Disclaimer: One more time, now! Me no own and you no sue! Oowee, ooweeooo!
Waking
She woke up all at once in a place she didn't recognize, and her first instinct, before could register anything more than that, was to reach for Khan. Her hand shot out, open, seeking the body that had, moments before, been wrapped around hers, and a rush of empty air greeted it. Where was he? Where was she? White before her eyes. The cloying smoke of sparking wires and burnt electronics replaced by fresh sterility.
A hand snatched out, grabbed hers, and lowered it gingerly back to the bed.
She was on a bed.
She followed the hand to an arm, to a shoulder, and to a face. A man's face. She didn't know him.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," he said in a rich southern drawl. He looked at her like he didn't know what to do with her, but he didn't give up; he just kept watching her, like she might perform a trick.
"Wh-whe…" The words lodged in her dry throat, and Tyrrin coughed.
Whatever his misgivings, the man didn't hesitate to snatch a glass of water and carefully maneuver the straw into her mouth.
The cool running down her throat felt better than anything she'd ever tasted in her life, and she decided water was her new favorite beverage. The stuff of life, right there. Sighing, she released the straw and closed her eyes, grateful for the comfort. After all the pain…
What pain? She opened her eyes again and frowned at the man, who she assumed was a doctor, judging by the way he'd handled the water. He was too calm and ready to help to not be in the medical profession. And he looked a bit old for a nurse.
"You're in a Starfleet medical facility. San Francisco." He returned the glass to the bedside table and lifted a tricorder. Tyrrin watched him carefully as he scanned her, and he quirked a brow. "Ring any bells?"
Khan's voice echoed through a hazy memory. "Confirm."
Old fear left unprocessed bubbled to the surface, and the monitor above the bed trilled as her heart beat accelerated.
"Yes…"
The doctor dropped the tricorder and put a hand on her arm, zeroed in on the monitor. "Whoa, now. It's alright." Looking back at her, he gave a worried frown. "You've been out for three months. We found traces of Khan's blood in your system, presumably, that's how you survived." The frown deepened. "I presume you know who I'm talking about."
Tyrrin hummed. She knew what he was talking about again – that was a tremendous comfort. "The frigid geezer with a bad attitude. Of course."
"I have to say," the doctor mused, "strange as that was, this is the first time I've had the pleasure of treating a flesh and blood ghost before. Welcome back from the great beyond, Miss Regent."
Oh, right. That. "I forgot I was supposed to be dead." She smiled up at her doctor. "Anyone give to shits?"
"Marcus made a big deal out of your disappearance." He smiled back, clearly aware of at least part of the truth. "He wrote a nice obituary for you when he called off the search."
"I'm sure he did. How is the old fart? Rotting in a very small cell, I hope."
The doctor's smile died. "Dead. Your boyfriend crushed his skull in. With his bare hands."
Tyrrin blinked. "First thing, holy shit. Second – not my boyfriend."
The doctor smirked. "You sure about that?"
"Pretty damn."
"He did give you his blood."
"'It's complicated' doesn't even begin to cover it."
They'd reached an impasse. Grunting, the doctor pulled over a chair and dropped himself into it. He let his hands dangle over his knees and fixed Tyrrin with a no-nonsense look she could tell he'd developed with years of practice.
"Look, my name is Dr. McCoy. I'm an officer from the starship Enterprise, the one you helped our chief engineer save."
It took her a moment, but then it dawned on her. "Scotty."
He nodded. "That's right. Now," he leaned in, propping one elbow on his knee, "he's got nothing but good things to say about you, but he's the only person still alive who knows anything about you, and I have to say, it isn't much. Between the time of your reported death and the second Scotty saw you on the Vengeance, there is no record of your activities. To be perfectly honest, Starfleet doesn't know whether to treat you as a victim or an accomplice. It's obvious something went bad between you and Marcus, but beyond that…" He shrugged. "I'm afraid you're gonna have to help us out, Miss Regent."
She smiled, but it was a sad little thing. No one would believe her. "I could be lying for all you know."
"Well…" He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. "We've discussed that, and there is a way to be sure. It's a little unorthodox, but, with your permission…"
Naturally. "A mind meld. You're suggesting I mind meld with someone. A Vulcan."
He looked at her apologetically. "It's the only way to be sure."
Through everything, the one thing Tyrrin had kept was control of her own mind. Or at least she controlled the privacy of her own thoughts. This would be worse than uncomfortable. But…
"If I pass your little test," she said, voice cracking, "will you all leave me alone?"
Doctor McCoy nodded, but his eyes drooped. "Whatever you want. I'll recommend some therapists, but once you're cleared…"
She turned toward the window. "I just want to be left alone."
.O.O.O.
A Starfleet-issued psychologist came to her the next day, a female Vulcan with stern eyes softened by brushes of grey in her jet black hair. McCoy accompanied her, demonstrating his unspoken concern with little pokes, prods, and scans to ensure his patient's continued improvement, but soon the Vulcan politely asked him to leave. It afforded Tyrrin fractionally more privacy, and she expressed her gratitude with a nod.
Her inquisitor was as professional and considerate as an inquisitor could be, but Tyrrin was still a mess by the time they'd finished, and when the Vulcan rose from her meld, Tyrrin snatched her wrist before she could leave.
"Please, tell them in front of me. I want to know – please just tell them in here."
The Vulcan nodded. "As you wish."
She opened the door and ushered in a group of Starfleet officers. McCoy came with them and stood with two men – a human and a Vulcan – looking happy as a half-drowned cat.
The psychologist folded her hands and faced the assembly. "Tyrrin Regent acted out of a sense of moral obligation and the desire to survive. Though she has broken dozens of laws and regulations, she responded to existing injustices and prior infractions initiated by others, primarily the deceased Admiral Marcus. The Augment known as Khan manipulated her to assist in the rescue of his crew, and I believe she suffers from a mild case of Stockholm Syndrome, as she cannot process a reasonable emotional reaction to her time as his prisoner. She could have done nothing more to prevent the events leading to the crash of the Vegeance, nor could she have predicted the ultimate outcome of the situation she found herself a part of. Miss Regent acted with sense and honor in the face of tremendous odds, and I recommend that she be given every assistance resuming a normal life, and that no charges be laid."
The men murmured and nodded, and more than a few curious eyes glanced her way. Tyrrin resolutely ignored them. Her inquisitor declared her intent to compose and present a full report at a later time and ushered everyone but Doctor McCoy from the room.
"Never thought I'd hear a Vulcan talk about a 'reasonable emotional reaction,'" he grumbled.
"Doctor McCoy?"
He grunted.
"What happened to Khan?"
For a second she didn't think he'd answer. But then, carefully, he said, "They held a trial. Starfleet decided it was in everyone's best interest to put him back in cryofreeze. He's with the rest of his people again."
At peace? Almost.
"Thank you, Doctor."
.O.O.O.
Over the next week, McCoy came to check her progress every day, and although other medical staff came to treat her, he stubbornly insisted that she was his patient. She had no other visitors. Everyone seemed happy enough to honor her request to be left alone.
At night, she used the PADD provided for her to search the news, digging through old security footage of the crash. And the man who dropped out of the rubble with a limp sack of limbs over his shoulder. When the Enterprise's first officer, the Vulcan who'd stood with Doctor McCoy, materialized behind him, the man from the ship – Khan – put his cargo on an empty bench and ran.
She'd stayed on that bench for five hours, until emergency medical responders picked her up as one of the hundreds of casualties littering the streets. The rest was easy to figure out. Someone, probably Scotty, remembered her, and then they searched her out in the civilian hospitals. Or someone informed them of the patient making an impossible recovery with an unknown agent in her bloodstream.
The rest was a story of white walls and southern accents she already knew.
But this wasn't the end. Not quite yet.
Her doctor discovered the neurotoxin from her medical history and confirmed it with a little blood testing. He told her what she already knew, that she had, at best, three years to live. Unless they woke Khan. Stole his blood. They wouldn't, and she didn't want them to. He'd always given her a choice. The least she could do was return the favor.
All in all, she was satisfied with where she'd landed. Doctor McCoy was her only problem, because he was determined to make her his. He paced the room, checked her vitals obsessively, trying to fix what dozens of scientists had failed to.
But she began to suspect the neurotoxin wasn't the only thing he wanted to fix. So one day, when he wouldn't stop pacing, she asked what was wrong. He paced to the window and glared at the view. Her window faced away from the damage left by the crash of the Vengeance, and the normalcy felt like a lie.
McCoy rubbed a hand over his face. "You didn't know if you'd pass." When he glanced over at her, she could see the shadows under his eyes. "All they put you through, and you weren't even sure you were a victim. What the hell does that to a person?"
"I don't know. Maybe if I did, I could be a good little citizen and rejoin society." She smiled, trying to lighten the movement so it could float away. "Forget about me, Doctor McCoy. There comes a point when you just need to acknowledge what you can't fix and move on."
He turned away, angry, and stormed out of the room. "I don't quit on my patients, damn it."
.O.O.O.
She knew there could be no pardon this time. Stockholm Syndrome or no, she'd face the consequences of her actions if they ever found her. But that just meant she wouldn't let them catch her.
They released her from the hospital, and once she'd dropped off the radar, once she seemed like a nice, quiet hermit, she put her plan into action. Starfleet's corruption came in many forms. Marcus had been the malignant sort of cancer, but less malign forms still thrived in the Federation's wings. The black market, for example, still thrived. Romulan ale. Phasers. Even ships sent to be decommissioned. She needed the last of those. She traded her skills reinforcing the security systems of a dealer who'd suffered a recent hack in exchange for a small cargo ship big enough to fit eighty standard crates of large goods. Or seventy-odd cryotubes.
Khan and his people were stored in a tiny compound in the American Midwest. Few defenses. Little security. Minimal staff. Starfleet meant to protect the prisoners through obscurity rather than firepower. It might've worked if Tyrrin hadn't written the software they used to encrypt the shipping orders.
They never should've given her that PADD.
.O.O.O.
Khan opened his eyes to a blue sky and took a deep breath of entirely unpolluted air. For all mankind's technological advances, they hadn't been able to undo all the damage done to Earth's atmosphere in earlier centuries, and the taste had always reminded him that he was a man out of time.
He found himself in his cryotube, which lied open in a wide field. Alien vegetation grew around him, green like Earth's, but almost entirely coniferous. The sun shining down on him seemed much younger, and perhaps a little more distant than Earth spun around Sol. And in the field around his pod, his family's cryotubes dotted the long grass.
Strange. He'd never dreamed in cryosleep before.
It wasn't a dream.
He found a PADD resting on the opened hatch of his cryotube. When the screen illuminated under his hands, a simple message flared to life.
Welcome to your brave new world.
Goodbye.
Marla
.O.O.O.
Tyrrin lazed in the pilot's chair, watching new stars twinkle awake in a nearby nebula as her ship idled in empty space. She had all the time in the world. Or at least a good three years' worth.
Her job was done. Khan and his people were safe, and she'd taken them far enough from the heart of the Federation, that they were unlikely to be discovered before their grandchildren were old. She could only hope that in that time attitudes would change on both sides of Khan's little war, and that maybe his descendants, and the children of the Federation, could find a way to share the galaxy without killing each other.
But that really wasn't her problem. She had no more control over the future than anyone else, even if she had infinitely more secrets. And she knew how to keep them. She wasn't worried for her own future. People always needed a good techie.
She marveled at the view and pulled up a map of nearby space. So much to see. The Federation made up to little of the universe. A lifetime wasn't enough to explore. She could make do with three years.
"Well," she said to the stars. "Where should I go first?"
A blue giant winked at her.
Seemed as good a place to start as any.
A/N: Finis. Done.
FEELS.
I hope you all enjoyed the story! Thanks so much for your ongoing support and encouragement - it meant more than I can tell you. I hope everyone walks away feeling satisfied with this ending.
So, I know I talked about a poll for my next project, but I mentioned an idea to one of my good friends, and she said on a scale of 1 to 10 she would love me 11 if I wrote it, so... yeah. I'll be doing a short multi-chapter Captain America story next. I also need to finish my Supernatural fic one of these days (probably post-move...). AND I'm playing around with some ideas for a sequel to Circuit Ghost, but I'll let you guys decide if you think this is a good place to just let things end.
Sequel or a peaceful death? Tell me in your reviews, please!
Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, fav'd, and followed! You keep things fun (no, seriously, most of ya'll are funnier in your reviews than the stories you read)!
Replies to Anons:
Kat: Thank you so, so much for this and all your other reviews! I don't blame Kirk too much, because I'm pretty sure Khan would've stabbed him in the back either way, but, yeah, it bothered me a bit, too. And Khan definitely has his own twisted code of honor. I don't think I'd be able to get in his mind at all without that little life line. I totally agree. Thanks again!
Inkwriter: Thank you, thank you, and it's absolutely no problem! I would answer your questions, but you have all the answers now, don't you? Thank you so much for all your support!
cat: Oh, wow, thank you! I'm always happy to help people procrastinate. I'm so flattered, just, wow. I'm blushing. And your cackles are contagious. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoyed the ending as much as the rest!