-Chapter Nineteen-

In the light of day, the sunlight filtering through the chinks in the walls and ceiling, their "accomodations" didn't improve any. Breakfast was delivered shortly after dawn, and Anthea woke Nolan. There was enough food for two, had been since she'd informed them she was pregnant, but motherly instinct had her waiting for her son to have his fill-even if he wasn't happy about the selection-before eating her own portion.

She leaned against the wall, grateful that at least it wasn't splintery. Her skin full of slivers-or worse, Nolan's-wasn't something she could deal with right now.

Anthea found herself pressing the fingers of her right hand against the tender, softer flesh of her inner arm, and her breathing quickened. She thought she'd managed to break herself of that habit, after this long. It must have been being trapped in the dark like this that brought it back.

The summer between her third and fourth years at the Starfleet Academy, she'd been approached about joining Starfleet Intelligence, specifically Section 31. It was top-secret, and they watched candidates for at least two years before making an approach. They wanted to be absolutely certain they chose the right cadet or officer, because if they declined, that person had a tendency to disappear, or have a tragic accident.

Of course, at the time, Anthea had known none of this. She'd been approached, and she'd been very flattered. They had a position in mind for her, one they thought she'd be perfect for. Their London facility needed a handler, and they thought she was just the person for the job.

She'd stupidly said yes.

They'd put her through two intense weeks of training and indoctrination.

And after the two weeks, they'd given her to him.

Anthea had never found out who he was; she'd been blindfolded and tied to a chair for three days, with minimal water to keep her alive, no sleep and no chance to relieve herself. And during those three days, he had tested her. If she gave the wrong answer, he cut her. If she gave the right answer, he cut her.

Somehow, she'd survived. For the first few weeks of her final school year, she'd sported livid, ugly scars on her forearms, some extending up past her elbow. She'd been grateful for the hideous cadet uniforms, because they'd hidden the deep, dark red weals.

Eventually, she'd had the surface of her skin treated, so there was no little to no outward sign of them, save for a small bump in the crease of her left elbow. That spot had been so knotted with scar tissue that nothing save the most intrusive treatments could make it go away. But under the skin, long, hard lines of scar tissue ran the length of both forearms.

She knew Khan had noticed them, had felt his fingertips brushing over them when he thought she was asleep. But he'd never asked, and she'd never offered. They were as honest with each other as they could be, but that was one subject she just couldn't broach, and he knew the darker parts of the world well enough to let her have that.

Anthea forced herself to let go of her arm and let out a slow breath. She had, over the years, managed to forget most of what they had done to her. Still, she hoped the man who had hurt her had died when Khan arrange for the London facility's bombing. Not as satisfying as doing it herself, but it would be satisfactory nonetheless.

Actually, she hoped he killed everyone who got between them.

Especially these Klingons. She'd always been interested in other species and cultures, and liked diversity. But to Anthea, the Klingons needed to die horribly. And they were going to.

She flattened her hand over the small swell of her stomach. They wanted Khan for something, had taken her and Nolan to draw him out, likely to draw him here.

She snorted. Stupidest thing they could have ever done.

Contrary to expectation, Khan hadn't rended Kalim limb from limb. He'd been tempted, so tempted, but had managed to refrain from it. They might need more information out of the Klingon.

Rodriguez, however . . . His anger at the betrayal made him seek out the punching bag in the gym at last, and while his punches were controlled, they were swift and hard, fists thumping into the leather and sand over and over.

Perhaps he had been too quick in his punishment of Rodriguez. Khan certainly would have loved to have him here, in place of this bag, something to beat his fists against that he didn't have to worry about breaking. Something he could have enjoyed breaking, over and over.

What was done, however, was done.

"Excuse me."

Khan caught the bag, bare hands braced on its sides to stop it swinging. Unlike the normal humans, he had no need for protective gloves. He turned to face his visitor.

To his surprise, it was the ship's pilot.

"Ah. Hikaru Sulu," he said. "Finally we meet. I must say, I quite enjoyed your threat on Qo'noS. Just the right balance between authoritative and deadly."

The human didn't look impressed with his snark. "I don't like you," Sulu said flatly. "You do horrible things to people, and you nearly killed everyone on this ship."

Khan arched a brow. "You came all the way down here to tell me that?"

"No."

The younger man pulled a long, thin object from behind his back, and offered it.

"I don't like you," he repeated. "But I've seen what Klingons can do, and if I can help you get your wife and son back from them, I will. She probably doesn't remember me, but I met her once when I was in the Academy. She helped me find my way to a class when I was first starting out. That's why I'm loaning you this."

Khan took the oblong thing in his hands. "What is it?"

"It's a katana."

Blue eyes met black. "A katana."

"Push that button right there. But don't point it at me."

Bemused, Khan did as instructed. To his surprise-and, admittedly, delight-a long, wickedly-sharp blade unfolded from the handle. He hefted the katana, testing its weight and balance.

"This is fascinating," he told Sulu. "And you carry this with you?"

Sulu shrugged. "Not usually. I keep it in my cabin. My hobby is fencing."

Khan had to laugh at that. "Fencing with a katana. How delightful."

"You scare me." Sulu shook his head. "You can use that, but I want it back when you're done."

Inclining his head in thanks, Khan said, "Of course. Thank you for the use of it."

Sulu shook his head again and quickly left.

"Your brain is keeping me awake."

Kirk rolled to his left side, finding Carol watching him with concern. "Sorry."

She reached over and ran her fingers through his short, blonde hair. "Don't be. What is it that's got you so restless, Jim?"

He sighed and snaked an arm around her waist, her bare skin warm against the cool air of his cabin. "Just . . . thinking. Anthea said some things, after Khan tried to concave my face, and they've been rolling around in my head ever since. And . . . I can't imagine what he's going through, Carol. I hate the guy, but . . . His wife and kid are missing, and I can't promise we'll find them alive."

The beautiful blonde he held pressed close, sliding her fingers delicately over his chest. "You can't let it eat at you. It wasn't your fault that the Klingons took her, it was his."

"Yeah, 'cause I asked him to help me."

"No. It's because he made himself their target when he went to Qo'noS," she said. "This is the consequence of that."

Jim shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, yeah, I can see that, but . . . When he took out the patrol? That was to save me, Spock, and Uhura. He helped us. I kept seeing him as just this murderer, but he keeps . . . doing things that make me see him differently.

She pulled out of his arms and sat up. "Are you telling me that you . . . sympathise with him?!"

"Not . . . exactly."

Carol threw back the covers and jumped out of bed, hunting for the clothes she'd discarded earlier. "I don't believe this. That man murdered my father, Jim!"

Kirk, too, left the bed. "Carol, I'm not about to become best friends with the guy."

She shook her head, blonde bob flying. "It's her, isn't it? Anthea Mackintosh. I knew her once, you know. At the London facility. I had to work with her a few times. She was a cold bitch."

Kirk frowned, dark blonde brows drawing together. "When was this?"

"Oh, two years ago or so? When I was trying to find answers about the torpedoes."

He snorted. "Carol, of course she was distant and . . ." He was reluctant to call Anthea any names, for any number of reasons. "You do realise that she was working on a project she wasn't allowed to tell you anything about, and that she was trying to hide her marriage to Harrison from your father?"

Carol huffed out a frustrated breath and tossed the blue uniform dress she'd just retrieved back on the floor. "I still can't believe you slept with her!"

He caught her around the waist, pulling her to him. She resisted, a little, then melted into him, resting her head against his shoulder. "Carol. You know the kind of guy I was before you. You teased me about it a lot."

"Don't remind me," she grumbled. "I want to be angry and selfish, Jim. But I can't, can I?"

"No, I don't think you can right now. Sorry."

Carol wrapped her arms around his waist. "She tried to be nice to me, actually. She was nice, until, oh, October or so of that year? I suppose I was annoying, and pulling her away from her work."

It was so strange to reconcile the knowledge that Anthea was married to Khan, with the proper Starfleet Intelligence agent who had pretty much been running the London facility at that point. Not in an official capacity, of course, but everyone had known that if they wanted or needed something, Agent Mackintosh was the one to get it for you. Her involvement with John Harrison at the time explained an awful lot about the sudden shift in her behaviour.

"After . . . everything," she told Jim quietly, "I went to the base where they transferred the survivors of the London facility. Anthea was there. She was working as the assistant to Admiral Brody. She was, oh, about five months pregnant at the time, and I remember, she looked so miserable. I didn't even think to ask her why."

He pressed a kiss to the top of Carol's head, but didn't speak.

"I feel so bad now." Carol tipped her head back and looked up at him. "She's pregnant again, isn't she? That is what you and Khan were discussing?"

Jim nodded. "She is, yeah."

"Part of me . . . wants to hate that she's got her little family, at the expense of mine. But . . . Jim, did my need to know about the torpedoes- Did I cause it? Did I make Dad . . .?"

"No!" he said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. "No, of course not. Admiral Marcus was gonna find out what Khan was doing anyway."

But in the back of his mind, Kirk knew that if Marcus hadn't discovered Khan's plot when he did, Khan wouldn't have fled, wouldn't have attacked Starfleet. Marcus would be alive, and Anthea wouldn't have spent two years without her husband.

And the admiral would have begun a war that could potentially have killed them all.

Things as they transpired had been horrible. But how much worse would it have been otherwise?

The thought sent a shiver down Jim Kirk's back, and he hugged Carol closer.