Chapter 12

"Okay. Kitchen. My office. Bathroom. Living room. The den. Laundry room. Deck. Got it?" She looks at Khan and he rolls his eyes.

"No." he says sarcastically. "You lost me at 'kitchen'." His lips quirk up into a cold smile.

"Alright. Then let's go through it again—I can make you a map if you want. Okay. Kitcheeen." She says slowly before moving on the next room and the next, each time stopping and drawling out the word as though speaking to a very small and incredibly slow child. "Okay: how about now?"

Khan groans and nods: "Yes. Perfectly," he growls.

He walks away from her to sit in his room. Her friend, 'Cassie', had long since left 'to hide from the maniac Ze'eva was harboring in her home' as she had so eloquently put it, but at least she was honest.

Currently, Ze'eva was in the kitchen preparing a meal. Khan sits in the living room; every sense of his straining out to help him keep track of Ze'eva's location should the kind persona slip and the dark one slip out.

"How many people live in this house?"

"Well, there's me and Truk, the three kids, and my two brothers…my sister used to but…she doesn't now…so, eight, including you, gramps. All the other bedrooms are upstairs so that should give you some more privacy. Dinner is in an hour and they should be home in about forty minutes or so; so, if you want to get yourself settled, now's the time."

Khan stands stiffly and stares at the kitchen door. Weird, she was treating him like a human being rather than a criminal…but it's sure to slip sooner or later. Sector 31 knows these same tricks, and this time, he will not let down his guard. His family still needs him. He will live out this 'rehabilitation' period until the end, get rid of this infernal collar, and once again be reunited with his people.

"I noticed you had no other clothes but the ones that you're wearing. Did Star Fleet provide any more for you? If now, we'll pick some up and some other stuff up for you on the way to work tomorrow. How do you feel about children?"

"T he clothes I am currently wearing are all I have, and I have never harmed a child." He answers smoothly and Ze'eva sighs in response.

"No, that's not what I meant or why I was asking: where I work, just about everyone is under the age of eighteen; if you don't particularly like kids, then it's going to be a long day for you. There's a small notepad in the drawer beside your right arm: go ahead and right out some things you'll be needing. You know: toothbrush, clothes, hair brush…"

Khan feels a pang of irritation flaring up in his chest at being ordered around by such an inferior being but it can't be helped. Besides, he owes the kid a debt. If not for her and—Khan shudders inwardly—captain Kirk, he would be dead right now.

Angrily, he scoops the small notepad out and begins to stab out the bare essentials into the flimsy papers. When he's done, he tosses it unceremoniously onto the couch before stomping to his room and slamming the door.

He refuses to be treated like a child.

He can hear the door slam open and exited voices split the air painfully.

Sharp high pitched squeals of happiness.

Excruciatingly loud laughter.

Young, childish voices shrieking shrilly about their day.

"Hey! How's it going?" A man says. No, Khan tilts his head slightly to the left. He's barely more than a boy—this must be her friend from before, 'Truk'. The child from the caves. "Is he here, yet?" Truk asks and Khan knows without being told that the boy is talking about him.

"Yeah—in his room."

"Are you sure that this is a good idea letting him stay here around the children…? I mean…isn't it kind of…you know, dangerous? Won't he go ballistic and kill someone, Ze'eva?"

"Nah, he's actually a hugger, not a fighter. Who knew, right?" Ze'eva says jokingly and Khan hears Truk snort with laughter.

"Right." The boy laughs. "Okay, I'll get the kids washed for dinner; see you in a few."

"Okay."

Footsteps walk past his door and Khan can hear the children chatting excitedly. Well, if there are kids here, at least Khan won't be harmed in their presence. He wasn't quite sure yet how to think of Ze'eva, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would not allow anything to happen to this kids—not even psychological trauma, if she could help it.

"Alright, old timer." Ze'eva bangs twice on his door. "Food."

He hears her walking away and resists the urge to roll his eyes.

And so it begins, he thinks.

His first day of hell.

The food itself wasn't that impressive: breaded chicken, salad, and rolls, but it was more than he had eaten in weeks. Thanks to his Augmented genes, he could go a long time without eating and at least a week without water, and his previous keepers had had no qualms about exploiting that. He felt weak piling his plate high and gulping down the substance but he gulped the food down anyway and then went for seconds.

Embarrassment flooded his system but no one commented on his large food intake-not even the kids.

"Mom, who's this?" A little girl says. And Khan's head swivels to look at Ze'eva who is looking at the girl carefully.

"This is Khan." She says lightly. "And he's going to be our guest for a while, Elsa."

"Is he our uncle? Like Uncle Eli?" The other girl says quickly and Khan's eyes widen slightly in surprise; he had not noticed that the girls are identical twins: exactly the same physically if not for their eyes.

Are these all Ze'eva's kids? Two girls: about three years of age, long dark hair, pale white skin, one with blue eyes, and the other with green. A small boy looking exactly like a miniature version of Truk but with Ze'eva's eyes: curly brown hair, freckles, blue-green eyes, and pale skin.

Why would she choose to have him, of all people, around her family?

"No, he's not your uncle." Ze'eva says kindly. "He's just staying here for a while so he can learn to be normal."

The blued eyed girl, Elsa, smiles widely: "But you aren't normal."

Ze'eva smiles back, "I'm too awesome to conform to society."

Truk shakes his head slightly. "Right… 'awesome'." He chuckles and despite himself, Khan feels an amused grin forcing its way onto his face and thankfully no one notices.

"Hey, come at me." Ze'eva challenges as she stands up and takes her plate into the kitchen. Truk washes the dishes and Ze'eva leads the three-year-olds upstairs to get washed and ready for bed.

The house is quiet now. The children are sleeping and Ze'eva and Truk are talking quietly upstairs. Khan lies on top of his bed, his eyes boring into the ceiling. This was a more than strange day…but he feels better than he has in weeks...and it wasn't just the food that made him feel better.

He didn't relieve just how lonely he had felt or how it felt to be part of family, even if he was just living on the fringes and walking on. And now he has food in his belly and a warm bed rather than starvation and the cold cement floor. Slowly, his eyelids begin to flutter shut and he pulls a quilt over him just as exhaustion finally breaks through and buries him in blissful oblivion.

He could get used to this.