Molly rubbed her temples. She was numb after a day of trying to catch up with history. She had discovered that two-hundred and forty-nine years ago, the disappearance of Molly Hooper was but a footnote accompanying a story in the Guardian about an entirely unrelated family having gone missing on the same day. It was with an odd, cold feeling that she read about herself, 'a single, Caucasian female in her mid-thirties with no next of kin.' As if that generic description was the sum of her existence.

She sniffed back melancholy and waved the phantom paper away. The console in the desk that projected the image of the paper retracted and rejoined the unit's surface. She marveled as she ran her finger over its disappearing seam. The technological advances on Khan's ship never ceased to amaze her from the replicators that could produce any kind of meal or consumable one could imagine to the closet that could form itself into a shower or toilet or sauna as needed. Khan had sequestered her in this larger living space after her debacle with her quarters. It was a significant improvement, but still a prison. She sighed.

Her thoughts returned to the article. She wondered if the description of her solitary life was accurate. Had she been just a lonely, single girl? Her memories were not what they should be on this matter; they were fractured and incomplete. She had thought she had a clear impression of her life, her work and all the best moments therein, but when she strained to remember anything that might have caused her angst or misery, she hit a wall. It was as if someone had gone in and edited her memory banks to leave behind only a PG narrative.

The worst part was the feeling that something important was missing. Every once in a while, she had this tweak of familiarity about Khan that made her feel a bit bereft, as if he reminded her of someone. Yet, in the place of what should have been this person's face was but a blurry impression of someone whose features became increasingly obscured as time progressed. In fact, trying to remember her past life was like chasing a fading dream down a memory corridor with lights stationed in ever-larger intervals.

Molly heard the tell-tale swish of a door opening and spun in her chair. She locked eyes with Khan as he strode purposefully into her quarters. As usual, he scowled. She figured it was not so much in anger, but perpetual annoyance. How could one go through life so cynical though, she wondered? She swallowed. It was incredibly difficult to maintain eye contact with the man, and she should want nothing to do with him, but she could not tear her eyes away from his lithe form. He was intimidating and gruff and impatient, yet he still elicited excitement in an otherwise dull existence.

"Good morning or afternoon or whatever it is," she murmured. "Erm, how are you?"

One brow rose as he stopped, stood over where she was seated and flipped open his tricorder. Then, he suddenly seemed to notice something and clacked it shut. His lips formed the words before he spoke. A wrinkle marred the space between his eyes.

"What are you wearing?"

Molly's lips rounded. She glanced swiftly down to her ensemble. She'd had some fun with the room's replicator and the ship's computer and came up with a slim-lined, scoop-neck tunic in a more vibrant cream littered with cherries. Her black bottoms closely resembled yoga pants. She even managed to customize a cute pair of low wedge heels in a crimson. She thought she looked great, especially with her hair curled around her face.

"Oh, I was bored," she said flippantly as she raised her feet up to inspect her new shoes, "and I felt like a mental patient in that other getup."

His eyes flicked over her outfit, lingering with a confused look at each place she curved. Something twitched in his face.

"Well, it is not acceptable. Computer, replicate a generic pants suit in her size."

Molly jumped up from her seat. "Computer, disregard that command."

Khan threw the tricorder down on the desk at her back. His head tilted sideways.

"This is my ship," he bit out with a jab of his finger for emphasis, "I give the commands."

Molly crossed her arms and steeled her features. She rocked back on her heels but remained upright. She was nervous as shite but she was tired of feeling as if she had no control over her life.

"Oh, yes, you issue many commands but I am not bound by them. See, your ship has helped me with a bit of research. It turns out, you are not allowed to dictate what I wear among a lot of other things!"

Khan's face contorted in fury. His pale blue-green eyes flashed. He stepped back and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked as if he were trying to reign in his temper.

"I see and how did you determine this?" He waved his hands in a flourish.

"C-Computer," Molly cleared her throat, "please inform Mr. Khan about the limits of his authority over my garb."

Molly folded her arms more tightly over her chest. For a moment, she thought the ship might not comply but then it spoke.

"Molly Hooper is a sentient, intelligent being who has committed no crimes in any historical records. According to the Federation and Starfleet's adoption of the Universal Intelligent Being's Inalienable Rights, she is entitled to bodily autonomy which includes wearing the attire of her choice."

The large man exhaled noisily. "This ship, I swear!"

He closed his eyes a moment and then reopened them.

"To hell with the damned Federation," he clipped in an icy tone, "I am the captain and you will do as I say and . . . and so will you, Computer!"

"Captain Khan, Federation doctrine is an integral part of my programming. I am bound by this doctrine and cannot execute any commands in contradiction of my prime directives. Furthermore, Molly Hooper is a civilian under your protection but has no obligation to follow any of your commands unless they are directly related to the welfare of this ship and its occupants."

Khan wiped a hand down over his face. Molly sucked in her lips and tried to hold her cheeks in to keep from smiling. He looked furious but also a little flummoxed. For several seconds, he regarded her from a few feet away in the center of the living space while he appeared to regain his faculties. Once his breathing resumed an even pace, he lifted his chin. Again, he paced closer.

"You think you have outwit me?" He said in a menacingly low tone while staring down at her over his nose.

Molly snorted and covered her mouth. "Nuh, uh!"

He licked his tongue over his teeth. Then something wicked lit within his eyes. His beautiful lips curved up in a deadly half-grin.

"Computer, do you recognize this woman's medical credentials?"

Molly frowned. She still found it disconcerting that he knew so much about her while she knew virtually nil about him. He was the captain of this space ship, but only by misappropriation of the vessel. So, this meant he was an outlaw of some sort. It made little sense to her that the ship could defend her rights on one hand due to legal technicalities, but then allow itself to be otherwise controlled by a criminal. When she had asked the ship's computer earlier why it didn't just fly itself back to its real owners, the ship had responded that such information was classified. Molly shook these thoughts from her head when the computer's voice interrupted her musings.

"Dr. Molly Hooper's medical knowledge and research was well documented and advanced for her time," the computer responded to Khan's question, "Barts and the London School of Medicine is still an accredited institute today and her degree, a lifetime achievement, is valid because she is still alive. Thus, her medical credentials are substantiated."

As soon as the computer finished speaking, Molly somehow knew what was coming. She opened her mouth but Khan piped up first.

"Well, then how very fortunate for us! We lack properly recognized medical staff aboard this ship. Dr. Molly Hooper, you are now a member of my crew. I am assigning you to Sickbay. Congratulations, you have jumped the ranks to Lieutenant Commander and are hereby my Chief Medical Officer," he flicked at the collar of her tunic before his tone dropped to a deadly rumble, "computer . . . get her a damned uniform."

Molly shivered as she looked up into his unfathomably dark pupils. "Wh-What if I refuse the position?"

Khan pointed a finger towards the ceiling and twitched his brows. "Computer?"

"According to Starfleet regulation 4682.01A, a Captain may enlist or draft any recognized medical professionals against his or her wishes if there is an unavailability of assigned staff to oversee care of his crew. You cannot refuse the assignment, Dr. Hooper. You are now under the Captain's command and must follow his orders, including but not limited to wearing the appropriate uniform while on duty."

Khan's smile spread. "That."