Disclaimer: I own nothing, save for what's mine.
A/N: Another done...and far closer to my preferred bi-weekly time frame! Now, allow me to direct you all to this outstandingly lovely bit of art work – opheliah . deviantart . com / art / Lt-Rebecca-Duval-479259177 (minus the extra spaces, of course) created by the fantastic thescienceofdepiction (look for her on tumblr…all of her work is fabulous!). It's the very first piece of fanart I've seen based on something that I wrote and I love it to absolute pieces!
Speaking of tumblr, feel free to drop me a line on there if you'd like – I'm alethnya there as well. Honestly, I'm alethnya everywhere; have been for nearly a decade now, since my earliest World of Warcraft days. Anyway…now I'm babbling.
Firm M rating on this chapter, friends. Been awhile I know, but hopefully I've acquitted myself well.
As always, thank you so very much to all who have read/reviewed/favorited/followed! And thank you to my beta & dear baby sister, Xaraphis for being my own private (and magnificently effective) drill sergeant.
(five days later)
On doctor's orders, Duval had taken the last several days off. She had fought the idea at first – especially that first morning after Marcus' great reveal – but Carlson had been adamant and had, frustratingly, found herself an utterly intractable ally in Khan. They had stood over her as she sat hunched in bed, knees clutched to her chest, red-rimmed eyes haunted and told her in no uncertain terms that she was going to rest whether she liked it or not.
So she had agreed. What else was she supposed to do? She refused to fight both of them.
Luckily, they had accepted her quick agreement without comment – though she'd seen the narrow-eyed look Khan shot at her over Carlson's head, though she had pretended otherwise. He had suspected that her agreement had been a bit too quick…and ultimately, he had been absolutely right too.
Duval comforted herself that she had, at least, spent the first two days of her voluntarily involuntary confinement doing exactly what they had wanted her to do – resting, coping…processing.
Carlson hadn't mentioned anything directly when she had made her unannounced visit the morning after – which Duval thoroughly appreciated – but she had clearly been concerned. The older woman, who had spent the majority of her house-call quite literally wringing her hands, had dropped not-particularly-subtle hints nearly every other sentence, suggesting that the time off would be good for her…in more ways than one. Duval had found the implication that she needed time ridiculous, but had nodded along anyway, just to get rid of the irritating, if well-meaning, physician.
Then, of all things irritating, it had turned out that she was…right.
Duval had, in the end, wound up spending most of the first two days coming to terms with what she had learned about her parents. It was, at once, both easier than it should have been and harder than she had expected. Pragmatic as she was, she had little difficulty over-writing the past she had known with the reality that had been kept from her. In the end, after all, it was nothing but data – it certainly explained a few things, put others into a fuller perspective. Ultimately though, all those new truths…they changed nothing.
It was good to know the truth, of course. Good to know that she hadn't, in fact, been abandoned. That her father had wanted her…had hoped to one day come back for her. And that was where the difficult part had reared its head, opened its jaws and sunk its teeth into her heart.
Knowing the contents of that folder didn't make her parents any less dead or the memories of her childhood any less miserable. But what it did do was make her think about things she would have been happier to have never even considered. Things like…what had her mother gone through in those last, surely desperate minutes of her life? What had she thought of? Had she known why it was happening? And her father…what must he have felt when he found out? How had he coped with it all, with the guilt that must surely have eaten at him like a cancer?
Those thoughts – those questions – had certainly eaten at her and she had shut herself in her room, silently coming to terms with all of it. Khan, wonder that he was, made no comment and expressed absolutely no condemnation of her behavior, dismissing her apologies late that second night and merely pointing out that there was no right or wrong way to mourn.
Then, he had kissed her lightly and bid her goodnight, retiring to his own room. By the time Duval had crawled into his bed with him a few hours later, curling herself into his embrace and letting him kiss away the last of her tears, she had come to a very important decision.
She would have the rest of her life to mourn her parents. But there were things – other, more pressing things – that needed her attention in the here and now, and she had spent a long, sleepless night contemplating them.
Well, a sleepless night for her at least – Khan had, conveniently, slept the night through, one arm draped around her waist and his forehead pressed between her shoulders. Balm as his presence had become to her, she had needed his silence equally as much throughout those hours of darkness. It had given her time to think – time to plan.
More specifically, time to think about what exactlyit meant when she said that she chose Khan…and then, later, time to plan exactly how she was going to go about doing just that. The next morning, after Khan had left for another day spent overseeing the Vengeance warp core installation, Duval had set to work.
And now, after several days' worth of planning and brainstorming and quiet, anonymous enquiry, she was already well on her way to setting the first cog in motion…
"Seriously? You can't give me more than that to work off of?"
Duval, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, frowned in concentration as she tapped away on the PADD perched in front of her. "Wouldn't hurt to keep your eye out for any mention of the number 72…possibly 73. But other than that, no. At least, not at the moment. I'm hoping that'll change very soon, but at this point, I'm a bit limited on info myself."
On the other end of the connection, she could hear Thomas Harewood – mid-level Section 31 weapons specialist stationed to the Kelvin facility – gritting his teeth in annoyance. "So why not just wait until you can actually give me something I can actually use?"
She shot a quick glare at the communicator lying open beside her hand. It was a point of no little trepidation for her, doing this without discussing it with Khan…but she knew him – he would flat out refuse to let her help if she did discuss it with him first. The only way she was going to make this happen was to start the process without him. If it was already done, he would have little choice but to accept it and, eventually – hopefully – embrace it. Of course, Harewood needed to know exactly none of that. "Reasons," she snapped. "None of which are any of your business."
There was a sharp huff on the other end, a moment of silence. "Right. Fine. So I'm to look into any Section funded facilities housing medical staff…and the numbers 72 and 73. Can you at least give me a time frame or am I going to be sending you thirty years' worth of data?"
Smart ass.
"Start in November of last year but focus heavily on December and January. I'm talking fine-tooth-comb focus, Harewood. If there's anything to be found, it'll be subtle – the brass would have been very careful to keep any mentions of this project as vague as possible."
A snort now and Duval could picture the eye-roll that would certainly have accompanied it. "Official section records kept deliberately vague…imagine that."
Duval quirked a brow, grinned. "Real shocker, I know."
"And how do I get the information to you, if I do happen to find anything?"
Leaning back against the couch behind her, Duval ran her teeth over her lower lip thoughtfully. "You're still assigned to ship-based weapons development, right?"
"Yeah."
She nodded. "Perfect. Put together a comprehensive report on currently in use torpedo technology. It's pertinent to a project in development out here so no one will question it. Embed anything you dig up within that report and I'll find it."
"Any particular method you'd prefer I use for the encoding?"
Duval's grin widened now, hearing the edge to Harewood's voice. "Just use the same system here that you do in your extracurricular correspondence. I figured that one out easily enough. Though I was impressed with just how many top secret development projects you managed to leak in a single document."
"Where the hell could you possibly have…"
"Happened to be running an info-gathering op on a high up in the Wuqi Company who was running a weapons smuggling ring on the side. Imagine my surprise when I start digging through his desk and find official Section 31 documents."
Silence.
"So that's how you knew."
"Knew what?" Duval leaned forward again, folding her arms on the tabletop and directing the same knowing smirk at the communicator that she would have the man on the other end. "How to get in touch with you on your completely blacked out ghost comm? Or are you referring to your little foray into industrial espionage? Either way, the answer's the same – partly."
Again, that telling silence. She could almost feel Harewood's discomfort…his fear.
Good, she thought uncharitably, be afraid. You should be. If it weren't for me having friends in very low places, you'd have been dead months ago.
"Partly?"
"I don't plan on elaborating."
"Right." A beat. "We'll be square after this, yeah? You said I'd owe you a favor…this is it, right? You'll not contact me again."
"I said you'd owe me, Harewood," Duval picked up the communicator, holding it cradled in one palm, fingers already poised to snap it shut. "I never specified how much and I certainly never said it would be just one favor."
"Fucking hell, Duval," the other man's voice was a hiss now, anger and frustration clear despite the distance between them. "You're asking me to commit treason…"
"You've already committed treason," Duval cut across him, already tired of the conversation. "And I was kind enough to not only not point that fact out to Admiral Marcus, but to also smooth the waters with your clients. Would you like me to change my mind about that? Remind me again, Harewood…how many different black market weapons manufacturers have you been supplying classified intel to and playing off one another? Three, was it? Four? Maybe you'd like me to tell them that you've been selling the exact same information to every single bidder instead?"
"No!"
"I imagine it would be pretty hard to get your daughter all that experimental care without those extra credits that magically appear in your account every month. Tell me, Tommy…would all those credits still come rolling in if something unfortunate were to happen to you?"
"No," Harewood repeated, his voice shaking now, "no, Christ…don't…don't do that. I'll help you. I'll…anything you need, Duval. Just…just please…"
"All I need from you is information, Harewood. You get me what I need when I need it and I promise you, once my situation has resolved itself…you'll never hear from me again."
"I'll hold you to that promise," Harewood muttered, the frustration back once again. "Give me a few days – I'm in and out this week."
"Fine. Keep an ear open for me. Like I said, I'm hoping to be able to give you additional details soon."
"Don't have a choice, do I?"
Ooh, petulance…someone's getting pissy.
"Not really, no," she said breezily. "My best to the family, Tommy."
Duval snapped the communicator shut, effectively ending the conversation. She twirled it in her fingers for a moment, mentally checking another item off the to-do list and wondering, not for the first time, if she had completely lost her mind. Sometimes it felt like that was the only plausible reason why she had gone and chosen Khan over everything else in her life.
It was such a pretty concept on the surface, choosing Khan. So rosy and romantic. The reality, she knew, was something far grittier. Darker.
Potentially fatal.
Her choice…it wasn't just about how she felt about him. Choosing him went deeper than romance, meant more than simply wanting to be with him. Choosing him meant throwing away everything she knew, her entire career – her entire life. It meant turning her back on Section 31 – on Marcus – and thus effectively painting an enormous target in the middle of her forehead; or, more likely, in the center of her back – there weren't very many of her Section counterparts who shared her ethical misgivings about that particular brand of execution.
Then too…choosing him…it wasn't just about him, either. Helping him, quite frankly, helped her too.
Because now, after everything…well…he wasn't the only one who wanted out anymore.
She was done with it. All of it – the work, the Section, Marcus. Done. She wanted to leave it all far, far behind until it was nothing but a distant memory; one that she could pack away in a particularly dusty corner of her mind and just…forget about.
And if she somehow managed to throw an enormous, fucking wrench into Alexander Marcus' well-oiled machine in the process, well…
Accepting the truth about her parents with astounding grace and, if she did say so herself, no small amount of dignity was one thing. Absolving Alexander Marcus of his guilt for having kept that information from her in the first place and then revealing it only when it was strategically expedient? Well now…that was a whole other ball of wax.
One she looked forward to ramming down the old bastards throat.
"And I hope you choke on it, you son of a bitch," she muttered, dropping her communicator onto the coffee table and then dropping her head backwards, letting it rest on the edge of the couch cushions. Reaching up, she pinched the bridge of her nose, willing away the dull ache sitting just behind her eyes – a combination, no doubt, of stress and her continued lack of sleep. She had gotten a few hours of rest the day before, but she knew she needed more.
Thankfully, she no longer felt like she was about to break apart. In fact, she was feeling more centered and focused than she had in weeks. There was something extraordinarily freeing about finally knowing her own mind; about knowing what – who – she really wanted.
Duval's hand dropped away from her face to land with a dull thud on the floor beside her hip. Staring up at the ceiling above her, her mind running a thousand miles a minute, she sucked in a long, deep breath and then let it slowly out.
No, she knew what she wanted now – perhaps too well. The only question left was…did he want her?
Oh, she knew he wanted her. He'd proven that many, many times over and she had absolutely no doubt that Khan did, indeed, have a genuine affection for her. What she didn't know was just how far that wanting actually went; how deep his affection actually ran. It didn't truly matter – he could turn her out of his bed tomorrow and she would still be there, ready to help him – but it was something she knew she was going to need to figure out eventually.
When Marcus had taunted her with the fact that Khan would have no use for her if and when he ever found himself reunited with his people, she had seen it for the scare tactic that it was. However…that didn't necessarily mean that the Admiral was wrong.
Duval was under no illusions – she knew Khan, understood him as well as she had ever understood anyone. He was a leader at heart, a ruler whose people would always, always be his overwhelming priority, no matter what other feelings he might or might not have. No matter what they shared, no matter how they felt…she was never going to come before them with him; never going to be his reason the way that they were.
It was the truth and it stung a bit, made her heart ache and her stomach knot, but as she sat there, staring up at the ceiling and finding random shapes in the arrangement of the rivets over her head, she couldn't pretend that she didn't understand it.
Or at least, that she was beginning to understand it.
She didn't have a crew. She didn't have a family. But she did have him. And for him – for his happiness and his safety…well…she could admit it now…
There was very little she wouldn't do. For him. For his sake.
Even if it meant getting left behind in the end.
Duval knew how it sounded – how defeatist and self-derogating. But that's not what it was about at all. It wasn't about tearing herself down, about questioning her own abilities or worth. It was, quite simply, about truth. Honesty. Honesty with herself and truth about herself.
And the truth was…she wasn't like them. She didn't have their strength, their skill or their cunning. She would have nothing to offer that they needed, nothing to contribute. If they succeeded and Khan allowed her to stay, she had a hard time believing that it could be out of anything but gratitude – and how long could that feasibly hold out before she started to become a burden?
Her feelings for Khan aside, she wouldn't do that to herself. Wouldn't do it to him, either. She would, in all honesty, rather not have Khan at all than be forced to watch his respect and regard for her dwindle and diminish until there was nothing left of it. She could just imagine it…just picture it…could see that delicious heat in his eyes fade; could see all that softness retreat until there was nothing in that sea of frozen blue but embarrassed resentment.
Duval squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the mental image.
It wouldn't come to that. She wouldn't let it come to that. She wouldn't even allow for the possibility of it coming to that.
If there was one thing that she was good at doing – her specialty, as it were – it was disappearing. She could slip into a crowd and disappear entirely. She also happened to have set herself up with a fairly impressive back door over the past several years, recognizing that with every year older she got, the more likely it became that she would be deemed a redundancy.
So when the time came…if they actually did manage to rescue his people and get away without getting caught in the process…she would remove herself from the equation and save both of them from the inevitable mess that his gratitude would create for both of them.
The idea of it...of leaving him for good…
Duval swallowed, her throat gone dry. She didn't want to leave him.
But she had so rarely gotten what she wanted in life...why should this be any different?
Not the time to worry about this, she told herself firmly, determinedly shaking off the momentary melancholy that had wrapped itself around her. Focus on the situation at hand and leave that part for later.
Blowing out a heavy breath, Duval rolled her head back and forth against the couch cushions, attempting to ease some of the stiffness in her muscles. She had been tense all day long – hell, all week long, really – and it was getting worse as time ticked past. Glancing to the side, she caught sight of the time and felt her stomach flip-flop uncomfortably.
1923 already…the afternoon was long gone, the evening well underway which meant…
The main door opened with a hiss that sounded like a phaser-shot through the silence of the room.
…Khan would be back soon.
Duval froze, eyes falling shut. At the first thump of a booted foot across the threshold, her stomach – not content with a simple flip-flop this time – dropped like a stone toward the vicinity of her toes.
I'm not ready for this, a frustratingly panicked voice fluttered through her mind. I'm nowhere near ready for any of this…don't…I don't need to say anything yet…it can wait awhile…I'll just keep my mouth shut and…
"This looks rather suspiciously as though you have not been resting as you were instructed to, Rebecca."
His voice, his lovely, rich baritone, rolled over her like a wave near the shore – warm and gentle and so damn inviting that she wanted nothing more than to wade deeper, sink into it…let it pull her under. There was concern laced through it now; concern and affection and the faintest hint of the best kind of disapproval she had ever had directed at her. All of it, all together, was a balm to her fears, soothing them away and reminding her afresh how she had come to this point in the first place.
Lips curving into a soft smile, she rolled her head toward him, eyes opening to see him standing only a few feet away, all those wonderful things she had heard in his voice reflected in his eyes and writ in the lines and edges of his face. "I did the best I could. Does that count for anything?"
Khan's mouth pulled down into a frown, his dark brows furrowing and he crossed his arms over his chest – an absolute picture of displeasure. "I knew that I should not have trusted you to do what was in your own best interest. I should never have allowed you to convince me to leave this morning."
Her smile widened further and she lifted her head up, not even mildly sorry. "You would have been a fidgety wreck if you hadn't been there to oversee the work today," she said lightly. "I'd have been ready to kill you by lunch time and we probably wouldn't be on speaking terms by now, so all things considered, I think it was for the best that you weren't here."
He didn't budge, though she could see the tiniest catch just at the corner of his mouth and knew that he was fighting a smile. "Flippancy aside, Rebecca, you swore to me that you would rest."
"I did rest. I haven't exactly been running laps around the coffee table, Khan. What you're looking at right now is pretty much what I've been doing all day."
Arms dropping to his sides, he strode forward, closing the distance between them and looking down at the various items spread over said coffee table. "What I am looking at appears very much to be work." He shifted his gaze to hers once more. "It was your mind that required rest, Rebecca, not your body."
Duval's smile faltered at that, dimming significantly until it was barely there, though she resolutely kept her eyes on his. "Yeah, well…no offense to you or Doc Carlson, but I've had a bit too much on my mind to let it just lie around doing nothing for days at a time. I've been good – mostly – but I had things I needed to do today."
The furrow between his eyes shifted at that, his entire expression going from disapproval to concern. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I can understand that." His hands clenching at his sides, Khan stared down at her intently, a shadow of uncertainty darkening his expression. "You…are you…" he paused, clearly at a loss.
Heart somehow managing to swell and crack open simultaneously, Duval lifted her arm, extending it toward him, palm out, fingers wiggling in silent invitation. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second, but then the uncertainty in his face cleared and he reached out, clasping her hand in his, allowing her to draw him down towards her. Khan settled onto the floor beside her, mimicking her cross-legged position, upper arm brushing her shoulder and their entwined hands resting on their knees where they touched, both of them looking toward the far wall, though she knew that neither of them were focused on anything but each other.
Silence settled between them, stretched out, though not unpleasantly– sometimes, Duval found she enjoyed sharing the silence with him as much as she did anything else. Finally, Khan gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, tipped his head toward her ever so slightly.
"How are you, Rebecca?"
Turning to look up at him, seeing the honest care staring out at her from within all that heart-stopping blue, she knew – knew – that it had never been a choice at all, really. It had always been Khan. It would always be Khan.
Almost overwhelmed by a certainty so strong that it nearly stopped her breath, Duval tightened her grip on his hand, anchoring herself to him. "I'm ok. I'm…I'm better than ok. I'm…" she stopped, sucked in a breath, squeezed his hand even harder. "I need to tell you something. You won't like it, not at first, but…it was something I had to do."
He didn't pull back, didn't move at all actually, but Duval could see the shutters begin to close in his eyes. "Rebecca…"
She shifted up onto her knees, turning to face him, pulling the hand still clutched in hers up to rest against her chest, just above her heart. "I need you to listen to me. Really listen. You can get angry all you like when I'm done, but please just…let me get this out before you do."
And now, the shutters slammed closed, all that beautiful feeling wiped clean from his face leaving her looking at the blankness she knew too well. "What have you done, Rebecca?"
Scared but unwilling to back down, Duval braced herself for the inevitable fall out. "I called in a favor," she said, willfully ignoring the tremble in her voice. "A…colleague who works in weapons development planet-side…he's looking into some things for me, digging into Section records housed in the Kelvin facility."
Beside her, Khan went utterly still, his grip on her hand falling lax though she held on enough for both of them. "What records, Rebecca?"
Stop talking around it and just say it, she barked at herself. Find your spine and use it, girl.
"At this point, he's focusing on the operational requisition and staffing records from the end of last year, pinpointing any Section funded facilities that brought on medical staff during that time." She paused, took a breath and then dove back in. "It was all I had to go on…but I'm hoping you might be able to provide additional search criteria."
Silence. Thick…heavy…crushing…silence.
Khan's face was blanker than she had ever seen it, a mask of cold, unyielding stone. "My people…"
"I want to help you find them," she said, cutting him off. She brought her other hand up, cradling his hand now between both of hers and pressed it hard against her chest. "I'm going to help you find them. And then, I'm going to help you get them back."
Another silence fell then…fell and then stretched and stretched until, suddenly…it snapped…
Khan tore his hand from her grasp, shot to his feet and bolted across the room. He stopped at the counter that separated the kitchen area from the rest of the living space, hands braced wide on the edges and head lowered. Duval, scrambling to her feet but knowing better than to crowd him, took two stumbling steps forward and then stopped, watching him closely, seeing how he was almost vibrating with suppressed fury.
It was nothing less than she had expected – he had, after all, told her in no uncertain terms not to do exactly what she had done – but it still felt like a knife to the gut, to know that not only was he that angry but that he was that angry at her. "If you're worried about possible repercussions, don't be. Harewood knows a thing or two about flying under the Section radar – he's been stealing intel for the better part of two years and selling it off to the highest bidder. I would never have done it if I thought there was even a slim possibility that Marcus would catch wind of it."
Nothing, though she could see his hands tighten their grip on the countertop, could actually hear the groan of the smooth, steel surface as it flexed beneath his inhuman strength. Duval decided to keep going – the more she could get out before the explosion she knew was coming, the better.
"He's promised me the first info dump within the next few days. He'll bury the encrypted file inside a large report I commissioned from him on torpedo technology – you're already working on some so a report like that wouldn't raise any eyebrows…"
Still nothing.
"You…you wouldn't owe me anything, if that's what you're worried about," she said in a rush, needing to get this part said and unsure if she would get another chance to do it. "I mean, I wouldn't expect anything from you, y'know…after." His head snapped up at that, though he still didn't look at her and Duval stared, fascinated, at the tense and flex of the muscles across his shoulders, her insides knotting up tight. "If we manage this…if we get away...I wouldn't…I'll go my own way. You won't need to…"
"Shut up, Rebecca."
Well, she thought as she did exactly that, relieved to let the words die on her tongue, that was more than I'd expected him to listen to, at least.
"You…stupid woman." The words sounded like they were torn out of him, ragged and harsh and all in tatters. "You complete fool. I cannot…have you any idea what you may have done?"
"Since I make it a point to never, ever act until I've thoroughly vetted the entire plan, start to finish," she said quietly, firmly, "yes…I do."
"Everything," he hissed. "You may have just cost me everything…"
"No," she said over him, squaring her shoulders, standing tall, "I may have just begun the process that will give you everything – your people, your freedom. Everything that you want."
"Everything that I want. Everything that I…" Khan shoved off of the counter with a roar, smashing a fist against the surface which buckled beneath the onslaught and leaving a dent in the exact shape of his hand in the metal. He whipped around, his eyes wild and his face pale despite the snarling fury consuming it. "It was not your place!"
Standing her ground, Duval simply tilted her chin up, staring him down. "If not mine, then who's? I'm in a unique position to help you and you do need help, no matter what you might think. If you were going to find them on your own, you already would have. And since you know well and good that Marcus is never going to live up to the deal he cut you, I'll ask you again…if not me, who?"
He had no answer for that. She knew he didn't – that he wouldn't – because she knew that she was right. There was no one else – if she didn't help him, no one else would. She could see him thinking, could see that magnificent brain churning behind those ice chip eyes. The question was…would it be enough? He could be spectacularly uncooperative when pushed…and she had just given him a full on shove.
They stared at one another across the empty space between them, neither of them giving even an inch to the other. Khan was in a towering rage, raw and seething and every inch the painfully desperate man he had been the day she had met him. Duval, who had felt for him even then, absolutely ached for him now, but she couldn't break – not yet. Not until he understood that this was the way things had to be.
"I can do this, Khan," she insisted. "This…it's what I do…it's what I'm good at. I can't offer you much else…but I can give you this. I can find them for you and I promise you – no, I swear to you – that I can do it without getting caught." She paused, took a tentative step toward him; willing him to see…to accept. "I wouldn't…I would never risk them. I would never be careless with the people you love."
He said nothing to that, though his expression shifted; twisted into something even darker than it had been, his fists clenching at his sides. "The people I love," he echoed, his voice, for once, devoid of all discernible emotion. Then, in the blink of an eye, Khan was moving until, suddenly – startlingly – he was directly in front of her, his hands gripping her biceps, his grip unforgiving.
"And if you are discovered – either now or perhaps later, when you've gone your own way?" he growled, looming over her. "What will you do then, Agent Duval? Do you honestly believe that Marcus will allow you to grovel your way out of this?"
"No," she said, her voice steady as she looked up at him, stoic in the face of his ferocity. "I believe he'll have me executed."
Khan reared back, his eyes widening in something like shock and then, in the next instant, that deeper, darker rage flared once more in their depths and his hands tightened on her arms convulsively. "Why?" He punctuated the question with a sharp shake, jarring her so hard that she brought her hands up to grip his forearms, bracing herself. "Why have you done this? Why have you risked yourself…"
"For you!"
Duval shouted the words, her own hands gripping him so tightly that her fingers ached. Using that leverage, she pulled herself toward him, pushing up on her tiptoes to bring her face as close to his as she could, her eyes boring into his. "I did it for you!"
Hissing as if she had burned him, Khan pushed her away, sending her stumbling backwards even as he retreated, nearly tripping in his haste to get away from her. Duval caught herself on the arm of the couch, breathing hard, her determination battered but unbroken. Khan was once again leaning against the counter, his back to it, his arms hanging at his sides and an expression of such wild, wounded incomprehension on his face that it made her heart hurt.
"No," he hissed after a long moment spent gathering himself. "No," he said again, quieter this time, the word a choked near-whisper. "I cannot allow this. I will not allow it. This…it is not right; it is not you."
"It is," she countered, still calm, steadfast despite everything. "It's entirely me, Khan. Honestly, it's more me than anything else I've ever done."
"No," he said once more, this time shaking his head sharply to punctuate the denial. "It is not you. It is grief, Rebecca. Grief and confusion and…"
"It's not grief," she cut in, holding fast, letting her certainty show in her face as much as her voice, "and the last thing I am right now is confused. For the first time in my life, I feel like my head is in exactly the right place at the right time."
His eyes searched hers intently, taking in every shadow, every shift in her expression. Finally, he dropped his head, shaking it hotly, one hand coming up to fist in his hair. "I do not understand this," he said at last, biting off each word. "I do not understand any of it."
"You don't need to understand it," Duval said simply, "you just need to accept it. It's my choice to make, Khan. My risk to take."
His head shot up again, hand falling away from his hair, dragging unruly strands of night-black across his forehead, into his eyes – eyes now leeched of all darkness; gone pale and ashen with…fear? "Choice," he echoed, "risk. You speak the words but do you understand their meaning? Have you any idea what they might cost you?"
"Of course I…"
"Everything," he rasped. "Even if this succeeds…you will lose everything, Rebecca – sacrifice everything."
This…this was the moment; she could feel it in the deepest, most primal part of herself. This was the moment that would change her entire life, one way or another.
Letting go of the couch, she started toward him, her entire world narrowing until he was all she could see. She kept walking until she was the one in front of him. Taking a deep breath, Duval looked up, past the clench of his jaw and the drawn line of his lips and up into the breathtaking tempest of his eyes, threw all her doubts and fears aside and welcomed the deadly beauty of the storm.
"Not everything," she said, quietly resolute. "Only the things that no longer matter. This job…this life…they're no sacrifice, Khan. Not anymore. And even if they were, my choice wouldn't change. You're worth every risk, every sacrifice." Duval shifted forward, erasing the space between them, fitting herself to him like the missing piece of a puzzle, her hands resting against his chest, her lips ghosting across his. "You are worth…everything."
With that, she slanted her mouth across his, eyes slipping shut as she poured all the words she didn't know how to say into her kiss, into him. She kissed him with every ounce of feeling she possessed, giving herself to him with the sort of abandon that she had always believed herself incapable of – mind, heart, body and soul, she offered them all to him in the sweep of her tongue and the caress of her lips. She kissed him as if there would be no tomorrow…as if this – this sharing of breath, of life – was the last thing she would ever do.
She kissed him as if he really was everything.
She wasn't sure she would ever be able kiss him any other way ever again.
Khan, who had been still from the moment she began to speak and then oddly passive beneath the passion of her embrace, shuddered almost violently and then, suddenly, with a growl that she felt down to her toes, he folded himself around her, crushing her to him, answering her passion with his own. Duval, feeling the surrender she knew he would never actually voice, let out a triumphant cry against his mouth, shoving herself up even further onto her toes, her hands sliding up until they grabbed tight to the back of his neck. Holding tight, she deepened the kiss even further, allowing herself finally – finally – to devour him the way he always had her.
His reaction was immediate and intensely gratifying. Those perfect hands – so skilled, so adroit – scrabbled against her skin, the heat pouring off of them searing her in the best way as his fingers fumbled their way to her hips. Once there, they clutched her frantically, jerking her hips against his and she gasped appreciatively at how hard and wanting he already was for her.
Tearing his mouth away from hers, Khan drug his lips across her cheek. "My Rebecca," he whispered hotly against her ear, nipping at her earlobe. One of his hands skimmed up her back, tangling into her hair and tipping her head sharply to the side and then holding her in place. "Mine," he growled, licking down the column of her throat until he reached the juncture of neck and shoulder, lingering there.
"Yes," Duval agreed, her calm shattered and her entire body aflame. "Christ, yes…yours."
"Always," he said, the word muffled against her skin.
Letting out a moan, Duval let her hands slide up into his hair, holding him in place as tightly as he was holding her. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the hand that had been on her waist dove between them, seeking out her center through the soft fabric of her loose-fitting bottoms, fingers unerringly finding exactly the right spot. "God…fuck…," she gasped out, the hands in his hair pulling hard.
"Always," he repeated, rougher now, demanding. He fisted her hair, forcing her to look up at him, the fingers of his other hand halting their ministrations though he did not remove his touch fromher entirely. "Say it, Rebecca. Always."
Sucking in air like a drowning woman, Duval squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see him – to see what looked so much like truth in his eyes. "Please," she said instead, rolling her hips against his unmoving hand wantonly. "Please, Khan…just…just this…just now."
"No," he said sharply, pulling both hands from her only to catch her jaw between both palms, turning her face up to his. He brushed a feather-light kiss against her mouth, his thumbs sweeping caresses across her cheeks. "No just. No now. Only this," he dropped his forehead to hers, such unbelievable sweetness in the gesture that Duval felt tears forming behind her clenched lids. "Only always, Rebecca"
Eyes flying open, Duval pulled away from him just enough that she could see his eyes – so that he could see hers, her own hands leaving his hair to land on his shoulders. "You…you know my answer."
"Say it." Khan insisted, eyes locked on hers, something she simply could not bring herself to name as hope shining out of them. "Give me the word."
Terrified, all of her confidence lying huddled at her feet – at his feet – Duval turned her face into one of his hands, pressing a kiss to the palm that cradled her so gently. Gathering herself, pulling together every shred of courage she possessed, she angled her face back to his, meeting his eyes with a determination she only barely felt…and gave him what she never thought she could. "Always."
Everything…the entire world around them…stopped – that word, so much larger than the sum of its syllables, hanging between them. Neither of them moved, breathed, only looked at one another, into one another. Then, just when Duval felt like her heart might beat its way straight out of her chest, Khan sucked in a ragged breath, leaning toward her slowly until his lips rested upon hers.
"Always," he said softly, giving the word back to her and making it sound so much like a vow that her heart stuttered in her chest. "My Rebecca."
Then he was kissing her, slowly, deeply. His mouth moved over hers, not aggressively, not passionately but softly…sweetly; a gentle, coaxing caress. Khan's hands slid down from her cheeks to grasp her arms, urging them around his neck. Duval responded immediately, wrapping her arms around him, her mouth moving eagerly beneath his. Khan's arms dropped lower then, banding around her waist and then lifting her, his head tilting back in time with the movement to keep their lips fused tightly together.
Blindly – effortlessly – he began to move through the room, Duval's bare feet dangling above his booted ones. Eyes still firmly shut, Duval unwrapped one arm from around him when he stopped to wait for the door to open, dropping it to his shoulder, then slid it up to his throat. Laying her fingers against his neck as soon as they had overcome the only barrier remaining between them and their goal, she silently reveled in the thundering race of the pulse that thrummed beneath them.
I did that, she thought, awestruck and dizzy with want. Me. He wants me.
A moment later, Khan was lowering her back to the floor beside her bed, pulling his arms back only enough to catch the edges of her old tank top, drawing it up slowly, baring her torso inch by inch to the chill of the station air. Duval lifted her arms in the air and he tore his mouth away from hers only long enough to slip the shirt off of her entirely, tossing it behind him as he reclaimed her lips. She hadn't bothered with a bra that morning so her bare breasts pressed against his chest, pebbled nipples rasping enticingly against the fabric of his shirt.
Khan's hands ran up and down her bare back, sketching random patterns against her skin and sending goose-pimples chasing after his questing fingers. Duval, impatient for the opportunity to reciprocate, tugged his shirt up, earning a gasp as her cold fingers traced the perfect musculature of his abdomen. Stepping back from her again, movements deliciously inelegant, Khan tore his own shirt off, dropping it at his feet before scooping her up into his arms and laying her down against the already mussed sheets of the bed she never, ever bothered to make.
Duval reached for him, wanting nothing more than to pull him down on top of her, to feel the weight of him pushing her down into the mattress beneath her back, but he evaded her grasping hands, standing back to his full height. Whining her displeasure, Duval's hands flopped down onto the bed.
"Patience, Lieutenant," he said, grinning at her, enjoying her sulk.
"Overrated," she shot back, sitting up, her hands immediately on the fastenings at the front of his pants. Leaning forward, she placed an open-mouthed kiss to the skin just above his waistband, her tongue darting out to taste the patch of skin just beneath his navel, grinning at the way those lovely muscles contracted beneath her touch.
With a low rumble that was part groan, part laugh, Khan reached down and caught her chin in his hand, pulling her mouth away from him and tipping her face up to his, running his fingers down the line of her jaw. "I intend," he said, his voice pitched so low and intimate that it sent a heady shock of arousal straight through her already heated body, "to savor this." He trailed his fingers down to her shoulder then lower, over the swell of her breast, blithely thumbing her nipple and drawing a shuddering, hungered gasp from her lips. "Though I do so appreciate your enthusiasm, Rebecca."
Without giving her a chance to retort – although honestly, she wasn't sure she would have been able to manage one anyway – Khan bent down, sealing his mouth over hers and urging her backwards once more. He pulled away momentarily to tug off his boots, letting each one drop carelessly before following her down, covering her half-clothed body with his, kissing his way up her throat languidly. Holding himself up on a forearm, his hips nestled between hers, the feel of him hot and hard against her center sending quivers of want up her spine.
But as delicious as that was – as glorious as it felt – that wasn't the part that caused her breath to catch in her throat…
No, it was the look in his eyes as he hovered over her, the naked longing on his face as he stared down into her eyes. The hand not holding him up swept up the side of her body in a fervent caress before coming to rest against her cheek, tenderly combing back into her hair. He leaned down, but did not kiss her, only nudged her nose with his, skating his lips across hers. "Beautiful," he whispered against her mouth. "So…beautiful."
Duval's eyes fluttered shut, her heart caught somewhere between stuttering and swelling as she let out a keening whimper. They had done this so many times now – in so many different moods and in so many different ways – but this...it had never been like this before.
It was…beyond intense.
It was very nearly overwhelming.
"Look at me," Khan commanded, his voice cracking though he sounded no less powerful for it. He brought his palm back to her cheek, cupping it gently and turning her face up to his. "No retreat, Rebecca," he implored, "not now." He laid his forehead upon hers, pressing them together tightly. "Look at me. See me."
There it was again, that longing – the desperate yearning that sounded so foreign on the lips of so powerful a creature as Khan. But she could feel the truth of it in his touch, hear the truth of it in his voice. Eyes flicking open, she stared up into his face and read it there too – truth.
And finally – hesitantly – Duval began to believe. In it. In him.
In them.
"I see you," she breathed, the words spilling from her lips like a revelation. Slowly, ever so slightly unsure, she lifted her hand to his face, brushing the hair from his eyes before palming his cheek the same way he did hers. "I…I see you, Khan." She swallowed, thumb caressing the slight hollow just below his cheekbone as she blew out a trembling breath. "Always."
His eyes flared, igniting from within with a fire like none she had ever seen. Dipping his head, he kissed her, hard but slow, his hands caressing everywhere he could reach, hers molded to the curve of his shoulder blades. After several long moments, he pulled away, grinning when her head came up off the bed, chasing his lips hungrily, her hands clenching, trying hard to haul him back down to her.
Ducking under her clumsy grasp – and still grinning – Khan sat back onto his knees, hands skimming down her sides, his touch light, teasing. Duval lay still, watching him touch her, following his hands as they traversed the hills and valleys of her body. When Khan's fingers hooked into the waistband of her old pajama bottoms, her eyes shot up to his to find him already watching her intently from across the plane of her torso. Once he knew he had her full attention, he tugged at her pants, dragging them slowly down the length of her legs. As he eased her free of the last bit of clothing remaining between him and her bare flesh, Khan edged further and further down the mattress until, finally, she was entirely naked and he was standing on the floor at the foot of her narrow bed, gazing down on her like…
Duval swallowed hard, tongue like cotton wool in her mouth.
…like she was the most magnificent secret in all the universe.
Which is just stupid, she thought almost hysterically as he dropped his hands to the front of his pants, working at the remaining fastenings with far more calm than she was feeling at that moment. Clearly, someone needs to direct this man to a mirror.
Heat pooling in her belly, between her thighs, Duval pushed up onto her elbows, drinking in the sinful picture he made, hair a mess, shirtless, graceful hands easing the thick, black fabric of his pants over the jut of his hips, revealing ever more tantalizing bits of delectable skin. Biting her lip, she rubbed her legs together absently, seeking friction, eyes locked onto the long fingers slowly peeling that final layer – that final obstacle – from his body. Once he was as bare as she was, Duval licked her lips, reaching out toward him, desperate to feel the heat and weight of him against her skin.
When he didn't move, except to reach out and encircle her fingers with his, Duval cocked her head up toward him, eyes seeking his, questioning. Khan's eyes, still burning, were already on hers – waiting for hers – and God, how they seared. "Say it again."
He said the words like a command, an edict…but Duval could hear the question he tried so hard to hide. She could see the doubts clamoring behind the flames in his eyes, peeking out from around the certainty in his voice. This repetition – this constant reassurance – it wasn't for her sake. At least, not entirely.
He needed to hear it too.
Duval, something huge and painful and perfect swelling just beneath her breastbone, sucked in a breath, every nerve in her body tingling, shivers and gooseflesh chasing one another across her skin. She tightened her fingers on his, not letting herself look anywhere but straight into his eyes. "Always," she offered yet again, stronger this time, more sure.
The flames in Khan's eyes leapt higher, burning away what blue she had been able to see until his eyes were little more than a thin ring of silver around wide blown pupils. He dropped a knee onto the bed, and began crawling up her body, urging her knees open – growling just a little bit when Duval let them fall wide, opening to him without a qualm, inviting him in. As quick to accept as she had been to offer, Khan dropped his hips into the cradle of her thighs, both of them groaning at the brush of his straining length against her heated core.
Bracing himself over her on one elbow, Khan reached out with his free hand and caught Duval's once more, lifting her fingers to his lips, kissing over her knuckles and then down to her wrist, tonguing the pulse throbbing beneath the delicate skin there. Duval, the feel of his tongue sending shockwaves straight to her center, arched her hips, bucking up into him and enjoying the fleeting pressure. Khan, hissing at the contact, dropped her hand, nearly falling forward onto her but catching himself on the mattress just beside her head, his face only inches from hers. Taking advantage of that proximity, she surged up toward him, breasts pressing against his chest, arms slithering around his neck and lips crashing against his, tongue teasing at the edges of his mouth for a moment before slipping inside to curl around his.
Khan, kissing her back now with abandon, eased his arm beneath her, locking it around her waist and holding her to him. Canting his hips, he found just the right angle, pressing forward, sheathing himself inside of her and Duval tore her mouth from his, throwing her head back to let out a long, low keen of slow-building pleasure, answered beautifully in the clench and tremble of the arm that enfolded her and the shuddering breath that spilled from his lips and across her face.
"Again," Khan whispered, not moving, simply lowering his head to press his forehead to her neck, his lips brushing her collar bone, the notch at the base of her throat. "Again, Rebecca."
"Always," she gave back to him once again, her voice high, her hands scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders, her back arching as a desperate, shaking need swallowed her whole. "Please…please…"
Slowly…teasingly…Khan began to move; his thrusts short, shallow and maddening. Duval, on fire for moremoreGodmore, angled her hips to meet his, legs snapping up to wrap around his waist, trying to pull him in deeper, to find the stimulation she needed.
But Khan, lifting his head to lick at a bead of sweat that had slipped over the curve of her jaw, would not hurry his pace – though he did compromise; sliding in deeper, harder, with every thrust. It was like a tide rolling in, the pleasure climbing up between them in a slow, steady spiral, leaving both of them panting and groaning against one another as it built up and up toward culmination.
Finally – Christ, finally – Khan reached down between them, fingers unerringly finding that perfect spot at the apex of her thighs. Duval's eyes, which had been tightly shut as she soared her way toward completion, flew wide, her mouth dropping open as he brought her instantly to the ragged edge with only the lightest of touches.
Knowing just how close she was, feeling the way her body clenched around his, Duval let out a sobbing, undulating cry, her hands clawing at his back, seeking his strength and solidity as she began to fall apart.
"Look at me, Rebecca," Khan choked the words out, his hips never faltering though his voice trembled. "Look…at me…"
"Always," she wailed, eyes wide open in every way as she locked them on his. Then, she was sailing over the edge, body writhing beneath him with pure pleasure. "Oh God, always…always…"
With a muted roar, Khan followed her to his own finish, hips only now stuttering against hers before he dropped forward, collapsing atop her and burying his face once more against her neck. Both of them sweat-slicked and breathing hard and neither of them caring in the slightest, they stayed wrapped around each other, Khan slipping from within her body as their passion cooled, giving over to something…deeper.
More lasting…
Sated and content, Duval let her eyes drift shut, hands rubbing circles into his bare back, soothing the spots she'd abused only minutes before though she knew she hadn't actually hurt him at all – her nails far too blunt to score his skin. After a few, long moments of shared bliss, Khan lifted his head from where he had been busily sucking a mark into the skin at the side of her throat – it was a terribly territorial thing to do, but Duval couldn't bring herself to care, quite liking the idea of wearing the shape of his mouth on her body – and nipped at the underside of her chin, a silent bid for attention that she answered by opening her eyes once more and looking down her body at him.
Their eyes locked, so much flowing between them…so much said with that look. So much that she wasn't sure she would ever be ready to say with actual, real words. But luckily, he seemed to see that…to recognize her limitations; to work around them rather than steamrolling over them as he very much was capable of doing.
He stared down at her for a long moment, his eyes bright, his expression intense…and she looked right back at him, matching him feeling for feeling. Then, finally, he lowered his head, resting his forehead against hers, their noses brushing, lips touching. "Always," he whispered once more and it was a vow this time; simple, uncomplicated…absolute.
Duval knew it for what it was – knew that he did to – and breathed a shaky, elated breath, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding him to her, knowing now that she never, ever wanted to let him go. "Always."
It was their pledge to one another – an oath and a declaration, all in one. A promise that they would be in this together. That they would find his people together. That they would defy Marcus together.
That they would escape.
Together.