive. And they will hate me for it. But, after all, do I deserve any less?

"Your father is dead, and your mother soon will be," he replied finally. Which was the completely wrong thing to say.

"JUST BECAUSE YOU DON'T LOVE ANYONE DOESN'T MEAN I DON'T! GIVE ME MY MOTHER, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!" The hysterical child lunged forward, her nails digging into Khan's hands as she scrambled for the door.

Another man stepped forward, then another. And by the looks in their faces, Khan was certain they were not coming to assist him.

And then, Khan did something he had never done before in the long, bloody, battle-strewn years of his life.

He panicked.

He grabbed Sariah and flung her away. But he used his full, entire, terrible strength.

The little body flew through the air like a rag doll, and Khan's heart slammed up into his throat as he watched her. She hit the first man who had stepped forward and they were both bowled over…but she hit him head first, and there was a loud snap.

Marla and even a few of the Augment women screamed in horror. The man sat up and quickly, frantically turned Sariah over. Khan rushed forward and shoved him out of the way, kneeling down to touch his hand to her small, white throat.

There was no pulse. Her neck was broken.

She was dead.

There was a ripple through the crowd. Khan looked up at them all, and saw how wide, how accusing their eyes were. He looked at Marla. Her mouth was parted. She stepped away from him. Away from him.

"Sariah?" Fatima's voice trembled tiredly into the air, laced with panic at the ensuing silence, "Oh gods…Khan…you demon's offspring! Son of Shetan! I will kill you…let me out, face me! I WILL KILL YOU!"

Sanity began slipping out from underneath him like a sheet of water, leaving him to fall into a black, roaring pit…a pit full of the dead, all reaching up for vengeance, all screaming his name, because he had let them fall in there. Quickly, desperately, he clawed at the only support he had left.

He stood, knees cracking as he locked them with swift, ruthless force. The pain felt good. He turned to the crowd, his voice never wavering, as if another man from another time was speaking…and perhaps it was. It was Khan of the days before the Exile, the man who ordered entire battalions executed for desertion. This man could stand strong before the hate of others, unlike the man he had so recently tried to become.

"Bury her."

Marla shook her head silently, eyes riveted to his…she couldn't believe it. He had just killed a little girl…and that was all he could say?! Bury her?! There was no guilt, no shadow in his face. This was not the man who had saved her in the caves, or tickled Joachim, or gave food to a starving little girl, or carried her wounded through the desert. This was the beast she had married.

"And anyone," Khan turned, and his eyes were burning so fiercely that some of the Augments looked away; burning, almost begging someone to come forward and challenge him so he could utterly destroy them, "who opens that door without my permission…I will kill just as easily."

Then, he walked away. They watched him; straight, tall, erect…they watched him enter his cargo bay. No one even noticed the small, red haired woman who struggled after him, running with urgent speed, her voice already rising in volume…they only saw a man who could kill a child and not care, who would kill any or all of them and care even less.


Marla was right behind him; she was furious, at the end of her tether. He could hear it in every syllable she shrieked at him, every lingering vibration from the door as she slammed it shut. She was always finding fault, always trying to change him. He was Khan Noonien Singh, not some lump of clay she could mold any way she wanted with her clever, merciless fingers! Not some quivering reed she could blow into submission. She never left him alone, always questioned, always irritated and squawked and nagged…and he had had enough.

He turned as she came up to him and, with a suddenly freed fury that pounded daringly in his veins, he bodily lifted her by her upper arms and, in a terrifyingly swift motion, stepped forward and slammed her against the wall.

Marla gave a gasp of shock and pain as she dangled an entire foot off the ground, her thin back thumping against the hard, metal surface of the cargo bay. She stared in sudden and very real fear at a face she no longer recognized…Khan's brown eyes had gone wild, burning with a fire that was very much like what she had seen in Nyguk's eyes. His eyebrows drawn down in anger, he grit his teeth and shook her. Her legs kicked impulsively as she pushed against him in a panic, trying to twist out of his grip. She had no time for any other reaction before Khan began to shout into her face.

"You think I want this?!" He was shaking her now as if she was a doll, his voice harsh and raw, "You think I don't care?! If I let them in, we will all die! They do not understand…you do not understand! It is not about them, or you, or me! It is all the other mothers, fathers, and children. You…you cried and whined, begging that they be allowed to go in to their deaths! This is the result! I have no more say in the matter! I wash my hands of this evil that I did not wish for! It is not my choice! Not my choice…"

He stopped suddenly and sagged as if he had run out of energy, leaning against the wall as much as holding Marla up against it. He was panting, his hair in disarray, framing the burning, tortured eyes in that wild, flushed face. He stared at her, panting, waiting for her to say something as she always had, to give him more challenge, more to rail against, just give him a reason to fight. He wanted her to reject him now, to give up on him so that he would have an excuse not to keep up this silly charade of trying to love in a world of hate. He was done with trying. He was done with the Augments. He was done with everything.

Instead, Marla's eyes widened in wonder and disbelief, her face turning pale with shock. Half suspended against the wall, she slowly, oh so slowly, reached out with a thin hand and gently touched his left cheek. It twitched under the sudden touch, dragging the skin under her soft, curious fingertips.

Something of sudden revelation and even awe transfixed her face. "You're crying."

The words were terrible. His hands snapped open and she fell to the floor with a thud as her legs tangled with his. He stepped back and turned around far, far too quickly, unconsciously trying to shield himself from her gaze as he realized what the awful pain in his eyes, his head, his chest was. He blinked, trying to get rid of the tears through sheer willpower. "Lies…repulsive falsehoods…you do not know what you are saying…"

"I…I'm sorry…" Marla quickly hauled herself to a stand, her words tumbling out. "I know…I know you're only doing what you have to do…"

Khan's fists clenched as her voice came nearer. Shut up. Shut up. Please shut up. "I do what is necessary…" Don't break me…I can't… "I don't want…" his voice failed him. His voice never failed him. And when he tried to force it out again, to his horror, it broke. And his cheeks were wet. "I didn't mean…Sariah…"

"I know."

She is not fighting me. A terrible weakness sliced through his knees mercilessly, and he fell onto them with a heavy thump, his hands landing like talons onto the bed. His fingers clenched as a chasm opened up inside his soul and a screaming storm of emotions rose from within, and he fought with panicked desperation to hold it down. His head and back seemed to be crushed down by the heavy hands of all the worlds, all the lives, all the disappointments that ever were. His fingers ripped through the sheet as he gasped, fighting against the sudden, suffocating agony as all the tears he had ever hidden in his soul suddenly came to life and pushed with terrifying force to be let free. His body shuddered, and he was suddenly terrified of his own strength now that he was no longer master of it.

She was not afraid. She was beside him, her arm over his back with all the firmness of someone trying to force life and hope into another. Her hand stroked through his thick black hair, shot with abnormal white and grey. She bent her head next to his and whispered, to him and to God, over and over. I love you. It's alright. Don't worry. We'll be fine.

"I am strong…"

"I know."

"I didn't mean to say you weren't…"

"I know."

His voice was thick and choked and he cried to her and to the world, (he had hurt her and wanted her to hate him why didn't she) as he lost control and just didn't understand anything anymore. "What…what is this?"

"This…" Marla pressed a slow, strong kiss to his head, her eyes closed, willing her own spirit into his, willing him to find the safety and the contentment she offered him, "is love."


They spoke words that night, words no one, not the Augments, not their friends, not even their son, would ever hear. They opened their souls to each other and, with his shields broken, Khan was able to trust and tell her and share his burdens with her in a way he had never felt before. Something in their marriage, in their promise to each other was cleansed and renewed and filled with a wonderful power. In being broken, Khan realized, he had found strength. It was a seeming contradiction that, like so much of Marla's strange philosophy, didn't make sense but once you experienced it, you realized there was no other or better way.

The next morning they woke up together, face to face, lying on the bed. Marla blinked, surprised to find her own eyes sticky with old tears. As she reached up to wipe them, she realized her hand was imprisoned by another. Khan held it. His eyes opened and he looked at her.

They were clear and bright, washed by sorrow and an acceptance of that sorrow. She wasn't sure what he would do…what he would say.

He scooted sideways towards her and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead, his arms moving to hug her tightly to him as if she was a great, a precious gift.

Marla relished the moment, her own hands moving up to grab at his shoulders, relieved to feel her husband once more strong and whole in her arms, not the depressed, heart breaking wreck of the night before. She wasn't even quite sure it wasn't all just a dream. "You know," she said finally, trying to say something cheerful and at the same time encouraging, "I could've told you you don't have to bear everything alone. You do have a wife."

"It is you," Khan responded, still holding her tight, "all you. You keep this heart from freezing over and turning black and dead. I have never cried before in my entire life, but you brought it out of me. And with the tears, I felt the ice begin to melt away."

She pulled away so she could look into his eyes. Reluctantly, he let her. But his face was earnest and almost glowing, as if he had been through so much sorrow that he was finally ready to hold true joy. "Something…something has to give way, Marla…my pride or my mind. I need both. But you have taught me another strength, one I do not understand, do not even want…except when I look at you." A smile began to stretch across his face.

It was so good to see him smile again. Marla felt a physical pain in her eyes and she blinked as her vision blurred with happy tears. She smiled back, grabbing Khan's hand again and pulling it up to her cheek as he continued speaking, his eyes drinking in her face thoughtfully, almost amusedly, "You have overwhelmed me with your sheer emotion…you have shouted my thoughts into silence, stood firm against my rage…I have never been defeated before by anyone but you."

Suddenly, the old, flirtatious sparkle lit up his dark eyes beneath their heavy lashes, and he slipped a hand around her waist. "No one told me I had reached forward my hand and taken the eagle instead of the dove."

She smiled back, the old, cute smile that would tug ever so gently at the corner of her lips. "Well, I hope you're not calling me bald. My hair may be thinner and ragged…" she dragged a lock out with her fingers coquettishly, "but it's still red."

So was the flush in her cheeks, and her parted lips. The sparkle in her blue eyes, veined with glowing green and ringed with gold, like the glowing sky of a distant world. Khan brushed her face with his thumb, feeling a warm swell of gratitude in his chest, gratitude for Marla and everything that made her who she was. The savior of his sanity, the refuge of his sorrows, the love of his life. She could look at his weakness and still trust him. She could see his faults and still forgive him. She could endure his rages…and still love him.

Lying on their sides without a care in the world, they gave each other a long, passionate kiss.


"The others…they hate you, father," Joachim pulled nervously at his headband, and then moved to help his father with the basket of salt. He was finally reaching his tenth year, awkward and tall, with his face showing the fine headshape of his father, a long countenance with a strong chin. It was practically the only visible trait he had inherited from Khan.

"I know," Khan said grimly, letting Joachim carry most of the weight, since that seemed to please his 'manly' pride.

"Because you…" Joachim swallowed, hesitating, "you killed Sariah."

Khan closed his eyes for a second, but kept walking. "Joachim," he said finally, tiredly, "you know I did not mean to."

"Was it the demon, father? The temper?"

"Yes. But it only had power over me because I said yes to it. Never say yes to it, Joachim."

Joachim digested this in silence. Then, after a few more minutes, he piped up, "the others say Mother is a…weakling."

The basket fell with a heavy thump into the sand. Half afraid, Joachim turned to look up at his father. Khan wasn't looking at him, but gazing out sternly over the camp, as if wishing someone would come out so he make them eat their words…show them how wrong they were. "She is strong, Joachim. Strong like the grass blade that the wind pushes down, always rising again. Strong like the sunshine, that can be blocked off, but is always there, warm and light giving, always shining forth once more"

Suddenly, impulsively, he swept Joachim up and positioned the boy on his shoulders. Joachim couldn't hide his grin of pleasure at this sudden, unwarranted attention. Khan, however, pressed strong, protective hands to his son's sides, holding him steady as he spoke carefully and clearly, wishing to impress them on Joachim's mind forever.

"She is the heart, Joachim, the heart that keeps beating and beating, always loving, loving forever. It is her kind, in the end, that make great warriors. It is her kind, I believe, that will prevail at the last."