Chapter 12

Here we get a little more into Khan's perspective on matters. There is a bit of jumping around with the timelines, but it should be relatively easy to pick out what's happening.

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-XXX-

2259, spring

Only a few hours before he met Alya in the archive he met Thomas Harewood to give him the vial of modified blood serum as well as the explosive. The exchange had given him a great feeling – something like relief. It wouldn't get his family back, no, but at least he'd get his taste of vengeance.

This reminded him of the ship he's designed for Marcus, and of the admiral himself. Which had only improved his new mood.

He had taken Alya's advice in negotiating for his family's release several months ago. Unfortunately, this seemed to have reminded Marcus of his advantage.

-XXX-

2258, winter

"You've done good work," the admiral admits gruffly. "The new tracking system will increase accuracy by fifteen percent, and the calibration of the new phasers has increased range. I am impressed."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're doing good work," he says again.

Khan sits, completely stiff, before the admiral's desk. Beyond the high windows it is a clear, bright day. The office is almost painfully bright with the abundance of white, reflective surface, and glass. He feels as though he is being examined. Inspected. The hands he has placed on his knees tense ever-so-slightly. "Composure," he reminds himself. "This man is nothing."

Except the key to getting his family back.

"You'll see the fruits of your labors, Mr. Harrison," the admiral continues. "Things with the Klingons are really beginning to heat up. We may have a war before the next year is out. There have been some…complications.

Shifting, Khan inclines his head in thanks. "I am pleased that you are satisfied with my improvements, sir. While we are on the subject, I would like to discuss my crew."

Marcus sat back. "What about them, Mr. Harrison?"

"I should like to know when they are being released, " Khan says evenly. "When shall I see them?"

"Ah…that is a big question." The admiral's brow furrowed. "You see, Mr. Harrison, that is entirely dependent on you and your success."

"I have been compliant to all of your demands." In his lap, his hands tighten, curling to fists. "I can completed all tasks according to your deadlines."

"You make it sound as though this is such work for you, Mr. Harrison….yes, you have been efficient in all of your assignments. But I don't think we're quite done yet. There is still much to do if we're to be prepared for any potential conflicts with the Klingons. Do you understand?"

"Yessir."

"I think we can both agree you've been quite productive. However," Here the admiral's eyes darkened. "Should your productivity being…lacking. Should we find it wanting…I cannot guarantee their safety, Mr. Harrison." He shrugs, palms open in a "oh-what-can-you-do" manner. "Do we understand one another, Mr. Harrison?"

Khan's eyes narrowed, but he did not speak for a long moment. "Perfectly."

Later, in the lift, he examines his hand. There are small half-moons of red where his nails have cut into the palm.

-XXX-

When he'd retaliated for a second time – injuring a lab assistant with a clipboard this time when he was given a list of improvements to be made to the Vengeance's design. Marcus had not been pleased. And when Khan had further failed to implement the new designs before the turn of the new year, he was informed that one more strike would lead to half of his fellow Augments being terminated.

The improvements in the designs had been beyond his reach – at least, within the time he had been given. Despite begging for more time, mercy, anything. But Marcus wasn't taking it. He would get his way. Or else Khan and his family would pay.

That was when he began designing the torpedoes. It didn't take long. Between the double prototypes – false ones for the labs in Section 31, and the truer models built in his basement lab. A bit of bribery lead him to his friends – all locked snuggly away in a warehouse just outside of Moscow. Further persuasion – this time in the form of blackmail – brought them to him, in small shipments. In the dead of the night, Khan would complete the torpedoes, encasing each and everyone of his crewmates into their own personal unit. He would often linger, looking over their faces as he finished the last couple of details. It only a few months for him to finish them. In no time, he could walk down to the storage level of the lab and see his family – all seventy-two – lined out.

And then he was discovered. He wasn't sure how or by whom, but that didn't matter, truly, in the end. He was found out.

Maybe it was a lab assistant. Or perhaps one of the security officers. Either way, someone had spotted him slipped into the storage level at an odd time, and sent word up the line to investigate. Spring arrived, and he was being called into one of the managerial offices for an unscheduled comm conference with the admiral. The head of department who had called him in avoided eye contact pointedly. It was then that Khan knew something unfortunate had occurred.

Marcus was calm when he confronted Khan. At complete and utter peace with the situation.

"I'm disappointed, Mr. Harrison," he had sighed. "We were getting along so well. Why did you have to go and mess that up now?"

Khan didn't even dignify the jab with a response. He simply stared forward, focusing on the coolness of the cuffs pinching his wrists, the hum of the comm unit he sat before, the back of the chair supporting his spine.

"Well, we both know what the consequences are here." The admiral had sighed again, as though he truly regretted what course of action he was about to take. "I hate to do it, but you've clearly given me no choice –"

From that moment he was quarantined to his apartment. But that did not last long, no; in less than a day he'd found Thomas Hardwood and his tragic situation. In half a week he'd made the offer, and the deal was struck.

-XXX-

2259, spring

I wake up late in the day. Last night I'd stayed up only for a few hours beyond John's exit from my apartment. All in all I'd gotten a ton of sleep – but sleep is something I do well. When I awoke I hobbled to the kitchen for coffee, then propped myself up on the couch, flicking on the news.

"…and within the hour. We're receiving reports of numerous confirmed fatalities, and several injuries. Let's go to Roy, who is at the site of the blast. Roy, what's the word from the site?"

"The Kelvin Memorial Archive is a historic place, a wealth of knowledge and Starfleet's primary record center. But the pain of its loss is nothing in comparison to the loss of life we're seeing here today. Reports indicate that the death toll is reaching the dozens. From what we can gather, the explosion came from one of the lower levels…."

Stunned, I stare at the screen. My coffee mug tumbles to the floor, soaking the carpet with its brown-black contents. The anchor moves on to an expert in something-or-other.

"Terri, would you speculated that this was a domestic attack? Something perhaps…terroristic in nature?"

"I would say it's a little early to truly say, Sean, but what we're looking at here is certainly malicious in its nature. Authorities on the scene have confirmed that the blast was not accidental, not caused by any technical malfunctions or wiring problems. This was a targeted attack."

I gasp in time with my comm ringing. I swiftly answer. My mother's worried face fills the screen. She shrieks upon seeing me, crying unintelligibly.

"Mom, I'm okay, I'm okay. Still in PJs, see?" I tug on my collar. "I'm fine."

"Oh, thank God," she sobs. In the background, I can see my father with his head in his hands and a darkened window. It's only about six in the morning over there. They eat breakfast together every morning and watch the news. Of course they'd seen.

"Promise me," she demands between sobs.

I roll my eyes. "I am perfectly alright. I twisted my ankle yesterday, I couldn't even leave the house."

Another round of tears. It takes about fifteen minutes to fully assure her that I'm whole and hale. I finally manage to calm her down with a promise to visit soon. My father speaks for a few more minutes, then they let me go. I switch back to the news, then sit blankly on the couch, staring at the figures on my screen.

It's funny how when faced with my distressed mother, I cannot summon tears. Even when we're united with fear and shock. But give me a few minutes before the BBC World News Channel, and I am a mess. A jiggly ball of emotion. I just sit and cry miserably.

Had I gone to work today, I'd be dead. Gone. This thought alone is enough to cause me to spasm with fear. I should thank my lucky stars that I tripped or whatever yesterday.

"Who would do such a thing?"

I am left without answers. No news station, no reporter, now "authority" can honestly tell us who or what or why or anything.

That's kind of how I spend the day. On my couch, watching the news, mourning. Utterly stunned.

-XXX-

Somewhere around midnight I am woken by a bright golden light and whizzing noise that appears in the middle of my bedroom. I sit up quickly, moving my injured ankle and hissing, doubling over. Looking up, I see John Harrison materializing in the middle of my bedroom, golden bands wrapped around his form, the distinct buzz of a transporter beam whirling in the air. Brow furrowing, I pull my duvet up to my chest.

"John," I hiss. "What the hell?"

He looks very…intense. Face drawn, eyes hard, he radiates danger. Along his hairline, just left of the part is a crust of blood, and his lip is split, but healing. Altogether, he appears entirely Khan.

I inadvertently press myself closer to the headboard. The duvet follows until it's reached my chin. "What's going on?" I demand.

Walking around the bed, he looms. "I'm leaving."

For a beat, I stare. "Um…okay."

"London. Earth. I'm leaving," he tells me blankly.

"What do you mean?" I frown.

He sits on the edge of my bed. "I bombed the archive, Alya. I took my revenge on Starfleet. Now I have to go."

"What?" I shriek, pushing the covers back, moving to my knees. "Khan, you destroyed the archives? But –"

"He killed them, Alya," he whispers. Sinking onto the bed, his head falls to my shoulder. "He killed them all. I was trying to smuggle them out, and was found out. And he…."

"Khan." I can't help but wrap my arms around him. Never before has he appeared so distressed. Still, the man is stone beneath my hands. So I just run a soothing hand up and down his back, trying not to concentrate on the fact that he's just killed a good number of innocent people in the name of revenge. Because if I think about it, I don't know if I could stand to look at him. And if he knew that I felt that way he might not be so subdued. Khan and I may be friends, yet it never fails to niggle the back of my mind that he was once a warlord and is still a homicidal sociopath.

Buried in the crook of my neck, I feel his breath against my skin, moving the hair that pools against my shoulder. Pulling him closer, I murmur gently.

"You'll be okay. You'll be fine, you've got me. We'll find a way to away from them, Khan," I utter. If I'd really considered it, agreeing to hide a mass murder is perhaps not the best of moves, especially not for my career. But I just wanted him to be okay. I run a hand through his hair, stroking it down his neck. "You'll be okay….no one else needs to get hurt."

He sighs against my neck. "If they leave me be, no one shall."

"Where are you going?"

"Kronos."

Concerned, I pause in my soothing. "The Klingon home world? Won't that give Marcus a chance to –"

"There is no way Starfleet command will let any part of the fleet beyond the neutral zone now," he assures me, nosing my neck. This sudden affectionate Khan has me a little stunned, but I take it in my best stride – no need to break the moment. "It will be safe – I'll stay in an barren region until it is prudent for me to return."

"Why are you still here? Why not go right after?" My hands have gone to his shoulders, sliding down his chest to curling in to emphasize my point. "I don't condone what you've done, but I couldn't stand to - you should go!"

Khan pulls back to take my chin, tilting it upwards. "I had a few more things left to do – you'll likely see it in tomorrow's news."

Pained, I sigh. "Do I want to know?"

"Likely not." His lips quirked fondly.

"That's all good and well, but why are you here, specifically? Housing a terrorist wasn't something on my bucket list…."

A hand rises to brush back a few strands of my less-than-neat hair. Khan's eyes are liquid as he nears me.

"It'll be a time before I see you again," he murmurs, a hair's breathe above my lips. Against his chest, I shiver. "Thought I would come to say goodbye."

That's when his mouth descends on mine, lightly teasing for a few seconds before applying a fuller pressure. Hands fall from my chin to my waist, pulling me flush to his body. For several minutes, I am kissed chastely before Khan pulls away, putting a hand up to cup my face, letting it linger as the thumb brushes over my cheek. My forehead goes to his, and for several moments we sit, breathing.

"I need to go," he says finally.

"Yes." But I take a great bit of time before pulling back. "Please – be careful."

He doesn't answer, but gives me one of his less-stonier half-smiles.

"And…if you ever manage to come back, don't hesitate to find me," I whisper. "I won't turn you away. Promise."

Khan sweeps another kiss upon my forehead as he stands, removing himself from my embrace. "I plan to."

-XXX-

I have to medicate myself to get back to sleep. The next morning I rise early, checking news reports, then I book myself a ticket to D.C. My mother's panic attack means a rather smothering encounter the next time I visit, so it's be to get that over with sooner, rather than later. Besides, it's easier to convince her of my safety in-person rather than over comm. Dad's birthday is on Tuesday, too, so this will overall make a nice surprise.

By three o'clock that afternoon I'm in line for my flight, trying far too hard to not think of my visitor from last night. It would just be so much better, easier, to forgot someone you're bound to never see again.

-XXX-

And that just about brings us to an equal point in the timelines!

Got a little fluff-kissing action there. Was it too much? Not enough? Thoughts?

Questions? Comments? Concerns? I answer 'em all!