Chapter 8

With steady hands, Khan gently lifted the stack of twelve petri dishes out of the incubator. The inflexible gloves of his protective suit did not make carrying the plates over to the clean bench any easier, but he had quickly adapted to the way the suites hampered moving in general and fine motor skills in particular. Still, he handled his load with extra care, cautiously putting it on the pristine surface in three piles of four dishes.

At this very moment, he felt a calmness he hadn't experienced in weeks. When the inspiration had struck to sample the sewage of a medical emergency facility five days ago, he had known it to be the decisive step. The missing piece of the puzzle. His entire body had been humming with the certitude of having arrived at the final answer, a sensation he knew well and had sorely missed throughout this entire endeavour.

A sensation that had almost drowned out the icy fear of being, despite everything, too late.

Lowering himself onto the lab chair, Khan deliberately closed his eyes, mentally zeroing in on the task at hand. The Vulcan had left seven hours ago for whatever it was he did in the evenings, so there was no need to waste any energy on concealing the fact that working more than sixty hours at a stretch for weeks now (with resting periods in between growing ridiculously short) was actually beginning to take a serious toll on him. Yet, the rather alarming extent of his cognitive and physical exhaustion was perceivable only to himself (and he very much intended to keep it that way), but his ingrained habit of constant and brutally honest self-analysis had also arrived at a fact that was as simple as it was unwelcome.

He would not be able to push himself that way for very much longer

Resolutely blocking out that piercing awareness for the moment, Khan mentally refocussed on the stack of plaque assays before him, the first they had prepared after having painstakingly processed the water the Vulcan had procured. They had not changed the latest ambient conditions in the dark room but had agreed on conceding an additional bacterial reproductive cycle. True, this had meant the loss of several more hours of precious time, but Khan had put them to good use. He (and the lab) was now thoroughly prepared for isolating and purifying the bacteriophage he knew he would find within this batch of blood agar plates.

As well as for a few further steps that were not part of the scientific procedure he had informed the Vulcan about, but principal to the scheme Khan had worked out in case he would not be in time.

He had delayed starting those operations for several days already. Beginning to lay the groundwork for that particular situation equalled acceptance. Equalled embracement of the possibility that he might lose this fight for his man's life after all. It felt appallingly close to betrayal, and it was currently eroding his capabilities just as much as his exhaustion did.

Today, he had finally given in to necessity. To time that was running out unrelentingly. He hadn't known whether there would be another opportunity of undisturbed access to alive Yersinia cells *before* he would lose the first of his crew.

He felt the pull of hopelessness, which got a way too easy hold on his exhausted mind these days. A few more days would be all he needed. Sixty more hours. Maybe seventy. Not more. In no case more. Surly he would be granted seventy more hours…?

Pulling free from the threatening leap into despair, Kahn opened his eyes with more effort than he cared for and reached for the first plaque assay.

It was a rare event that Doctor McCoy kept them waiting. Most of the time it was Spock who arrived late for their nightly meetings in the Captain's temporary apartment. Tonight, though, McCoy was one hour overdue already, so Kirk and Spock had settled on discussing the latest information about the pandemic development without him. Strictly speaking, Kirk had done most of the talking, filling Spock in on infection and death rates, as well as newly emerged hot spots, covering each continent and orbital space station. It was the usual opening to their evenings together, and by this time, Spock completely relied on those briefings to keep abreast with the status quo. Since the regular nightly reviews allowed him to solely focus on the collaboration with Khan during the day, he also highly appreciated them.

Tonight, though, Spock felt a certain and very rare degree of restlessness. They had just concluded addressing the most depressive numbers of the day fifteen minutes ago and still Doctor McCoy had to make his appearance. Aware of the fact that he himself had been the reason for delayed meetings often enough, Spock made a serious attempt to control the growing impatience as well as the onerous necessity to return to his own quarters and get some urgently needed sleep. He had decided to start the upcoming day in the lab two hours earlier than he usually did, for reasons Spock could not entirely explain even to himself. First there was, of course, the fact that finding the bacteriophage that would change everything was imminent. Had he himself not been absolutely convinced of the adaption of their water source, the all-embracing confidence that had been rolling off Kahn those past five days would have been sufficient evidence: They were only days away from the first step of finally terminating the pandemic, and yes, every pair of hands was needed for as much time as possible.

Yet, there was more. A nagging premonition, a degree of anticipation most humans would most likely define as a 'hunch' or 'instinct'. Not something a Vulcan acted upon. Usually.

The fact remained that he clearly perceived things…gathering. It was too early for Kahn to confront them with any strategy for revenge yet – Spock was positive (because he witnessed it himself for fifteen hours every single day) that at the moment, Khan was still unequivocally committed to save his man and would not waste unrecoverable time on anything else. Still, Spock's state of mind was dominated by a most annoying *feeling* of a looming, elusive cataclysm. As well as the certainty that it was paramount to allow Khan neither too much time nor room on his own.

With a deliberate effort to work out an unfamiliar itching along and down his limbs, he rose from his seat and moved over to the serving area. "Would you care for another drink, Captain?"

He watched Kirk, who was still on his first cup of coffee, give a slight shake of his head. "I'm good, thanks."

As Spock angled away to refill his own empty glass with plain water, he heard Kirk getting up from his armchair as well. Spock took his time, adding ice and a slice of lemon (both of which he rarely did) to his drink, only turning back when he felt in control of the unexpected tingling of impatience again. He found his Captain had taken a few steps to stand beside the window, glancing out into the darkness of the advancing evening.

Their eyes met in the reflection of the glass.

"You know, Spock, if there are no relevant news on your end, I can take your report and pass it on to Doctor McCoy when he arrives." Spock watched Kirk turn around until they truly faced each other. "I guess you need every hour of sleep you can get; there's no sense in making you wait any longer."

Instead of appreciation for Kirk's suggestion that was so much in line with his own requirements, the completely uninvited picture of Khan as he had left him tonight unreasonably seeped into Spock's tired mind: About to sit down at his data unit to update their shared lab log, shortly before the screening of the next batch of Yersinia-plates for plaques would be due. With more than sixty sleepless hours after his last (and owing to the short duration not very efficient) resting period clearly etched into his face.

He had not even attempted to convince Khan to return to his holding cell.

"Spock?" The concern in Kirk's voice was unmistakable, even to Spock's overworked senses. Refocussing on the here and now, he found his Captain only about three feet away and himself under a scrutinizing visual inspection, the alarm that had been riding Kirk's words now clearly mirrored on his face. "Jesus, Spock, you really do need to catch up on some rest. Forget about that report, there's a guest room at the end of the hall where you can stay overnight."

Experiencing a peculiar degree of detachedness, Spock observed himself shaking his head. "Captain, I appreciate the offer, but I must insist that there is no…" It was as far as he got.

"I will make that an order if I have to, Commander." Kirk's words were flat, sharp, clearly conveying that contradiction was not an option. Spock registered the fleeting awareness of how rare it was that they found themselves on the sterile level of chain of command before he willingly yielded to his Vulcan half forcefully silencing the irritation whispering at the back of his mind. If falling back on hierarchy was required, he could most certainly comply.

"Captain, that would be your uncontradicted right. While it is not my place to question your logic or authority, allow me to suggest that…"

The gentle chirp from the apartment intercom interrupted him in midsentence.

Both their heads turned to where the door was opening with a soft swish, admitting Doctor McCoy to the small hall. Spock took in the ever so slightly bent shoulders, the grave lines McCoy's mouth was set in, the dark shadows under his eyes. Eyes that searched for his with a swiftness and infallibility that was in no way a usual mode of interaction between them.

Spock felt his stomach knot into a tight, greasy ball.

He had been expecting a calamity.

This, it seemed, was it.

With his eyes still boring into Spock's, McCoy took one more step into the room, one steadying breath before he spoke.

"He's dead."

A short static whisper announcing the opening of the security force field told Khan that the time of unwariness was over. Realizing that (how many?) hours of most focussed work had made him lose track of time completely, he was vaguely satisfied to have positioned himself facing away from anyone watching or entering the lab. He needed some time to bring his shields back in place, to again lock up everything that might give the current fragility of his composure away.

Continuing entering data into their shared lab-log, Khan worked up the control he needed before facing the Vulcan. To cover up the alarmingly long time it took him to do so, he decided to begin relating the recent developments, knowing they would distract the Vulcan enough to keep him from interpreting the signs about his overall condition correctly.

As usual, he opened their communications without preamble.

"Last night's screening was successful. There were distinct plaques detectable on each plate which are visually documented and saved as attachments to the log. Since the…"

"Khan."

He wasn't even halfway there. Most of his emotions were still unchecked, his mental functions not streamlined yet for the task to spend another day in complete control. Still, Khan stopped speaking immediately. Some part of his mind realized his fingers were hovering motionless above the data screen, another how his head lifted slowly, his eyes boring into the wall in front of him without really seeing.

Khan was rather familiar with how the Vulcan's feelings showed. It was what you learned about one another when locked in a battle where each aimed to kill. He knew what hatred looked like on that face, he had seen bloodthirst boiling behind those eyes and had felt a lot more than that sizzling along the mind-meld he had had to throw off.

And right now, Kahn had learned what it sounded like when emotion had taken hold of the Vulcan's voice.

It had been one word only. His name, of all words. One word, and maybe for others, it had sounded like any other out of the Vulcan's mouth. But he would not be who he was had he not unmistakably perceived the empathy woven into that one syllable. For him.

There were not many possible reasons that could provoke that. Actually, there was only one.

Very deliberately, Khan began to slowly move his chair around.

The very moment he said Khan's name, Spock had abandoned each and every strategy to communicate the impossible he had worked out on his way from Kirk's apartment to the lab. In theory, each of them had had their benefits and sounded sensible. Now that he was actually here, he realized that there was no appropriate approach.

With every nerve and muscle at attendance, he watched Khan turning around and getting up from the chair in one slow, fluid movement. Perfectly silent, his hair falling into his eyes, the tension in his body palpable, Spock experienced a sudden flashback to the confrontation between Khan and Admiral Santiago. To the moment right before the deliberate infection of the man who was now dead.

But then Khan lifted his head. And the scream in his eyes told Spock that he knew.

Strangely enough, this didn't make the situation any easier. Spock understood that it still had to be said, for entirely different reasons, though. Now, voicing the truth was not a matter of information anymore, but of respect. As much towards Khan as to his man. A way to partake in the Federation's disgrace, to shoulder some of the guilt. Which not only…*felt* necessary. It felt right.

All his nebulous premonitions that were growing more solid by the second now notwithstanding.

"He passed last evening, shortly after eleven hundred." Spock hesitated, knowing about the ultimate inadequacy of the next words. His own voice sounding thin and hollow to him, he said them anyway. "I am very sorry for your loss."

It was as if he had stabbed something slim, hot and sharp right through Khan's chest (and maybe he had). Breathing in deeply through his mouth on a sharp hiss, ribcage visibly expanding, eyes narrowing to slits, Khan reared back a tiny fraction.

Then, emotions racing over his face, he took the first step forward.

The hum of the immediately opening security force field to his left told Spock that Khan's guards were about to make an already highly complex situation irresolvable. And when the blaring sound of a red alert joined the yelled commands impossible to make sense of, he knew he had to act.

Manoeuvring his body between Kahn (who by now positively radiated readiness for combat) and the men rushing in from behind (phasers at the ready, still shouting at the top of their voices), Spock swiftly moved onward, too. Clearly aware that alone, he would not stand a chance against the grief and fury obviously driving Khan at the moment. There was nothing he would be able to do if Khan had chosen this to be the moment to strike back, if he had decided to march on, to simply shove him out of the way (or worse), to not stop when they would be meeting…

But he did.

He had forced himself to a halt two inches away from the Vulcan, at the most. His blood was roaring in his ears, his heart slamming against his ribs, his entire body vibrating with anguish, rage and tension; a bowstring just before release. And even though every fibre of his being strained against those last, frayed remnants of self-control, he held onto it with a despair that rivalled with the grief and torment.

This was *not* the time. He could not give in, could simply not afford to, because nothing was over yet. Far from being so.

Which was the main reason why Khan had decided against just knocking the Vulcan's body aside.

But he allowed their eyes to meet.

Spock didn't dare to even acknowledge the relief that flooded him when Khan actually permitted to be intercepted. He fought down the sudden and completely insane impulse to grab onto those shoulders in order to hold him right there, to keep him from presenting his guards with any more reasons to finally open fire than he had already done. Holding on to Khan's stare instead, Spock put all the urgency he was capable of into his own gaze. A silent adjuration, despite the fragility of the status quo, not to give in to the distraught rage he could literally feel coming off Khan in waves of actual heat. The guards' shouts were still mixing with the red alert in a deafening cacophony, phasers were still aimed and of course information about the situation would already be out, reinforcement on the way. It wasn't hard to tell that the tiniest trigger would provoke an inexorable disaster.

Battling back the fleeting notion that this situation went to show that he, after all, had been probably the poorest choice as liaison, Spock searched in vain for the one approach that would prevent the imminent catastrophe.

Which was, exactly, when the first warning beam was fired.

The phaser beam struck the ground right in front of him and something within him gave way. Fresh, overwhelmingly raw grief as well as everything he had carefully bundled up and retained for too long broke free, flooded him, fuelled his fury to an extent that was almost glorious in its blinding brightness. As was the complete lack of restraint that went hand in hand with it.

Khan's gaze snapped to the shooter. The man was taller as himself, wider, heavier, equipped with more visible muscle mass and most definitely more rested. Yet he wouldn't stand a chance.

Aware of but not caring at all about seven more guards inside the lab, Khan was finally ready to succumb to violence.

When Khan's stare broke away from his, Spock experienced a sharp pierce of something akin to desperation. A connection between them, of whichever kind, was the only option he had to intervene. Through the chaos breaking loose around him, through the haze of sickening frustration at his own inadequacy, this was the one thing he was aware of with absolute certainty.

And now that he had lost their visual bond, now that everything in Khan's body language announced that he was about to pounce the man who had been as unwise as to fire at him, Spock knew that he had one, and only one chance to re-establish that link.

For the second time when it came to his dealings with Khan, Spock dismissed any deliberate contemplations and allowed his instincts to take over.

His left hand shot forward.

It was a soft touch only. There was no force behind that gentle pressure against the side of his right upper arm, no physical attempt to hold him back. Yet the simple act alone was unexpected enough to cut through the swirl of blood lust and draw Khan's head, along with parts of his attention, back to the Vulcan. More out of most aggressive annoyance than anything else. And with the unshakable intention of looking into his eyes when swatting this hand away and out of his personal space.

And then, the Vulcan spoke. As softly as he was still touching him. One word only. Again.

"Please."

Spock saw the widening of Khan's eyes, felt how, under his light touch, the body that had been vibrating with tension froze.

To the ongoing howl and shouts surrounding them, to the sound of running feet of the just arriving reinforcement, their glances had locked once again. Still having to remove his hand from Khan's arm, Spock did anything in his inexpert empathic capacities to emphasize his verbal plea by holding Khan's still fiercely burning stare with a very calm one of his own.

One more moment of quivering incertitude, one moment during which things could have developed either way still. And then Khan ended it all by taking a deep, slow breath.

Completely mesmerized, Spock witnessed the obviously extraordinary effort it took Khan to fully regain control of himself. Being as close to him as he was, Spock could clearly see that the process was costing him. He watched Khan battling back the fury with obvious exertion, observed how his eyes cleared gradually until only grief was left, how the hard lines his face had been set in slowly relaxed, while the impossible level of tautness in his body decreased with each second that went by.

When Kahn finally released his breath again in one long, intense exhale, Spock knew it was done.

All they were given was one short instant to wordlessly acknowledge each other. Not even granting Spock the chance to communicate any of the relief and gratitude that was due, but obviously aware that the crisis was over, five of Khan's guards lunged at him simultaneously from three different directions. Shoved fiercely aside by one of them, Spock was reduced to helplessly watch how Khan, not putting up any resistance whatsoever, was brought to the ground.

And when they had him face-down on the floor, having used decidedly more force than had been necessary, Spock saw the hyposyringe in one hand. Unable to keep himself from taking one involuntary step forward, he only managed to hold back a warning shout just in time. And observed how, after one quick touch of the device to his neck, Khan's body went limp instantaneously.

It was not noon yet and still Spock was on his way to another session with Kirk and McCoy. He knew that the news of the near-disaster of the morning had already spread through each and every Starfleet communication channel, so everybody was aware that he had come to no harm and Kahn was in custody, heavily sedated. He had just left a short but extremely intense meeting with the task force headed by Admiral Santiago - an event that had done nothing to improve the low-level, but astoundingly persistent testiness that had taken hold of him ever since he had finished supervising Khan's transport back from the lab to his holding cell.

Outright refusing to permit anybody else to take over his competences as liaison officer, he had seen the process through until Khan's lifeless body had been lightly fixated to the narrow cot, until he had left the commanding officer of the freshly stepped up guard with very explicit instructions. Only then had Spock considered informing his captain – to find out that everybody was aware of the… incident already. Nevertheless, he knew that a report was expected of him.

And today, he also had some questions of his own.

Entering the now most familiar apartment building through the decontamination sluice, Spock put an honest and deliberate effort in reining in the underlying irritability that was compromising his functioning in an extraordinarily annoying manner. He continued struggling when he stepped onto the elevator and had still not been successful re-establishing his customary clarity of thought when he approached the door to Kirk's apartment.

The intercom took his identification, making the door slide smoothly. Spock accessed the small hall and immediately moved on towards the living area, all the time already able to observe their conversation, light, almost carefree in tone and inflection. Registering how the tenseness inside him increased a few degrees in answer to that, Spock took the last paces necessary to join Kirk and McCoy in the next room.

They were standing close to the service area, both of them a tall glass in hand, filled to various extents with a clear, sparkling liquid on ice, still absorbed in their easy discussion. The contrast to the disturbing and strained events he had gone through during the past hours was like a slap in the face. And for the very first time since they had begun their regular meetings, Spock experienced a nebulous desire to be elsewhere.

It was Kirk who was the first to turn towards him.

"Spock!" Moving forward quickly until he was close enough to put his free hand on Spock's shoulder, Kirk subjected him to the second visual inspection within the past twelve hours, a quick, but thorough one. Obviously reassured by what he saw, he gave Spock's shoulder a short squeeze. "We've been told that you came out of it all unscathed, but I still need your word for it: Are you okay?"

No, I'm really not. "Of course, Captain. Thank you for your concern." He watched a wide smile appearing on Kirk's face which, to Spock, seemed obscenely inappropriate.

"Come on, Spock, loosen up a bit! You are the man who has defeated the probably most dangerous terrorist in history. *Twice*. Singlehandedly! Ey, Bones, how about that?"

It was during McCoy's answering chuckle that Spock discovered with finality that he was incapable of continuing dealing with…this. The analytic aspects of his Vulcan half were detachedly telling him that Kirk was most likely overcompensating. He knew this was a highly probable explanation for the captain's overshooting reaction, and also in line with the fundamental difficulties he'd had coping with the involvement of Khan right from the beginning. For once, though, the theoretical knowledge about the motivation did not make it any easier for Spock to handle the actual situation. And even though (or probably because) he regarded those two men as friends, he was not able to reconcile what he had experienced only about two hours ago with the celebratory atmosphere in the room.

He would have to get away from it as quickly as possible, for the sake of this friendship as well as of his own.

But there was still some information he would need first.

"Thank you for the accolades, Captain, they are as unwarranted as they are dispensable, I assure you." He ignored the confused look that flitted on Kirk's face and seamlessly turned to McCoy. "Doctor. Would you care to inform me about the exact contents of that hyposyringe?"

Spock did not intend to elaborate. He was positive that McCoy was absolutely aware of what he was talking about.

The doctor regarded him wordlessly for maybe five seconds before he answered.

"Every guard assigned to dealing with him had a device filled with a potent mixture of thiopental and midazolam. The concentrations were adapted according to the experiments I did on him and his blood onboard the Enterprise. If he received the full dose, he will be out for at least two days."

Spock gave a short nod of acknowledgement. "And when would you have thought it appropriate to inform me of that particular detail?"

It probably would have been correct to interpret the expression that shifted over McCoy's face as pained. "Listen, Spock, this decision was not up to me. The regulations…"

"Of course." Interrupting McCoy with another terse nod, Spock turned back to address Kirk one more time. "I assume that you, on the other hand, were kept apprised, Captain."

"Doctor McCoy was instructed by Admiral Santiago to tell me, yes. It was nothing more but an additional security measure, mainly for your safety, and obviously it worked out rather well. Why is that so damn important to you, Spock?"

With Khan's prone body very clear before his inner eye, Spock was only a little surprised that his human half apparently could not even work up a certain degree of disappointment at what he had just learned. Filing the information away and ignoring Kirk's question completely, he was mentally already on his way back to Level 17.

But first, there was his own little bombshell he fully intended to drop before he left.

"It is not known yet that last night, Khan was able to identify the first plaques." Also ignoring the surprised and excited interjections this simple statement expectedly provoked, Spock had already started to move back to the door. "Since we cannot afford losing even one day, and he will not be able to continue his work on the phage for at least forty-five hours, it will fall to me to do so. Without Khan's guidance, for obvious reasons." As he turned around to face them one last time, the door already opened on his direct approach. "If you will excuse me, Captain, Doctor."

Motionless, Spock stood in front of the force field securing the holding cell. Unable to explain it even to himself he had returned here first, had been watching the still form on the cot for almost fifteen minutes now already. Khan's head was slightly tilted towards him, so Spock could see the closed eyes, the usually already pale skin that was now a completely bloodless white. Under the loose restraints that were only supposed to keep him from falling from the cot, Khan's chest and shoulders were gently moving with the rhythm of his slow, but steady breathing.

It had been four hours now. It would take him about at least forty more before he would wake again. This had been a highly specific assault on Khan's extraordinary metabolism, a most potent anaesthetic adapted to his re-engineered genetic background. Developed by the physician with the undisputedly most detailed knowledge about it. Factoring in the physical exhaustion Khan must have been working under for weeks now, Spock was convinced that he would be unavailable for more than the two days Doctor McCoy had announced.

Every carbon-based mind and body had their limits. In Khan's case, those limits were vast. But they were there nonetheless.

And Spock was honest enough with himself to admit that for contemplating all those points, valid as they might be, it was definitely not necessary to watch over the man at the same time.

So why was he here?

With an inward shake of his head at himself, Spock deliberately directed his thoughts towards the challenge of picking up the work on the phage where Khan had been forced to abandon it. Mentally addressing the necessary steps he only knew in theory, he turned away from the force field and headed for the lab.

Unaware of Khan's now open eyes following his retreat.