AN: Hello All! Here's an update, and one that actually surprised me when I was writing it. This was meant to be another sweet/fluffy chapter, but it actually got a lot more dramatic and plot-centric than I expected.

Hope you all enjoy - and as always feel free to tell me what you thought! Review and critiques welcome!

~Voi


She wakes up in his arms, slowly returns from obsidian nothingness to the warmth of his skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest against her back. Against the back of her neck she can feel the heat of his breath, the brush of his nose against her ear as he buries his face into the softness of her hair. And though she's gotten used to waking up in his arms, never will she take it for granted. Not when each day seems fraught with so much worry and tension. For him, and for her.

Turning around until she can look at him, she smiles as she notices the blankets beneath him. He's slept on top of the covers again. She doesn't doubt that he spent the night half frozen, and as she gently eases out of the bed she is sure to wrap the extra blankets around his still resting form. And it's all too easy to pretend, to brush the dark hair from his brow and escape into a fantasy of domestic bliss.

But there is that lingering shadow, the knowledge that between them stand lies of her own design, secrets she has kept from him for the sole purpose of making him trust her.

Wrapping herself in a soft wool sweater and making for the kitchen, she gets are far as the door before his voice stops her short. Rough with sleep, the rich sound makes her toes curl in her slippers as she turns to look at him and finds him watching her with half-lidded eyes.

"Where are you going?"

The way he asks the question makes her heart beat faster, but she manages to scrape enough composure to respond with a soft, "To make breakfast."

"I can do it." Raising up on one arm, he almost makes it to his feet before she's there at his side, pushing him down and stubbornly wrapping the blankets around him once more.

"Not this time, mister." She tries her best to look stern, but the bunny slippers and ducky-print sweater do her no favors. Still, Rhue manages to get him to do as she wants, pointing out that not only had he made breakfast the past few days, but that the night before had been a particularly late one; he had not appeared in her doorway until nearly two in the morning.

"I'll call you when it's time."

And without another word she disappears down the hall, humming softly as she arrives in the kitchen. Making breakfast itself is a relatively low stress task, and though Rhue she manages to do well enough she is neither the cleanest nor most efficient chef. By the time she has the pancakes piled high and ready for serving she has gone through two pans and three large mixing bowls, her face and apron streaked with all manner of flour, eggs and vanilla.

"Well that looks superb."

John sits down at the small table with a smile, eyes dancing as he takes in her floral apron, messy hair and pleased look on her face. She looks very sweetly domestic, with the bit of flour on her cheek and the kitchen smelling of pancakes and syrup.

Rhue for her part gets distracted the minute he sits across from her, caught off guard by the easy grace with which he settled himself. He has always been attractive to her, in a polished well-dressed sort of way. But on this particular morning, still dressed in his pajamas, he has a distinctly rumpled look that appeals to her on a different level entirely. And for a moment they lapse into a contented silence, passing the breakfast between them before John remarks on the spectacles perched on her nose.

"I was wondering when you were going to wear those glasses again."

He seems forever charmed by them, and Rhue is only too happy to oblige as she adjusts them primly, "I had to read the recipe, the font was a little small for me to read otherwise."

Grinning, he begins to eat before he can say anything. But Rhue knows that sly smile and sparkle in his eyes.

"What?" She is caught between wanting to know the reason for his good humor and feeling like she's being teased. Both have her smiling as she follows his lead and begins to eat.

He finally poses his question after having finished not one but three pancakes, each one topped with copious amounts of syrup and whipped cream.

"You needed a book to help you make pancakes?"

There is no missing the rumble of amusement in his voice, and Rhue flushes as she looks up from her meal.

"I like following the books, it reassures me that everything will work out as long as I follow the rules."

She points to the almost empty platter of pancakes, "I didn't hear you complain about them."

"They were very good." John concedes as the smile lingers on his lips, "Especially since you made them."

The comment has Rhue blush all the deeper, her face turning scarlet as she avoids his gaze, focusing instead on completing the last of her breakfast. And though she does her very best to avoid looking at him until the end of breakfast, the touch of his hand on her arm surprises her enough that she very nearly drops the plates in her hands.

"Rhue."

He sounds exasperated, but as she finally looks up at him, there is nothing but amusement in his brilliant blue eyes.

"Thank you for breakfast."

She wants to focus on his words, but the warmth of his large hands has her so distracted she can do little more than nod. Indeed she can barely think beyond the way it seems to burn straight through the thin material of her robe and nightgown.

"Rhue?"

His voice is softer now, lower, and he is standing so close she can all but hear it resonating in his chest. Moving slowly, she lifts her gaze until she is looking straight into his eyes, and though the intensity she finds there makes her flush once more, the feel of his other hand on the side of her face, stroking her cheek and tracing the curve of her lower lip makes it impossible to look away.

And though she wants for him to tilt his head down just a little lower, wants him to take his large hands and hold her close, she cannot find the confidence to ask.

"I'll see you tonight," he promises on a whisper as he smiles ever so slightly. And though he seems hesitant to leave, he is gone a moment later, disappearing in a flurry of work clothing and dishes.

Rhue spends the rest of the morning in a haze, her shower longer than usual as she runs through the morning's events, the feelings that she can no longer deny she has towards this man from the past. Languidly she gets ready, lingering on the scent of him in her room, the memory of his presence. And when at last she leaves for work she gets not ten feet before another hand closes around her arm, this one cold and hard as it steers her towards a black sedan with heavily tinted windows.

"Lieutenant McGivers?"

The chauffer opens his window to ask her, eyes staring dispassionately into her own as she nods and is shoved into the waiting seat.

She has never seen either the driver or the heavily muscled guard who settles beside her, but their identical Starfleet insignias do nothing to quell her panic. Instead, the cold black and silver uniforms threaten to drive her anxiety all the higher as she notices their gleaming pistols and Section 31 sunglasses.

Forcing the air into shuttering lungs is like trying to breathe underwater but she manages, hands curling into white-knuckled fists as she tries to look outside and see where they are taking her. They would have blindfolded her if they had intended to keep their location a secret, the fact that they chose not to only reinforces the prickling sensation that has the hairs on the back of her neck standing up on end.

And it is all too soon before she recognizes the Archives.

But before the car can smoothly slip in line with the other visiting transports, there is a flicker of light on the dashboard. A signal of some kind, Rhue doesn't even have time to ask before the car is changing course, drawing away from the city center with ever increasing speed.

They arrive a short time later at the very outskirts of the city, at a stately building where the words 'London Institution of Medicine' stand proudly in shimmering bronze lettering. She has never ventured far from the city, but as she escorted from car to shadowed interior, there is no denying the old-world grandeur, the appeal of the architecture despite her circumstances.

And for a second, a brief moment, she is taken in by the black and white tiling, the elegant vaulting that harkened back to an era of human history in which the heavens were intended to be welcomed in by towering barrel vaults and elaborate buttressing.

Those good feelings disappear the moment she catches sight of the man waiting for her, and her anxiousness congeals into something that feels very much like fear.

"Ah, Miss McGivers. Welcome."

The greeting is delivered with the coldest of smiles, the most calculating of gestures Admiral Marcus welcomes her to a small office, "Thank you for visiting me."

He does not put a hand on her, but her skin crawls at the expression on his face, the gleeful malice with which he sits down behind the desk.

"Admiral." She swallows down her fear long enough to take the offered seat, "What a surprise, I didn't expect to see you in England."

"Yes well," the man tilts his head as he looks at her, "An Admiral must appear where he is most needed. Isn't that right?"

The bad feeling returns as her stomach twists, "Sir?"

"I recently received a report that you have been in contact with our friend, Khan."

"John." Rhue corrects him instantly, instinctually, before freezing in horrified shock.

"Yes, the man known now as John Harrison." The Admiral looks grimly pleased, "My sources tell me that the two of you have really 'hit it off' so to speak."

He waits for her to admit it, but seems unfazed when she remains silent, stoic now that she has stumbled so spectacularly at the first.

"Very well. I am here to remind you, Lieutenant, that when you were introduced to this project that the rules stipulated with every sort of clarity that you were not to contact the subject upon his insertion into the general populace."

The continued silence has him frowning in displeasure.

"Were you, or were you not told to leave John Harrison alone?"

And when his comment brings yet more silence, he erupts with fury, eyes blazing as his hand makes hard contact with the desk in front of him.

"Are you hearing me, Miss McGivers? Or will I have to resort to other less-civilized means to attaining your cooperation?"

"I..." Rhue feels almost lightheaded with fear, but somehow managed to retain the façade of quiet control, "I don't know what you mean."

The screens in the office, the wall of them, fill a moment later with pictures of her, pictures of her with John. At the pier getting fish and chips, walking along London's streets, meeting for dinner. Moment after moment, memory after memory is laid bare as she is shown the horrifying truth, that Marcus knows, and there is nothing she can do to deny it.

"Now Lieutenant, under other circumstances I would have you court-martialed for not only lying to a superior officer but for your flagrant disregard for the rules of Starfleet as well."

Rhue remains frozen, fixated on the images, feeling her blood roar in her ears.

Marcus moves around his desk, his hands folded carefully behind his back, "And you would be thrown in prison, without a doubt you would find yourself locked away for what you have done."

"But-" And at this he smiles, a nasty calculating smile that never reaches the coldness of his eyes, "You have also ingratiated yourself with the one weapon so important that we cannot simply remove you without causing a stir. And that is your saving grace."

"He is a man not a tool." She may be terrified out of her mind, but Rhue will not, in any lifetime, refer to John as a weapon, as a machine of warfare.

But instead of sparking the Admiral's rage, there is a slashing grin on his face as he looks at her expectantly, "A man with all the desires of one, perhaps?"

There is no missing the suggestiveness of the question, the implication of it and Rhue feels nauseous as Marcus nods, accepting the new idea into his grand scheme.

"Very well then, Lieutenant, feel free to remain at John's side. But you will be watched, and one day you will account for your past transgressions against Starfleet."

He says nothing more, merely nods to the door as he dismisses her. And though she is trembling, shaking with anger, fear and deeply rooted panic, Rhue crosses the room without a sound. She knows how ruthless the Admiral can be now, how manipulative.

She is almost at the door, almost free, when Marcus calls her a final time.

"Lieutenant?"

Fighting the instinctual urge to just run from the room, Rhue turns very carefully on her heel and faces the Admiral.

"Sir?"

There comes another image on the monitor wall, this time just one, duplicated over and over again; the image is of John, of Khan, escaping the wreckage of the warehouse.

"You have made a case that John Harrison is a man rather than weapon. If that is the case, Lieutenant, see to it that he does not make this very human mistake again."

Her hands are trembling so badly she has to clench them together behind her back to hide them.

"The explosion, Sir?"

"No, Lieutenant. Acting like you." The Admiral sniffed, "If he so much as looks in the direction of any more of the cryo-tubes we have recovered we will put. Him. Down."

The nails bite into the soft skin of her palms at his words.

"Sir?"

"Starfleet does not tolerate traitors, Lieutenant. And I will be damned before I lose control of this one-man weapon of destruction. It is in your best interest that you keep John Harrison controlled, Lieutenant. The consequences if you fail would prove to be…problematic to you both."

"Yes, I understand." She nods sharply before saluting and taking her leave, "Thank you, Sir."

The ride back to London seems to take forever.


"Are you thinking about Owen again?"

It's evening, nearly five hours since her meeting with Marcus at the medical institute, five hours to contact Calvin to set up a meeting for later and try to salvage what is left of her self-control. She doesn't know how convincing she can be, to pretend that everything is ok, but as she turns from the window to where Khan was standing, her heart aches. The events of the morning's breakfast seem to have happened a lifetime ago and she misses that rosy happiness that has since disappeared.

"Just a bit."

The lie suits well enough as an explanation, but this time Rhue finds it just a little harder to say, to force past frozen lips and speak convincingly enough for them both. Even now she can hear the hollow ring to her words, to her lie. And she can feel her throat close up with guilt and shame when John settles down beside her, tugs her close.

"That man was a fool."

Rhue looked up at him with a sad smile, "He's known me far longer than you have."

Khan shrugged, "That may be true, but he does not know you better."

"And you think you do?" She teased him halfheartedly, fighting with her emotions as she leans her head against his shoulder. It's a struggle not to do the right thing, to tell him. But she cannot lose his trust now, not when she is responsible for keeping him safe, keeping him alive.

"I am telling you that I know you better, because I am better than he could ever hope to be."

She gave him a sidelong glance, "Better at what?"

And that was when hesmiled, nudged her ever so gently as he bent closer, lips brushing her cheek as he whispered in her ear.

"Everything."

And though the words had meant to amuse, Rhue cannot stop the lone tear that drips down her cheek.

Calvin had said once that he believed her to be strong enough for the task, to free John from the control of the Admiral and see the humanity of a man who so many others called a weapon.

But as the daylight fades, she can't say she believes him, not when so much of who and what she is has become muddied with lies.