Hey guys, I'm back! Sorry for the delay, it's partially my fault, and partially this website's fault. I wasn't able to upload this chapter for a couple days even after I'd finally decided it was ready to publish! I'm so so so so so so sorry it took me this long to continue but there has been a lot going on for me. Thanks to all of you who have faithfully reviewed and I hope to continue hearing from you as we venture into the second portion of this story together!

THE MONSTER'S MASK REWRITE: BOOK 2

"There was a star riding through clouds one night, and I said to the star, 'Consume me.' . . . Identity failed me. We are nothing, I said, and fell. I was blown like a feather, I was wafted down tunnels . . . With intermittent shocks, sudden as the springs of a tiger, life emerges heaving its dark crest from the sea. It is to this we are attached; it is to this we are bound, as bodies to wild horses. And yet we have invented devices for filling up the crevices and disguising these fissures . . . We come carrying these appliances with us over the top of the moor. Now we are on the summit. Silence will close behind us. If I look back over that bald head, I can see silence already closing and the shadows of clouds chasing each other over the empty moor; silence closes over our transient passage. This I say is the present moment; this is the first day of the summer holidays. This is part of the emerging monster to whom we are attached."

- Virginia Woolf, The Waves

Chapter 20 – Walls of Thin Air

When her eyes snapped open, her first thought was of Owen.

Madelyn jerked up in the bed sheets, searching frantically for him, expecting to see him standing in the room, ready to make a quick escape if she needed to. She still remembered the way he'd torn at her scalp, pressed her face into the wall, crushed her body against the hard concrete. His voice still lingered in her head. She tried to shove it away.

The longer she sat up the sicker she felt, until the room was spinning around her and the sound of waves crashing on a distant shoreline roared in her ears. She settled back into bed with a pounding heart, her hand traveling hesitantly downwards until it rested on her belly. Her skin was sore underneath her wrinkled shirt. She winced when she pressed her hand more firmly against it. Something inside her was wrong. Missing.

She tried to sit up again but fatigue stopped her, forcing her to prop herself up on her elbow. She pulled up her shirt a little so she could look down at her stomach, then ran her fingers along the scraped skin that stretched over her small baby bump. Her back ached—no, everything was sore, and she needed to go to the bathroom.

After a moment of swallowing down the nausea that reared its forgotten head, she slowly rolled from the bed and planted her bare feet on the cold floor, standing carefully, chancing a look around the room. It was cold and meagerly furnished, dimly lit by an old-fashioned lamp in the corner. Barely a moment passed when she realized she was going to pass out. Her head felt empty and her vision was clouded with fireworks. She leaned over the bed, fingers scrunching up the sheets as she waited for the spell to pass. She hadn't felt this way since before she'd known she was pregnant, only this time she felt a few pounds lighter, and she ached as though her insides had been pulled out of her body.

Gritting her teeth against the dull discomfort inside her, she made her way carefully across the room towards a small, attached bathroom, her hands meeting the wall when she felt dizzy again. If Owen showed up unexpectedly, she knew she would barely have the strength to stand up and face him again. Where was he? The last thing she remembered was running away from him, his face red and hot and furious. She remembered the sharp pain inside her, bracing herself on the wall of the corridor, running, always running. It was all so hazy. It could've been a dream. The scrapes on her face and stomach proved it hadn't been.

When she was finished in the bathroom, her attention was snagged suddenly by the streaks of red and brown that swirled away down the commode. She couldn't be on her period. She looked down at her clothes, struck suddenly by the massive reddish-brown stain on the inside of her thighs. Poignant images were thrust back into her present. Dr. Madsen holding a scalpel to her neck. Khan standing in the doorway—

Madelyn buttoned her jeans with shaking fingers and stumbled back into the small room in which she'd found herself. She was still alone. Her boots lay by the door and she went to grab them, lifting one foot to try and slide it on. She lost her balance and fell backwards onto the floor, barely catching herself with her hands. A groan escaped her lips at the dull ache triggered inside her by her fall. What had Madsen done to her? She realized she'd passed out, or someone had knocked her out. Khan's silhouette had lingered above her, blocking out the fluorescent lights. What had they done to her? Had they worked together?

Her hand lingered over her sore stomach again. Something was missing. Gone, like it had been pulled out of her. The pieces were slowly coming together. That sensation of being lighter than usual. The red and brown in the toilet. The pain inside her after Owen's attack.

A lump grew in her throat. Of everything she thought she would never lose, and now this. Tears pricked her eyes and she barely managed to hold them at bay when the door opened and Khan walked in.

She scrambled backwards as he advanced on her, until she collided with the side of the bed. When he knelt down to take her arm she tried to wrench away, but she was too exhausted. He pulled her up, his arms wrapping around her until her back was pressed to his chest. She clenched her teeth and tried to croak in protest as he gently set her down in the bed, his hand on her shoulder forcing her to settle into the sheets. Her head sank down into the pillow and she let out a breath, feeling another wave of fatigue overtake her. He murmured something low and quiet, and she would have been able to hear him more clearly if it weren't for the roaring in her ears and the panic in her mind, but the bed was too warm and comfortable for her to care much longer.

When she woke again later, she was on her side and snuggled deep into the sheets. Khan sat directly in her line of sight with his elbows propped up on his knees and his fingers intertwined in front of him. Madelyn shifted a little until his eyes snapped up from the floor to look at her, then she stopped. He didn't make any motion to touch her but she was afraid if she tried to move away he would.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

She wasn't sure she wanted to answer. She wanted him to stop looking at her. When he didn't, she turned onto her back so she was staring up at the concrete ceiling. She took a deep breath, noticing her nausea was gone, but she still felt sore between her legs. She wondered what it would feel like to try and sit up again, but if it was painful and she reacted, the last thing she wanted was to give Khan an excuse to touch her again. She swallowed through the dryness in her throat before she spoke.

"Where are we?"

God, she sounded pathetic.

"A disused underground military facility, leftover from the Eugenics Wars."

She frowned. Why had Madsen wanted to work down here? "Where's Owen?" she asked, glancing at Khan despite her misgivings. It was his turn to frown.

"He's not here. No one is but us," he said.

She pursed her lips at his use of the word "us" and didn't give him the pleasure of her eye contact a second longer. "What about Dr. Madsen?"

Khan's tone changed. "I've dealt with him, but he's still alive if you—"

"No," she said quickly. "No, I don't care about him." She licked her lips slowly, considering how she wanted to word her growing hatred for Owen as what he'd done to her slowly sank into her consciousness. She knew when her fingers tightened around the sheets, bunching them in her fists. Her voice shook. "Dr. Madsen didn't kill my son."

Khan was silent for a moment before he spoke again. "He was my son too," he murmured. There was a hint of emotion in his voice but she hardly registered it when he laid a hand gently on her arm. She tensed and looked at him coolly for the second time without turning her head.

"Please don't touch me."

It came across as she intended, like a command rather than a request. She held his gaze steadily despite her desire not to, watching and waiting for him to respond, expecting his fingers to tighten around her arm and press indentations into her skin. Instead, his hand slipped away. He straightened in his chair, still looking down at her with an unreadable expression, save for something in the lines in his skin that had loosened. It was almost as if he'd let down his guard enough for her to really see him. She didn't try to look for long.

She sat up slowly, wincing at the discomfort again. She was still wearing her dingy, bloodstained jeans, and her sweater held a faint odor, like she'd been sweating profusely. In her lap, she noticed a thin line like a scar crossing her palm. She'd cut herself when she'd jammed that piece of metal into Owen's shoulder while he'd tried to drag her onboard the shuttle. Remembering their fight, she gritted her teeth to keep her tears at bay.

"What did you do to your hand?"

Khan's voice lurched her back to the present. She glanced at him hesitantly. Why wouldn't he just leave her alone?

"I cut it."

"Clearly."

She met his gaze again, more penetrating than before, as though he knew she was hiding what had happened. He hadn't asked about Owen. She wondered if Owen had gotten away, maybe taken the shuttle before Khan could discover he'd ever been there. At this point, she didn't even care anymore. She knew Owen would stay away as long as Khan was with her, and she had a sneaking suspicion Khan had no intentions of leaving her anytime soon.

"How did you find me?" she asked. It suddenly dawned on her that no one could have possibly known where she was, unless…

"Your necklace," he replied, his eyes dropping to the object around her neck being turned between her fingers. She stopped. "I was surprised you were still wearing it, but it's good you were. I'd installed a tracking device inside it before I left it in your flat on Christmas."

Of course he did, the bastard, she thought bitterly. And she'd been dumb enough not to see it, all because of a small photo. Without a word, she reached back and undid the clasp, removing the silver chain from around her neck and dropping it so it pooled in a small clump on the side table. Then she swung her legs around to the opposite side of the bed, away from Khan, and carefully stood up. She heard him stand and walk around the bed, but she was too focused on retaining her sense of balance to acknowledge him. Her head didn't feel so empty now, and though her insides still ached, there was no nausea. As she began to walk forward, Khan stepped into her path.

"I need to take a shower," she said, doing her best to look down her nose at him. She glanced down when his fingers grazed her sweater sleeve. "What did I say about not touching me?" Her voice shook and she willed him to walk away. He didn't, but his hand dropped hesitantly to his side, his fingers rubbing together restlessly. She saw this and slowly raised her gaze to meet his. His eyes narrowed faintly.

When she connected the inside of her right hand with his left cheek, she clenched her jaw at how much it stung. Khan turned his face back slowly towards her, his expression cool. A lock of hair had come loose and hung over his forehead. Madelyn didn't hesitate and slapped him again.

After the third time she hit him, she expected him to grab her, snag her wrist and twist her arm around, or at least restrain her enough to send a message never to hit him again. But he just stood there, staring down at her with his hair in his eyes, silent and brooding and… fascinated. His lack of reaction made her even angrier.

"You son of a bitch!" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. "If I could go back and change what happened, I never would've shaken your hand."

Khan tilted his chin down to look at her closely. "If you hadn't shaken my hand, I wouldn't have been there to push away your overbearing friend, Mr. Gallagher."

"And look at the good it's done me now!" she spat. "My god, you're unbelievable! Do you have any idea what's happened to me since the trial? My career is in shambles because the media has destroyed my reputation, and now—" She stopped when her voice cracked. She couldn't bring herself to say it, even when she could see it all over his face and she wanted nothing more than to hit him a fourth time because he didn't have the right to feel it. Instead, collecting herself, she took a breath, waiting for some kind of reaction. Nothing. So she brushed past him for the bathroom. "I need to take a shower."

A long time ago, so long ago it felt like centuries, Khan would have snuck into the shower behind her just to run his hands along her wet skin. Now, as he sank onto the edge of the wide, low bed occupying the majority of the space in those small living quarters, he felt belittled and ridden with guilt. Every fiber of his being resonated with the knowledge that he had deserved Madelyn's blows. They hadn't even surprised him, but he wondered whether three had really been necessary or if she was trying to test his limits to gauge his reaction. She'd acted as though she might deal out a fourth before escaping to the bathroom, as though she was afraid he'd retaliate. He knew he'd never lay a hand on her of course, but she'd shied away from the slightest of his touches even with her sweater guarding her skin from him.

He was quickly coming to realize it would take much more effort than he'd thought to regain her trust.

After her outburst, he'd reached more of an understanding of what he'd done to her. Her association with him had ultimately caused the world to turn against her, even after her acquittal at his trial. He knew Starfleet was ultimately to blame for the charges laid against her in the first place, fostering a set of circumstances that had ultimately allowed Commander Gallagher to take possession of photographs originally kept a secret by Alexander Marcus.

Khan had known about the potential of these photographs' existence from the very beginning. He'd almost expected it. He'd known about the various tails the Admiral had assigned to keep him under his watch. However the spying had been unobtrusive and hardly noticeable, until knowledge of the photographs' existence became public. Khan had never considered that anyone would actually try to use them to frame Madelyn for something she had obviously never been part of. Owen Gallagher had shown his true colors that day in court, but the fallout of that day was suddenly becoming clear to him and he'd felt the weight of his responsibility ever since he'd found Madelyn in Hans Madsen's clutches with a scalpel against her throat. He still needed to question Madsen, but with Madelyn believing the doctor to be dead, she was his first priority.

Half an hour later, the shower finally turned off. Khan stood from the bed to carry in a small storage container he'd retrieved from deep within the facility, part of a leftover cache he knew would still be collecting dust in the shadows after so many years of neglect. Inside it was everything he thought Madelyn might need to live comfortably down here while her body healed.

The bathroom door slid open a few inches and her face appeared in the gap, steam filtering out around her. She didn't bother thanking him for the towel now wrapped tightly around her—he'd left it for her while she slept—so he pointed out the container to her and left the room without another word.

He knew that if he was going to regain her trust, he would need to offer her space. He wanted her to be comfortable before he confronted her about her next move. Maybe this time he could convince her that he actually cared for her. It was something he was slowly coming to terms with himself, the idea that she was more than an opportunity for him to take advantage of. His plan to impregnate her for his own purposes had completely self-destructed, along with his crew and the rest of his once meaningful existence and now she was all he had left. He just needed to convince her he wasn't lying anymore. He needed to show her that he had no reason to lie anymore. Those reasons were all gone.

Madelyn came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, her dark, damp hair hanging over one shoulder. The plum-colored t-shirt she'd chosen to wear from the clothing Khan had supplied her with draped slightly around her shoulders and torso as she walked, barely disguising the roundness of her shrinking stomach. In a few days, she wouldn't even look like she'd been pregnant. She'd also chosen a pair of worn black skinny jeans, to replace her soiled jeans from earlier. What had been available in storage was old, but Khan knew instantly what she would be comfortable with. She walked carefully across the room in her bare feet and slid them into her boots, then she turned to face him, keeping a sizeable distance between them.

"You gave me some of your blood," she stated, as though incensed that he hadn't bothered to tell her himself. He wasn't surprised she'd come to that conclusion, and nodded. The scrapes on her cheek were gone, replaced with faint scabs. He imagined the rest of her injured skin was in similar shape.

"You were too weak and had lost much of your own blood," he replied. "I had no choice."

She stared at him for a moment. "You've had a lot of choices," she said quietly. "To be honest, I'm surprised you're still here."

Khan couldn't believe she would think otherwise. He took a step towards her but stopped as she tensed. "Do you take me for a coward, Madelyn?"

She tilted her head slightly, her displeasure widely apparent on her face now. "I took you for a Starfleet Commander named John Harrison. I didn't expect to take you for a liar."

The insult prodded at something deep inside him that he smothered quickly. He couldn't fan the flames she was holding in his face, as it would only prove what she wanted to believe about him.

"What do you take me for now?" he asked, softening his voice. He saw her hesitation.

"I think you're dangerous, homicidal even. And you've been used almost as much as I have."

Khan regarded her silently, considering what she meant. Of course she'd believe he had used her like Alexander Marcus had used him, and in some cases that was the truth. The largest difference lay in motives. Khan had never had a desire to harm her. He had needed her for his own plans, however selfish they seemed upon looking back. Meanwhile, Marcus had threatened the lives of his crew and used him to fulfill his own selfish, warmongering plans. Interesting how neither of their plans had come to fruition.

"Almost as much?" he pressed.

Madelyn licked her lips as her thoughts passed across her face. "What Admiral Marcus did to you doesn't excuse the murder of thousands of innocent people. You could have just killed him and left it at that. You could have just revealed his plans to Starfleet—"

"Admiral Marcus would have killed tens of thousands if he'd gotten his war."

"And he wouldn't have had a choice! The Klingons presented a real threat as long as Marcus had gigantic warships patrolling Federation space. In the meantime, you had plenty of choices to make and you made all the wrong ones!"

Khan allowed his fingers to curl into fists. How dare she question him on actions that had been justified merely by Marcus' threats! He advanced towards her and she shrank back until she bumped into the wall, her lips pressing into a thin line, her eyes widening. He stopped short of being able to reach out and touch her, grinding his teeth at the violent thoughts flitting through his head. He would never lay a hand on her. His crew was gone now and all his work to save them fallen through the cracks of Starfleet's twisted sense of morality, leaving him with nothing except the one woman he'd once thought could have made an attractive and useful prize. His anger was assuaged by his guilt once more and he forcibly collected himself. She was so much more than that now, he realized, as her eyes flitted from his relaxing fists and back to his face.

"At the time, I saw no other course of action I could take," he said quietly. "If my crew was going to survive, then ultimately Starfleet would have to pay. It was the only way to reveal Admiral Marcus' true nature."

Confusion and hesitation traveled over her features, and he saw that he had gotten to her. After a moment, her expression shifted like she was catching herself, and suddenly Khan realized he was unsure whether or not he could read her anymore.

"But your crew is gone now," she said carefully.

She was testing him by pointing out the obvious, probably doubting her own safety. And as long as she thought she was in danger because she was with him, she would never trust him. He could not test that delicate balance that was keeping her from running right then.

"Yes, they are," he answered, barely above a whisper. "But you aren't."

He could tell now that she was thinking hard about this. It didn't take her long to speak up again, still watching the distance between them.

"What are you going to do now?" She sounded so cold, practiced and remote.

"I was going to ask you the same," he said.

"You're giving me a choice?" Her eyebrows lifted a fraction. "Do I need to remind you what you did to me? What you did on the Vengeance? There was half a moment on that bridge that I was sure you were going to win and it felt wrong if I didn't point a phaser at you. I thought you were going to hold me on that ship with your people and do what you do best: rule like a tyrant." Her voice was shaking. "And now you're giving me a choice? It was a long time coming, Khan."

That was it, he realized. That was what she feared. She feared what he would do with his misplaced power, power that had lasted him mere minutes. And now she found herself in the same situation, alone, trapped somewhere unfamiliar, with him.

His lips parted and he let out a breath, all the tension he'd built up from restraining his anger suddenly lifted away. He took a small step backwards, to offer her space, to acknowledge that she had won for the moment.

"Everything you just said is true," he said. "But things are different now."

"Yeah, things are different," she said. "Look at me. Look at what you've done to me. Everything I am, everything I thought I was and wanted to be, it's all gone."

"You'd be remiss not to acknowledge that I find myself in the same situation, Madelyn."

"No!" she screamed. "This is not the same situation! You fooled me into thinking you were somebody you weren't, just to get me pregnant! Who the fuck do you think you are?"

She had tears in her hard eyes, and briefly shut them. Of course she knew the answer to that question.

"Madelyn," he said quietly, taking a step towards her again.

She held up one hand between them, the other going to her forehead as she turned away. "Don't. Just…" She sniffed and took a long breath. "Don't."

"I did this to you," he said softly. "And I never should have."

She turned back to look at him for just a moment, something different shining in her eyes. She was still hiding herself from him, still unwilling to consider that he wanted this dynamic between them to change.

"If there is anything I can do, just tell me," he continued.

She swallowed and stepped away from her position against the wall, never breaking her hard gaze. "You can tell me where we are so I know how to get home," she said quietly.

"You want to leave me?" he asked, putting a tone of displeasure in his voice. He restrained his amusement at the look she gave him.

"If you don't let me go—"

"What gives you the impression I'm holding you here? You're free to leave if you wish." Khan couldn't believe what he was saying, but he had no intention of holding her here like she was his prisoner. He valued her too much to want her to submit to him.

"Good." Madelyn crossed her arms. "So show me the way out of here."

Khan didn't move. "What will you do once you're rid of me?" Despite his promise that she was free to go as she please, he knew he couldn't let her go so easily.

Her mouth opened and then shut as her eyes flitted nervously around the room. She ran her fingers across her lips as she looked deep in furious thought. "I'll move to a colony and start over," she said finally. "Thanks to you, my chances of doing anything relevant on Earth are zero."

"What if Owen finds you?"

She stared up at him, her angry eyes pricked with tears. "He won't."

"You don't know that. You don't even know where he is now." Khan advanced on her carefully. "He was responsible for your miscarriage, wasn't he?"

His question hung in the air like a dead weight. He watched as a mixture of guilt and anger continued to emboss her features, slowly mingling with pain. She didn't answer him, and he wondered if her silence was an answer in the affirmative. He wondered if she even realized that Owen's name was one of the first things to come out of her mouth when she woke up.

"If he was, you'd go after him wouldn't you?" she said quietly after a moment.

"Yes." It was an obvious assumption on her part, but he would only go if he knew absolutely that Owen had been responsible. She just needed time to admit it. But Khan wondered how Owen had been able to overpower Madelyn when he knew her augmented strength outweighed that bastard's. There was always the element of surprise—

"Is that all you care about? Getting revenge on people you think have wronged you? You don't deserve to be called the father of my dead child."

Khan focused his gaze intently on her as the realization of what she'd said covered her features. She ducked her gaze away from him.

She absolutely hates me.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I shouldn't have said that." She shut her eyes again, betraying the tears threatening to escape them. Her fingers kneaded her forehead and she took a breath before looking at him again. "Um," she sniffed. "I need to eat something. I think I might pass out if I don't."

"There are plenty of rations stored away on this base," he said.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Two-hundred year old rations?"

"Military rations can last ages."

I will not let her hate me.

She nodded slowly, but didn't move to follow him until he was well out the door. He could feel the wall of separation she'd built between them grow wider and higher with every step he took, while her lighter steps echoed down the corridor somewhere behind him. That was when he decided he would do everything within reason to tear that wall down.

"Goddammit, Gallagher! I was counting on you to bring her! Now we've got to come up with something else!"

The tinny female voice on the other side of Owen's communicator made him wince. He slowly pulled off the bandage he'd slapped onto his shoulder where Madelyn had managed to stab him, noting that his skin had almost completely closed up, leaving a scar-like mark. It had taken slightly longer than the last time, when they'd tested the drug's effects, which meant he was almost due for another dose. Luckily he'd managed to snag Madsen's container from the lab before escaping to the shuttle Khan had abandoned in the woods outside the bunker. It had been some quick thinking on Madsen's part to set up security cameras around the perimeter of the bunker's multiple entrances, just in case. His hunch had been correct, and unfortunately for Owen, he was now dealing with the aftermath.

The Augment on the other end of his communicator continued to curse, although it was mostly with herself as she wondered out loud whether her superior's original plan to start with Owen and subsequently bring Madelyn into the fold as a strategic move had even been wise from the start. Owen had a sneaking suspicion Madelyn was involved because of Khan, but whatever these people wanted with Khan had yet to be revealed to him.

"You'll have to come up with something else quick," Cecelia was saying. "Joaquin is getting restless. And he's going to be pissed when he finds out Madsen is gone."

"Does he really expect me to go up against Khan?" Owen pressed.

Cecelia made a noise that might have been a snort. "Those injections not doing enough for you? I told him it wasn't a good idea from the start, but he calls the shots. I'm just the grunt. I'm sure you'll figure something out."

He called himself Joaquin, and Owen had yet to see his face or meet him in person at all. He wasn't even sure Dr. Madsen had met the man. But he seemed to know what he was doing and had offered both of them a very large sum of money to take part in this scheme. Now that Madsen wasn't going to be receiving his cut, Owen half-wondered if his would be larger, but knew better than to bring it up. Joaquin could just as easily send others to find him and take away his treatments, leaving him to detox into a lesser man once more.

He knew the effect the drugs were having on him, not that he minded. He felt it coursing through him like electricity, and he felt invincible. If Madelyn had only respected his new persona, he never would've had to deal with her the way he had. Even pregnant, she'd been too small and quick for him and he knew he needed to sharpen his enhanced reflexes. The treatments had a tendency to cloud his mind with too many things at once and he was still adjusting to the added sensory definition. Along with a heightened emotional state, he felt two hundred percent the man he'd once been, and he couldn't imagine living without these treatments now. So he needed to stay in Joaquin's good graces, prove himself by formulating a new plan to capture Madelyn, potentially luring Khan along the way while avoiding him completely, and show Joaquin that his ideas for a new breed of soldier were valid.

All Owen needed now was a little time.

That's it for now! I hope to hear from you and I'll try to have the next chapter up much more quickly!