Leonard wasn't sure Khan was coming back.
It had been four days since that asshole'd left the doctor with a box of food rations and a promise to return before they ran out. And the doctor knew for damn sure that he wasn't exaggerating: the medical PADDs had internal clocks.
Four goddamn days. Alone.
And twelve days...here.
On day nine Leonard had wiped the memory of one of the PADDs and turned it into a journal. It was probably his best idea in a while: writing certainly beat trying to make sculptures out of empty food containers.
Or drinking. The doctor'd finished the bottle of Saurian brandy the night before.
...It wasn't his best decision...
But writing! Writing was good. And quiet. It had been a pleasant way to nurse the last bits of his hangover. It also kept his mind off the nagging feeling that he was going to die, either alone and starving or bleeding and beaten, in the next few days.
Leonard looked at the PADD. He wanted so badly to write letters to his daughter; to Jim; a few other people he cared about. In case…
But if Khan did come back and discovered those letters...
Instead, he wrote about anything and everything else. Khan's healing abilities. The progress of his itchy beard. A letter of resignation from Starfleet. A letter rescinding that letter. Speculations on how to vaccinate for the Auroral virus.
...Khan's treatment of him…What he feared Khan had done to the pilot...
If he died out here, at least there'd be a record of what happened to them.
A glimmer of light near the doorway caught Leonard's eye.
Someone was beaming in.
Leonard hid the PADD under his blanket and stood as Khan's form replaced the transporter's sparks.
The doctor's breath caught.
"What in God's name…?"
Leonard had thought Khan nearly incapable of bruising. The killer's healing ability seemed to fix minor blood vessels too fast to allow for it.
But now…
Half of Khan's face was yellow and purple. His body was pocked with precise burns indicative of phaser fire. The killer's hand carrying the portable transporter trembled, like it was almost too heavy to hold.
...And he was bleeding badly from a wound across his stomach. From this far away, Leonard couldn't tell how deep it was.
Khan began to sway.
Leonard's chain rattled as he rushed over. He caught Khan as the man collapsed. The transporter fell to the floor; broke apart.
Well, there went that inkling of a plan.
"Alright," Leonard grunted, tried to help the man stay up. "It's gonna be alright. But I need your help here. Gotta keep your feet under ya if––"
"I've lost them," Khan slurred; slipped in Leonard's arms.
Leonard had to get him moving. "Look, Khan. I ain't gonna lie: you're really hurt. And I think it's the kind of hurt that even you can't just walk off. So if ya wanna live, you'll help me get ya to that biobed."
That seemed to do the trick.
Khan straightened slightly; gripped Leonard's shoulder. The man was so weak, the hand almost slipped off again before the doctor could pull it over his back.
"Come on," Leonard muttered.
They staggered to the closest biobed. Leonard carefully helped the man lay down, then ran to grab his equipment. On the way back, he almost slipped, and had to stop for a moment to suppress his gag reflex.
He missed shoes.
The doctor began his scans. It wasn't good. That stomach wound...a normal person would already be dead...
"I've lost them…" Khan whispered again. His voice was desolate.
Khan's vitals were getting worse.
"It's okay," Leonard said. "You didn't lose anyone. You're just delirious from blood loss...Look...I need to put you under. I can't operate on somethin' like this while you're awake. Ya'd die from the shock alone."
Khan looked up at him; nodded.
Leonard signed in relief. Thank God.
"It's gonna be okay…"
He pressed the hypo into Khan's neck. Khan's eyes closed; he was out.
Leonard got to work. Without an assistant to monitor Khan's vitals, he'd just have to hope that propping the medical tricorder in the crook of the man's arm would read enough. It would also be hard to see what he was doing, without someone to help sop up the blood, but if he worked fast…
...What the hell was that crusty green stuff on Khan's sleeve?
The doctor paused; scanned it with the tricorder. If it was some kind of radioactive or viral contaminant, then it could cause...
No. It was blood. Dried Vulcan blood.
Leonard took a step back.
At some point in the last few days, Khan had fought and most likely killed a Vulcan.
There were so few Vulcans left. Where the hell had Khan been? What had he done?
...And what would he do if he got up from that bed?
Leonard felt sick. He'd taken oaths that told him what he was supposed to do here. But how could he apply them to…
...To this monster.
Khan had killed so many people, and he'd undoubtedly kill again if Leonard saved him. To let Khan live was to condemn who knew how many others to death.
But to let the man die...
Leonard touched the ring on his left pinky finger. Khan was way off when he assumed it was meant to remind him of his crew. Well...it did, and that had given him some strength in the past two weeks...but it was far more than that. It reminded him of the consequences of the only time he'd ever broken his oaths.
His father...the unexpected cure a few weeks too late…
Losing his family; falling into depression…
Having nowhere to go, until Starfleet took him in…
Everything Leonard had built for the past six years had started as an effort to make up for that one horrible mistake. That one slip from his Hippocratic principles that set in motion a chain of events he could never have imagined.
It had almost cost him everything...
Leonard put on his gloves, biting back a scream of frustration.
It wasn't his decision to make. He couldn't play God. Not again.
The doctor picked up the protoplaser and got to work. He had a life to save.
Leonard just hoped someone would forgive him.