1. Chapter 1

**This was originally meant to be a one shot but it grew in the telling. Should be four-five chapters long, it's mostly written with a few sections to be fleshed out.**

**Thanks to my betas Rhi, Twiggy and Lindsey.**

**Part One**

The first day of spring brought a shadow into Molly Hooper's lab at St Bart's hospital. Or rather, a man who looked an awful lot like a shadow.

He was already inside when she stumbled in with a cup of canteen dishwater (or tea, as they optimistically described it), ready to set up for the morning. All she could see was his back, his arms crossed behind him as he stared out of the window. Broad shouldered, swathed in black leather, precisely cut black hair, and a rigid posture. Beyond that, there was the trace of an unusual scent, one she'd never noticed in the lab before. Like a blast of Arctic air, fresh and cold and faintly herbal.

Chances were he was from Starfleet. Their archive wasn't far away and most of their medical assessments were performed here, rather than keeping a medical office of their own in the city. Daft buggers were always wandering in and assuming this had to be the right room because the lab was about the only place on this floor as well equipped as a Starfleet office. "Excuse me?" she asked tentatively. "Are you lost? This is Pathology. Doctor Cureton's office is down the hall—lot's of people get confused, it's—"

The shadow turned and the words died in her throat.

It was definitely a man, one who radiated an intense energy. He was perhaps a foot taller than her, and even below the layers he wore she could see the tight bands of muscle lining his body, that broad back mirrored in his chest. His face was set in a stern expression, hair swept back from a high forehead, cold eyes under a furrowed brow assessing the room. Assessing _her_.

His face was quite strange. Not bad strange. In fact, it was almost beautiful. High cheekbones, full lips and wide eyes with an unusual slant to them. His skin was so pale she could see the veins beneath, and against the black of his clothing it almost glowed. He looked like he hadn't seen sunlight in years, and perhaps a few extra pints of blood wouldn't go amiss, though he radiated strength. And those eyes…the only spark of colour on him, glittering with intelligence and at this moment watching her so intently it was like being pinned down by a spotlight.

She watched his nostrils flare and his head tip, just a fraction of an inch, as if he were considering something, but he didn't say a word. For the first time he unclasped his hands and let them rest at his side, though he kept them both clenched into fists, the leather gloves they were encased in faintly creaking.

One of them needed to do something, to cut through the tension. She cleared her throat. "If you tell me what you were trying to find, I can point you in the right direction." She was fairly sure her smile was more a nervous baring of teeth than anything approaching reassuring competence, but she did the best she could.

Finally, he spoke. "I assure you I am in the right place." His voice was…well, it was _obscene_. There was no other way to describe it, or at least no other way Molly's libido wanted to describe it at that moment. It operated on a frequency so low, it seemed to slip through her clothes and down her skin and she was quite certain it would feel delicious to be wrapped up in that voice.

But she digressed.

"Authorised persons only in the lab, I'm afraid."

"I have authority," he responded. "Miss…?"

"Doctor Hooper."

"Doctor, of course. My apologies, it was wrong of me to assume. You're very young to have qualified." He seemed genuinely contrite—almost flustered.

"Don't worry about it," she said, smiling again to put him at ease. "I get that all the time. How can I help?"

"I've been sent to your facility as you have specialist equipment I need for a project my team are working on. The molecular retroactivator?"

"Oh. Of course!" She paused and then asked sheepishly, "Do you have all the paperwork?"

He nodded and retrieved documents from the inside of his coat, handing it over to her. The proximity brought another wave of that scent with it, definitely emanating from him, though strong as it was it didn't irritate her nose and throat like an overdose of aftershave usually did. Mint and something else, something softer and muskier up close. She kept her gaze on the papers and skimmed through them. All signed—by a Starfleet admiral, no less.

"Well, Commander Harrison," she said, using the name on the forms, "the equipment's over here. I'll just run through how to use it…"

From then on, for a few weeks, Harrison was a regular fixture in the lab. He seemed to be the only member of his team in London, because no one else ever showed up, and he put in long hours to get his work done, even if he only appeared when the lab was empty of everyone but her. Sometimes he would ask for her assistance, especially when the equipment appeared to be malfunctioning. She'd used it all long enough to know its idiosyncrasies. He didn't speak much, though sometimes she was sure she could feel his eyes on her when he back was turned. Wishful thinking, most likely. He was preoccupied with his work.

On the sixth morning, she found a copy of _Histopathology Journal_ next to his preferred microscope, open to one of her papers.

"Yes, that was particularly interesting, the way you observed the blood poisoning." His voice came from directly over her shoulder, a low rasp in her ear. She stifled a shriek and turned to face him, her cheeks burning. He was right there, inches from her, having crept up silently while her back was turned.

"I didn't realise you'd read anything of mine."

He offered a graceful shrug. "I'm an avid reader of the science journals. I came across a paper and was intrigued enough to search out more—some I'd already read though didn't make the connection until I found them again. Your work is exemplary, Doctor Hooper."

He hadn't blinked once while he was speaking and she was pretty sure her cheeks were on fire. "You can call me Molly, it's fine. Doctor Hooper was my mother. And my father."

"But you've earned the title—youngest forensic pathologist in a century, specialist registrar before the age of thirty, and am I to understand your main work is in the mortuary? A neglected area of speciality nowadays."

"People think it's weird. Creepy, even, but I'm fine with corpses. They don't mind my jokes. Besides, you can learn so much about life from the dead. Most of my papers started because of observations I made during autopsies."

"A strong stomach and an enquiring mind," he said, and his friendly demeanour shifted into the intensity he'd displayed on that first morning. "You're an intriguing woman, Molly." Her name was a whisper and a promise. He appeared to be about to say more—at least, she assumed speech was how he intended to use his lips as he wetted them—but a beep across the lab pulled his attention away. He straightened, the indifferent mask returning as he strode over to check his comms device. Then he left without another word.

The mask remained in place every day that he returned, but now she knew they had a common area of interest it was hard not to try to rebuild that momentary connection again. She'd mention a paper she'd read on the way into work, and he'd give the briefest possible answers. "Yes, I read it," or "That bored me." His ongoing disinterest—or rather, his deliberate, uncanny focus on his work—should have hushed her, mortification stilling her tongue, but it didn't. Instead, she found herself prattling on, anything to fill the tense silence. She offered up interesting tidbits from the latest autopsy, since he'd shown an interest in that (however briefly) and explained how various experiments had left their mark in the lab.

And yet, for all his apparent disinterest, she could still feel the weight of his stare whenever she wasn't facing him. It should have made her uneasy. It should have made her insist on someone else being in the lab with them. But she'd look a fool if it was her imagination, and he didn't make her feel the slightest bit afraid.

She hadn't been able to figure out what he was working on and hadn't tried too hard to, since it all seemed to be classified. Not surprising when it came to Starfleet. It did seem to be research comprised of two radically different parts, and she knew enough about the old cryogenic techniques to recognise some of the chemicals involved.

"They think this stuff can be used as an embalming fluid," she said as she helped him decant out some anti-necrotics. "I read a paper about how it can preserve tissue without being as chemically harsh as some of the common ones they use. Silly, really. Once you're dead, you're dead. Now the market's fallen out of cryogenics they're trying to find a new way of flogging it. Mind you, they were trying to revamp new interest in cryogenics too, but after that incident with that poor old lady…"

"Incident?" He only seemed vaguely interesting in what she was saying.

"Can't remember her name now, I was only a little girl when it happened. Some medication she'd been taking interfered with the drugs they used to put her to sleep. She had a rare cancer and wanted to be suspended before it killed her, then woken up if they ever found a cure for it. Unfortunately she metabolised the tranquilisers more quickly than they were being replaced, and woke up locked in the cryochamber. They only found this out when the monitoring equipment showed she'd suffered a heart attack in there from the shock. Her family kicked up a right stink about it and that was that. Nobody wanted to use preemptive suspension anymore."

"Ah yes, that incident." But his interest was still elsewhere—no longer on his work, but somewhere in the middle distance.

"Well, you wouldn't catch me dead in a cryochamber." She chuckled at her own joke, then winced at how bad it was. He blinked at her, and she stumbled over her words to apologise. "I'm sorry—that was a stupid joke—people always tell me not to—I mean, my sense of humour is—"

He interrupted her by laughing…no, tipping his head back and _roaring_. She watched him, dumbfounded, until he'd got himself under control.

"It wasn't that funny," she said, defensively, fidgeting through the creeping realisation that he was probably laughing at her rather than with her.

"I thought it was." The look he gave her was almost fond, a complete U-turn from his attitude of the last few weeks. "I don't have much cause to laugh in my life, Doctor Hooper. Thank you."

When he left the lab that night, it was the last time she saw him. The next day the news was full of the explosion at the Starfleet archive. Actually, the air in London was full of bits of the archive, and she was ushered away from St Bart's while the authorities combed the city for clues and any other devices. Then his face was all over the news.

Molly never did find out what had happened. She did the right thing and reported his lab access to her superiors, but the paperwork he'd provided seemed legitimate even under scrutiny, so she wasn't in any trouble. Guards were posted at the hospital just in case and she was grilled on exactly what his work had entailed—it turned out, building the explosive that had levelled the archive, but how was a pathologist supposed to know that? She never could figure out how the anti-necrotics fitted in. The admiral turned out to have been part of the plot too, in some nebulous way that was never explained. Then, some days later, it was announced Harrison had been captured in San Francisco and the alert was removed. There were vague murmurings of a trial, but impending war with the Klingons took priority in people's minds.

Sometimes Molly remembered the way he'd looked at her the first time he'd turned around, and how attentive he'd been about her work. She'd be halfway through a daydream where he wasn't interrupted by his comms device after he'd whispered her name so softly, and remember who she was imagining was bending her over the lab table.

"Oh Molly, you silly girl," she muttered to herself. "He was only keeping you distracted."

* * *

She wasn't sure what woke her that night. Certainly no sound she was aware of; her flat seemed utterly still in the darkness, though the scent of lavender after rain chased her into consciousness. Just an odd dream, one where that deep voice had been wrapped around her—strange to think of him, it'd been months…

In the corner of the room, one shadow loomed amongst the others, and it peeled away to move towards the bed. Before she had the chance to scream a hand was over her mouth.

"Sssssh," he urged. That same voice, intimately soft in the darkness, but no less chilling for it. "There is no need to scream, Doctor Hooper. No need and no point." A chink of moonlight glinted off the phaser in his other hand and she whimpered, nodding. She wasn't sure why she was nodding, what she was agreeing to, but he seemed to know, guiding her up and out of the bed. "Dress," he instructed, indicating a pile of clothes on the chair. "Quickly, or I'll dress you myself."

She hurried to the chair, fumbling with the cloth as he maintained a pretence of politeness with his back turned. Sensing when she stilled, he turned, moving so quickly she couldn't follow it with her eyes in the darkness. He was behind her, one hand over her mouth and one around her body, arms pinned to her sides. She had no idea where the phaser had gone, but it didn't matter. This close, she could feel the strength in him. He didn't need weapons to overpower her.

"I'm sure you have questions," he murmured into her hair. "I'll do my best to answer them. For now, we're going on a journey. Have you ever been into space, Doctor Hooper?"

She shook her head, her lips brushing against his fingers with the movement. For some reason she'd always imagined him as being cold, but now she was surrounded by heat. She felt him exhale, the breath warm against her hair and skin, bringing goosebumps in its wake, and the arm around her tightened just a little more, pressing her flush against him. That cold scent, with its undercurrent of soft musk, flooded her nose.

When he spoke again, his voice had gained a rasp. "Then tonight will be quite the adventure for you."

He took a step forward, manoeuvring her body so she had no choice but to walk ahead of him. They moved through the flat in silence, her front door already propped open so he didn't have to release his hold on her. Once in the corridor, he headed to the left and the stairs upwards. She was on the top floor of the building, and there was nothing further up but the roof.

Now was the best time to mention she was afraid of heights, but she doubted it would matter to him.

The stairs led to a terrace, ostensibly available to use as a garden area, which no one in the building did. She felt the chill of the air as soon as they stepped out into the night, though it was about the only thing she was feeling, the numbness of lost sleep not quite chased away by adrenaline yet. The terrace appeared empty, but she felt him reach into his coat and retrieve a small device. He aimed it in front of them and the air shimmered, a cloak dropping away to reveal a small jumpship. The doors slid open and he guided her in, strapping her in place before he slipped into the the pilot's seat. Moments later, they were in the air, watching London drop away below.

The journey didn't last long, not that Molly saw much. She kept her eyes shut and counted sheep in her head, ignoring the hum of the engine and trying to get back to sleep. This was a waking dream, that was all. She'd dreamt about him, thought she'd woken up but hadn't, and was still safely tucked up in her flat. He was locked away somewhere and she'd never see him again, and that was a good thing.

It wasn't to be. When the engine cut out and she peeled her eyes open, it wasn't to a view of her bedroom ceiling, but to the artificial lighting and grey walls of a shuttle bay.

"Welcome to the SS Botany Bay," Harrison said beside her. "Rescued from imminent deconstruction in a Starfleet scrapyard." His words betrayed a fondness for the ship, which was the opposite of how Molly felt. She didn't want to go into space—she'd had the opportunity to join Starfleet at medical school and decided she preferred terra firma. She stayed put as he unbuckled himself and exited the jumpship.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"On the edge of the solar system, cloaked and quite well hidden from Starfleet. Not that they're looking for us. As far as they're concerned, this ship has been destroyed."

Not the answer she'd hoped for.

He opened the door on her side and held out a hand for her, his expression very clearly indicating she either needed to comply or he'd be carrying her. She clambered out to save herself the indignity.

He led her out of the shuttle bay and down a corridor to an elevator, the interior of the ship eerily quiet beyond mechanical humming.

"Where is everybody?" she whispered as the electronic display beside her indicated they were climbing up through the ship.

"We are everybody."

His words made her falter, as he swept out of the lift and left her scurrying in his wake to keep up, down another silent corridor. Already Molly was beginning to feel penned in by the strip lighting and endless plastic. They stopped in front of a door which only opened when he passed a palm over the biometric scanner. Inside, she found a gleaming lab. She gaped around at all the equipment. Not all of it was new, but there was so_ much_ of it. Stuff the budget at St Bart's could never stretch to.

"I've spent some time ensuring we have what we need," he said, ushering her inside. "Your sleeping quarters are through there." He indicated another door.

"I—I don't understand. Why am I here?"

"You're here because I need your help."

"I won't help you," she said quietly. And she meant it. Now the adrenaline had caught up so it was the only thing fuelling her, so she tiptoed a fine line between exhilaration and exhaustion, so fine she could feel the tremor in her hands. She was afraid of this man and she knew what he could do to her without breaking a sweat, but none of that mattered. She'd seen the chaos he'd wreaked: on London, on San Francisco, on innocent people. If she had to draw line in the sand, this was it.

"You already have, _Molly_. I am here, after all, instead of locked in the cryochamber Starfleet think I'm in. Thank you for the invaluable information, by the way. I was able to find the chemicals I needed to ensure I woke of my own accord."

It took her a moment for her to remember that conversation, months prior, where they'd discussed the woman who'd woken up from cryosleep. "You took cancer medication? But the things that woman must have been taking were toxic—they'd do you more damage without the cancer to target than—"

"My body can handle it." He seemed utterly unconcerned, and for the first time Molly realised she might be dealing with a psychopath.

"Listen, John…" She'd never called him by his first name before, but if she tried to appear friendly, if she appealed a little to his humanity, there might be a way out of this for her.

"My name is not John," he cut her off, with no little amount of venom. "That identity was created for me by the traitor Marcus. _My_ name is Khan Noonien Singh."

She paused to process that before speaking again, wondering if more than psychopathy was at play here. "Well, Khan," she said softly, "you really ought to know that some of the cancer medications they were using twenty years ago did absolutely horrible things to the human body, especially if you were dosing yourself for a long time. The kidney damage alone could kill you."

"Unlikely. I'm an augment."

"A what?"

"I was genetically engineered, gifted from birth. Enhanced strength, enhanced intelligence, enhanced healing. Superhuman, if you prefer, and I was not alone. We ruled the world until we didn't, and then they locked us away to sleep. Frozen, for three hundred years."

She didn't have a response for that. Mainly she was trying to maintain her grip on the desk so it wasn't so obvious her knees were about to give way.

It took an immense amount of effort to keep speaking, more than she thought she'd be able to dredge up. "Then why do you need me?"

"I need your mind, Doctor Hooper. I need it here, in this laboratory, to rescue my crew." He nodded to a notebook lying on the worktop, full of scribbled notes. "Your work will not cause harm to anyone on Earth but your abstinence…" His level stare made it clear how ruthless he could be, and how little sleep he would lose over it. "I do not wish for Starfleet to know I am awake, but people die all the time and their deaths go unsolved. Would the oaths you took when you became a doctor allow you to condone that?"

The sound she made was somewhere between a hiss and a sigh. "I can't believe I was ever fooled by you." She blinked back tears and stared down at the notebook, aware of how still Harrison…_Khan_…had gone in her peripheral vision. She flicked through the equations and calculations, frowning at the notes. "That still doesn't explain why _me_. This—you need a biochemist. Not a pathologist."

"Your experience is more than adequate. And I admit those may not be the only needs in play."

Her tears vanished, chased away by a white hot spike of fear. "I will help you. I'll comply with whatever you want—you don't need to do anything to—"

He slammed his hand down on the desk, nostrils flaring, and she cringed away, almost knocking over a stool as she moved. At her movement he pressed his lips together so hard they turned white, mirroring the knuckles on his hands where he pressed them against the wood. He took a deep breath and continued in a low voice, his words careful and measured. "I'm sorry. Your words upset me and your fear is pungent—it makes it harder to control my own emotions. I think rest would be beneficial and we can continue this conversation tomorrow."

With his hands still balled into fists, he bolted from the lab, and before she could react the door had shut behind him, trapping her inside.

She didn't want to sleep, had no intention of it, but neither did she want to stay in this room. Instead she ventured into the suite he'd indicated before, spartan lodgings that were at odds with the chintzy mess of her flat. More plastic and hollow lighting, and no windows. Not that she wanted to look out into the vastness of space. No, what she wanted was the London skyline, but for now she'd have to make do with curling up in the bunk, respite for her shaking limbs. When the adrenaline eventually faded, so did she.

* * *

**A/N: I know, I know, not much alpha/omega stuff yet. Hints at best. That's because sometimes I think that dynamic can be a bit dubcon, where you have two people meeting with the hormones flying around, especially when one is a villain like Khan. He's not on the side of angels but Molly is, so I felt like I needed to explore how they would be attracted to each other and compatible beyond biological imperative*. Only the backstory kind of...exploded.**

**Apologies if I got any Trek canon wrong, it's not my area of expertise and I will endeavour to fix any problems pointed out to me.**

***Not shaming anyone for writing and/or reading those stories where they do meet and bang immediately. I've read and enjoyed them, but apparently my brain refuses to cooperate when it comes to writing them.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to asgardianruminations for stepping up to help beta this as well.**

**Part Two**

Molly was startled awake by knocking on her door, immediately aware of her mental exhaustion and the crick in her neck. She'd slept curled up in a tight ball and the single, thin pillow provided was little better than cardboard.

"I've brought breakfast," Khan announced, his voice muffled. "When you are ready, we should continue our conversation."

She didn't want to reply, the instinct to bury herself under the blankets rising, but he spoke again.

"I know you are awake, your heart rate has changed. I also know you are unwilling to face me, and for that reason I will allow you time to gather yourself. But I will not wait forever." Quiet footsteps moved away from the door, and Molly hauled herself upright. She couldn't tell whether her mental fog was a result of too little or too much sleep, or just stress, but she hoped a shower would cure it. There was an en suite adjoined to the bedroom, and luckily the plumbing seemed to be fairly old fashioned, relying on knobs and dials rather than voice commands or whatever the latest starships did, so it didn't take too much energy to get the water as hot as she wanted it.

She had no choice but to dress in one of the grey jumpsuits hung in the closet, and she grumbled at the length of the legs, having to roll them up to fit. It was all quite formfitting apart from that, a world away from what she'd usually choose and didn't go with the ballet pumps she'd thrown on in the dark. Neither could she find a hairdryer or anything that would serve the same purpose, so she was stuck tying her hair back while it was still wet.

Khan seemed to take all this in when she emerged. He was sat at one of the benches with a tray of food in front of the opposite seat. "If you make a list of any supplies you need I'll endeavour to find them," he said as he gestured to the seat. "Eat."

Molly rankled at the command, but she didn't have much choice. Khan was her only source of food, and she had to eat if she was going to clear her head. She sat down, pulling the tray closer, and began to pick at the food. He watched her eat, his expression darkening as she set a half-eaten pastry down and pushed it away.

"While we have good supplies, they are not limitless," he said. "I will ensure you are fed and cared for, but I will not allow you to waste food when I know you need to eat more." He pushed the tray back toward her, and the steel in his eyes welcomed no argument from her.

The threat of possible starvation, even if he didn't intend it, had her finishing the meal off. When the tray was empty, he pushed it aside with a nod of satisfaction.

"Now I think we are ready to continue. You are calmer, at least."

She wasn't so sure if _calm_ was the right word. Not quite as frazzled, perhaps, and with a clearer head, but she was still acutely aware of the strength he possessed and the things he'd hinted at last night. He was watching her with an unflinching gaze, and it was taking every ounce of her control not to squirm under it.

If she wanted control, if she didn't Khan to yield all the power in the conversation, she should begin, but she couldn't find the words. She opened her mouth to pose a half-formed question, and thought better of it. She still had no idea what she was dealing with here. He'd seemed upset at the suggestion he might…use force against her, but that didn't necessarily mean a spiral in temper couldn't lead to outbursts, paths her mind would really rather not go down.

She remembered the words he'd used last night, and then again this morning. Curiosity seemed an inoffensive route to take.

"You mentioned you could smell my fear. Last night. You said it was 'pungent'. And you could hear my heart this morning. Is that—can you do that because you're an augment?"

He gave a polite nod. "Partly. All my senses are enhanced, although your scent is particularly strong to me. It's what first alerted me to the fact you were a suitable mate."

She made the mistake of meeting his stare, then pushed away from the desk as she felt her entire body react: cheeks burning, pulse racing, knees packing for their holidays. In a pretence that she wasn't running from him, no matter how laughable that was, she retreated to the table where his notes waited and began flicking through them. Naturally, he followed her, keeping several metres between them like she was a skittish colt.

"Given the insinuations you made last night, about innocent lives and such, then I will of course work for you. But I'm afraid you misunderstood my interest in you at St Bart's. You were an interesting lab companion, granted, but nothing more, and—"

He gave a bark of laughter, sharp and utterly devoid of humour, closing some of the distance between them. "You think I'm unaware of how you react to me? From the first moment I was aware of the effect I had on you, and equally aware of the way you affected me. You don't understand the _control_ I had, those weeks with you in that hospital, focusing on my mission instead of taking you like I wanted to. We are compatible, you and I, in every fibre of our beings."

She frowned and stepped away, feigning examination of the machinery as she put a desk between them. "Compatibility is a complicated matter. It's not just about whether you're attracted to someone, or admire them."

"No, Doctor Hooper, it is simple biology. A fact of nature. When I was created, Parilian genes were used to enhance my human biology. They made me stronger and gave me greater stamina. But they also affected me in other ways. My sexuality doesn't work like most men. I am an alpha, driven to seek out a mate—an omega—and bond with her. There are omegas among my crew but none that ever appealed to my alpha side, nor was I ever tempted by the few Parilians I met in my travels. Your scent was something quite different. Compelling, almost overwhelming. You didn't know it, but there were days in your lab I would have thrown away my entire cause, sabotaged my mission, if it meant you would respond to me."

Molly swallowed. During Khan's speech, a hunger had grown in him, dripping from his words, burning in his eyes, and she couldn't deny it was having an effect on her. "There's one problem with your theory. I'm not an omega."

"Oh, but you are."

"No, I'm not. I don't even know what that is, but I'm not one. I'm _human_."

Khan _tsk_ed, chiding her. "You may pass as fully human, but I know better. You're part-Parilian. On the maternal line."

"Wh-what…how did you..?"

"I knew it as soon as I met you. It's all there in your scent—you appear human but for me to pick up on it must mean one of your ancestors was not. And given that you are a latent omega, that suggests it is through your maternal line."

"That makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense. All Parilians form a pairbond for life based on genetic compatibility, and adult omegas experience regular heat cycles which demonstrate their fertility and sexual availability to those around them. Sometimes the act of bonding is required before the sexual characteristics display themselves properly." He was relaying all this information calmly, like he'd deliver any other scientific lecture, but the look in his eyes was far from calm. "I understand a heat cycle is something of a torment for an unbonded omega—they crave sexual completion and are unable to concentrate on much else until they receive it."

"That sounds an awful lot like Pon Farr." Emphasis on the _awful_.

"There are some similarities, though in Vulcans it is the males who experience heat, and they do not possess penile knots."

Molly just about choked on her own tongue. "What?"

The smile he unfurled was positively lethal. "For someone with Parilian ancestry, you don't seem to have researched your own genetic inheritance."

"I've never displayed any Parilian characteristics. Neither did my mother or grandmother, so why would I? I've got my plate full understanding human biology and the main races of the federation alliance. We barely see Parilians on Earth and I personally have never met a full-blooded one."

"You've haven't displayed any characteristics yet. But you will. When we are bonded, you will experience heat cycles just as any Parilian omega, and you will have _intimate_ experience of a knot. My knot."

His voice had dropped at least an octave on the last words, doing that deep, gravelly thing that made all the blood rush to her face and her pulse rocket fast enough she could feel it in other, inconvenient, places. He seemed to take her flush as a victory, nostrils flaring and the lethal smile returning. Molly decided that although her knees seemed to have surrendered, weak as they were, she still had a spine and she wasn't going to take his stupid assumptive comments lying down.

_Don't think about lying down._

She raised her chin, her fragile control on her temper finally fraying. "Now you listen here! I am helping you under duress and I have no intention of ever bonding with you or of being intimate in any way, shape or form. And if you even think of…of forcing yourself on me, I swear I will sabotage—"

His eyes flashed and he cut her off. "Everything that happens between us will be entirely consensual. It angers me that you would even consider me capable of harming you."

"You're a murderer! Many times over. I have no idea what you are capable of."

"Then let me make it clear to you: I will never harm you, and I will use all my considerable abilities to ensure no other being will ever lay a finger on you. Whatever you think you want will change—you will see as we work together just how compatible we are, in every way. Trust me, Doctor Hooper, you will see the light, and when we bond, it will be at your request. For now, I suggest you make yourself acquainted with your new surroundings. Space travel is new to you and we have much work to do."

He swept out of the room again, his coat billowing behind him and the door swooping shut in his wake. She heard the electronic click that signalled it locking her inside the lab, and she hurled the nearest glass vial at the image of his retreating form.

"Excellent, Molly," she muttered as she watched the vial's contents drip down the door. "Now you have to clean that up and it didn't even have the decency to burn a bloody hole in the door."

* * *

When he didn't return, and she'd finished her exploration of the equipment, she turned her attention to his notes, trying to make sense of what he wanted her to do. It was a series of experiments, nothing more, a trial of chemicals and their effects on tissue samples. Nothing she hadn't done so often it was muscle memory at this point; yes, a biochemist would have been more useful, because they'd probably make intuitive leaps Molly couldn't, but what he was requesting was far from beyond her ability.

He only turned up when it was time for a meal, bringing a tray, and they'd sit at the bench at the far end of the lab while she barely looked at him and he barely took his eyes off her long enough to eat. He would politely enquire about the work she'd done and she'd give him concise, clinical answers. He'd wanted a scientist and a scientist he would have.

On the third day he turned up unexpectedly halfway through the afternoon—as far as Molly could tell the time of day, based on the lab clocks—carrying a box. He set the box down on the bench and backed away. "These are for you."

She carefully replaced the parapet she'd been holding and stripped off her gloves, walking around the bench so she wouldn't have to get too close to Khan. Keeping her eyes low, she pulled the box towards her, gingerly sifting through the items inside. Jumpsuits in a smaller size, hair ties, a hairdryer, two pairs of sturdy boots, and a pillow. A much, much better pillow, soft and downy against Molly's hand. All the things she'd wanted or needed but hadn't dared ask for.

"Thank you," she muttered, pushing the box to one side, and watched his throat move as he swallowed, not daring to let her gaze drift any higher.

Because he was right. Whatever her rational feelings towards him were, she responded to him. When she woke up in the middle of the night, sweat-drenched and panting, she was taunted with the ghost of a fading dream, of the two of them locked together, wrapped in a baritone echo. She was afraid that if she met his eyes, he would know, and he would call off this tentative chivalry to push for more.

"You're welcome." Then he was gone again, a shadow billowing through the door.

It took no time at all for her to grow claustrophobic in the confines of the lab and her quarters, her days and nights marked by the ticking over of mechanical objects, not the rising and setting of the sun—_any_ sun. The panic she'd initially felt at staring into space had given way to longing to see anything at all, because at least then her view might change. She found herself doodling little suns and flowers on her notes with the artistic merit of a preschooler. Everything in this place was shades of clinical white and grey, even her clothes, when she'd always honoured every part of the spectrum. She craved more.

When she rose on the seventh day, Khan was nowhere to be found, though her tray of breakfast was in its usual place, along with another box, smaller than the last. She sat down and waited for him to appear, but after several minutes of impatient fidgeting Molly decided if he could be here, he would be. She rifled through the contents with one hand while chewing on her pastry with the other. More jumpsuits, but this time in the bright blue of Starfleet medical officers, and a handful of clips and ribbons for her hair, all patterned and flowery and very, very colourful. They came with a note attached.

_At St Bart's your hair was often elaborately styled and I have realised you cannot do that here without the tools to keep it secure. The laboratory needs some colour. I hope these will please you._

They did, though it was an odd and obvious courtship move all at once. He was trying to please her by giving her gifts, but it didn't make her any less of a prisoner.

Breakfast eaten, she rose and headed to her workbench, stopping to gape midstep at the opposite wall.

It was a sunrise. Not just a sunrise, even, but a skyline, night surrendering to dawn in a pink and orange haze. Not an artist's impression, but not a window either—it filled a wall which the day before had been completely blank, so it was being projected from somewhere.

It didn't matter, because it was as good as a window, especially as the view changed while she worked, the vibrant smoke of dawn giving way to an endless blue, the occasional cottonball of a cloud floating by.

She found herself singing as the days passed, just to break the endless silence, and a speaker system was installed in the lab overnight. She could choose between the sounds of a jungle, whale song, or twentieth century pop music, but more often than not she found herself playing the noises of a cityscape, just to pretend she still had her feet on _terra firma_ and was surrounded by ten million souls.

She wondered who'd noticed her disappearance. She might not have been a social butterfly and her family were all gone, but it was a certainty that Mike Stamford had clocked her not showing up for work and not calling in. How long before he called the police? How long before Mina came looking for her at the hospital when she didn't get in touch? Had anybody raised the alarm at the door to her flat being left ajar? Would the police make the link to Khan, or would she just become another statistic, one of the vanished?

At least there were precious few Khan could use against her.

The gifts meant he was paying more attention to her than she'd realised. They rattled something loose inside her, a fear, although she wasn't sure exactly what kind of fear: of him, of what she wanted, of what she didn't want…sometimes it was easy to stare at that sky, when it was empty of so much as a cloud, and imagine herself tumbling out into it without a parachute or net to catch her. That was easier to dwell on than what Khan wanted from her.

At night she left the cityscape playing, hoping that if she just wished hard enough she'd wake up back in London, and this was all the nasty side effect of the wine she'd drunk before bed. But wishes weren't horses and she was riding nowhere.

The problem with being in space was that trying to escape was a mission in futility. There'd be a transporter somewhere on the ship, but she'd need coordinates to ensure she didn't beam herself into the middle of nowhere (or a collapsing star), and it was too much to hope someone had left the manual around to help her figure out how to use it. She was good with technology but people didn't spend weeks in training to use those things for nothing. She could try to get back to the jumpship, but she didn't even have a driving licence for a car—there was no need when you lived in central London—so even if the figurative keys were left in the ignition she'd have no way of flying the thing. That left her with trying to open a communications line, but all external transmissions were routed through the bridge, and there was no way Khan was letting her near that. She was stuck on the ship until he let her off, or until they stopped somewhere for supplies and she could make a run for it. That was assuming they ever did stop, because he was clearly leaving the ship frequently and returning without telling her.

At least she had something to keep her mind focused, and he left her alone in the lab more often than not. Yes, the work she was doing was for an enemy of the alliance, but it was also groundbreaking, to the point where she was mentally writing a paper on it as she worked. Cryogenics as a field of study had long been dormant, with minor tweaks made to the available equipment by manufacturers but no serious research conducted for decades. Certainly the pathological effects had been neglected, and the chemicals Khan had her studying were causing reactions she'd never seen before. She just had to trust that the tissues she was working with came from patients who'd donated them to science, like they would have been at St Bart's.

He refused to tell her what she was supposed to be working towards, and it made sense. He didn't trust her, and nor should he. Given the chance Molly would sabotage his work, but it was difficult to figure out how to do that subtly when you had no idea the bigger picture was. Sooner or later the pieces would click, but until then she was biding her time.

Once she went three days without seeing him and had little to do. Out of boredom, she took a cheek swab and ran it through the machinery. This was something she'd never do at St Bart's: if she wanted her own DNA analysed, she'd have to send it off to another lab, and there'd need to be a medical or scientific need for it. But here she had the tools to play with and no one to swipe down her curiosity.

The results were hardly surprising, the machine readout providing both a genetic chart and a potted explanation of how her combination of genes manifested. Of course there would be Parilian genes among the human ones, that was a given, though she'd always assumed they'd been overridden by the fact she was seven-eighths human. Instead, they'd influenced her biology in ways she'd never considered: a strong immune system and stamina, or at least the ability to pull a 20 hour shift without resorting to a caffeine drip. Her grandmother had lived to the age of 102 and looked twenty years younger, though the effects were much watered down by the time they'd reached Molly.

More importantly, Khan hadn't lied. Her particular combination of genes meant she was an omega, though one who was unlikely to show any signs of being one without it being triggered through bonding.

What that involved, she had no idea. Ordinarily she'd reach out to an expert or conduct her own research through federation material, but here she was cut off from both sources of information.

She didn't mention it for a few days, destroying all the results from the tests so he wouldn't stumble upon them. She mused on the few clues she'd had: late puberty and exceptionally light periods, but she'd been using contraceptive implants for most of her adult life which gave that effect anyway. Her current implant stopped menstruation altogether. There had been no signs that had concerned her, and since her half-Parilian grandmother had been able to conceive it probably wouldn't have caused Molly any problems.

But over a particularly awkward dinner, where she continued to make vague notes about the afternoon's work, her tongue caught up with her brain.

"You once mentioned that my biology would be changed if I were to bond," she said, as casually as she could. "What would be the catalyst for that?"

His smile told her he knew she'd checked her own DNA, but she kept her shoulders straight and waited for his answer. This wasn't mere curiosity—she needed to know so she could avoid accidentally doing whatever it was that would make it happen.

"An alpha and omega pairing bond through the sharing of bodily fluids," he replied, his voice dropping as low as it could get without it becoming a rasp. "Specifically blood, saliva, seminal fluid and vaginal secretions. Typically it is initiated by sexual intercourse involving biting—the alpha marks the omega with its teeth. That way all four fluids are exchanged."

"Sounds delightful," she replied with a grimace. There was absolutely no way, even in the heat of the moment, she'd ever let anyone bite her.

He arched an eyebrow. "You can be surprised what you enjoy—what you crave—when you allow yourself to try new things."

She gave a little snort of disgust, resolutely ignoring her own blush, and returned her attention to her food.

From then on Khan was in the lab a lot more, and even if Molly had wanted to believe it was due to her presence, she knew that wasn't the case. The experiments were going downhill, whatever they'd been working towards unravelling at a rate of knots, until there was little they could do to salvage it. Khan's plan was not going to work.

And yet. He stayed calm, displaying the clear-thinking and objective viewpoint Molly appreciated in another scientist. At least in the lab. Outside of it, he demanded her company, accompanying her outside the rooms that had been her prison for weeks. He insisted on them eating together in the empty dining suite but all he did was brood and pick at his food until it was time to return to the lab, where he regained his focus.

For two days straight he vanished, a stockpile of food left behind letting Molly know he might be gone some time, and she was left to kick around the lab checking over past experiments and destroying the work that had gone awry. He finally breezed in at dinnertime, the black costume he'd worn religiously for weeks changed for the grey of a high-ranking Starfleet officer, a triumphant smile on his face. His scent was stronger today, though she thought that had more to do with where she was in her cycle than anything he'd done. It was one thing she'd unconsciously catalogued since she'd peeked at her own genetic code.

"You've been gone," she greeted him, and winced at needy the words sounded. She hadn't missed him, not at all, but she'd missed the company. That was all.

"With our work reaching a stalemate, I was forced to switch to plan B. It's gone far better than anticipated."

"Hence the uniform?"

"Impersonating an officer. Again. You would think every last member of Starfleet would recognise me, but all it takes is some minor prosthetics and the right paperwork and you can slip in anywhere. Come, we've got no need of the lab anymore. Our work is in the holding bay."

He was doing the annoying striding-away-with-his-coat-billowing-behind-him thing, without waiting to see if she was following. "What?" she called out, but he didn't pause. She barrelled after him.

"What's in the holding bay? What were we trying to do in the lab? What the hell is Plan B and why does it involve you impersonating an officer?"

"My crew, all augments like myself," he replied, his answers to her questions coming in rapid fire, his pace not slowing down. "They've been in asleep for 300 years, just like I was. We were trying to find a way of waking them _in utero_ so they could escape from where Starfleet were holding them, but that failed. Instead, I went undercover in Starfleet and issued an order to have them moved and they have been delivered as cargo to this ship. Now we have them we can begin the process of waking and rehabilitating them, and putting some distance between the ship and Earth."

"Wait, when did we return to Earth?"

"We've been in orbit for a few weeks now, disguised as another ship. It was necessary for me to infiltrate Starfleet and to allow the transmission of the cryochambers onto the ship."

"And you didn't tell me?" She hated how small her voice sounded. She'd wanted the question to be a demand, but instead there was a waver in the middle, a space for her emotions to break through.

At least it gave Khan pause.

"It didn't occur to me to inform you." He turned to face her, and whatever he saw seemed to fluster him. "It is still alien to me to consider other's needs—I am trying to learn, but it's—"

"I didn't get to see it." She bit her lip, trying to keep the waver from growing. "Everyone I love is on Earth. Everything I've ever known, and I didn't even get to see it."

"I am sorry, Doctor Hooper. If I could give you that small comfort, I would, but it is too late." He was unexpectedly gentle as he spoke, but his next words yanked Molly's world completely from its axis. "And you need to accept that you will never return there. You'll never see Earth again. Your home is with us now."


	3. Chapter 3

Molly was all too aware that helping Khan bring his crew round from stasis sealed her fate. Escaping from him alone had seemed impossible, so when there were over seventy augments she'd be entirely trapped. Yet she had little else to do, and keeping busy kept her attention away from her predicament. Getting maudlin would do her no good at all.

Waking the people in the cryochambers wasn't as easy as opening the tube up and turning the machinery off. It was a careful dance of stabilising to the optimum temperature, regulating oxygen levels and then reducing the chemicals being pumped into the chamber. When the subjects woke they were groggy and disoriented, with short term memory loss, which could lead to violent outbursts when they realised their confinement. It was why Molly and Khan worked through each of them one by one, his presence there to ensure she was never injured when they lashed out.

The disorientation and memory problems could last hours or days, assisted by restorative medication and Khan's soothing presence. It was strange to see how calming he could be, but then he was often the first thing they came to recognise.

The first augment they woke was Khan's second-in-command, a woman called Alana. She towered over Molly, her skin a deep brown so rich it was almost bronze, and the way she easily cracked the casing on her cryochamber in her disorientation proved she easily matched Khan for strength.

"Khan," she said, gripping his arms as the fog of confusion finally lifted. They'd moved to the medical bay, where Molly could monitor her vitals and he could talk to her about their old life. "Where are we?"

"The Botany Bay," he replied. "We are free at last."

Alana smiled, a thing of sheer radiance, and for the only the second time since she'd met him, Molly witnessed Khan's own smile in reply. It stripped the cold from him, lighting his features up with relief and happiness.

The two of them spoke for hours and it gave Molly time to prepare for the next augment, an engineer by the name of Bellamy. She listened into the conversation happening in the background whenever her concentration wavered—the way they reminisced about Khan's old empire, which had stretched across Asia, and the battles they'd fought alongside each other. The wars they described had never appeared in any history books Molly had read, though the nuclear wars that followed had probably stolen all the limelight. When Khan's voice dropped to a whisper, the word omega making its way to Molly's ears, she fled to the safety of her lab.

While Alana slept, real sleep for the first time in centuries, Khan invited her to eat with him again, and for the first time since she'd met him he seemed…content. He ate like he was actually able to taste the food.

"We're moving sleeping quarters," he said, when the main course was over and he was selecting dessert in the replicator. "I am taking the captain's quarters, Alana will be in the first mate's, and you will be next to me. There is no need to confine you to the rooms near the laboratory when we will have little use for it now. You'll find the new rooms I've provided are more spacious and comfortable."

"Thank you," she murmured, taking the plate of fruit gratefully. She knew there was more to it than that: he wanted her closer, and he had less to fear about her making a successful escape attempt. She still caught the heat in his eyes whenever she turned unexpectedly, the way he would be staring at her the way she'd been known to stare at chocolate cake, and she'd be a liar if she said it didn't make her heart pound and her bones turn to water. But she wouldn't yield, not to that heat, not to the way his bursts of intelligence could leave her tongue-tied, and not to the gentleness he was showing around her as they worked.

"What are your thoughts on Alana?" he asked.

"She's recovered well—the clarity of thought she's displaying in such a short time is remarkable." She paused to reflect on how long they'd talked. "You must have known her a long time."

"I have. We were raised together, almost as brother and sister."

"It makes sense. You like her," Molly said. "She called you 'Khan' and you didn't correct her. I thought you'd be the kind to stand on ceremony and insist on 'Captain'."

"You misunderstand," he said with a grin, and she struggled to figure out where his sudden amusement came from. "Khan is not my name. It's my title, chosen years ago because of the territories I ruled. Closer to king in meaning than anything else, which is what I once was."

"Oh." She set her spoon down, her appetite fleeing. "You've let me call you Khan all this time like it's your name without correcting me." She was careful with her tone, still unsure if there was a line she mustn't cross, but she couldn't help the flair of annoyance and mortification creeping through.

"And I have afforded you equal respect, _Doctor_ Hooper."

He wasn't trying to tease her, nor was he laughing at her anymore, but she excused herself anyway, returning to the medical bay to work, knowing sleep would evade her. There were times, like today, when he seemed as human as any man, but then he'd say or do something which reminded her he was far from ordinary. A casual mention of his past rule; how he could be as cold and detached as any of the Vulcans Molly had met, or the reminder that he'd been alive so long that what was ancient history to her had once been his future.

Sometimes in quieter moments Molly did lose herself in longing. She'd accepted, for the most part, that she would never see Earth again, but it was hard to wake from a dream where she still walked the halls of St Bart's, or was playing with the old family dog in her parents' garden, sunshine and honeysuckle in the air. Her parents were long buried, and she'd had years to come to terms with never seeing their faces again, but all she had to remind her of them had been left behind in her flat. She missed other things too, stupid things that shouldn't matter, but it frustrated her to always be stuck in the uniforms provided to her on the ship. All she'd brought with her were the clothes she'd dressed in on the night Khan came for her: a rainbow-striped jumper and jeans. Though she knew he detested the jumper and would have worn it every day just to spite him, she kept it neatly folded in a drawer in her quarters instead. Her last reminder of home and her old life.

Not all the augments were as quick to wake or regain their memories as Alana and Bellamy. Molly was unable to provide an explanation, though she captured all the information for later analysis. It kept her busy, though some of her patients required long days and nights of observation and treatment. It meant after two weeks they had only woken ten of the crew.

"You look tired, little one," Bellamy said one evening. It was true, she was exhausted. The crewmember they'd woken the day before had started convulsing when removed from the cryochamber and she'd only left the medical bay to nap for a handful of hours, once he was stable, but had returned as soon as Khan was happy she'd slept enough.

"My name is Doctor Hooper," she snapped, the tiredness seeping through in shortness of temper. "Not 'little one'."

"But you are little, aren't you?" he replied, his voice dripping with idle derision. "Small and weak and completely undeserving of your place on this ship. You are inferior, and a complete waste of resources." He crossed the room to crowd her with his height, while Molly's hands trembled around the biometric scanner she held. Bellamy was taller than Khan and broader too, which meant he could as easily kill her as he could break a child's doll. She ducked her head and tried to pretend she was too consumed by her work to notice.

Only Khan's scent gave his presence away, at least to Molly, because his footsteps were silent. "Bellamy," he warned, the threat in his voice clear despite how quietly he spoke. She still didn't look up, but Bellamy stepped away.

"So I am to be expected to bow and scrape to her now? Look at her—she's pathetic, even for a human! I could crush her with one hand."

"And I would crush you in return." Khan's scent grew stronger, the darker base notes blooming with his temper. She felt his presence at her back, solid and reassuring for once. "You bow to me because I am the best of you all, and my word is law. Not only because of what I could do to you, but because of what I have done for you. I have risked my life time and again, as well you know, to ensure the survival of every last one of you, and I will never hesitate to lay my life on the line if that is what it takes. I have bled for you. But if you cause her one bruise, if you cause her to cry one tear, I will rip you apart and feed you to the Klingon dogs. She has saved my life and yours in return and for that, yes, you owe her respect and if you refuse to give it, I will take it from your hide in strips. Is that clear?"

Bellamy bowed his head. "I am sorry, Khan. Doctor Hooper. I allowed my tongue to get away from me, but it won't happen again."

Alana frowned on with folded arms. "See that it doesn't."

From then on, Molly never had a moment's trouble with the other augments. Alana was at her side when Khan wasn't around, but his warning had spread among them, and Khan's word was more than law. The reverence the crew had for him ran deeper than obedience to a captain or even a king, and Bellamy's penitence was real. He was as protective of Molly as Khan was around lashings out from newly woken crew members.

The ship was full of frantic energy, with the crew working on making improvements to it. The Botany Bay was obsolete, but Khan had grabbed what he could from the scrapyard it had been destined for, and now the crew took the jumpship out on regular scouting missions for parts. Khan returned from them with small gifts for Molly, and gradually she filled her new quarters with light and colour: plants and cushions, rugs and strange little broken objects she could fix to the wall, her bed furnished in ancient silk Alana had traded from a passing merchant ship. Even the view from the window didn't terrify her anymore, or make her feel like she was staring out at nothing. Space was full of wonder, of gas clouds in vivid colours and distant nebulas shimmering. She'd just needed to learn to appreciate the beauty of it, though it didn't stop her from covering the ceiling of her room in sky blue gauze. Well, Alana had done most of that, since Molly struggled to reach.

The first mate was a refreshing presence on the ship. Physically she was intimidating, but she didn't have Khan's intensity—or the same expectations of Molly. She just let Molly get on with her work, bringing her the tools she needed when she needed them, and providing quiet company in Khan's absence. From being apprehensive in her presence, Molly slowly relaxed around her, until they could as easily talk about pathology as they could about the changes on Earth in the last three centuries, right down to hair care.

"Why are you so nice to me?" Molly blurted out one evening, over a glass of wine that Alana had spirited onto The Botany Bay alongside Molly's silk. The wine was going straight to Molly's head, which was frustrating when she knew it wouldn't be affecting Alana at all. "I know why _he_ is," she made a vague gesture out of the window, in the general direction of the jumpship's travel, "but it doesn't make any sense when there are people on this ship you've known for years. Did he order you to keep me company, because you don't—"

Alana laughed and waved away Molly's babbling. "He has made no such demand. I seek out your company because I enjoy it."

"Oh."

"Don't look so confused. I am alpha and you appeal to me—not in the same way you to do to Khan, but there are no other omegas among our crew. Your presence is a refreshing change. You have a sense of humour, terrible as it is, where most of the crew seem to have forgotten what a joke is. Beyond that, you impress me. There are few who could hold their own among us yet you stood up to Bellamy, and your work has saved all our lives. Not forgetting that you make Khan happy, which makes him an easier man to live with. I see why he chose you, Molly Hooper, and if any of the crew harm you I'll take my pound of flesh from what remains of them when he is through."

She wasn't quite a replacement for Mina, but Alana's friendship made the journey far less lonely.

By the time a dozen of the crew had been revived, they were in another galaxy entirely, one partially explored and entirely uninhabited, according to Starfleet. The solar system they were passing through was mostly gas giants, but Alana mentioned there were a few known planets for their beauty.

"One in particular would have been earmarked for population, if it weren't uncomfortably close to the fringes of Klingon rule," she said, pointing at a dot on the starmap on her screen.

Molly stiffened at the mention of the aliens. All she'd heard, in the months before she'd left earth, was how war was inevitable, and how a loss for the federation would probably lead to complete annihilation for the human race. "Why are we so close? If they locate a federation ship…"

"They won't," Alana promised. "We've already upgraded the cloaking facilities to the point they are impenetrable. But just to be safe, we're improving every last part of this ship, from the engines to the shielding and the weapons. When all the engineers are woken, we'll have warp capabilities."

When Molly entered Khan's private dining suite that night, the wall in front of her was taken up by a projection of a waterfall cascading down a mountainside, swallowed by a forest pool at the bottom. She could hear the crash of the water and the birdsong echoing around her, and for a moment she forgot she was on the ship at all.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Khan said, rising from his seat to come stand beside her. "This was recorded the last time Starfleet visited Hafnar 9 and our scan of the surface suggests little has changed. I've been told the sunsets rival the Aurora Borealis for spectacle."

She didn't reply, soaking in every little detail. That kind of peace was something she'd rarely encountered, especially not in the concrete jungle of London where she'd made her life, and right now she _wanted_ so much it was a hard lump in her throat, painful even to swallow around.

"We could go, if you like."

She whipped around to face him, still unable to speak but knowing it must radiate from her.

He seemed to bask in her reaction. "Just for a day, before we leave this galaxy," he murmured. "Tomorrow. I'll make the arrangements."

She barely slept that night, yearning to feel real sunlight on her face. Yet this wouldn't be Earth. She'd be stepping onto an alien planet, and though it was safe—Khan wouldn't take her if it wasn't—there were still bound to be things that were wrong, and reminded her of how far from home she was.

In the end, that didn't matter. The sunshine was the most important thing. When she and Khan teleported down to the planet's surface, it was easy to pretend she was hiking through the wilds of Iceland at midsummer. Somewhere she'd always intended to go and never made it to. They started on an open plain, near one set of horseshoe waterfalls, then crossed through the forest to the falls he had shown her the night before. All the while, he named the birds and insects they crossed paths with.

"I wish I had a camera," she lamented, as they watched a diving bird with scarlet plumage swoop over the river. "I bet half of these haven't even been documented."

"Likely they haven't," he agreed, and nodded over her shoulder. She turned and froze, coming face to face with the bastard cousin of a butterfly: easily the size of a sparrow, its body was striped like a wasp and a spiky proboscis erupted from its head. She shrieked and scrambled away, attempting to use Khan as a shield. He was too busy laughing to be effective, until her screams got louder as it followed her and he batted it away.

"It's not funny!" she protested as he tried to control his laughter. "I think it wanted to eat me."

"It was merely curious—attracted by your scent, probably. I can hardly blame it."

She shot him an annoyed look and kept on walking, bending to scoop up a stone to skim along the river surface. It sank immediately. "Is the water safe?"

"To drink?"

"To swim. And I suppose to drink, if you swallow it while you're swimming."

He pulled a device out of his pocket and scanned the water. "Free of toxins and the background radiation is normal. It's safe."

"Good." She pulled her jumper off, leaving her in the tanktop underneath, and kicked off her shoes. "I'm going in."

She'd intended to paddle in, but he seemed unusually perturbed by her announcement. "I'd rather you didn't—"

"It's fine, I can swim, and it's not deep, see?" She pointed to the middle, where the stony bottom was clear through the crystal water.

He reached out to grab her away from the edge, which settled it. None-too-gracefully, she jumped.

It was colder than she'd expected, and she surfaced spluttering, treading water. With the sun behind him it was impossible to read his expression, but his fists were clenched at his side. A sign she'd come to learn was him fighting to restrain himself. She rolled her eyes and waded to the bank, hauling herself out.

"You should put the jumper back on," he instructed.

"No point, I'll just get that wet, and I'm hardly going to catch my death. I'll be dry in no time with that sun." Yes, the tanktop was clinging to her skin, but it was a nice solid yellow that hadn't gone at all transparent. She was far from naked and she was going to enjoy the sun while she could.

He insisted they stop for a picnic, and then they spent the rest of the afternoon following the river to the base of the waterfalls. They emerged from the woods to the basin below at sunset: it meant that when she stared up at the cliff, the spray was bathed in gold light, and rainbows were scattered through the mist.

They explored the basin then settled down in a sheltered spot to watch the sky, a ring of tall rocks around them keeping the breeze away. Khan's pack of supplies included a tent, but for now Molly was content with her bedroll and pillow, without anything blocking her view of the stars above. And then, as dusk settled in, it changed again, the inky blue erupting into fireworks of colour.

She'd purposely not laid her bedroll too close to Khan's, lest he get the wrong idea, but he must have shifted closer in the darkness, his hand brushing against hers, and it felt like the fireworks above were mirrored on her skin. She shivered, from the slight chill and from so much more, and glanced at him with her peripheral vision. His pale skin was the perfect canvas for the night, the blues and greens above reflecting from it and lighting up his eyes.

He shifted again, and she heard it. A crunch in the treeline.

The birds and insects had fallen silent and the only sound left, apart from Molly's own rasping breath, was the muffled roar of the falls. She turned her gaze back to him, but he was gone.

Instinct kept her head down, the rocks suddenly becoming a haven and a shield, no matter how badly she wanted to peer over and see what was happening. Instead she had to rely on her hearing—more silence, and then an almighty _crack_.

Guttural words, not Khan's voice, and the unmistakable sounds of a fight: blows being exchanged, the smack of flesh and bone, a fall, shattering bone. Grunts and moans.

The pop of a rapidly discharging weapon.

Molly clapped a hand over her mouth to keep her gasp inside. Khan had gone out there weaponless—she knew that because the phaser he'd brought with him was abandoned between their bedrolls.

She scooted, as quietly as she could, to retrieve it, trying to figure out what the different buttons meant; it was difficult to even see them in the dark, and she was barely sure she was pointing it in the right direction—

Footsteps crunched on the rocks and she raised the phaser in the direction of the sound. Khan appeared on the crown of the rocks, a weapon—a gun of some kind—the length of his arm resting in his hands. He appeared unscathed, though he was panting heavily.

"Klingons," he told her hoarsely. "Dead."

She gave a sob of relief, pushing herself to her knees, ready to stand. "How did they know we were here?"

He didn't have chance to answer her. Over his shoulder a figure appeared, and she barely had time to scream as it raised a blade in Khan's direction. She aimed the phaser and pressed.

Khan's reflexes saved him. He twisted out of the way, moving into a flying kick which knocked the Klingon further onto the rocks. Closer to Molly, whose shot had missed. She pushed to her feet as Khan's gun went clattering away into the dark. While he turned, she scrambled up onto the rocks—if she stayed put, it would be too easy for her to get pinned down. Keeping hold of the phaser made her progress slow, and she didn't realise how slow until she felt the air stir behind her. It was enough to make her spin around, leaping desperately for higher ground.

The blow that had been aimed at her torso bit into her thigh instead.

She screamed, a raw sound that tore at her throat, and fired the phaser again while her legs buckled underneath her. It hit this time, though it wasn't a kill shot. Not even a stun. The Klingon dropped his sword and lost the ground he'd gained on her but he was still conscious, pushing himself from where he'd fallen with uncanny determination. She didn't understand the words he snarled at her, but the meaning wasn't lost on her.

Khan dropped behind him and snapped his neck.

Ordinarily the sight—and the sound, a vicious _crunch_—might have made Molly cringe, but she didn't have the energy for that. She was losing blood fast. From her perch on the rocks she could see the plateau around the base of the falls, littered with the bodies of fallen aliens, bathed in showers of gold and green light from the night sky.

_They never stood a chance against him_, she thought idly, as her vision began to bleach into grey. At least the pain had faded.

His hands were on her thigh, his shirt ripped apart for use as a tourniquet.

"Think he got the femoral artery," she murmured. "Need surgery and a blood transfusion."

"Get us back up there _now_." She wasn't sure who he was barking the order at, until the world shimmered around her. Between one blink and the next their surroundings changed, ripping her from the serenity of the waterfalls to the sterile walls of the transporter room.

It was Alana who lifted her from the floor, cradling her as they raced through the ship to the medical bay. Khan paced ahead, removing the ruins of his shirt. Not a bruise or a scratch on him. Wasn't fair.

"What happened?"

"Klingons. Must have picked up the transporter signal. _Stupid_." He punched a hole in the wall as they passed, and Molly flinched.

The bright lights of the bay didn't make her any happier about keeping her eyes open, though Alana insisted on it as Khan stalked over to a bank of supplies and began tipping the contents out of drawers. Another augment took one look at Molly and dragged out an IV kit.

"Hey!" Molly protested at the mess Khan was making, but he'd already found what he was after, returning with a syringe. "That's not going to do much good," she mumbled, and frowned as he jabbed it into his own forearm. "At all."

"He's going to use his blood to heal you," Alana explained, smoothing Molly's hair back from her forehead. "Evans, sort out the supplies. Doctor Hooper only got those organised last week."

Molly teetered on the edge, the room swimming around her, threads of nausea hitting with every breath. Then there was a prick at her arm, and she glanced down to the see the IV needle being inserted, Khan's blood being injected into the saline bag.

"That's not how you do a transfusion," she said thickly, blinking away black spots. They all ignored her and she let her eyes drift shut.

"I'm teaching her combat skills," Alana said.

"No," Khan replied from between clenched teeth.

"She needs to know how to protect herself. We don't know who we're going to run into."

"Then I will teach her."

Alana snorted. "Because you can handle her being sweaty and close to you, pressed up tight when you're grappling."

"Fine," Khan growled. "You can teach her. But if we ever come under attack I'm making you personally responsible for her safety."

"I would expect no less."

"Can you two stop arguing about me like I'm not here?" Molly's voice sounded clearer to own ears, and when she opened her eyes the room was unbearably bright, but in full colour again. "That's good stuff."

Instantly Khan was at her side, pulling the tourniquet from around her thigh, the cloth tugging where the blood had crusted against her skin. "It's healed well."

Alana prised her eyes open, shining a light while Molly wriggled away. "Fully responsive. Let her take the full bag of saline and she'll be good to go."

Khan waited at her side while the fluid drained, Alana and…Evans?…crossing the room to sort out the supplies. For a confusing moment Molly though Khan was going to take her hand, but instead he just rested it next to hers on the bed. "It looks like you won't have a scar."

She pushed herself up onto her elbows to stare down at her leg. The blood had been wiped away, and her leg did look exactly as it had this morning when she'd showered. Her trousers had been stripped off at some point, but they'd be a ruined mess anyway. "How is that even possible?"

"My blood has healing properties. Combined with your Parilian genes, which allowed you to remain conscious so long, you've healed remarkably well."

"I'll say."

When the IV bag was empty, Alana fussed around, trying to insist that Molly stay in the medical bay overnight while Molly pulled on a pair of scrub pants.

"Technically, I am Chief Medical Officer," Molly reminded her, only half joking, "in the absence of anyone else better qualified. I've got the uniform and everything."

"I will watch her," said Khan, his arm around her waist although she was quite sure she could stand of her own accord.

The sigh Alana made could only be classified as exasperation.

Molly allowed the contact from Khan, despite the fact he was still naked from the waist up. If he'd got her blood on him at any point it had been cleaned off, and his torso gleamed under the artificial lights, perfect ivory without blemish, muscled but still managing to be sleek. The exertion, and the heightened emotions of the last hour, meant his scent was a rich cloud around her. She finally understood what he'd meant when he'd said her fear was pungent. Though it was thick enough to wrap herself up in, it wasn't unpleasant.

Despite being as good as dead not an hour before, Molly felt fantastic. She could do with the lights dimming, but she'd never been more aware of her own pulse, or of how sensitive her skin was. It was like the endorphin rush from a workout, without the crushing exhaustion.

She'd thought they were returning to her rooms, but instead Khan paused outside the door to his own suite.

"What—" she began, but he silenced her with a thumb brushing over her bottom lip.

"Doctor Hooper, you are much mistaken if you believe I'm letting you out of my sight after the events of the night." He opened the door, the hand at the small of her back guiding her inside. "Our perfect evening was ruined, but I'm aware of how vibrantly my blood sings in you right now. There should be no more dancing around each other, no more waiting, not when death is clearly so eager to snatch you from me at any moment. Do you assent?"

Molly stared up at him, his eyes pitch black in the dark of his suite, and she was dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with blood loss. She took a deep breath, gave a shaky nod and he closed the door behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you, once again, to my little troupe of betas, for demanding better (and listing smut pet peeves I'd inadvertently hit upon).**

**Song suggestion for the first part of this chapter: Kamikaze by PJ Harvey.**

**Part Four:**

He had her up against the door as it soon as it was locked, lifting her off the ground with ease and stealing her breath with his lips. They were softer than they'd been in her dreams, and he tasted as good as he'd always smelled to her, salt and mint and musk. He was insistent without being rough, and she melted against him, trusting the hands gripping her thighs to keep her airborne.

It made sense in this position to wrap her legs around him and let him nestle between her hips, while he claimed her mouth with the precision he used in everything. One of her hands rested against his throat and she could feel the pulse there, racing away like her own, in complete contrast to how in control he seemed.

As the kiss progressed they shifted closer, until he was pressed where her pulse beat fiercest. She pulled away from his mouth with a gasp, and he spun away from the door, carrying her to his bed like she weighed nothing.

Only the stars glittering through the windows illuminated them as he laid her down, the light reflecting from his bare torso like polished marble. She reached out, resting her palm against his abdomen. The flex of his muscles beneath her touch and the warmth of his skin beneath hers reminded her that he was flesh and blood, just like she was.

He didn't cover her straight away, kneeling beside her while one hand went to her face, ghosting along her cheekbones before he tugged her hair loose of its ponytail. The ribbon drifted lazily to the carpet. Molly's hair spilt around her and he let his hands tangle in it, while she arched her neck at the feeling of his fingertips on her scalp. It sent a tingle down her jaw, a shiver that teased her entire body.

The shiver loosed something in him, in both of them. He made quick work of the scrubs, ripping them from her skin. She felt the sting as the cloth tore but was too busy stripping the rest of her clothes, tossing them away and reaching for his trousers. He was too fast, her hands finding naked skin even as his encircled her thighs, tugging her flat against the bed. Then he was above her, mouth on hers again, but only for a moment. He attacked her neck, a graze of teeth that was a promise of more to come, and began to kiss his way down her body.

He knew where to touch her, where to suck softly, where to apply the lightest pressure with his teeth, and not for the first time she wondered if he could read her mind. She carded her hands into his hair, messing up its perfection, while he explored the soft underside of her breast, the skin on the curve of her ribs and the sensitive arch of her hipbone.

Then he moved lower still, precisely pushing her thighs apart to cradle the breadth of his shoulders. He blew gently, a tease that made her squirm and grab for him, but he only twined her fingers with his and lowered his mouth to her.

Molly arched from the bed with a cry at the first swipe of his tongue, but he pushed her hips down with his free hand, circling her clit with his lips. It was the lightest pressure, but she felt it all the way up her spine.

"Oh god—more, please, more—"

She lifted her head from the pillow as she begged, meeting his eyes, and they were liquid silver in this light. His nostrils flared and his mouth curled in triumph, and then he set about tasting her with eagerness. It was greedy, the way his mouth worked against her, and she rocked her hips up to meet him. Then two fingers slid inside her, and she was quite sure she'd have broken the hand she was gripping if he weren't an augment. He was sure in his movement, pressing down inside her, thrusting and curling, thick enough that it felt like she was being fucked even while he sucked at her.

Her first orgasm was fierce, forcing wordless cries from her throat, but it was only when the second one left her spent against the sheets that he pulled away, wiping his mouth against her inner thigh and sliding closer. They were almost face to face with him resting on one elbow, and he watched her intently as he hooked an arm under her knee, opening her even further to him. He brushed against her, hot and hard where his fingers had opened her up, and paused, his attentive gaze focused on her. She nodded breathlessly.

If she'd thought his fingers had prepared her, she was entirely wrong. He stretched her to just the right side of pain and pleasure, and he gave no quarter, his rhythm punishing from the beginning. She fisted one hand into the sheets and desperately sought purchase on his back with the other, bringing his chest down to meet hers. She should have been claustrophobic, surrounded by him as she was, but all she wanted was _more_. His scent was thickened by sweat and she lapped at his neck, savouring the taste of him.

"Can you take more?"

Molly felt his voice as much as she heard it, it had dropped to such a low rumble. "Please," she replied, more sigh than anything else.

The arm behind her knee shifted, pushing it higher, and his thrusts became brutal. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, the only sound in the room the slap of skin on skin and their mingled grunts. She'd be sore tomorrow, but it'd be worth it. Her orgasm was out of reach like this, the angle all wrong, but it felt greedy to demand more right now and she didn't want him to move anyway, not when every nerve ending in her body felt alive.

His teeth grazed at her collarbone and she hummed, arching her neck to give him better access, cradling his head with her fingers. He'd said she'd want this, hadn't he? Her breasts ached at the thought of his teeth, eager for attention. His tongue slid over her pulse and he nipped hard enough to bruise, until all Molly could hear was the sound of her own frantic heartbeat.

"_An alpha and omega pairing bond through the sharing of bodily fluids._" The words rang through her delirium, an echo of Khan's voice in her skull. If he bit her—

She stiffened as he teased her skin again, curling her fingers into his hair and pulling his head away from her throat. He gave a growl of disapproval, his teeth bared as he pressed his forehead to hers, eyes narrow as he pounded into her, but she shook her head, resolute. _No biting_.

He grunted his disapproval but obeyed her wishes, gritting his teeth together as he came moments later.

She took his weight as he relaxed above her, panting together while the adrenaline ebbed and her heartbeat slowed. She kept her eyes closed so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze, hoping it read as fucked to the point of exhaustion and not the remorse that was creeping up on her. When he rolled to the side his hands didn't leave her, stroking across her belly and down her arms. She stretched her legs while he chuckled with a masculine note of pride. God, she really would feel it in the morning. Khan rolled further away, tugging the sheets over both of them, though he left an arm draped possessively over her waist. Molly let the noise in her head quieten and rest come.

She didn't doze for long, and when she blinked the sleep away he was still at her side, dead to the world. It gave her the chance to gather the remnants of her clothes and bolt down the corridor.

After she'd shut the door to her quarters and engaged the locking mechanism, she rested her forehead against it, only barely resisting the urge to smack her head against it like she wanted to. What a _mess_ she'd made of everything.

Yes, she'd agreed to sleep with him, but somewhere along the way she'd forgotten that sex wasn't just sex. If he'd bitten her he'd have altered her, bound them together in a way she wasn't prepared for. The thought of it sent shockwaves of white terror through her; if she couldn't allow it then she needed to walk away from any liaison with him at all.

Because despite his attempt at a courtship, despite the apparent respect he had for her, he was still a man who'd done terrible, cruel things. The way he'd vanquished the Klingons had undoubtedly saved her life, but it was also a stark reminder of how easily killing came to him. Wasn't binding herself to him giving her silent approval of his past actions, and anything he may do in the future? If it was, then she could never allow it to happen.

Maybe now she'd scratched that itch, she'd stop craving him and could put him behind her. And yet a quiet part of her mind mocked the notion._You're a fool about many things, Molly Hooper, and this is one of them. You fear how he makes you feel, but it won't stop you wanting him_.

She didn't just lock the door behind her, but shoved a chair in front of it too, as if it would keep him out if he was determined to force his way inside. Though she was exhausted, she couldn't sleep until she'd stood under the hot jets from the shower for half an hour, sloughing away the dirt of the day, the remnants of sweat and sex and his every touch.

Halfway through towelling her hair, there was a commotion in the corridor outside: shouts and thuds, Khan's outrage manifesting in a brawl. Molly shrank back against the wall as a fist-sized dent appeared in the door, and frantically scanned the room for a weapon. Not that he would hurt her, but if he got in she would be cornered, and she wasn't going to allow that. He'd heal, whatever she threw at him.

A hushed voice joined the din, soothing cadences that Molly recognised as Alana. She flushed as she realised this meant the entire ship probably knew what had happened. Whatever Alana was saying worked: the yelling stopped, and then footsteps signalled everyone walking away. The area lapsed into silence.

Molly managed a fitful sleep, followed by a long, hot bath. She'd tossed and turned and was coated in so much sweat it felt like she'd never showered at all, and now she was really feeling the aches from the day before. The water soothed her muscles, though nothing really soothed her troubled thoughts. She didn't want to get dressed and face the crew, and she really didn't want to face Khan. It was cowardly, but she didn't exactly have much choice. Any other occasion of buyer's remorse, she could have walked away and never seen him again, but she was trapped on the ship with Khan with nowhere to hide from him. He'd made his intentions abundantly clear—he would not view last night as a casual thing—and so at this point her quarters were her only refuge.

She'd just dressed, head still full of gnarled thoughts, when a knock at the door drew her out of them. She froze.

"It's Alana."

She relaxed, but didn't move to open the door. "I'd like some privacy right now."

"You nearly died yesterday. I need to make sure you really are healed. Don't worry, he's on the bridge making Bellamy miserable."

Still half-expecting a trick, but knowing she wouldn't be left alone until she relented, Molly shifted the chair and opened the door. Alana was alone on the other side, holding a small kit from the medical bay.

Molly found herself unable to make eye contact, or think of a single thing to say, as Alana prodded at her thigh and checked her vitals.

"You know I can do these things myself."

"I know. I also know Khan will only accept my testimony or his own that you really are okay. He's worried he injured you and you're too stubborn to say anything."

Molly drew away, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. "I'm fine."

Alana sighed, heavy with frustration. "Yes, I know what happened, even without the dramatics. I can smell him on you."

"But I—"

"Showered? Doesn't matter. It'll take a while for it to fade."

"Then I'm definitely not leaving these rooms."

"I'm not going to force you to, but you can't avoid him forever and I don't suggest you try. The longer you leave it, the worse it's going to be. His pride is hurt, but this is far worse than a wounded ego. He's an alpha rejected by his omega—bond or not, he's already chosen you."

"I just need space, Alana. A few days to clear my head and then I'll speak to him. I promise." Molly had no idea what she was going to say, but she'd be sick of the sight of these walls by then.

"Fine. I'll have your meals sent through the replicator. If you excuse me, I have to go deal with the father of all bad moods."

Unfortunately, the next few days brought a new itch, and it wasn't one Molly could scratch; like a jangling of nerves that showering or sleep couldn't fix, a prickling of every cell in her body. It was probably just Khan's blood working its way out of her system. No one had explained the side effects of using it for healing, if they even knew what they were. It was almost enough to drive her from seclusion in the direction of the lab, but to study his blood she would need to take a fresh sample, so that wasn't happening anytime soon.

A welcome distraction came in the form of an early wake-up call from Alana. "We need you in the medical bay immediately. Bellamy's missing a lung." That had Molly dressed and running for the bay in under a minute.

The sight that greeted her nearly had her heaving. She'd seen worse: though autopsies were mostly done by machinery nowadays, she'd still had to perform a few manual ones as part of her training, and the professors liked to use the most grotesque corpses they could find to test their students' resolve. But those had always been dead people. Not Bellamy—a man she didn't much like, but a person nonetheless—lying on the bed with half his rib cage splayed out like it had exploded, his chest cavity a mess of torn flesh.

Molly steadied herself against the wall. "What happened?" He needed surgery, probably beyond her ability, and a new lung, which definitely was. Evans had already got an IV going, and a discarded syringe showed Bellamy was sedated, though the shock and pain would have made him black out anyway.

"He challenged Khan," Alana replied. "Told him he wasn't fit to rule us if he'd chosen an omega who'd rejected him. Bellamy lost the challenge."

The thought of Khan causing this damage made Molly sway, a flush creeping her neck and face. "I don't think I can save him."

"Don't you dare apportion yourself any blame for this," Alana snapped. "He was a fool to think he stood a chance against Khan. It's something he's wanted to do for years and he's learnt the hard way how wrong he was. He'll live, though. Khan has given us his blood to heal him."

"He has? Why?" It seemed so pointless, as good as killing a man and then saving his life.

"To show he can have mercy, though Bellamy will wish he had died by the time he's healed. He'll be a pariah among the crew. This is a lesson to them all."

"Then all we can do here is sterilise his wounds and patch him up." She crossed to the wall of supplies and began taking out the equipment she needed, talking Alana and Evans through what they'd be doing, all the while aware of how _hot_ she was. The flush hadn't abated but blossomed into something worse, the infernal prickling overwhelming even her intense concentration. She wiped sweat from her forehead with a shaky hand and tugged at the scrub jacket she'd thrown on to protect her uniform.

"Molly…" Alana murmured, while they watched Evans administer antivirals. "You don't look great."

"I don't fee—_ugh_." She was forced to her knees by a wave of cramps, her abdomen feeling like it was trying to tie itself in knots. When they passed, she raised her head to find both Alana and Evans staring at her. Alana's nostrils flared, and Evans had abandoned what he'd been doing to round the table towards Molly, a dazed look on his face.

"Evans, go fetch Khan," Alana ordered. He barely glanced at her. "_Now_."

Yes. Khan. Actually, no not Khan, I can't see him… As Evans' footsteps echoed away, Alana dropped to her knees beside Molly. "Why didn't you tell me you'd bonded—why didn't he?"

"We didn't," Molly protested. "No biting. I wouldn't let him." She shifted to stand, but Alana's hand on her shoulder stilled her. God, Alana smelled good. Spicy and rich, thick enough to taste this close, which was a good thing because Bellamy's scent had grown stronger too, and right now it was all blood and salt and meat.

"You did. Otherwise you wouldn't be in heat."

"What?" The word came out as a shriek that made Molly wince.

"The pheromones are pouring off you. Your temperature is way up, you're cramping, and right now you're wondering what it'd be like if I pinned you to the floor."

Alana's words snapped Molly out of her daydream about that exact thing. "I'm ill," she protested. "Must be a bug or something. Just give me fluids."

"Fluids won't make a difference. You're in heat—you want an alpha, or you'll be in for days of fever and cramps. Yes, those cramps", she finished as Molly writhed on the floor again. "He might not have bitten you, but his blood was in you when he took you to bed. All you needed was to exchange saliva and it's as good as him biting you. You're bonded and the only thing that's going to make you feel better is him."

Molly pressed her forehead against the blessedly cold floor tile and tried to ignore Alana's words, but she ached everywhere. The space between cramps had given way to a throbbing between her legs. "Can't you give me something? Sedate me or—"

"Stop fighting it, Molly. He'll be here soon enough. Whether it's this heat or the next, you'll only make yourself miserable, and he's been miserable enough for the both of you."

"But I can't." The words started as a whine and ended in a sob. "How can I be with the man who did that to Bellamy?"

Alana moved to block Bellamy from view. "If Khan had lost the challenge, Bellamy would have done worse to him, and to you. Khan did what he had to. He might not be a good man, not the way you want him to be, but there's not a single person in this universe who will have more influence over him than you do. You can shy away from what you feel for him if you must. It won't change that you do feel for him. I know you're not a coward, so you may as well face your bond now."

Molly was only half-listening, because she could smell the storm coming: lavender and rain-drenched fields, ozone and amber, the ache growing fiercer with every foot of space closed between them.

"I want to," Molly whispered. "But he terrifies me."

"That's who he is. Domineering and powerful and ruthless—and you're a liar if you say you don't crave it."

Then he was in the doorway, gripping the frame in his hands so hard it cracked. Molly arched off the floor, making a sound she'd be embarrassed about when she remembered it, and Alana backed away.

"Molly," Khan said, the syllables a rasp that she felt down to her toes. "Alana can sedate you. I'll take the jumpship and leave until you are recovered. If that is what you want—"

He left the offer dangling, and the waves of scent pouring off him had eased her discomfort enough to give her a little more clarity of thought. She could sleep through this, despite whatever Alana said, though this was only the first in a regular cycle. Or she could go to bed with him again, let him ease the ache. It didn't mean she was approving of every little thing he'd ever done. And right now, when he could let her hormones overrule her, let her wake to more regret when this broke, he was giving her the choice instead.

She licked her parched lips. "No. I want you."

He took a step forward and stopped, the door frame crumbling under his fist. "Alana, make sure Bellamy survives. You must take my place until…until—"

Alana straightened and stepped even further away from Molly. "Sir," she said, acknowledging the order.

Khan released the door frame, crossing the room in a few strides, and Molly rose to her knees, arms reaching for him. He bent, but only to lift her, hooking one arm around her back and the other under her legs, cradling her close to his chest. She pressed herself closer, gulping down breaths of the scent now clouding around her, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. Already this was so much better, but she wanted skin and the heat of flesh, not the layers of cloth between them.

His long legs made quick work of the distance between the medical bay and his quarters, and this time he took her straight to the bed, kicking the door shut behind them.

She whimpered when he broke away from her, a wave of cramps washing over her. "_Please_." He was only stripping himself naked, but she was so far gone even that was too far away from her. She needed him over her, crushing her to the bed, filling her and fucking the ache out of her.

He sensed what she was begging for, crawling over her when he was gloriously nude. She spread her legs, but there was still material between them, fabric he tore away from her with a snarl. With that gone, her scent was stronger than Khan's, her thighs slick with her own want. She reared up and brushed her nose along the pulse in his throat, wanting to get drunk on everything he was. He trailed fingers through her heat, teasing and testing but not enough.

"Please," she repeated. "Holding back…it hurts—"

"I know." His voice was more growl than anything human. "It's been like for me since the day we met."

One hand curled around her hip, fingers reaching to the curve of her backside. Khan lifted her and flipped her over to her knees, her chest hitting the mattress, and Molly scrambled to push to her elbows while he lined his hips up with hers.

The first thrust knocked the breath out of her, but by the time he'd found his rhythm she'd regained it, enough to sob out her relief. She clutched at the sheets, distantly aware that she begging for _more, harder, please Khan_. He did his best to oblige, his chest crushed against her back, one arm wrapping around her waist to hold her tighter. She could feel the sheen of sweat growing between them as their skin slid together, and Khan's scent had sharpened with the exertion.

Molly had never come from penetration alone, but at this angle there was so much more of him, and she was so sensitive, that it took nothing at all. Yet even that didn't abate the persistent ache for long.

"Khan, I need, I need—"

"What do you need?"

More. She wanted more, but she couldn't explain the emptiness, even with him buried so deep. "I don't _know!_" she moaned in frustration.

He brushed her hair away from her neck, tipping her chin to expose her throat to him. "Perhaps this?" He bit down gently at her pulse, a mere catch of his teeth, and she writhed beneath him. Somewhere in the sounds he was forcing from her, she made it clear she wanted more and he took the offer willingly, clamping his teeth down harder, just this side of breaking the skin.

It was good—he'd been so, so right when he said she'd want this, because she was begging him to mark her, to bite deep enough to spill her blood—but it _still_ wasn't enough, even as her orgasm spilt outwards. Yet it changed something in Khan. His thrusts became shorter, as if he was fighting to stay in her body, and then she felt him growing, swelling inside her. The knot he'd promised, the knot she'd barely given a second thought to, pushed its way inside as Khan kept thrusting, tight little movements that rocked against the most sensitive spot inside her. She was so_full_ and it was everything she'd been begging for.

She dropped her face to the pillow, silently rocking through the pleasure, her voice stolen with her rationality. Khan, too, collapsed, trapping her to the bed with the weight of his body, giving her just enough space to breathe. He jerked against her, guttural sounds voiced against her neck as she felt him empty into her. When she thought he was finished, she shifted, and the knot moved within her, sparking aftershocks that rippled into Khan. It went on for minutes, every tiny movement of their hips resulting in friction and fireworks, until Khan had no more to give.

They lay sprawled, breathing slowing to a shared rhythm, until the knot subsided and Khan could slip away from her. He didn't move far, spooning against her prone form while she tried to remember how her muscles worked.

"This will not last long," he told her, kissing a path down her back. "The heat will rise again soon. You need to drink so you don't become dehydrated."

Molly had little interest in moving, but she felt his weight leave the bed, then heard the electronic hum of the replicator. When she showed no urge to take the water, he lifted her head and pressed the cup to her lips, and she downed it greedily. He was right, she was thirsty. She took another cup gratefully, mindful of how much she'd sweated during the worst of the heat.

He ran a finger across her throat, where his teeth had been before, and her pulse picked up in anticipation.

"Though we have already bonded, the urge for me to mark you will be strong, and you will have little inclination to resist it. Are you happy for me to mark you here, where everyone may see?"

She paused, thinking on the crew's reaction. After today, they would all know she was bonded to Khan, but to walk around the ship with evidence they'd done something so _kinky_…Molly didn't think she could look any of them in the eye, not even Alana. Yet he was right, in the heat of the moment there wasn't a thing she'd do to stop him biting her.

"There are other places. More intimate places." His fingers moved from her throat to cup her breast, then further down to stroke the pulse in her thigh.

"Yes, there," she agreed, rolling fully onto her back and opening her legs to him. His grip tightened on her thigh, and already she was aware of the prickle in her skin, the warning bells sounding. So little time had passed, but her temperature was spiking again.

Khan rolled between her hips, pressing a kiss to her belly, sliding further down. "As you wish."

They had enough awareness the second time around to learn about each other, to taste and feel, though Molly's exploration of Khan with her mouth was cut short when he yanked her head away. "In this state, I will knot your throat, and neither of us want that." But when he covered her and thrust inside, it was as rough and frantic as it had been before.

Three days passed, a cycle of fevered knotting, deep sleep and only the occasional thought to food. The heat ebbed like a retreating tide, washing away slowly enough that the last time they joined was a gentler experience, fuelled less by the insistence of hormones and more by their combined greed for skin and touch. Molly rode Khan at an unhurried pace, the first time she'd been above him, and the first time in her life she felt no fear in baring herself this way.

As her pulse quietened from her final orgasm, tucked into Khan's side, she knew the heat had finally broken. Aches she hadn't been aware of fought their way to the surface, especially where Khan's teeth had marked her skin. She had full control of her capabilities again, and yet the urge to run away didn't rise within her. She was content here. Happy, even, no matter how illusory that might prove in the long run. She wasn't ready to start throwing around the L-word, but if this was her future…well, not too long ago she'd been contemplating solitude and spinsterhood. This was not what she'd imagined for herself, but for the first time since she'd lost her parents, she was wanted. It wasn't something to be undervalued.

Able to properly assess her surroundings for the first time, she was struck by how empty Khan's quarters were. There'd been no personalisation, not like the chaos of colour she'd created in hers. The bed sheets were nice enough, and no doubt they were better quality than the rest of the crew had, but the walls were utterly empty, and whatever personal belongings he had were neatly stashed away out of sight. All except a yellow ribbon on the top of a cabinet, very carefully arranged in a spiral. Molly realised she'd been wearing the ribbon in her hair the day they went to Hafnar 9, and had left it behind on Khan's floor in her hurry to flee his chambers the first night they'd spent together.

"Marcus stripped the ship of everything it held," Khan murmured, his breath on her cheek. He'd been watching her and guessed her thoughts, as usual. "My rooms once held untold wealth and now it is all gone."

"There are more important things," she replied. "You have your crew. Everything else can be replaced—though I rather hope you don't intend to return to Earth and take it back by force."

"I have no interest in war with Earth or Starfleet, not when I have risked so much to ensure my crew's survival. Our enemies won't realise we're gone for years, decades if we're lucky, and when they do we'll be far beyond their reach."

"Then where are we going?"

"To seek out new life and new worlds; isn't that the directive? There are thousands, if not millions, of worlds out there that are ours for the taking. Places we can create a new Earth, populated with our superior genetic code and without the taint humanity has left on the worlds it has already touched."

Leaving Molly alone with the augments, practically a different species despite her bond with Khan. It also left Earth at the mercy of its enemies. Their closeness loosened her tongue.

"But the Klingons are going to war with the federation, and you had a hand in that! How can you run away now?"

"Starfleet would as soon make war on us as they would on the Klingon empire. I had no quarrel with the Klingons—this is the admiral's doing. I have not come this far to save my crew, only to throw their lives away."

"I'm not asking you to—but you're Earth's best hope. The Klingons aren't expecting you to be in this fight. You once told me you took out a squadron of them nearly single-handedly. With the crew's combined strength and skills, think of the weapons you could build—you could end this war alone. Starfleet would have to pardon you all, especially since they know you only did what you did because Marcus forced you to. You could stop running from them and choose where you settle. I could go home."

He drew in a sharp breath at the last, his brow furrowing as he seemed to war between closing up or letting the pain her words had caused him show. "You would so easily run from me, after everything. My blood is in you, as you are in me, and yet you would turn your back."

"That's not what I meant." Though despite everything, there probably would be times she would want to run from him. Molly would always carry the knowledge of what he'd done and what he was capable of, and the day that rested easy with her was the day she lost sight of her own humanity. But she couldn't deny the way he'd found his way under her skin and even if she ran to the edge of the universe, not only would he chase her, she'd regret running before he ever found her. She laid her hand over his. "But I would like the chance to visit."

He studied her for a long moment, the faint light from the stars beyond creating a soft halo around his head, his eyes cerulean bright against the dark. "Very well. If it will make you happy, to war we shall go. If the crew do not object."

"They've been asleep for three centuries. I think most of them are spoiling for a fight…and longing for home too."

He brushed her hair from her face and bent to ghost a kiss upon her forehead. "I warn you now, I will not allow even death to separate you from me. You will survive this war, or I will rip apart the very fabric of space and time to bring you back."

"Always so dramatic." She rolled her eyes and shifted, every muscle protesting at the movement. "I'll do my very best not to die."

"Excellent. I will call a meeting with Alana, we have much to prepare." He peeled the sheet away from their sweat-soaked bodies, and Molly admired the view as he crossed to the bathroom. When he reached the threshold he paused and turned back to her, every inch of him a pale streak of starlight against the gloom. He reached out a hand to her. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

**A/N: Nearly 20,000 words later, my 'one shot' is over. Except I absolutely have a sequel mapped out *angry glare at muse*.**


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