A/N: Enjoy this happy chapter, because the next one is gonna hurt... T.T
Forever Avenge
a Star Trek/Sherlock crossover
V
[Stardate 2015,7: London]
Sherlock awakened at three in the afternoon the following day, squinting at the dim afternoon light. At least it was not raining as it was last night, or else he would have been even more reluctant to rise. Now without a case, the detective did not feel bad for oversleeping for once since he had not properly done so—despite John's chastising—in the past three days. His growling stomach was something he was also going to tend to today, after fasting for the case of the missing diamond. Not just yet, though, for his bed was still a bit too comfortable to leave at the moment. Instead, he lay back upon his pillow, reaching over to his bedside table and grabbing his phone as he did so to see if there was any word from Lestrade over a new case already. In fact there was a voicemail from the DI, but not one that Sherlock wanted; rather than over a case, the officer had informed Sherlock that the press wanted to release a statement from him over the capture of the jewel thief Negretto Sylvius. Sherlock scoffed as he lazily tossed the mobile back onto its table without bothering to reply to Lestrade.
The detective sighed and looked up to the ceiling, observing the dull, dead silence of the flat. John had doubtlessly gone to work by this time; he did say his shift began in the morning last night. Last night…Sherlock blinked as the memory of his and his friend's…no, partner's conversation flooded back into his mind, their mutual discoveries and agreement resonating profoundly. That really did happen, then, Sherlock never had reason to doubt his brilliant intellect's memory before and did not see fit to do so now. He and John actually are a couple now. Mindlessly, he lifted his hand to his mouth, lightly ghosting his fingertips across his lips at the memory of the chaste kisses they had shared, how easily they came for both of them and how right it felt. Suddenly Sherlock wanted nothing more than for John to get home, to share their first night together as this something more that their relationship had quickly become. The familiar, pressurized pressing feeling within his chest returned, as achingly there as it was the previous eve. Sherlock glanced downwards, as if he could see through his skin and bone and observe first-hand what exactly his heart was doing to cause this feeling within him, deciding that if this was caused by his newfound feelings towards John that he would need to quickly get used to it. John was not going anywhere, nor did Sherlock wish for him to leave anytime soon. Besides, it was not painful, per se; just rather unusual, especially for a man who was not used to feeling anything at all.
Abruptly, Sherlock sat up, a couple of stray, errant curls falling down into his face as he did so. He knew a painfully sparse amount of information upon relationships. It was imperative that he not be the one to mess this all up, to ruin his and John's friendship because of some stupid, unknown mistake. John was a patient man, but how long would he be able to stand Sherlock's social unawareness? There were so many things that could go wrong because of Sherlock's lack of knowledge on how to be in a proper, romantic relationship with someone. Quickly, he emerged from beneath the covers, running his fingers through his messy bedhead and padding into the living room, where his laptop still laid upon the table from when he used it to look up the train schedule the night before. Now, as he powered it up, Sherlock decided to pass the time waiting for John to get off of work looking up as much information as he could on what being in a romantic relationship with someone consisted of.
John was equally as impatient to come home as Sherlock was to have him home, as to be expected. In the hopes that the detective had not already received another case the very day after wrapping a rather large one up, the doctor had taken the initiative to stop by the store on the way home to pick up some groceries and rent a movie to try to sit down and watch with Sherlock that evening (emphasis on the word 'try'). Picking up dinner had been a consideration as well, but John decided against that in case Sherlock had already been fed by Mrs. Hudson that evening, figuring he could always just order some quick take-out for himself.
"Hey," he greeted the consulting detective upon ascending the stairs with his couple of bags of groceries. Once he had set the plastic bags down upon the clearest corner of the kitchen table that he could find, he glanced over and saw Sherlock hunched over his laptop, curled up in his armchair. "What are you looking at?" John inquired, raising an eyebrow at how closely Sherlock seemed to be reading whatever was on the glowing screen.
Sherlock looked up over his laptop screen at John, idly closing out of three of the five tabs he had open on his internet browser. "Nothing," he said, hopefully not too guiltily. Apparently, his facial expression had been sufficiently suspicious enough, though, for John crossed the room over to where Sherlock sat with his computer. The doctor stood beside him, casually wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he read a bit of what was on the screen.
"Why are you looking this stuff up?" he asked, unable to hide the amused smile now spreading across his face.
"I thought the reason would be obvious," Sherlock replied, his eyes briefly glancing towards the doctor. "I know decidedly little about the subject of relationships; if I am going to be in one, I would like to know as much as I can about what needs to be done to properly keep it up."
"Sherlock," John began, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of his partner's statement. "A relationship is not a black-and-white kind of thing. Every couple is different—I'll tell you right now, we're different—and you can't just do research to learn how to be in a relationship."
He gently squeezed Sherlock's shoulder, making the detective glance down at the man's hand.
"I'll show you, alright?" John said, looking down at Sherlock reassuringly. "Mostly everything will remain the same between us anyway, we're already so close."
"…Right," Sherlock muttered, recalling John saying something very similar the night before. "I suppose that's true."
"Heh; for once I'm right," John remarked, pulling his arm away from Sherlock as he turned to go put up the groceries. Sherlock smirked, looking over his laptop screen at his partner once more before shutting it down completely.
"Have you eaten yet?" he asked John, setting the computer down upon the chair after rising from the seat himself in a soft rustle of loose pajama bottoms and deep red dressing gown.
"Nope," John replied. "Chinese sound good?"
"Yes," Sherlock said, his growling stomach acquiescing to his agreement. John turned around and met Sherlock with a surprised smile.
"You mean I don't have to fight you to get you to eat something tonight?" he said carefully, to which Sherlock shrugged, his dressing gown sliding a bit down off of his shoulders in the movement.
"I don't have a case," he mused, "May as well join you for dinner."
John smirked as he pulled out the take-out menu and picked up his mobile. "Charmed. What do you want, then?"
It was a comfortable evening in for the two of them, taking their food out on trays to the living room so that they could watch the movie John had purchased—"It's the new Bond movie, Skyfall. Thought you'd at least enjoy criticizing the special effects," John had said, to which Sherlock leered, recalling their last decidedly unsuccessful Bond marathon. Once again, though, the consulting detective decided to humor his flatmate—friend—partner, for once. The food was delectable enough for Sherlock to eat a good three-quarters of his plate before getting bored with the dinner and setting it aside, sitting back against the couch next to John as he finished eating.
When the doctor too set his tray aside was when Sherlock began to wonder about what couples would do while watching a movie, wondering particularly over how they were meant to sit. At the moment there was about a third of a meter of space in between him and the doctor upon the couch, so Sherlock decided it would be a safe call to close the distance at least part of the way, making the move not only a display of help me, John; what am I supposed to do?, and at the same time an invite for John to cross the rest of the distance himself. Sherlock could see his flatmate shoot him a sideways look upon feeling him scooting closer, one eyebrow cocked in questioning. The detective looked at him for a moment before looking towards the television set, immediately glancing back towards John upon feeling the man's warm thigh brush up against his own. That familiar tugging feeling hit him upon making brief contact with John, and perplexedly, Sherlock found himself craving even more closeness. Was that a normal feeling? Surely it was, for after only a brief pause after he slid over, John lifted his arm and once again wrapped it around Sherlock's shoulder's, adjusting slightly so that the detective may have plenty of room to comfortably lean against him.
Immediately, Sherlock relaxed, knowing that this position was right as he sighed and relaxed against John, who chuckled lightly at his reaction. The movie ended; the credits rolled as the last bits of the score played out through the telly's speakers. Neither the doctor nor the detective moved a centimeter to touch the remote, neither of them wishing to part from the other's gentle embrace.
"Sherlock," John spoke his partner's name softly, glancing down at the man in his arms. The detective hummed softly in response, wrapping his long arms around John and tucking his legs up against his thigh. For a moment John had completely lost his train of thought, Sherlock's sweet, intimate touch managing to wipe his brain clean of all eloquence. "Never would've guessed you'd be a cuddler," he finally spoke, the words that came out of his mouth not precisely what he had originally intended to tell the detective but satisfactory nonetheless.
Sherlock blinked open an eye, looking up at John from his place against the man's shoulder. "Never thought you'd be so comfortable," he retorted with a matter-of-fact wrinkle of his nose. John rolled his eyes at the detective, resting his hand upon Sherlock's fluffy curls, idly trailing his fingers through the soft hair and playing with the spring-like strands. Sherlock allowed this, only relaxing further and further against John, burying his face into his shoulder blade and inhaling the man's warm, assuaging scent. Upon nuzzling his nose sensitively against the doctor's shirt, he brushed against what could have only been John's scar. Realization struck suddenly as he slowly lifted his head from John's shoulder; they had lived together for years now and Sherlock had never once laid eye upon the bullet wound he knew about since day one. He briefly wondered if the former army doctor was at all self-conscious about the scar, trailing his fingertips over the man's shirt, where he had felt the raised skin beneath. John allowed him to do so, merely looking down at his fingers and watching them interestedly, which made Sherlock re-think his initial assumptions about the man being conscientious of his malformation. Swiftly, his mind wanted to know everything it could about the scar, wanted to see it, to touch the scar tissue himself, without the fabric of the doctor's shirt blocking it. The detective of course had seen many scars before, many gunshot wounds, old and new, but this was different, because it was John's. It was another insight into the man's life, this scar—and even being allowed this near to it, even through the man's shirt, made Sherlock realize just how quickly their relationship was going to progress because of the already firm solidity of their friendship. His heart rate quickened at this, and upon placing his palm over John's heart, he felt the former army doctor's pulsating organ's tempo accelerando with his own.
Interesting.
"I remember what I was going to ask now," John spoke up again, resting his hand upon Sherlock's back. "Sherlock, how—well, you told me last night that you've never felt something romantically for someone before, right…?"
Sherlock looked up into John's face. "That's right," he said, narrowing his eyes in mild curiosity as to where the doctor was going with this.
"But have you ever…I don't know, experimented anyway?" John asked, deciding that cutting to the chase rather than beating around the bush for an answer always worked far better with Sherlock.
"You're inquiring as to whether or not I'm actually a virgin," Sherlock clarified.
"Not just that," John admitted, "But more of how much…I don't know, experience you have, if any at all, I mean. 'Cause you know I have none when it comes to intimacies with men; I just felt that some background information would be useful."
"Testing my boundaries?"
"Maybe; more so, I want to make sure that I won't be pushing you to move too quickly in anything."
"Ah," Sherlock finally nodded in understanding, realizing John's triflingly uncharacteristic insecurities were not over himself, but rather, more so, over Sherlock…rightfully so, as well. "I don't have very much experience at all, John," he admitted reluctantly, hating the fact that he was being asked about the one subject he had never bothered experimenting upon. "It always seemed like a hassle—like an unnecessary distraction, sex. So, no; I've never experimented upon the subject."
"Have you ever been kissed before? Before last night, I mean," John clarified.
"Yes, of course," Sherlock said, looking John in the eye. "You witnessed it, after all."
What?
"What?" John asked, sufficiently confused now. Sherlock apparently was equally as perplexed by John's reaction too, however, and spoke slowly:
"You saw Irene Adler kiss me. That day, when she snuck into the flat and asked me to explain the airline code upon her camera phone, remember?"
Ah.
"Sherlock," John said, closing his eyes and shaking his head slightly. "That doesn't count, that was on the cheek."
"It was a kiss, was it not?"
"Yes," John agreed, "But not a fully…intimate one, I mean. Come on, Mrs. Hudson kisses us on the cheek, surely you understand the difference here."
"I do. You simply should have clarified what exactly you meant by 'a kiss.'"
"Sherlock…"
The detective sighed heavily, resting his head against John's chest. "Before last night, no; I'd never been kissed before."
John could not help but stare at him; of course, given the context clues verbally presented to him during the early part of their conversation, he knew this answer was coming. Still, he was struck with a moment of disbelief over the fact that this grown man had just barely received his first real kiss the night before…by him.
"I'm your first kiss," he could not help but whisper, despite the pure childishness of the statement. Sure enough, Sherlock looked up into his face and raised an eyebrow.
"Yes," the skeptical man said slowly. "What of it…?"
"Nothing, that's just…" John began, then shook his head, resuming in his playing with Sherlock's hair. "It's kind of nice, I suppose."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Sentiment."
"There you go," John stated, laughing once in disbelief at how slow the most brilliant man he ever knew could sometimes be. "Now you're catching on…"
He looked down at Sherlock, gently pulling him closer against his side as he tilted his head forward and kissed him lightly upon the top of his curls. "We'll take this slow, like we ought to do anyway," he informed the detective reassuringly, though Sherlock did not feel the slightest bit of nervousness towards doing anything physical with John. If there was anyone he was willing to open up to in that way it was his blogger, and he knew it.
"We ought to," Sherlock repeated, asking for clarification, to which John nodded and explained:
"A lot of relationships get really messed-up when mutual trust is not there before having sex, or engaging in sexual activities, even."
"Why?"
"I don't really know," John answered honestly. "I suppose the relationship just begins to lack all of the necessary emotions, and after a while it just becomes about the sex. Like an extended one-night stand."
"And you don't want that to happen to us."
"No, definitely not," John murmured against Sherlock's hair. The blatant fact of the extent of John's care about their early relationship made Sherlock pause for a moment. He was elated that John was already considering their togetherness to become a long-term kind of deal, as he had highly considered himself while thinking over whether or not he wanted this with John, well before their decision was made. Now he truly knew that they really were on the same page here, and he felt genuinely excited for the way their future looked.
"Neither do I," he finally spoke in a low voice as he leant against John, taking comfort in the doctor's embrace.
Sherlock blinked in surprise when he felt the hand that was gently entangled within his hair slide lightly down his face and cup his chin within its soft grasp. Allowing his face to be lifted up from its restful spot upon John's warm chest, the befuddled man looked down into his partner's eyes, reading his knowing intent from his dark pupils, dilated in the dim glow of the television. He could feel John's heated heart beat through his fingertips and pressed his lips together desirably, impatiently pressing forward against the doctor's grasp. With a low chuckle, John willingly released Sherlock's chin and instead placed his hand at the back of his neck, all too eager to press his lips up against Sherlock's once again. He allowed his lips to linger quite a bit longer upon Sherlock's this time, only parting after planting a much shorter, second kiss upon the delightful Cupid's bow curvature of the consulting detective's mouth.
"I haven't even properly kissed you yet," he whispered against Sherlock's cheek, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck as he spoke. Before Sherlock could inquire as to what he meant, though, he kissed him briefly again, looking into his eyes with a smile laced with endearing mischief. "Follow my lead," he instructed the detective quickly, closing his eyes and brushing his relaxed lips gently across his flatmate's before re-connecting their mouths.
Slowly, gently, John began to move his lips against Sherlock's, deepening the kiss considerably compared to his previous actions. Sherlock blinked in surprise but faltered and closed his eyes once he felt the strange euphoria erupt from somewhere deep inside him, telling him that yes, this was an act to take great pleasure in, especially with John. To his credit, though, the leading man was being extremely attentive to his partner's every move, paying mind to his body language and beginning learn what he likes. When the doctor parted his lips a fraction, Sherlock followed, humming a soft sound of surprise when John began to lap lightly at his mouth with his tongue, delving in further past his lips and moving it tenderly in a somehow tantalizing, circular pattern within his mouth. Their tongues touched within the cover of their connected lips, and the detective could not help but shiver slightly at the incredibly close contact, intriguingly lifting a palm to John's face while he tasted the doctor. After a few seconds of uncertainty and a few more curious licks at one another's lips, the two of them finally fell into a similar rhythm, pressing closer up against one another. Admittedly, Sherlock was silently grateful that John did not seem to be a particularly sloppy kisser, for that was yet another reason he had been content to avoid ever experimenting with this sort of thing before. However, this thing of pure ecstasy that he was experiencing through their much more drawn-out kiss was something that sufficiently began to claw at the mental blocks of Sherlock's desire, making him both more curious and more amorous as to what else John had to give, and as to what he could possibly learn to give to him as well.
With a tiny tug of Sherlock's plump bottom lip and a one last light, concluding peck, John unhurriedly pulled away from their kiss, breathlessly resting his forehead against Sherlock's and opening his dark eyes up to meet his partner's stunningly effulgent pair.
"How was that?" Sherlock could not help but ask between light pants, wanting to know if he contained any ounce of natural skill in the department of pleasuring his partner. According to the enlightened smile that immediately spread across the doctor's face, he had done something right.
"Brilliant," John breathed, cupping a bit shakily at the back of the man's neck. I-I just made-out with Sherlock Holmes… his mind stuttered, infringing in outright disbelief towards his actions. I just kissed my male flatmate, a-and it was fantastic, — "Bloody brilliant—you learn fast, you do."
Sherlock's calculating gaze softened significantly at the praise; though he was expecting it—it was John, after all—it still gave him a ridiculous warm, fuzzy feeling inside. This was not even about his mind entirely, though, which both puzzled and awed him in tandem. In fact, there was such a cornucopia of differentiating things occurring within Sherlock at that moment as there was during the kiss he had shared with John that he wanted nothing more than to repeat the action, to further explore this new strangely delightful and physical side of their relationship. After all, though Sherlock knew this was to be part of their relationship, he had not the faintest idea that it was going to be so…well, addictive.
John could tell that the man's genius mind was hard at work; he smiled as he brushed his nose against Sherlock's, closing his eyes.
"What are you thinking about?" he mumbled, slitting one eye open to look at Sherlock.
"...I don't want to get up," Sherlock confessed, content to stay snuggled against John for the rest of the evening. John let out a low chuckle at the confession, loving how he was able to pull forth from deep within his soul this forthrightly human side of Sherlock.
"Neither do I," he admitted honestly, and then before he could stop himself he turned his head to kiss Sherlock deeply again, lapping briefly at the inside of his mouth before taking his enormously delectable bottom lip into his mouth again, suckling on it and managing to pull forth a surprisingly docile little moan from the back of Sherlock's throat. With one last caress John relinquished his hold on Sherlock's lip, habitually planting a parting peck upon his mouth before opening his eyes again. Sherlock wrenched his open only a second after John, looking at him intently before whispering:
"Would you sleep with me tonight?"
John gaped at him in surprise; so much for taking things slowly. Before he could open his mouth to explain why he did not think the proposition was necessarily a good idea and that he did not know whether or not he was quite ready for that yet, however, Sherlock clarified:
"Just sleep."
The detective sighed, resting his face against John's shoulder. "I'm really enjoying this, after all," he mumbled, uncaring of whether or not it was too faint for John to hear since he was intending upon admitting that only to himself. Of course, due to the proximity of his face to John's ear the doctor could make out what he said and smiled. That he could do.
"Sure," he agreed quietly, making Sherlock abruptly lift his head from John's shoulder in a mixture of mild surprise and gladness. "Let me just run upstairs and change real quick."
"Meet me in the bedroom," Sherlock informed him, reluctantly letting go to allow John to change into his nightclothes. He could not help but watch him trudge up the stairs towards his bedroom, unknowingly smiling a bit to himself before finally rising from the couch, turning off the telly and stretching his arms out before turning to go into his own room to change for bed as well. It was only until after he had entered that room that he realized he had never bothered to change out of his pajama bottoms and loose-fitting grey t-shirt that he wore to sleep whenever he elected not to sleep in the nude. When Sherlock turned around after pulling his crimson dressing gown off of his shoulders, John was already there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as he looked over at his partner. The detective took in his welcome appearance, observing how comfortable the man already looked, now dressed in a pair of light, grey sweatpants that perplexedly hung appealingly low upon his waist, and a thin, white t-shirt covering his torso.
"What side do you usually sleep on?" John inquired, breaking eye contact with Sherlock only to nod briefly towards the suddenly rather inviting bed.
"Either," he replied nonchalantly, to which John cocked his head to the side curiously, watching the man discard his dressing gown over the edge of the footboard of his bedstead.
"You sure?" the doctor asked to make sure, even though he distinctly recalled that the detective slept in the middle of the bed—at least, according to the one or two times he had to help him get into it after particularly rough cases—which, he suspected, probably meant he was going to awaken in the morning to a consulting detective on top of him. Not that he minded that image too much, even this early in their relationship...
"...Get into bed, John," Sherlock said, humorously regarding his partner as he lifted his hands in a silent gesture meant to mean fine and made to crawl under the covers at the side closest to the door. With a silent nod to himself Sherlock followed suit, lying next to John and pondering whether or not cuddling in bed together at this point in their relationship would constitute as 'moving too fast.'
"Sorry ahead of time," John piped up suddenly, holding his mobile up, "But I've got the early shift tomorrow and I'll need to set an alarm."
"Fine," Sherlock muttered in dismissal, not really caring since he did not wish to sleep in again as he had that day, especially with the prospect of a new case hopefully turning up with the sunrise. Immediately after turning the light on his nightstand off, he felt John move closer to him, wrapping his arms around the detective's waist and burying his face against the back of his neck. Sherlock inhaled quietly in pleasure, loving the feeling of John's warm body pressed close to him, his easily cuddle-able figure pulling in Sherlock like the soft hug of a teddy bear. Already he was addicted to the cradle of John's arms around him, and he turned carefully within the embrace to lie upon his side, allowing John to pull him a bit closer and nuzzle his face against his much more comfortable chest rather than his bony spine. Apparently that was the correct move on his part, too, for he could feel John's content smile against his shirt, could feel him already beginning to drift off to sleep.
"You're probably exhausted after I kept you up all night to harass you," Sherlock commented, mindlessly threading his fingers through his flatmate's soft hair. Upon realizing he was doing so, he paused only a moment before thinking that the motion was probably more soothing than annoying to John and continued on as he was.
"Harass; heh," John mumbled against Sherlock, resting his head just over the man's steady heartbeat...thump-thump...thump-thump...thump-thump...
"Convince, maybe," John reasoned softly, "But I wouldn't describe it as harassing. With the mood I was in last night I wouldn't have stayed for anything of that sort."
"The nightmare," Sherlock whispered, remembering with a slight frown the whole reason John had gone downstairs at that ungodly hour in the first place. With a sigh, he rested his hand upon the back of John's head and said in a low, soft voice: "Hopefully you won't have another one."
John's following smile was unexpected, but the light-hearted words that trailed behind his expression were inspiriting for Sherlock to hear:
"For some reason I don't think that'll be a problem at all tonight."
When Sherlock tilted his head downwards to look at John he met the man's deep blue eyes in response. Before his brilliant mind could even attempt to cook up a comeback towards the doctor's words his lips were pressed up against the detective's. Once again, Sherlock bewilderedly found himself practically melting beneath John despite his outward harshness and opened his eyes only upon feeling the man rest his head over his heart once again, only after hearing him faintly whisper:
"'Night, Sherlock."
It was as if John's words flipped the off switch within Sherlock, for despite the long amount of time he had spent sleeping that day in the reminiscence of a completed case, he was for some reason that his mind currently could not fathom completely content upon falling asleep with John, cuddling up against his best friend's—his partner's vastly cozy form. With one last hesitantly light kiss upon the top of his head, Sherlock nuzzled against John's short hair, deeply breathing in his pleasant scent before softly, nearly completely inaudibly, wishing John a goodnight.
-•-• •-•-
[Stardate 2258: space coordinates ]
"…Never the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light…he is unbeatable," Khan spoke softly, very nearly out of Carol's earshot, but just at the minimum volume required for her to hear his sentiment. Neither of them said anything for a long moment, allowing the augment's final words of description about John to permeate the room as they worked, to linger on for as long as he wanted—needed them to. Carol could now clearly tell this man had been Khan's rock, his best friend, if not even more than that. Though he did not outright admit to anything more than friendship, she could not help but wonder.
Khan had done this on purpose; his relationship with John was never a hugely known fact, anyway, not even back in London when they were still living together at 221B Baker Street. They never purposely meant to keep it a deep, dark secret or anything else of the sort, but they simply did not parade it around. Public displays of affection were not really his thing, nor John's much for that matter, so it was not until they had been together for a good half of a year that Lestrade and their other 'friends' on the force found out about their change in relationship statuses. Not even their landlady had found out until they had been romantically involved for nearly a full month. Just the mere thought of the ever-caring Mrs. Hudson made Khan's heart throb in sorrow and regret, though; now, everything was completely different. Even though John was not here to protest—not that he would have even if he was—, Khan felt like Carol did not deserve to know of their irrevocable love. The world was their enemy, their existence squandered and spat upon like they were dust, though without the useful eloquence of fingerprinting since they had apparently been wiped clean from all Starfleet archives. Why else did Carol Marcus know nothing about the human augments, the voracious experiments performed to improve the race through selective altering, breeding and genetic engineering?
"You keep referring to John in the present-tense," Carol mentioned, her voice breaking the high-strung silence of the warehouse as she concentrated upon re-fitting the inner casing shield within torpedo number sixty-seven. "Why is that?"
"Because he is still alive," Khan stated simply, his face betraying none of the emotions he felt over the matter whatsoever. If there was anything his past, human form excelled at, it was stoicism.
"Is he also an augment, then?" Carol inquired. She assumed that was the most logical reason for his incredibly old age, lifting her head up from the torpedo she was working on to look back at Khan and puffing a loose strand of hair out of her face.
"Yes."
Something automatically clicked in Carol's mind. At last, the true reason for Khan's unfailing hatred became crystal clear and painfully obvious.
"Oh my god…" she whispered, making Khan turn around to face her, a single eyebrow cocked condescendingly in inquiry. "They took you away from him."
"They took both of us away," Khan clarified, "From each other."
The words would have been much more painful if Carol knew of their romantic affiliations as well, but Khan let that pass, unable to admit that he would have much rather died than to have been taken from his love.
"How?"
"That's…none of your concern," Khan said through teeth gritted tightly together to keep from lashing out mindlessly at the throbbing in his chest. He gripped at the table before him, bending the metal through the sheer, blunt force of emotional pain.
But Carol was going to be persistent about this particular piece of information.
"Please tell me," she insisted. "It's bad enough that Starfleet has kept the human augment's existence out of the records, hidden away from the Academy and most of the Federation outside of District 21. I have the right to know what they did to you two—what they did to hundreds of thousands of innocent human beings around the world."
"You have the right to know?" Khan sneered. "What gives you the right, an inferior—a human—to know of that?"
"Because you were human once, too," Carol retorted, standing her ground before the angered augment despise the knowledge that he could very well break her skull clean off of her spine with a single blow to the chin. "Based upon what you've just told me as well, I would wager a guess that you'd give anything to be human once more."
"How dare you—"
"It's easy to read once you know the facts," Carol said simply, making the man pause. "You were already a genius. You had the intellect as your past, 'inferior' self. The only difference is that as a human, the world accepted you much easier."
Carol sighed and took another step towards Khan, crossing the distance between the two of them so that they were nearly touching. She could feel his hot breath upon her forehead and tilted her head up to look him in the eye, sensing his broiling uncertainty clearly and easily from this meager distance.
"…Tell me about the day you and John were taken away."
"I have not told anyone of that ever before," Khan growled, looking away from her. After saying so, though, he could not help but sigh despite the weakness the annoyedly human action betrayed of him. He had already told Carol Marcus so much; certainly this, a story of mere facts and figures—or, at least, one that could be altered to fit as such—would be much easier than any of the stories that he had already told would be to explain.
-•-• •-•-
