Hey guys! Thanks to everyone who left feedback last time, or merely dropped in to say hi. I love hearing from you all, as you know, because I say this every time, but it really keeps me excited about this story because I know there are others who are excited about it too!

And I think I did a little better with the wait this time (just a day over 2 weeks isn't bad, right? [SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY!])

Anyway, enjoy this next installment. I believe we left off with our favorite pair drowning in the ocean.

Chapter 30 – Limbo

Wasn't that what white light meant? Heaven or something?

She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the shock. Her head throbbed. A spotlight had swung out of the night, landing on their position in the water as voices yelled from its direction. Her hand slipped from Khan's arm and she swallowed a mouthful of freezing seawater as she frantically reached for him again. She needed him to be alive.

Just alive.

She fought to keep moving, to keep her blood flowing as her body temperature plummeted. A circular object attached to a cable shot out into the light, landing a few feet away on the water's surface, but a wave rolled through and pulled it out of reach. Her breath caught on another deluge of water that flooded her mouth. She pushed through the water, stretching out her fingers until they just brushed the life preserver. When she had it in her grasp, she pulled Khan's arm onto it. His fingers closed around the object. He groaned as he pulled his own body far enough out of the water for her to be able to let him go and she stopped treading water, letting herself sink for a moment of respite, her limbs screaming and half-numb.

She pushed herself up through the water to snag the life preserver before it was reeled backwards and out of her reach. By the time they were being pulled out of the water, she realized how tightly her arm was wrapped around Khan's back. Thunder clapped in the distance.

They were heaved over the side of the boat, grasped at by several pairs of arms. She found herself on her hands and knees, choking and gasping for air, shivering as the icy wind pierced through her soaked clothing. She reached over for Khan before he was lifted up by two men and carried away across the deck, leaving a dripping trail of red behind them.

Someone put arms around her waist and pulled her up. She couldn't feel her feet. She stumbled and collided with the body next to her, pulling her soaked jacket around herself as it started to rain. Nothing she did made her feel warm. She was shaking uncontrollably.

"You need to get out of these clothes before you get hypothermia," the man said in a calm, gentle voice. She looked up to see a dark and wrinkled face. When she tried to take another step, she fell against him again. She ground her teeth to keep them from chattering. He started guiding her across the deck, towards a set of stairs that led up to a door, maybe the wheelhouse.

"Wh-where is he?" she tried to ask.

"Your friend? Ship doctor's got him covered—"

"I want t-to see him."

He helped her up the steps and opened the door in front of them. "Not like this you don't."

"N-no, you don't underrs-ttand—."

"Tracy, I need you!"

She vaguely remembered being handed off to someone else, a strong woman with weathered hands that supported her as she made her way into the privacy of a tiny room. More like a cupboard. Tracy helped her strip off her wet clothing, then disappeared while Madelyn stepped into a steady stream of disappointingly lukewarm water. Her hands shuddered as she ran them over her face, but at least she could take longer and deeper breaths. She coughed up most of the seawater in her stomach, her chest aching like never before, but it was nothing compared to the pain that wasn't physical, that she was trying very, very hard to forget.

Tracy came back a few minutes later with an armful of clothing and a towel.

"I want to see him when I'm done," Madelyn said, turning up the water temperature after a moment. She could feel warmth seeping into her muscles. He has to be ok.

"Let's get you warmed up and clothed first, alright?" Her voice was kind and gravely like a smoker's. "What's your name?"

It took her a moment to decide what to say, until she finally settled on one that made her cringe internally. "Marla Harrison."

No one knew her middle name because she'd done her best to make sure of it. Harrison was just a shadow of a regret now. An afterthought.

"And your friend's?"

She didn't hesitate. "John."

"Just John?"

Madelyn nodded wordlessly, hoping Tracy would buy it. She wasn't going to tell her anything more than that. She didn't know these people. She couldn't trust them with her secrets. Tracy didn't ask any more questions.

Having regained full feeling in her hands and feet, she carefully stepped out of the shower and took the towel Tracy handed to her. She wrapped it tightly around herself, letting it soak up every drop of water as she sank onto a hard bench on one side of the room. She shivered every now and then, listening as the ship creaked around her. The ocean's gentle rocking felt so tame onboard this ship compared to having been tossed around inside its waves like a piece of driftwood. Finally, she had the guts to unwrap herself and squeeze out her hair. Her skin turned to gooseflesh, but at least she was dry.

The clothing Tracy offered her was well-worn, but comfortable: a baggy pair of grey cargo pants that needed a belt to stay up around her hips, and a slightly scratchy black sweater that hugged her and insulated her well enough. There was a pair of synthetic wool socks and scratched rubber boots on the floor that she quickly pulled on over her pants, then she immediately headed for the door.

"Take the stairs on your right down to the next level, then go left and he's in the room at the end of the hall."

Madelyn barely muttered a thank you as she headed out, hurrying down the narrow stairwell, then making a swift left. She heard the commotion in the room at the end of the corridor before she saw it. The door was wide open and she faltered at the sight that greeted her as she got close. Khan's shirt had been removed and three men were holding him down on a table while a fourth was hunched over, pushing rib bones back into place. If he hadn't been so severely injured, so weak from bloodloss, he probably would have already overpowered everyone in the room.

"Hey! You Marla?" one of the men called. "Come here and help us! He's a fuckin' beast!"

She quickly made her way around the room, watching him as he stared up at the ceiling through wet hair, tendons straining and blood vessels swelling. The men holding him down were exerting themselves even more.

"Did you give him painkillers? Anything?" she asked, zeroing in on the doctor, whose bloody fingers were making quick work of Khan's shredded side as he shoved another rib back into place. Khan growled.

"I gave him a whole day's worth of morphine. It worked for about five minutes. Somebody hand me that IV. He's lost so much blood, I can't believe he's still putting up a fight."

Madelyn grabbed it and tossed it his way, glancing down at Khan. He was staring up at her, his jaw rippling as he ground his teeth. Without thinking, she put a hand on his shoulder, pressing her fingertips into his skin.

God, he was so cold.

The gesture made him blink and he swallowed, his breaths coming in short, pained bursts. With an IV in place, the doctor took advantage of the moment of calm and set the last rib, snapping it back inside Khan's body with a sickening crunch. Khan lurched away, knocking one of the men holding him aside. Madelyn could barely hold onto him from behind, so she got in his face instead, forcing him back down on the table with her hands on his collarbones. He grunted as his head collided with the metal surface, but it was enough for the doctor to finish his work. Madelyn kept her hands on his bare skin while the doctor slid an autosuture across his wound, sealing it closed, then quickly pulled a bandage around his torso.

"That'll hold for now." The doctor wiped his bloody hands on his shirt as the other men took a step back from Khan's body, grumbling to themselves. "I'll need to check on him again later. You his girlfriend?"

The question caught her off-guard. A quick check of her own personal feelings told her she hated him.

Something else deep down laughed.

"No, I'm not. We're not—"

"Well, no matter. He was a lot worse before you came in here."

Madelyn looked back down at him. His eyes were shut and he was breathing hard through his nose. The fracture in his jaw was barely noticeable already. Had they taken a blood sample? Did they know what he really was? She swallowed.

"I set his leg but he won't be able to walk on it for at least a few weeks. Ribs will heal as long as he doesn't move. Jaw was comparatively fine. Just a hairline fracture. Practically seemed to heal itself while I worked." The doctor paused in the doorway. "Never seen anything like it, or maybe I shouldn't have been drinking on the job."

Madelyn glanced up at him, giving him a furrowed brow.

"Either way, maybe you should stick with him for now. He seemed to calm down when he saw you. Care to tell me what happened?"

She rolled her lower lip between her teeth. It wasn't worth concocting some elaborate story when it was clear what had happened. "He got in a fight."

Now it was the doctor's brow that furrowed, then he shrugged. "I guess it's none of my business. Listen, the captain will want to see you, but he's otherwise occupied at the moment, so I'll just leave you two alone for now. We've got plenty of work to get back to, don't we boys?"

She watched them shuffle out of the room, talking amongst themselves until the door slammed shut, then she was left alone with Khan.

She realized she still had a hand on his shoulder and pulled it away, lingering only to look over his wounds and reassure herself that he was going to be okay. She found the idea almost laughable. Of course he was going to be okay. He was Khan. He'd survived the Eugenics Wars. He'd survived Admiral Marcus. He'd survived San Francisco.

He could survive this.

His eyes were still closed and his chest rose and fell slowly but steadily. She knew his tolerance for pain, and given his reactions, she couldn't imagine how much pain it had caused him to have his ribs forced back into his chest by hand. She cringed at the recollection. And then there was his leg. His boots were on the floor and his pants leg rolled up to reveal the temporary brace surrounding his broken calf. The bone had been forced back into place as well, and there was drying blood on his skin.

She looked back at his calm expression, partially obscured by wet hair. Any hint of the events that had just occurred weren't visible there, except for a few spots of dark dried blood on his neck. It'd be better to leave him here like this, she decided. They could talk later.

A wave of fatigue washed over her. She hadn't eaten in over a day. Every time she inhaled the side of her ribcage hurt, but when she turned her head a certain way, her neck ached. Probably from the moment Joaquin had grabbed it. The combination of blows from Owen and Joaquin would have killed her had she not been a "fractional Augment," as the latter had put it. She swallowed through the panic that threatened to overwhelm her at the thought. Both of them were dead now and could never touch her again.

She started to back away and head for the door, but he reached out and snatched her upper arm tightly, yanking her down until she was half on top of him.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. Her heart was pounding.

He stared up at her through his hair and for a moment she wondered if everything had been an act and his injuries hadn't bothered him a bit. She wouldn't have been surprised—

"Help me sit up," he murmured, hot breath sinking into her skin.

"I can't do that when you're about to pull my arm off!"

He let her go too quickly for her to believe, but she backed off immediately, staring at him. His gaze followed her. She thought about leaving him there, but he started to sit up by himself and groaned in pain.

"Okay, okay, wow. Slow down!"

She slid an arm around his back and did her best to pull him up, biting her lip to try and ignore the memories the sight of his broad bare chest conjured up. They felt so old compared to the thoughts of what had happened just hours earlier.

Khan pulled himself up quickly despite her, fingers clutching the edge of the table as he breathed through the inevitable discomfort he'd just caused himself. Madelyn knew nothing she could say would convince him to lie back down.

She wasn't sure he'd listen to anything she had to say anymore.

She lingered a moment, hoping he wouldn't engage her, hoping he was finally done with her. He'd killed the man who'd tried to take his agency, and then she'd saved his life. What more could he want?

He raised his gaze to her face, an easy smirk lifting the corner of his lips. "Marla?"

The gentle delight in his voice made her freeze. Was he trying to goad her back to him on a whim, or did she seriously, genuinely amuse him? She crossed her arms in an unforthcoming display. "I couldn't use my real name and risk being recognized."

His gaze narrowed. "Yes, but why Marla?"

She ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek, considering coming up with some long, drawn-out explanation. He'd see right through her as always. "It's my middle name," she admitted.

"Why was I unaware of this little detail?"

She raised an eyebrow at his earnestness. "I hate it. I've tried to erase it from most public records."

His smirk deepened. She hated that even more.

"Madelyn Marla McGivers. Fascinating—"

"The doc said you need to stay off your feet for at least a week so your leg can heal," she said, cutting him off. "And be careful about your ribs—"

"My bones will heal in two days," he replied, then his eyes narrowed faintly. "It was your mother's middle name, wasn't it? Your father gave it to you to carry on her memory."

She disliked him so much right now. "We're both going by names we hate. It's only fair. I told them your name was John."

Khan's smirk vaporized, remnants of bloodlust and hatred flitting over his features. Then he tilted his chin down slightly. "John Harrison?"

She realized her mistake and pursed her lips. "No, just John."

His smirk returned carefully. "John McGivers seems suitable." He reached up and combed his hair out of his face, looking at her more fully. "Shall you masquerade as my wife for the time we're here? To complete this ruse?"

"Absolutely not!" she exclaimed, staring at him. She should have known he'd turn this around. He looked faintly disappointed. Sickeningly so.

She turned on her heel and stormed towards the door, pausing only to glance over her shoulder at him. "It's Marla Harrison from now on. Until we get off this boat." Then she slammed the door behind her, not bothering to wait for his response, and walked further down the corridor, finding it easier to breathe with each step. Tracy met her at the foot of the stairwell.

"The captain wants to see you if you have a minute."

Madelyn nodded, grateful for an opportunity to find out more about their situation. She followed the woman up a second stairwell and outside onto a narrow span of open walkway that crossed the upper length of the deck. She pulled her arms over her chest as the cold air permeated her sweater and she wished Tracy had offered her a jacket. The sky was growing pale in the distance, casting faint light onto the roiling ocean below that stretched to the horizon in every direction she could see. A white swell crashed over the stern in front of them, spraying an icy mist into their faces and rattling high stacks of metal crab traps. Madelyn snagged the railing beside her as the ship plunged through the wave, almost knocking her off her feet. Tracy glanced back at her, barely withholding a smile.

"Welcome to the Bering Sea, Ms. Harrison."

The ship's captain was up in the wheelhouse, the highest point in the ship. To Madelyn' relief, it was insulated and warm. Tracy crossed the room quickly, nodding to the captain and looking in Madelyn's direction. He turned in his seat. It was the man who'd first helped her when she was hauled onboard with Khan.

"I realize I failed to introduce myself earlier, but when we get into emergency situations like yours there are certain protocols we have to follow. I'm the captain of this vessel, but you can call me Sal."

He was African-American with a friendly gleam in his eye and a faintly crooked grin. He offered his hand for her to shake and she accepted it warmly. Here were some normal people who didn't know her past, who were just offering her help. She realized how much she missed this.

"Thank you so much, Captain," she replied, smiling back in return. God, it felt good to interact with a normal, hospitable human being. "I have to ask, though. How did you find us so quickly?"

She took the stool he motioned to as he returned to his own chair. "We saw your shuttle coming down on radar. At first it appeared like every other ship on our radar does, until your altitude kept dropping. I knew we couldn't just ignore it. I have to say I've always wanted to join the Coast Guard."

Madelyn smiled despite herself. Had the Coast Guard found them, that would have been a disaster. Khan's face was certain to be all over Federation and military channels right now and they would have both been immediately detained. She was grateful to be on a ship where no one recognized them as potential threats. It was bad enough being on the same ship as Khan.

"You're lucky you hit the water in April and not January. Hell, March temps would've killed you before we could get to you. I almost can't believe you made it out at all, except here you are. Between the time you hit the water and the time we pulled you out, you were in the water almost half an hour. Most people don't last more than ten minutes out there, especially at night."

"Well, we were lucky to have you pull us out at all," Madelyn suggested. She knew the real reason they'd both survived, despite their injuries, but she'd never dare bring it up.

Sal nodded. He didn't seem to catch on to the fact that their situation was extraordinary, and she wouldn't push the subject.

"Listen, if there's anything I can do for you, you just let me know," he said. Her stomach grumbled as if in response and she bit her lip in embarrassment. She hadn't eaten in almost two days. Sal laughed. "Tracy can help you out with that."

"I do have a couple questions though, if you don't mind," she said.

"Sure."

"How easy would it be for you to get my friend and I back to shore?"

"Well it just so happens that crab season's over, and we're headed back to port at the end of the week."

"Oh! That's perfect…" One week. One week for her to decide how to do this. To decide everything. "Captain, would it be possible for me to make a call?"

"Absolutely. I've been waiting for you to ask." He reached over his control console and pulled out a communicator. She took it gratefully, mulling over who she could specifically contact, and what she would say.

She only knew one certainty: that she couldn't stay with Khan, not for a while.

That left her with one viable, realistic option.

Khan was right. His bones healed in just two days.

Madelyn woke up in her makeshift bunk in a storage room and looked out the window to see him walking along the perimeter of the bow, his hands in the pockets of a borrowed trench coat. He moved with a slight limp, but the ocean's swells had died down and the sky had cleared, leaving the ship far easier to traverse than it had been before.

It was a little shocking to see him in such good condition after the way he had been just two days ago. She knew she shouldn't be surprised.

She hadn't spoken to him since their first night onboard, and it had been easy to avoid him merely because he'd been stuck in that room. One of the crewmen had brought him meals, and apparently he'd inhaled every single one, requesting more when it was available. She regretted only that she hadn't been there to see that happen. She'd never seen him put down more than a glass of wine.

Now that he was mobile again a confrontation was inevitable, but she wanted to talk to him for her own reasons. She'd let him do the pursuing for now. She couldn't afford to give him any ideas, but for now she was trapped on this boat with him and didn't have much of a choice.

Trapped.

She always seemed to find herself in the same situation with him, but maybe it was up to her to decide whether the connotations were negative or not. Right now, she was drifting through an emotional no-man's land, unable to decide how to react, or if she should react at all.

She pulled her gaze from the window and yawned, stretching her arms out and cracking her back. Her chest hurt noticeably less than it had even yesterday, and when she cocked her head back and forth to stretch her neck, the discomfort there had lessened as well. What was it the doc had said yesterday?

I've never seen a thing like this. How do I explain it? You're probably not human but I don't have the tools to test for that here. Damn this ship.

Yeah.

Granted, his ranting had mostly been directed at Khan, but it made her feel a little smug nonetheless. Maybe it was the only good thing about walking around in a body made of a small quantity of Augment genes. She'd gone most of her life unaware of it, and was just now realizing at twenty-eight how potentially wonderful it could be. It had certainly been lifesaving.

She slid out of bed and quickly dressed, wrapping a soft gray scarf around her neck before heading up to the galley for coffee. It was still early, according to the clock above one of the food synthesizers. Most of the men and women who worked onboard had already finished breakfast and begun their usual work on deck or below in the engine room. A few still lounged in the mess room and she gave them a polite smile as she passed. They were a rough bunch, wizened and grizzled from living on the sea for months at a time. One of them said "mornin'," and raised his cup of coffee. No one said anything else to her, and soon she had the galley to herself.

She sidled over to one of the synthesizers and pushed an empty mug up underneath it, punching in instructions, and then breathing in the hot, earthy brew when it began to fill her mug in a slender stream. The last time she'd had a decent cup of coffee had been in San Francisco, and one sip was all it took for her to decide to drink it black.

She'd barely had a second sip when Khan's voice traveled across the room.

"Good morning, Marla."

She turned around, her hot mug wrapped between her hands. She'd hardly noticed his choice of clothing from far away, but in order to ignore his usage of her middle name—and the faint smile on his lips—she got a really good look at what he was wearing instead.

Why was it that no matter what he wore, he always looked so damn… good?

His hands were buried in the pockets of a navy blue trenchcoat that came to his knees, and peeking out from between its wide collars was a dark grey sweater that wrapped snuggly around his neck and torso. Heavy-duty black trousers were tucked into the worn out boots he'd worn since Io, and his hair was out of his face and the way he preferred it: slicked back and so damn perfect that it made her indignant just looking at him, so she buried her face in her coffee mug. Once she'd smothered every possible curse word she could think of and sent them bouncing back into the recesses of her mind, she met his gaze coolly. "I think we need to talk."

"Yes, we do," he replied, his brow wrinkling as he inclined his gaze towards her gently.

She couldn't stand it for more than a few seconds and focused on the charcoal fabric of his sweater, running her fingertips between the contrasting hot and cold sections of her coffee mug.

"Shall we sit?" he offered, breaking the heavy silence and motioning to the empty tables between them.

She felt little desire to concede, but it jumbled with the mixture of painful emotions she felt stirring beneath the surface. "No, I'm good right here."

His gaze lingered on her as he pulled out a chair for himself and settled into it, resting his arm on the tabletop. He was wearing fingerless gloves. Where the hell did he manage to find a pair of fingerless gloves? Why the hell had he bothered? Cold didn't affect him—

"Sit."

The order jarred her from her musings. She ground her teeth, the idea of persisting playing with her, but it seemed more and more of a childish thing to do rather than a promotion of communication. So she gave in. She went over and pulled a chair out across the table from him, sat down, and set her mug on the table with a solid clunk. She was still clenching her jaw. Her emotions were building and she needed to keep them at bay for as long as she was with him.

"Let's just get this over with," she murmured, staring into her coffee. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

"No."

It took a moment for the solitary syllable to sink into her consciousness, and when it did she raised her eyes. "What?"

"Don't apologize for protecting yourself. You did what you believed was necessary. You were right."

She stared at him. He never ceased to surprise her and this was no exception. "Khan, I lied about your crew."

"And you did so because you believed something about me that I've not been able to admit until now might cause you harm: that I will do anything for my family, no matter the cost. You could not have known that Joaquin would use this against me, against you. But I should have seen it coming."

She let that sink in, his words permeating her like darts, opening something inside her that lessened the emotional blows that he'd given her just a little. She raised her coffee to her lips before she responded. "When did you realize he was playing you?"

There was a moment where she tensed at his silence. His fingers subtly traced the metal tabletop, bridging the space between them. She leaned back in her seat.

"I didn't," he said finally. "I was foolish enough to believe he was still an ally. It wasn't until Kati told me everything that I realized my mistake, and by then he had already used Otto to blind you." His demeanor shifted as he looked down at his fingers tapping on the table. "Joaquin acted with blatant disregard for my authority, but I had no choice but to play along with his little game for as long as I could, in order to gauge how to stop him. It seems the rift he created was contagious. I couldn't merely dispose of him as I pleased. His wife, Suzette, is a powerful, dangerous woman. And Otto, as you well know, is a highly skilled manipulator. He was one of my best interrogators during the Eugenics Wars."

"What about Cecelia and Aidan?"

"I believe Cecelia will be more than happy to cooperate with me when we are reunited. Aidan, I am not so sure." He raised an eyebrow. "Given his… unique situation, I imagine he could be swayed, if he hasn't already decided."

She nodded, understanding, but not able to let go of the bitterness she felt inside. There was an elephant in the room covered in blood and she'd be damned if he didn't recognize it. "It's just… They killed Kelly, and I don't understand why you didn't do something…" Her voice dwindled to a whisper to keep from breaking.

His expression didn't change, solemn eyes fixed on her, chiseled lips pressed together, withholding words she could hear in her mind. Kelly wasn't important enough. She was in the way. She was just bait.

"You cared for her deeply," he said finally, his voice cutting into the silence.

Her indignation rose and she fought to keep a hold on it as she blinked through her tears. "Yeah," she whispered. "Yeah, I fucking did." She could feel her face growing hot and let go of her coffee mug to rub her eyes momentarily. Don't cry in front of him, she repeated over and over in her head. Her body betrayed her.

Her throat closed up and her face contorted. She covered it with her hands, her palms soaking with hot tears as she pictured Kelly's face and then remembered that she'd probably never see it again. Killed before she turned twenty-five. She pressed her fingertips into her forehead, trying to stay composed, trying to will herself not to fall apart.

She felt his hand on hers and pulled away.

"Madelyn."

She sniffed and looked at him through tear-blurred eyes.

"I know there's nothing I can do or say now that will make it right," he said quietly. "Nevertheless, you need to understand that I had no choice but to let things play out as they did. Had I acted sooner, I would've been overpowered. I couldn't risk it."

"Why?"

"For you," he said, his tone rising in faint surprise. As though she should have expected this answer.

She found herself shaking her head. "I'm starting to lose count of everything I've lost because of you."

"Do you blame me for Joaquin's actions?"

She couldn't bring herself to verbalize the thought that crossed her mind, that yes, she did. She blamed him. She blamed him for not stopping Joaquin when he'd first had the chance, for not recognizing the real treachery among his own people when he was so focused on her assumed betrayal. But that was too loaded to say out loud, so she unraveled her own frustrations in one simple accusation.

"You could've saved her but you didn't."

She saw him grind his teeth, but he hardly skipped a beat in his response. "I take full responsibility for her death. I'm truly sorry."

She was also starting to lose count of how many times he'd blatantly apologized to her, but she shoved that thought to the side. The words coming out of his mouth had stabbed something inside her. He would never say these things to anyone else. She'd seen the façade he put on in front of others when he couldn't let them see too far inside. She didn't see that now.

She saw that warm inner world, the one he had let her into once before. A world full of naked secrets and sentimental gestures and admissions of guilt. The one in which he'd shared with her the last of the wine from his vineyard in India. The one in which he'd admitted to the mistakes he'd made, the one in which his hope of reclaiming his crew was only overshadowed by his need to redeem their relationship, only to send them both crashing and burning and ultimately hurtling toward the earth, clutching onto one another in what they thought would be their final moments.

Despite all of this, she couldn't even bring herself to nod or accept his apology. Not this easily. Not this time. She'd already been there once. And there was still something else she needed to say.

"To be honest, Khan, after all of that, I thought you were going to kill me."

Now he was the one clenching his jaw, looking down at the table, extra lines creasing his forehead. What she'd said bothered him, but a weight had lifted off her shoulders so it somehow didn't matter as much. She could only wait for his response.

"You thought I was going to kill you?" he repeated, looking at up her from beneath his brow. God, there were tears in his eyes. She watched as one leaked down his cheek. He didn't bother to dash it away. "Madelyn, perhaps we haven't reached the understanding I'd hoped for," he said slowly, raising his voice until it filled the room. "I was forced to kill Joaquin Weiss, the man responsible for causing you as much pain as I have caused you, but also a man whom I trusted, a man I considered a friend and ally. After every promise I have made you, how could you ever accuse me of wanting to kill you?! What do you take me for?" His fingers had curled into a fist on the table.

She stared at him, faintly shaking her head, an alarm going off in her mind. "I don't know," she breathed, trying to get past the fear that had crept back inside her. "I don't know. I don't know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

Her words melted as his curled fingers unclenched and flattened and slid across the table until they could brush her hand. She didn't flinch away this time, not quite as quickly. Just long enough for her to realize that she craved touch.

She craved it from someone who didn't want to hurt her, but she couldn't know if he'd ever hurt her again. She couldn't afford to take that chance again.

"Forgive me," he murmured.

Maybe she believed him. Maybe she trusted him.

Being with him couldn't be a maybe.

Before his fingers could wrap around it, she pulled her hand away, sliding it under the table and into her lap. "I can't do this. Whatever this is." She almost added I'm sorry to the equation again, but thought better of it. She had nothing else to apologize for.

His face didn't harden like she expected it to. He didn't lean back or cross his arms or even look away. He just kept gazing at her with that same soft look that made her want to cry, or yell in his face. Either one seemed reasonable right now, but she didn't have the emotional energy to do more than she already had.

"You know I won't leave this alone," he said. "You know what it is I want."

"Your crew—"

"Yes, but you are right in front of me and so much closer."

There was so much she could say, so much that could pull him closer or push him away. She didn't want to do either. She had to strike a middle ground. "Look, I fucked up. We both fucked up. And I fell too fast the last time, and I can't make that mistake again. That's all I have to say to you right now. That's all you need to know." She inhaled when she finished. It felt good to get that out.

"For now," he replied.

She reached out and took her mug of coffee. The room was silent as she drank and when she was done she set the empty mug down on the table with a hollow clink. "One week," she muttered. Of course he'd heard that.

"One week?"

"Until we get off this boat."

"So you've already spoken with the captain. I presume you'll make your decision before then."

It almost surprised her to know that he'd spoken with Sal as well. Almost. She wondered how that conversation had gone. "A decision. I'll make a decision before then," she replied quickly.

"Fair enough."

She'd already made one decision and she wasn't going to back down on it now. It felt odd to be going behind his back again, but the end result would be for the best. If anything, it would afford her more opportunities, regardless of how she felt about him. And by the time he realized what was happening, she would already be out of his reach.

She could have no reservations about him.

"This reminds me of a conversation we had once before, quite recently in fact," he mused.

"Mm," she replied.

A subtle smile played at his lips. "Do you want me to leave?"

She didn't respond at first, almost unable to believe what he'd said. He waited.

"I don't know what I want," she said finally, playing with the hem of her shirt beneath the table. "I need to figure it out."

"I'll be here when you do," he said. Before she could stop him, he reached over and grabbed her arm, holding it for a moment and squeezing gently. The action made her freeze, but he was quickly gone from the table, walking out of the room with a faint limp.

She shrugged it off, despite the fact that he was right. He'd be there, everywhere, nearby, all the time, for a week. He'd already managed to find her within minutes that morning and the boat wasn't exactly a freighter.

But they would reach land within a week, and she'd have to talk to him again before then.

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