A/N: OK, so I royally screwed up and posted only the last part of the previous chapter. Now I've fixed that and added in the missing bits, so if you don't mind, go back and reread that before reading this apology epilogue/prologue, which features flashback smut to that first night Khan and Molly shared.

Dancing In The Dark

She kept the rose. She didn't know why; surely it wasn't sentiment, not for a man she'd slept with only once. She should have discarded it as soon as she returned to her quarters, or as soon as she discovered the truth of who he was. It would no doubt be used as evidence to damn her for a liar, to 'prove' that her relationship with 'John Harrison' wasn't simply a one-off, that they'd meant more to one another.

But she couldn't bring herself to toss it down the disposal chute; instead, she carefully pressed the drying bloom between two sheets of replicated wax paper and placed it between the pages of one of her father's beloved antique books. An anatomy text, appropriately enough, heavy enough to break a toe, as she'd so painfully discovered when she'd accidentally dropped it on her foot when she was twelve. Certainly thick enough to press the rose into two dimensions, to be preserved, as she'd foolishly believed, forever.

Instead, the book, the rose, all her belongings had been seized by Starfleet once 'John Harrison' had been revealed to be Khan Noonian Singh. Once Admiral Marcus' perfidy had been revealed by Captain James Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Once San Francisco had been devastated as Marcus' pride and joy, the dreadnaught Vengeance, had been crashed into the heart of the city.

Once the man she'd allowed into her body for one, glorious night had been revealed to be a mass murderer.

And still she couldn't seem to stop herself from dreaming of that night, from reliving it – their shared dance as he lead her through the steps of a sensuous tango, the way he'd murmured his address into her ear at the end of the dance, the way he'd greeted her at his door once she'd made her clandestine way to Baker Street, adroitly avoiding all detection by any Section 31 surveillance with an ease that later astounded her.

But not that night. No, that night she only had eyes and thoughts for the man waiting to greet her. He'd shed his formal uniform, was clad only in the black, long-sleeved undershirt and tight trousers, his feet bare, pale against the lush grey carpet. She'd entered his flat, with its old-fashioned inward-swinging door; her mouth had opened in a gasp as he'd slammed the door shut behind her and then slammed her up against the wooden portal, his lips demanding on hers, his hands tugging impatiently at her dark coat, pulling it from her body to drop to the floor. She'd moaned at the feel of his hard, muscular form against her body, the ridge of his erection pressing insistently against her hip as he ground himself against her.

Her yellow sheathe, the most daring dress she owned and had worn in defiance of Marcus' preference for her to fade into the background, where he found her most useful, had quickly joined her coat, leaving her clad only in a miniscule thong. Khan – or John, as she'd known him at that time – had hummed appreciatively before lifting her easily in his arms and lowering that plush, sensual mouth of his to her breasts, suckling each nipple into a hard, wet nub, swirling his tongue around and nipping gently with his teeth while she gasped and moaned. Her legs wrapped themselves around his waist and she tugged impatiently at his shirt, impressed at his strength as he continued to hold her with one arm while she removed the impediment. He shift to the other arm and then the shirt had fallen to the floor while she took in the sight of his pale, muscular chest, completely hairless and utterly gorgeous.

His lips had sought hers as both arms wrapped around her waist, and she'd reveled in the searing, possessive kiss, opening her mouth eagerly and thrusting her tongue into his mouth, where it had met his in an urgent duel. She'd managed somehow to lower his trousers and pants, tugging his gorgeous cock free and marveling at the size of it as she encircled it with one hand, impatiently guiding him to her opening, slick with arousal. It had taken some maneuvering, but he'd eventually slid deep inside her, stretching her beautifully and pulling moan after moan from her throat. He'd marked her with his mouth, sucking greedily at her pulse-point; she'd had to resort to her personal medi-kit to erase the dark bruises he'd left on her flesh, regretfully, but it wouldn't do for there to be visible evidence of this encounter come morning. Not if she didn't want a reprimand or worse from the Admiral.

But that was for the morning. That night had been incredible, with Khan thrusting deep within her, gasping her name as she tugged at the sleek, dark hair, mussing it as she dug her fingernails into the flesh of his scalp. The movements of his hips had increased in pace as she'd done so, bringing her closer and closer to the precipice for which she'd been straining, until with a stangld cry she'd tumbled over, her legs tightening around his waist, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she rode out her orgasm.

He'd followed her soon after, their first coupling a brief one, followed by a more languorous session in his luxuriously appointed bedroom. Silk sheets, the softest microfiber duvet she'd ever felt, all in dark, masculine colors – navy blue and a deep aubergine – that well matched the man she'd taken as her lover.

All too soon the morning had come; with the first rays of dawn she'd slipped from his bed, reclothed herself as she watched his sleeping form. He hadn't awoken even when she'd pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, but had murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, and his lips had curved up in a brief smile. Then she'd slipped into her shoes and coat, and seen it.

The rose. She'd dropped it on the floor, where it had miraculously escaped being crushed, and she'd hesitated only a moment before picking it up and taking it with her.

She hadn't realized then that it wasn't the only souvenir she was taking with her; hadn't known until nearly a month later that her birth control implant had contrived to fail just when she needed it most. By the time she did realize her condition, the truth had come out about 'John Harrison' – but even then, even knowing what a beautiful monster she'd taken into her bed, she had no thought of terminating the pregnancy.

She'd come away from that night already in love with her child's father, and even knowing the truth about him had done little to dim her emotions. And she would never let it destroy her love for the life they'd all unknowingly created.

Molly sighed and looked down at her son. Jamie lay cuddled between her and Khan, his blue-green eyes wide open, a smile on his beautiful little face, his father's arm wrapped lovingly around his small form. Molly reached up and tenderly caressed Khan's hair, smiling at him as he gazed down at Jamie, the life they'd brought into being.

The one being in the entire universe neither of them would ever allow any harm to come to. She knew that she would sacrifice anything, even herself, even Khan, to protect their son – and that he felt the same way. Oh, they loved one another as well, there was no question about that, but Jamie Hooper-Singh held their hearts more tightly in his tiny hands than he could possibly know.

And that, Molly thought contentedly as Khan pulled her into a sweet, loving kiss, was as it should be.