Somewhere I Have Never Travelled
Alethnya
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
-ee cummings
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: My sincerest apologies for the delay. The holidays are always a particularly crazy time in my house. And as soon as the those were done, a nasty cold decided to work its way through my family, hitting me last. Finally though, I was both free and well enough to actually sit down and write. The result...another long one! After this I should be back to my bi-weekly (sometimes weekly) updates. As always, thank you for the reviews/follows/favorites! Shout out to my beta—I love you, Xaraphis!
(Ten Days Later)
She was going to kill him. Murder him with her bare hands.
Son of a...
"What did you do?"
She almost wailed the words, bleary-eyed and desperate and at an utter loss as she stood in front of the food synthesizer tucked away in the dining nook of their quarters. He utilized the food synthesizer for nearly every meal; it prevented him from having to suffer the agonies of the mess hall crowds-increasingly larger now that the Vengeance was under construction. More importantly, it was the food synthesizer that saved her from the frustration of having to run interference between him and those same crowds.
Even more important than that, it was the food synthesizer that provided her with her morning coffee; so very essential now that she regularly saw the wrong side of 0300.
And it was that very food synthesizer that was now a ruined, faceless mess of stripped wires and disconnected parts.
She hadn't looked before she spoke, but she knew Khan was in the room-after spending all day, every day with him for so long, she always knew when Khan was in a room-so it wasn't a surprise when his answer came from the lounge behind her.
"You are referring, I assume, to the synthesizer..."
Duval reached out, mournfully lifting a decimated wire harness. "You killed it," she cut in, not even caring if it sounded like she was pouting because she absolutely was pouting. "Why would you kill our synthesizer?"
"I was testing a hypothesis."
Again, those words. She hated those words. She yanked her hand backwards, dropping the harness like it might come to life and take a bite out of her at any moment. "The last time you did that, I spent two days in a coma."
"Specious," he dismissed, "and hyperbolic besides-you were not, in fact, in a coma. And while your temporary incapacitation was regrettable, it was hardly the intended outcome. It was merely an unavoidable side-effect of my end goal, which was, I might add, achieved to the satisfaction of all involved."
Duval turned then, eyes seeking him out and finding him sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the sofa, an enormous gun in his lap, parts and tools spread out in a halo around him. He was barefoot and his hair was in disarray and his shirt was untucked and it took far more work than it should have to shoot him the glare that he deserved. "So is that," she jerked her head back toward the synthesizer, "another regrettably unavoidable side-effect? Because if that was your end goal..."
"It is hardly my fault that the machine was in such ill-repair," he cut in, his tinkering brought to a halt as he finally lifted his gaze to hers. "I had intended to improve its function, as per your contention that its performance was less than it should have been. No sooner had I set to work when the entire system shorted out." He looked away, lips thinned to an annoyed grimace. "Yet another example of substandard engineering in a facility full of them."
At that moment, she didn't care that he claimed to have done it for her. She also had absolutely no desire to stand there and listen to him go on another of his endless rants about the general stupidity of every person who had the audacity to breathe the same air that he did. "You kept me up until nearly dawn. You've kept me up until nearly dawn every night for over a week. I'm at the mercy of your genes and your genius and between the two of them, I'm just about to the end of my rope. I'm doing my absolute best to deal with all of this but that's going to be so much harder to manage if I can't even get..."
"...your morning coffee," Khan cut in, finishing the sentence for her. He had been watching her throughout her diatribe, but dropped his eyes now, resuming his tinkering. "I am well aware of your habits at this point, Lieutenant. If you had bothered to look beyond the synthesizer, you would have seen the cup of coffee that I procured from the mess this morning."
Duval eyed him for a long moment through suspicious eyes, then whirled around, gaze immediately falling on the cup that was sitting in the center of the small dining table, a warming sleeve wrapped around it. It surprised her that she had missed it earlier; it was all she could see now.
Such a small thing; the barest of kindnesses. Barely worth mentioning, really.
Except...all things considered...there was nothing the least bit small or bare about it.
Oddly moved and well aware that she was in very real danger of blurting out something embarrassing, Duval bit her lip hard and almost bolted toward the table. She lifted the cup, cradling it between her palms as she tried very hard not to be as moved by his thoughtfulness as she was. It wasn't like her, this swell of gratitude and she instinctively shied away from examining its source.
They had achieved such a good working relationship over the past several weeks, moving past the stilted civility they'd struggled with at first and firmly into the realms of amicable. It was exactly where she wanted to be with Khan; anything more would just prove problematic in the long run.
"It is prepared to your liking," Khan said from behind her, the clinks and clangs between the words a now familiar song in her ears; the sounds of his nimble fingers coaxing untold wonders from a weapon that had already been cutting edge technology. "Or as close as may be-the synthesizer in the mess was not programmed for chicory coffee."
Oh for fuck's sake...
Apparently he was hellbent on being thoughtful this morning. If he kept this up, she was going to have a miserable time maintaining her determination not to actually like the bastard.
"You really do pay attention, don't you?"
The metallic chorus came to a halt and she turned back around to find herself the recipient of a primly arched brow and an accompanying smirk, the combination far more eloquent than any words could have been. Duval felt her own lips tug upwards in a return grin and she shook her head. "Right...stupid question." She lifted the cup, taking a tentative sip of what turned out to be a very robust, very dark brew, sweetened with a very liberal hand; prepared, as he'd said, just to her liking. She lowered the cup to find him still looking at her, watching her almost...expectantly.
Duval rolled her eyes and started across the room toward him, coffee in hand. "Stop fishing for compliments," she accused. "You know its perfect."
His smirk turned smug. "Obviously. But I do so enjoy leaving you no choice but to admit it, Lieutenant."
Settling herself down in the chair across from him with her legs tucked up underneath her, Duval chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, his words playing on repeat in her head, an idea taking shape. Taking another small sip of coffee, she rolled it around on her tongue while she mulled it over further. Her eyes were on Khan, who had once more returned to his work, tracing every curve and hollow and edge and deciding to just go with it.
"Here's a thought," she said, pausing to suck in a fortifying gulp of coffee, relishing the burn. "As this is the one place on this heap that we can speak freely, how 'bout we leave the titles at the door from now on, huh?"
He glanced up at her, a wayward bit of coal black hair falling across his forehead and over his eyes. "I suppose," he said at length, reaching up to flick the offending lock away, "that we are sufficiently acquainted to allow for such liberties...Miss Duval."
She didn't know whether to grin or groan. "Yeah...I had something a bit less formal in mind. Though I do suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to read a Jane Austen novel."
"I have always preferred the Bronte's myself," Khan said, surprisingly candid. "Wuthering Heights in particular has always been a favorite of mine."
Duval pulled a face, somehow-oddly-unsurprised that he was conversant in 19th century literature. "I hate that book. It's a long, miserable read made even more long and miserable by the fact that there isn't a single likable character in the whole miserable bunch. Give me Jane Eyre any day."
Now it was Khan who pulled a face. "While there is absolutely nothing at all long or miserable about that novel."
"Oh please," Duval was leaning forward in the chair now, eagerly engaged in the last conversation she would ever have imagined having with him, "there's no comparison. If nothing else, Jane Eyre at least has a happy ending."
"And you require a happy ending in your literature?"
"Well...yeah," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe. "I'm already well aware of how awful and unfair life can be. Why the hell would I want to read a book thats sole purpose is to remind me of that?"
"An escapist reader, then," he said knowingly. "No doubt your bookshelves are teeming with dog-eared Tolkien's..." the words trailed off and she could see a small frown settle in between his eyes. "That is, if anyone even keeps bookshelves any longer. Far more likely that your library is neatly contained on your personal PADD, I suppose."
"Most of it is," she acknowledged, "but not all. I actually have a decent collection of antique books that I've put together over the years. There's something, I don't know...soothing, I guess about an actual, physical book in your hands. I know I'm solidly in the minority on that nowadays, but I'd give up the clothes on my back before I gave up my books," she tossed him a conspiratorial grin, "and that includes every single one of my very dog-eared Tolkein's."
And there it was yet again, that deeply searching look; those frankly amazing eyes of his, pale and bright and devastating, were boring into her with so much intensity that it set her heart hammering. The air around her thickened, almost crackling with anticipation and it was such a familiar feeling, like a summer storm rolling in off the bayou and turning the entire atmosphere electric. She could still remember how they thrilled her, forehead pressed to the glass of her bedroom window as jagged bolts of lightning cut across the steel gray sky and vicious cracks of thunder shook the old house around her.
A lot had changed between then and now, but at that moment, she was every inch that little girl, staring breathlessly into the raging heart of the storm, wide-eyed and utterly enthralled.
And she was in trouble.
"We have strayed rather far afield from the impetus of this conversation," Khan said into the growing silence. Tilting his head up further, hands stilled once again as all of his considerable focus was directed solely on her. "As fascinating as an examination of your literary preferences and reading habits would undoubtedly prove, I must insist that it become a topic for another day. You have piqued my interest, you see, and I find myself...curious. What would you have me call you, Lieutenant Duval? Shall I follow the inestimable Commander Vazquez's lead? Shall I cal you...Becca, is it?"
Even caught as she was in the spell he had woven with his words and voice and eyes, that was jarring. She flinched backwards just the tiniest bit, her lips parting, dissent resting heavy on the tip of her tongue.
"But no," he said almost immediately, saving her the trouble, "that would never do. I have seen your face when the good Commander wields that weapon of past camaraderie against you; seen you wince every time the diminutive trips off his blundering, oblivious tongue. You despise that name." His head cocked ever so slightly to the side, eyes going sleepy and half-lidded as his lips-always such a sharp line across his face-softened into a perfect cupid's bow. "Is that not so...Rebecca?"
There was nothing remarkable about her name. She had heard those three simple syllables uttered a thousand times by a thousand different voices over the course of her lifetime. She had heard it spoken with love in the soft, sweet cadence of her mother and the rough but adoring cant of her father, with dismay in her grandmothers down-home drawl and with heartbroken hatred in her grandfathers bitter growl. She had heard it bellowed and snapped and laughed and cried; had listened to it fall past the lips of friends and lovers and enemies and acquaintances.
But never, in her entire life, had it ever been spoken like that. It had rolled off his tongue like molten sin, pouring into her and setting every single nerve in her entire body ablaze. And she knew-she knew-that he didn't mean it in the slightest; not like that at least. It was innate, this terrrible, mesmerizing potency; as much a part of him as his astounding genius and imperious ruthlessness. It was purely her misfortune that it stirred something inside of her, something dark and primal and just a little bit wicked. Something that wanted nothing more than to stand before the feral fury of him, throw back its head and howl with him.
Caught in the snare of his unblinking gaze, Duval knew she should say something-anything-rather than just sit there, silent and staring. But the words simply weren't there, her brain as frozen as the rest of her.
Goddamn it, woman, she snarled at herself, pull it together and open your fucking mouth.
Swallowing hard, she sucked in a breath, lips parting to say...
The high-pitched trill of her communicator shrieked out its presence from the depths of her pocket. Duval had never been more thankful for an interruption in her entire life, having absolutely no idea what had been about to come tumbling out of her mouth and extraordinarily glad not to have to find out. Lurching backwards-when the hell had she leaned that far toward him?-she jammed her hand into her pocket, the combination of movement sending coffee sloshing over the sides of her cup.
As soon as the device was in her hand, she flicked it open. "Duval," she yelped, voice embarrassingly high-pitched. She winced at the sound of it and very pointedly did not look at Khan.
"Lieutenant," Vazquez intoned, all business for once by the sound of it, "I need to see you. Immediately."
Duval frowned, unaccustomed to hearing that particular note of command in his voice when it was directed at her. "Aye, sir," she replied, automatically falling into the role of subordinate. "I just woke up so if you don't mind..."
"My office, Duval," he cut her off, "five minutes. No excuses. Am I clear?"
"Crystal, sir," she responded, frown deepening as she heard the telltale click of Vazquez ending the transmission from his side. "Weird," she muttered, clicking the communicator shut and pushing herself up and out of the chair, her jump-started brain suddenly working at a thousand miles an hour. She set her coffee cup on the small table beside the chair, tucked her communicator away and headed straight for the door and thankful that she never walked out of her bedroom anything less than fully clothed; true, her hair was a bit questionable as she'd only taken the time to tie it up into a loose knot on the top of her head, but she doubted Vazquez would care considering the tone of that conversation.
She was very nearly to the door, barely three steps away, when she suddenly stopped in her tracks, the call of duty receding just enough to allow another thought through. "I'd like that, by the way."
"What?"
The word was short, sharp; a staccato crack of sound. Duval turned to look at him over her shoulder, paying no mind to the glare he was aiming her way-the man was a born dictator, of course he got pissy when his position of precedence was challenged. "If you would call me Rebecca," she clarified. "I'd like that."
If he had anything to say to that, she certainly didn't hear it. She might not be 'genetically engineered to be superior' as he so regularly-and dickishly-described himself, but there were few people who could run away from their troubles faster than Rebecca Duval.
And not for the first time, she couldn't help but think that really wasn't something to be proud of.
Considerably more than five minutes later, Duval stood just outside Vazquez's office-had been standing there for some time now-annoyed and not bothering to hide it. In fact, she rather hoped that her crossed arms and pointed glare communicated to his assistant, who had very adamantly refused to interrupt him, just how very annoyed she really was.
He asked for me, she had said upon first being told to wait. He wanted to see me immediately.
I'm sorry, Lieutenant, the young woman-Ensign Allen, Duval recalled; a recent addition to the Section-had apologized, but he was very specific with his instructions. You are to wait here until otherwise directed.
And now it had been half an hour and what little patience she'd managed to scrape together had whittled away to nearly nothing and she was about two minutes away from kicking his door down if she had to. Arrogant, entitled son of a bitch...keeping her waiting here when she had things she could be doing.
"Relax, Lieutenant," Allen piped up from behind her desk, large blue eyes brimming with amusement. "You'll be finished here soon enough. I'm sure Commander Harrison will be...holding your place for you."
Duval tensed at the innuendo, the blatant suggestion, in the other woman's voice. Her arms dropped stiffly to her sides, shoulders pulling back and chin coming up. Her expression froze over, annoyance replaced quite emphatically with calculated blankness. "Excuse me?"
"Oh come on," the younger woman goaded, a wide, knowing grin on her face, "don't even bother pretending! Everyone knows the deal with you two."
"Do they?"
"Please," Allen scoffed, flicking her fingers dismissively and pulling a face, "you two share quarters...of course everyone knows. What I don't get is why you work so hard to hide it. I mean, my God, if I got to wake up next to those cheekbones every morning, I'd be shouting it so loud they'd hear me back on Earth!"
Not for the first time during this exchange, Duval wondered how exactly anyone this stunningly oblivious had ever made it through Section training. Either the standards had loosened to the point of non-existence or she'd been sleeping her way through all of her instructors. Because if this girl couldn't tell that she was about two seconds away from getting torn to absolute shreds then someone, somewhere really hadn't done their job.
The younger woman was chuckling, but something about Duval-the silence, the rigid posture, the murderous glint in her eyes-finally caught Allen's attention and the wide smile she had been sporting wavered, the mirth in her expression replaced almost instantly by nervous uncertainty. That was exactly what Duval had been waiting for-no point correcting the utterly uncorrectable after all; that the girl had some awareness meant she could develop more. Duval took several quick, determined steps across the room until she was standing directly in front of Allen's meticulously neat desk. Leaning forward, palms dropping flat on the desktop, Duval pinned the girl with a look of such flat, unemotional viciousness that the other woman flinched backwards in her chair.
"What we have right here," she said quietly and her voice was just as flat and furious as her expression, "is a teachable moment, Agent Allen. Now, I'm going to give you a word of advice, and you are going to listen very, very closely. You will say nothing else. You will only nod. Am I understood?"
Every bit of mirth drained from Allen's face, taking most of her naturally peaches and cream coloring along with it. Unsmiling and wide-eyed, she dipped her head in a quick nod.
"Know. Your. Audience." She almost growled the words, accentuating each one with a sharp tap of her index finger on the top of Allen's desk. "Are there women who would have responded favorably to that conversation? Absolutely. Am I one of them?" She leaned further forward, green eyes narrowed dangerously. "Absolutely not."
Allen's lips parted, words just on the tip of her tongue-likely an apology. But, to her credit, she snapped her mouth back shut and swallowed it down. Once again, she merely nodded. Excellent...the girl could be taught.
"You've joined Section 31, so I assume you hope to one day be given the opportunity for field work. If you want a chance in hell of ever succeeding in that, your going to need to use less mouth and more eyes and brain. Otherwise, you're gonna get yourself killed."
Another nod.
"And as for Commander Harrison and myself," her voice dropped to nearly a whisper, as perfectly and carefully calm as she could manage-she'd learned from experience how utterly terrifying fiercely controlled quiet could be. "I would advise you to keep your speculations to yourself. I would also advise you to tell everyone that you mentioned earlier that they should do the same. I don't appreciate being talked about behind my back and while I hardly speak for him, I can promise you that Commander Harrison feels very much the same. And trust me when I say, as much as it would be unwise to piss me off...you really don't want to get on his bad side. He's not nearly as nice as I am. Got it?"
Shaky exhale. Nod.
"Good," Duval slapped the desk, voice instantly turning pleasant. "So glad we cleared that up, Allen. Now...think you might finally let the Commander know I'm here?"
She gave a wide, guileless smile and earned a look of even greater fear in response. It made her smile even wider, confident that she wouldn't have to suffer through a repeat performance of this particular brand of idiocy. Honestly, she might have overdone it a smidge.
Allen looked very much like she was about to be sick all over her spotless, well-organized desk.
Oh yeah, she congratulated herself. Mission accomplished.
The comm panel built into the desktop chimed, drawing Duval's attention and sending Allen lurching awkwardly but determinedly from her seat, still looking white as a ghost. She seemed to steel herself though, taking a deep breath before forcing her eyes up to Duval's.
"Commander Vazquez is on a secured, highly classified call, Lieutenant Duval. I am afraid I can't disturb him at this time. Now, I need to run these fi-files," she stumbled over the word, looking down at her empty hands, then glancing around in a panic. "Um...these..."
That she was working off a script was painfully obvious. So much so that Duval almost felt bad for the poor girl-no doubt she'd had her part down before their little...exchange. But almost was as far as she would go; if the girl couldn't work under pressure, she shouldn't be working at all. However, almost didn't stop her from reaching out and picking up the stack of files sitting on the corner of the desk and handing them to the shaking girl.
"These files?"
Allen, a look that was half-desperation, half-mortification on her face, snatched the proferred files from her hand. "Yes...yes, of course...these files. I need to run these files to Doctor Carlson in Medical. Please...please remember, Lieutenant...the Commander cannot be disturbed. At all."
Her hand dropped to the desktop, twitching fingers tapping once, twice against the comm panel. "Do you understand, Lieutenant?"
Duval almost snorted. Had she ever been this green? Nodding slowly, she fought hard against the smile that so desperately wanted to break through her forced gravity. "I'm pretty sure I do."
"Good," Allen said, swapping the files from one hand to the other and thrusting the now free hand out into the space between them. "And my apologies for earlier, Lieutenant. My mistake, entirely."
Nice improv, Duval noted, mildly impressed. At least she got it together there at the end. Still needs a fuckload of training.
"No problem," she said, extending her own hand and grasping Allen's, not even remotely surprised to feel a small piece of folded paper pressed into her palm. The exchange made, she pulled her hand back and gave the other woman a nod. "Welcome to Section life, Ensign Allen."
The younger woman gave a quick nod and then tuned and bolted from the room.
As soon as the door slid shut behind her, Duval was behind the desk with the now unfolded piece of scrap paper in her hand. She stared at the string of numbers, understanding immediately that it was the code for the comm. Punching them in on the panel beside her, she was immediately confronted with the sound of Marcus's booming voice.
...ask you for a dissertation on their living arrangements, Vazquez. I asked if you knew whether the rumors I'm hearing are true...are...they...fucking?
Duval's eyes narrowed, glaring down at the comm panel like she wished she could glare at Marcus. Charming as ever, she spat internally.
I obviously can't say for certain, Admiral, Vazquez replied, and Duval could hear the shadow of her own disgust in his voice. However, based on my personal interactions with them, I doubt it. My assistant, Agent Allen, has been assigned to casually observe them whenever they are out together in common areas of the station. She believes that while they have grown closer, they are not...intimate.
Duval's head shot up, eyes shooting toward the door that the apparently shaken Ensign Allen had bolted through, the calculating look back in her eyes. She had certainly never noticed the girl watching them-clearly she needed to pay better attention. A lapse like that was unforgivable and that Khan was a particularly unique form of distraction was absolutely no excuse. So not only had the girl been successfully spying on a master spy, she had also managed to trick a seasoned, field-tested Agent into completely underestimating her.
It was a rare thing for Duval to find herself impressed. But Ensign-no, Agent-Allen had done just that.
She was well and truly impressed.
She was also supposed to be listening to the classified conversation going on in the next room, so she pushed all thoughts of the surprising Agent Allen out of her head and focused back on the situation at hand. There was a reason Vazquez had wanted her to hear this-she hoped there was more to it than speculation into the state of her regrettably non-existent sex life.
...see for myself, Marcus grumbled. No offense to you, Vazquez, but I'm not fully confident that your judgment on this issue is as clear as it should be.
My judgment is as clear on this as it is on everything else we've discussed, Admiral, Vazquez declared, the words tumbling over one another clumsily. Overcompensation; he was lying. Interesting. Honestly, sir, I know what you could possibly...
Don't play stupid with me, Rafael. We both know exactly what I mean. Marcus sounded annoyed now, which didn't necessarily bode well for the Commander. You consistently lose every ounce of brain you possess the minute Duval walks into a room. It was one of the reasons I resisted assigning Harrison and her to Io to begin with. Now, you assured me that your...feelings...wouldn't get in the way. I'm holding you to that promise. So you better hope I find that you've told the God's honest truth in your reports since they got there. I find any...
...you won't, sir, Vazquez cut in. My reports are true and unbiased. I can promise you that. You'll see for yourself when you get here, sir. You'll see that I've been accurate. And as for my feelings toward Agent Duval...we are friends, sir. Old acquaintances, nothing more. You can verify that with the Lieutenant yourself when you see her tomorrow morning.
The feed cut out then and, if Duval had to guess, she would point the finger for it at Vazquez himself. Not that she could blame him-he'd set all this up to let her know that Marcus was coming. She doubted he'd planned to have his, she grimaced, feelings for her put on display like that.
Feelings. Vazquez had feelings for her. He could claim otherwise all he wanted, but she'd heard it in his voice, the thread of panic, the flare of embarrassment. And now that she thought about it, looking back over all of their interactions since she'd come to Io, she supposed it was obvious. It was also par for the course for her-she had always been as bad at recognizing flirtation as she was at doing it herself.
Shit. This was going to make things...
She paused, frowned. Actually...this could make things...even easier.
Her conscience, underworked as it was, stirred feebly at that thought, trying to whisper something about it being wrong and inexcusable to use the Commander's softer feelings to her advantage. The larger, louder part of her dismissed that out of hand-she'd already been taking advantage of his friendship for her own selfish purposes. Would this really be all that much worse?
The door to the corridor slid open. Duval, who had unconsciously moved away from the desk as soon as the feed was cut, looked up to find Agent Allen standing just inside the doorway, looking just as nervous as she had when she left.
"Still...waiting, Lieutenant?"
Duval grinned, impressed all over again. The girl was good. "Nope," she said casually. "I was actually just about to leave. Please tell Commander Vazquez that I simply don't have all day to wait on him. If he still needs to speak to me when he's finished with his call, he knows where to find me." She moved across the room, pausing just beside the younger woman. "I'll be following you-and your career-much closer in future, Agent Allen."
She took a step forward.
"Good."
Allen's voice, suddenly harder and sharper than it had been, stopped Duval in her tracks. She turned, meeting a pair of intense blue eyes, reading the challenge in them and narrowing her own in response.
"Because I'm always very aware of you and yours."
"Are you now?" Duval, who had spent an entire career being threatened by far more intimidating people, just smiled. "Well, I'd be careful about following me too closely, honey," she said brightly. "I'm the unpredictable sort, you see; never know when I'm gonna stop...or what you might run into when I do."
Without another word, she started forward again, turning down the corridor toward her quarters-she had some very important information to pass on. Now was not the time to play this game, age old as it was. There was no surer sign that you had truly made it in this business than to have a young up-and-comer try to usurp your position. She'd done it herself, once upon a time. As was the case with most who tried, she had learned the hard way that there was generally a reason why certain Agents achieved that level of renown.
And it generally had very little to do with them being the kind of person who would just overlook that kind of challenge, no matter how busy they were.
Damn.
Several steps along now, she turned, walking backwards and tossing the still watching Agent Allen a grin and a mock salute. "Now you have yourself an outstanding day, Agent. Trust me when I say, I'll be seeing you."
She spun back around, the grin dropping from her face entirely. "In fact, I'll never not see you again," she called out, her voice echoing in the otherwise empty corridor. "You can count on that."
A few minutes later, Duval stepped into their quarters, chewing her lip and mulling over the sheer volume of new information banging around inside her head. Khan was exactly where she had left him, still sitting on the floor and working diligently on the enormous gun in his lap.
An enormous gun that was either going to prove their ticket to being left to work in peace or their condemnation to a life of constantly having someone looking over their shoulders. And that was her best case scenario. Depending on Marcus' mood, it could turn out much worse than that.
Especially for her.
"Does that thing work?"
He didn't bother to look up. "Of course it does," he snapped, tearing his eyes away from his work just long enough to toss her an affronted glower.
"Right, of course it does. Because you're utterly brilliant and I am, I promise you, well aware of that fact. But could you do me a favor? Could you just...humor me for a minute, please?" She was standing just in front of him now, having moved across the room as she spoke. She stared down at him with what she hoped was an appropriately beseeching look on her face-she'd learned quite quickly that getting things out of him was much easier if she shouldered the role of supplicant; nothing spurred him to action faster than a lesser being begging at the knee of his magnificence. Which, she supposed, made him no different from pretty much any other man of her acquaintance. Not that she would ever say that to him
Predictably, it had worked this time as well-those fathomless blue eyes were on her once more. And with slightly less hostility than there had been a few moments prior. All the better. "Proceed."
"When you say 'of course it does'," and here she squatted down, elbows resting on her knees, eyes on the weapon and a thoughtful crease between her brows; absently, her right hand drifted down to the object in question, her fingers skimming lightly across its surface, "does that mean we could take it out and shoot it right now and it would work exactly the way your big, bad brain intends for it to work? Or 'of course it does' as in it will work eventually, once you've fiddled with it for another couple of days and worked out all the kinks?"
"Ah, I see." His eyes shifted from her face, falling to follow the rhythmic to and fro of her fingers. "So Marcus has finally worked up the nerve to show his face. I had wondered how long it would take him to find his spine."
"He'll be here tomorrow morning," Duval confirmed. "And as I promised him over a week ago that we would have a working prototype ready the next time I spoke to him, I'm kinda hoping this thing," she grabbed the muzzle lightly in her fist, giving it a little shake, "will fit the bill. I'd really rather not have to explain to the old son of a bitch that I can't deliver on that promise."
Khan yanked the gun from her grip, glower now firmly back in place. "As I am hardly responsible for your having made the promise in the first place, do please explain to me how your ability to keep it or not is my problem?"
Duval deflated at his vehemence, assuming the worst. Her shoulders drooped and she blew out a sigh. "So it's not ready then?"
For a long moment, he stared at her in silence, expression so perfectly blank that she knew it was nothing but a front to cover up just how much was actually going on behind it. Finally, lips thinning and jaw clenching, Khan exhaled a long, slow breath through his nose.
"I can have it in more than sufficient working order by tomorrow morning," he said and there was a note in his voice that Duval didn't really know how to react to. "Marcus will be..." he paused, grimaced, "well pleased."
It was what she'd wanted to hear, but said in the last way she would ever want to hear it. He sounded almost...defeated.
No, that wasn't right. Not defeated-never defeated. This man before her would never be truly defeated, of that she was absolutely certain.
So what was it then?
She frowned, lowering herself fully to the floor. Shifting, she pulled her knees up in front of her and wrapped her arms around them, hugging them tight as she considered the man across from her. Slowly, she ran her eyes over every millimeter of his face, reading every little shift in his expression, cataloging even the tiniest tic and wishing so damn hard that she could just not give a damn. That she could tear her eyes away or shut them tight and not care in the slightest about the fact that not all was right with him. "I would hope that you already realize this," she said at length, "but I'd just like to point out-for the record-that I'm not any more thrilled about this than you are. I don't want Marcus here any more than you do."
"Hmmm," Khan grumbled, entirely noncommittal and without even an ounce of conviction behind it. "As you say. Though I doubt your admitted lack of enthusiasm will prevent you from prostrating yourself dutifully at his feet-ever the faithful, obedient lackey."
Outright rudeness...that was more like it. This was familiar ground.
This she could handle.
"I am not Marcus' lackey."
He arched a brow at her. "All evidence to the contrary."
"Well forgive me for preferring alive and healthy over the alternative. I know it must seem terribly boring to you, but some of us can't afford to be angry and defiant all the time. You can because you're irreplaceable-there's no one else quite like you, is there? But me?" She snorted out a laugh. "I'm about as replaceable as it gets and quite frankly, I've already pushed what limits I have been allowed pretty much to the breaking point. If I push any harder, I'm just going to get myself into a whole new world of trouble. So no matter how much I don't want to do it-no matter how much I hate it-what I have to do right now is keep my head down, my mouth shut and kiss as much ass as I possibly can. Otherwise, I'm never going to gain back any of that ground that I've lost."
Khan was silent once more, eyes locked on her and mouth once more a thin, angry line across his face. He was not pleased, but he was listening-small mercies.
Duval sighed again, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "Look, I know that none of this is anything that you want to hear, and I'm sorry, but if you want me to be able to stay...if you don't want Marcus to yank me off this project and shove some new idiot down your throat...then you are going to have to cut me just a little bit of slack, ok? You've got to remember that one day, you'll be out of here. You'll have your crew back, you'll have your life back and you'll never have to think about any of this ever again. But me? I'll be right here," she smacked her hand down on the floor, blinking hard against the almost foreign burn of tears. "I'll be right here," she repeated, "always. Until the day I retire or until the day that someone finally gets the best of me, this is where I'll be. So do you understand why I can't keep setting fires just for the thrill of watching them burn?"
At first, she thought he would argue; he certainly looked like he wanted to. But eventually, whatever internal battle he was waging was won and she could see the resignation-that's what it had been earlier; she could name it clear as day now-settle once more over his features. He nodded once, definitively, and she knew that the subject was, quite thankfully, closed.
Rolling her head on her shoulders, wincing at the way her neck popped in response, she fished around her brain for a new, less antagonistic topic. When one occurred to her, she grinned faintly. "Too bad you didn't come with me to Vazquez's office this morning," she offered into the suddenly thick silence. "You missed a hell of a time."
It took him a moment, but after one more deep exhale, he was able to manage a passable facsimile of a smile. "I suppose then that Marcus' visit was the catalyst behind the good Commander's urgency this morning."
She nodded, dropping her chin onto the top of her knees, only just keeping her gratitude off her face. He was making an effort for her and the last thing she wanted to do was call too much attention to that fact. "He really has been behind a desk too long," she mused instead. "He put together the most ridiculously elaborate accidentally-on-purpose eavesdropping scheme I've ever seen in my entire life. I mean seriously, he'd even scripted the damn thing. Worse, he scripted it really, really badly. It wound up working well enough in the end, but that's no thanks to him; he made it so much more complicated than it needed to be."
And just that quickly, Khan's mood shifted and she could see that honest, barely-there grin turning up the corners of his mouth. "Is that what took so long then?"
Duval rolled her eyes and gave a pointed groan. "Oh God, you have no idea. I spent most of the time I was gone just standing in front of his assistants desk, waiting for him to finish, as was repeatedly pointed out to me in as dramatic a fashion as possibly, his secured, highly-classified call."
Khan arched a brow. "As heavy-handed as all that?"
"Oh, worse," Duval sighed, picking at the fabric of her black pants. "The only saving grace of the entire thing was his assistant. The little shit actually managed to impress me-she took the steaming pile of crap that Vazquez had planned for her and played it so well that I actually believed she was grossly incompetent when, in fact, she's pretty damn good at the job."
"Indeed?"
"Oh yeah. I think she might actually have the makings of a damn good field op. I'll have a better idea of just how good once she makes her play. You learn a lot about a person based on their ability to plan a good execution-I have high hopes that she'll at least give me a little bit of a run for my money."
"What?"
"Well, she's clearly got her eye on my reputation-she made that clear. It's only a matter of time before she tries to retire me, so to speak. If she's as good as I'm currently giving her credit for, it should be a downright honor to completely fuck up all her well laid plans."
She was smiling. Khan was not smiling back. Not even a little bit.
"Forgive me," he said at length "but have you lost what little sense that I credited you with? This girl is plotting your demise and your only concern is that she plans it well?"
Duval shook her head and sighed. "You don't understand. This is...it's a thing. I've built myself a fairly sizable reputation over the years-people know me. They know who I am, they know what I've done. Hell, new recruits are trained on my success stories! It's only natural that some of them are going to get it into their head to try and bump me off. It's a status thing."
Khan's brow was furrowed so deep that his black brows had nearly become one. "So you would name this barbaric practice-and do, please, take a moment to consider the source of that observation-a tradition?"
"Exactly," Duval affirmed. "I'm perfectly aware that it's twisted and strange-though you're right, hearing you call it barbaric really does put things into perspective-but it is what it is. It's the nature of the life I lead; the life I chose, I might add. If it was simple and easy, everyone would do it." She tilted her head, mildly confused by the look of almost...concern...on his face. "There's not actually anything to worry about though. She may be good, but I'm still better. I'll have her face down on the floor with a knife at her throat the first time she even so much as breathes wrong in my direction."
At that, Khan's expression rapidly shifted, the concern receding and his default look of haughty superiority taking its place. "I do hope you are correct, Rebecca. I should hate to have to start over anew with a replacement; not when I've only just gotten you trained to my satisfaction."
"Oh, so it is going to be Rebecca then? I'd started to think that we were just going to pretend that conversation this morning never happened."
The man was a damn chameleon; no sooner did he put on one emotion than he traded it in for another one entirely. The one that was currently staring out at her from that painfully beautiful face was nowhere near as intense as some he'd directed her way, but there was still something unsettling about it.
"No, indeed," he said, leaning forward and resting his bent arms across the weapon in his lap. "You have stated your preference and I shall be only too happy to abide by it...Rebecca."
She froze, her eyes going wide; the exact same reaction she'd had the first time he'd said her name like that. That wasn't...it just wasn't fair. No one should wield that kind of power with just their damn voice.
Son of a bitch.
She should never should have suggested it; she should have been content to stay Lieutenant for as long as their association lasted. Yes, true, they'd reached a whole new level of informality-she extended the olive branch just that much further and he'd willingly reached out and taken it in hand. But was it worth it? Was it really worth it when all she had really done, no matter how inadvertently, was to hand an already manipulative man a potential verbal weapon of mass destruction? He didn't seem to have noticed the effect it had on her yet; to be fair, he seemed to either miss or ignore the vast majority of her reactions to him.
She could only hope things stayed that way for the foreseeable future.
In other words, time for a subject change.
"Fantastic! So glad we cleared that up," she said, far too enthusiastically and winced. God, she was bad at this-it occurred to her that she should record at least some of their interactions, so the next time Marcus got it in his head to pimp her out as a Section sanctioned seductress, she could just show him the footage and wait for the hysterical laughter to start. "So anyway," she said in a rush, putting as much distance as possible between the previous conversation and the current one, "we're going to need to test that before we show it to the Admiral," she said, reaching out and tapping her finger on the gun.
"Unnecessary," Khan dismissed.
"Essential," Duval shot back, holding her hands out. "May I?"
Khan hesitated.
"Please?"
His jaw clenched once more, Khan lifted the weapon from his lap and extended it slowly toward her, turning so that the stock was pointed her direction. "Do be careful, Rebecca."
"Of course," Duval said, hands wrapping around the weapon in the appropriate places. She angled herself away from him before lifting the gun to her shoulder to test its weight. "This is a hell of a lot lighter than it used to be."
"As it must be, in order to allow for the intended portability."
Duval lowered the gun back to her lap with a nod, head tilting as she continued to explore it with skilled hands and a professional eye. "I have to admit, I'm curious about the capabilities you've built into it. And it is," she said with a dreamy half-smile on her face, "a very pretty gun. If you don't mind, I would love to give it a go."
When several moments passed with no answer, she looked up...and the smile froze on her face. She had thought that he must not have been paying attention. She couldn't have been more wrong.
He was, in fact, staring straight at her. And the look in his eyes...
If he were any other man...if this were any other situation...she would have sworn that he looked...
Interested.
Before she could take the full measure of that heated look, Khan dropped his gaze and snatched up a tool at random. Was he...was he fidgeting?
"Khan?"
"Yes," he barked out, "of course you may test the weapon. However, if you wish for it to be complete upon the Admiral's arrival," he reached out and virtually tore it from her grasp, "I really must ask that you allow me the rest of the day to work in peace. You have distracted me from my task for far too long already. I have remained on my best behavior, but my admittedly limited store of patience has worn quite thin. Perhaps, as you are so...eager to please...you might see to securing a test range for the morrow."
He sounded as annoyed with her as he ever had and Duval blinked, oddly stung. She'd thought they were having one of the best conversations they'd ever had. Apparently, she'd been wrong. "Right," she said sharply, "so sorry to have bothered you." She unfolded herself from the position she'd been sitting in on the floor and stood up, brushing her hands on her pants. "I'll just go...do as I'm told. You know, like the good little lackey that I am, right?"
He was silent.
"Right," she repeated, disappointed-though whether with herself for hoping or with him for being him, she wasn't sure. Without another word to him, she stalked out the door and headed toward the main research and development portions of the station, his reproof ringing in her ears no matter how hard she tried to block it out.