Put to death? Blanching at the stark words, it was all Chrissie could do to hold her ground and not step back in horror. She must have misheard him; he couldn't have just said that he'd been ordered to kill hundreds of her fellow humans? Slowly, she raised her eyes to his and the grim determination she saw there left her feeling chilled and just a little afraid of him. "You…" she swallowed convulsively. "You aren't going to do it… are you?"

"Those are my orders." It was not an answer to her question, but there was nothing else he could tell her. Implacably, he held her gaze, waiting for her to recoil from him, to condemn him as a monster. It would be easier if she did; easier if she left him and he never had to tell her what he was planning. Not that he had a plan as such, at least not yet, but he already knew that he would refuse to obey and that he would die for it.

"Why?" she asked in some bewilderment. "What have these people done to deserve death?"

"The issue is what they will do," Krang told her, casting a covetous glance towards the almost empty bottle of Romulan ale. Perhaps if he finished it off, he would pass out and not have to have this conversation with her. Ugh! No, he was no coward and besides, his head already ached at the thought of the impending hangover. Sighing, he continued with his explanation, telling her how angry the High Council were that the invasion had not changed time as they had hoped. The names on the list were the people who would be instrumental in the development of warp drive and hence the formation of the Federation. For that, it had been decreed that they must die.

For long moments she studied him, looking into his dark eyes as though she were searching his soul… and maybe, he thought, she was doing exactly that. When she did finally speak, her words were not what he had expected to hear.

"You won't do it," she said confidently. "You have too much honour for that. Besides, you can't do it."

"Can't?" He did not like that word. "You will not dictate to me what I can and cannot do."

"It's history that is dictating, not me," she told him. "You can't do it because you didn't do it, and therefore, you won't!"

"Can't… didn't… won't…" It all sounded like complete gibberish to the Klingon. Absolutely nothing that she had just said to him made any sense. "You are speaking nonsense!"

"No, I'm not," she insisted. "Your High Council is what… three hundred years in the future?"

He nodded. "Two hundred and seventy-four years."

"Which means," she said, "that what is happening now is two hundred and seventy years in their past. From their point of view, everything you have done, or will do here, is history. It's already happened. You've been here nearly two years and history has not changed. It can't be changed."

"You are saying that I have no choice," he argued, "that fate has decided for me. I do not believe in predestiny."

Chrissie shook her head. "No. I am saying that history recorded what you chose to do. You can't change the fact that we went to Mauritius, or that you chose to try the pizza last night instead of the steak."

"And regretted it," he muttered sullenly.

Despite the seriousness of their situation, she couldn't help chuckling; he sounded just like Antonio in one of his sulky moods. "Likewise," she continued, having no intention of taking the bait and being drawn into another discussion as to the merits of pepperoni or whether pineapple belonged on pizza, "the High Council of the twenty-third century cannot undo what happens here in the twentieth century."

He frowned, more in concentration than in annoyance as he tried to understand what she was saying. "How do you know all this, anyway?"

"I told you when we met," she said. "I am a sci-fi fan. We humans may not have the same technological advantages that you do, but one thing we are very good at is imagination. We were discussing the possibilities of time travel year before we could even fly and you wouldn't believe just how many stories I've read or movies and documentaries I've watched on the subject."

He grunted. Just as he'd thought he was beginning to understand his Terran mate, she'd managed to completely surprise him. Marla had made some very similar points about time travel earlier that day, but Marla was a trained engineer. Chrissie on the other hand, was a botanist, a gardener. Was it really possible to pick up such extensive knowledge simply from reading stories? Certainly, she was putting up a very impressive argument.

She was not yet finished with him. "If you do this… or allow someone else to do this… If you kill all those people, it will be for nothing because you cannot kill an idea. Humans are resilient. We adapt and thrive and if you kill this person who invented warp drive, all that will happen is that sooner or later someone else will invent it."

"This is making my head hurt," he complained.

"If your head is hurting, you should blame yourself and the alcohol for that," she snapped, gesturing towards the almost empty bottle of Romulan ale and taking a momentary pleasure in his groan of acknowledgement.

"I may have drunk a little more than is wise," he conceded. He turned away from her for a moment, ignoring the treacherous thought that said maybe he hadn't drunk enough. It was very rare that he ever indulged himself in this way. Alcohol loosened the inhibitions and he knew from bitter experience that his own tolerance, maybe because he didn't drink often, was not particularly high. In his line of work, a loose tongue was dangerous and he'd already told Chrissie more than he should. Oh, Fek'lhr, he thought rebelliously, he was already contemplating treason, he might as well tell her the rest of it as well. This affected her and her world, she had a right to know. Turning back to face her again, he reached for her hands, finding that he wanted… needed… to be in physical contact with her. "I do not know what to do, Chrissie-oy," he confessed. "You are right, I cannot do this thing they demand of me. "But if I do not… they will remove me from my post and my second in command will be ordered to carry out the executions."

Karg would have carried out those orders without hesitation, Chrissie knew, and probably enjoy doing it. But Karg, thankfully, was gone and his successor seemed to be an honourable man. "Koreth?" she asked him. At his nod, she asked, "Would he do it? Carry out the orders, I mean."

Krang shook his head. "I cannot be certain, but I do not think so. And if he refuses, they will execute him for disobedience." As they would him, but he did not say that. Even so, he could see in her shocked gaze, that she had heard and understood the missing words.

"They'll kill you as well, won't they?" Pulling her hands free of his, she stepped closer to him, arms going round his waist as she laid her head on his chest. Not knowing what else to do, he placed his arms around her in return and for a while, they stood together, each taking comfort from the other. "You can't do it, Krang." Her words were muffled against the broad expanse of his chest. "There's got to be another way."

He stepped back from her, just far enough to let him bend his head and only just managing to restrain himself from biting, he placed a very Terran kiss on her lips. Kahless, he thought hazily as his body responded to her closeness and the feel of her mouth opening to his, he wanted this woman! "If there is a way," he promised her eventually, "we will find it together."

Chrissie gave a jerky nod of her head, trying to get her breathing back under control. Needing some space to think, she backed further away from him. "Tell me," she said slowly, the glimmerings of an idea slipping into her mind, "has your courier ship left yet?"

Krang shook his head. "No, it should leave in the morning, but I've ordered it delayed. I need some time to consider my response to these orders." He gave her a curious glance. "Why do you ask?"

She looked down, keeping her eyes on her hands which she'd clasped nervously in front of her. "I hate that I can even think this, but… over the last two years, there's been a lot of executions…"

Krang frowned as he listened, aware of her tension and wondering where she was going with this. "Go on..."

"I…" She hesitated, not quite able to believe she was actually suggesting this but forced herself to continue. "I was thinking… Have there been any executions carried out very recently – or about to be carried out? And if so, do you still record them?"

"All executions are recorded," Krang confirmed warily. This was not a conversation he'd expected or wanted to be having with his Tera'ngan mate.

"Good." Her lips turned upwards slightly but there was nothing warm or happy about her smile. "In that case, you can do a little editing on the footage to change the names, identities and dates and then send it to your High Council as proof you are carrying out your orders."

"But…" Maybe it was the alcohol but he could not see the purpose of her suggestion. "That would be a lie. What will it achieve?"

"Well, of course it's a lie," she said impatiently. "But it's not beyond the bounds of reason that you might have one or two of these people in custody already and I very much doubt your superiors will know the difference between one Terran and another. Long term, it won't change anything, but it will buy you some time."

Her idea had merit. "It is very late, Chrissie-oy," Krang said eventually. "You should go to bed. I will join you later, there is work I must do."

Chrissie shook her head. "I'd rather stay with you."

It was his turn to shake his head. "I do not wish you to see the video footage. You would find it distressing."

"Oh!" He was right; she didn't want to see that footage. It might have been her idea but the thought of it made her shiver. Besides, she was not sure he should be doing critical work like that whilst drunk; he was bound to make a mistake. "Let me get you something to eat and then come to bed. You can do it at work tomorrow."

"I am not hungry," he refused. "I would not however, object to another drink or two."

"You know," she said, not completely happy with that but deciding not to argue, "if you're going to get hammered, I'm going to join you."

He looked alarmed at that. "Chrissie-oy, Romulan ale is far too strong for you, it will make you ill. I do not recommend…"

"Oh, I know that," she said. "I'm a bit of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. Just the fumes will be enough to give me liver failure. No, I'm sure I saw a bottle of Scotch whisky in the kitchen and if not, wine will do." She was gone before he could object further and he listened ruefully to her footsteps retreating down the hallway and the sounds of rummaging in the kitchen. He did not think that her getting as drunk as he already knew himself to be was a good idea, but he didn't seem to be getting a choice in that. Swearing under his breath, he locked down his computer before picking up the bottle, pouring the rest of its contents into the empty glass and making his way into the living room to wait for her.

She did not keep him waiting long, returning almost immediately with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. "You have appalling taste in whisky," she informed him, putting down the glass and opening the bottle. "For someone who knows so much about wine, what made you think something called Famous Grouse was going to taste good?" Pouring a generous measure, she joined him on the sofa and then held the glass up and toasted him. "Slàinte Mhath!"

He blinked, not understanding the words she had used, but he got the general idea and responded with a toast of his own. "'IwlIj jachjaj - May your blood scream!"

"That, my love," Chrissie said flirtatiously, knocking back the whisky in her glass and barely hiding a shudder as it burned its way down her throat, "will be entirely up to you…"

Inevitably, the distinctly sexual way she had interpreted the traditional Klingon toast and the feel of her body cuddled up next to him on the sofa became too much. He'd been considering opening the second bottle of ale but suddenly that was the last thing on his mind. Growling, he shoved the glass aside and reached for her.

This time his growl was the one that Chrissie loved to hear, the one that told her just how much he wanted her. With some effort, she managed to evade him long enough to set her own glass down on the side table before allowing herself to be caught.

Pulling her down to him, he shifted his weight, rolling to pin her beneath him, one leg going across her body to stop her from escaping, not that she wanted to… His mouth found hers again and his growl intensified. The whisky she had been drinking did not combine well with the Romulan ale, but that did not deter him from kissing her deeply and passionately.

His hand slid up her leg, underneath her skirt and stopped as the fabric of her winter tights denied him the access he required. His growl changed, taking on a distinctly frustrated tone. "I do not like this," he complained, "It is in my way."

"They're tights," she informed him, giggling. "They keep my legs warm."

"I do not want you to wear them again," he demanded imperiously, sliding his fingers under the waistband of both the tights and her knickers, and with a sudden, sharp gesture, ripping them away from her body. Ignoring her protest at the wanton destruction of her clothing, he moved again, settling himself between her legs. His hand shifted to his trousers, fumbling with the fastenings, urgently needing to free himself from the tight leather that was constraining him and at the same time, he kissed his way down her neck and towards her breasts.

Moaning, she arched her back, pushing her hips closer against him as her hands slid under his uniform shirt, caressing him and digging her nails into his spine in the way she knew he liked so much.

He rested his head for a moment, against her breast. "You are beautiful, Chrissie-oy," he said indistinctly, "so beautiful…" He stilled, and to her complete disbelief, his eyes closed as unconsciousness claimed him.

Notes: "Slàinte Mhath!" is Scots Gaelic and means "Good Health" It's also Irish but with slightly different spelling. It's pronounced something like "Slan-jer Var"

The Famous Grouse is a real brand of blended whisky, and is fairly popular in the UK.

Thank you to the usual suspects for their kind reviews and support.