A/N: My first Kharthur. Because there is no Kharthur on this stupid website and I don't know why. They're adorable. KHHHAAAARRRTHUUURRRR. Inspired slightly by the lovely brilliant headcanons of nygrd!

Arthur floats into consciousness suffused with an aura of happiness. He's fuzzily unclear why and enjoys the moment, until he rolls over onto the other, empty side of the bed and it all snaps into focus.

Oh. Stupid. Khan's back today.

He feels a grin blossoming over his face, and buries it in the pillow that after three weeks is beginning to smell more like himself. Khan's back today!

He won't return until three. This gives Arthur approximately six quiet hours before the flurry of post-mission embraces and bandages and talking and food (Khan never gets enough to eat when he's away) and most likely impromptu making out, because Khan gets much more affectionate after these absences. It's the only positive side Arthur sees to them.

Six hours is a long time. May as well try and sleep through some of it.

Arthur tosses and turns for a while, trying to get comfortable, but to no avail. Now that he's awake, he can't settle his mind. And anyway, the idler his brain is the more likely he'll start worrying. Never fun. He promptly gives up and slides out of bed.

After shrugging on his old green bathrobe, Arthur meanders to the kitchen. He and Khan share a small ship, less spacious but much more peaceful than any other he's been on. No depressed androids, maddeningly jaunty computer systems, or improbability drives to make life overly complicated. The inside is pristine white but manages to avoid the hospital feel by way of cheery, plush carpets Arthur took it upon himself to install.

As he waits for his toast to pop up Arthur picks up one of Khan's books he's left lying around and flips through it, careful not to dislodge the bookmark. Animal Farm. Khan likes these sorts of books – George Orwell, Orson Scott Card, Stephen King. Grim yet intelligent. Whereas Arthur holds a special fondness for fantasy, despite the fact that his life is fantastical enough – J. R. R. Tolkien and Sir Terry Pratchett, for example. Sometimes he'll read to Khan before bed. They were halfway through The Hobbit again when he left.

The toaster makes a substantial noise. Arthur retrieves his breakfast and spreads it with rather more jam than necessary. Absently he goes through the motions of making a cup of tea, only to remember too late that Khan is the only one who can bully the machine into behaving properly. It seems to be Arthur's curse, to be plagued with inadequate tea for the entirety of his space-going life.

He forgoes the tea and returns to his toast, attempting to ward off the old familiar tickling in the bottom of his stomach with Khan's book.

Mr. Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the pop-holes. With the ring of light from his lantern dancing from side to side, he lurched across the yard, kicked off his boots at the back door…

After breakfast, the little tickling has only grown in strength. Arthur decides spontaneously to cook Khan something for when he returns home. For all his massive intellect and formidability, Khan barely knows his way around a stove, and relies completely on Arthur to make all their food. Arthur's not half bad at it, either.

Something sweet, definitely. A nice little welcome-home present. Arthur rifles through the cupboards. Do they have the materials for a cake? Chocolate. Khan likes chocolate considerably more than a menacing space terrorist really should.

Arthur buzzes around the kitchen, humming quietly to himself. He skips a little bit with excitement. Khan's missions are rarely this long, and Arthur doesn't particularly like floating through space alone. Maybe it's because he's still an Earthling at heart, but he gets a bit skittish around unknown aliens and other planets. Except with Khan, of course. Khan is the picture of confidence no matter who, or what, he's dealing with, and when Arthur gets scared his hand is always there to hold. It's like he's developed a sort of sixth sense as to when Arthur feels uncomfortable or intimidated – he'll put an arm around his shoulder, give him a light kiss on the cheek, or wrap his long fingers around Arthur's hand. Sometimes even a small, reassuring smile is all it takes, and Arthur calms down immediately.

Soon the cake is in the oven and a lovely rich smell begins to permeate throughout the ship. A convenient feature of this futuristic oven is its ability to sense when whatever is baking is done, and then lower the temperature so that the item doesn't burn but is kept warm. Which means Arthur can leave the cake to its own chocolaty devices and wander to the library.

He takes Animal Farm with him, using his finger to keep his place. He's not the fastest reader, but it only has a hundred or so pages, so he should be able to finish it before Khan returns. Arthur curls up on Khan's couch in a corner, surrounded on two sides by towering stacks and meticulously organized shelves of books, and opens to where he left off.

They explained that by their studies of the past three months the pigs had succeeded in reducing the principles of Animalism to Seven Commandments. These Seven Commandments would now be inscribed on the wall; they would form an unalterable law by which all the animals on Animal Farm must live for ever after. With some difficulty (for it is not easy for a pig to balance himself on a ladder) Snowball climbed up and set to work, with Squealer a few rungs below him holding the paint-pot. The Commandments were written on the tarred wall in great white letters that could be read thirty yards away. They ran thus:

THE SEVEN COMMANDMENTS

1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy…

He can see why Khan likes Orwell. Although slightly old-fashioned in style, the story is intriguing and unique. It gets progressively darker as the book goes on, and Arthur finishes it in record time.

He sets it down with the sense of numbness that comes after a good book. That is what one calls an ending. Arthur settles back against the couch to fully absorb the climax of the book before starting another one, but his eyelids are heavy, and slowly, inexorably, he can feel himself drifting off to sleep…

Arthur is woken by a sudden, out-of-the-blue surge of worry and fear that starbursts out from his stomach and radiates across his whole body. How long has he been asleep?! What time is it?! Has he missed Khan's arrival? Or, worse yet, has Khan not arrived at all?

He quickly catches a glimpse of the clock and falls back against the couch with relief. 2:36, thank goodness. The tsunami of tickling in his stomach subsides to a gentle throb.

Arthur certainly won't be going back to sleep after that. He picks up another book, but finds himself scanning the pages without taking any meaning from them. He can't focus.

The smell of chocolate jogs Arthur's mind into remembering that it's probably a good idea to retrieve the cake, so it can at least cool somewhat before Khan gets home. He pads to the kitchen, sets the cake (which has come out rather nicely) on a cooling rack and discovers a pleasant surprise in the form of an elderly but not-quite-past-expiration can of frosting in the back of the fridge.

After tending to the cake as much as he can, Arthur resigns himself to an agonizing remaining 12 minutes, and turns to pacing and worrying. He worries about Khan constantly, but definitely more so when he's off on these missions. The medicine cabinet is well stocked, he makes sure of that frequently, but that doesn't mean he's not terrified of Khan coming home hurt, or worse. Visions of Arthur begging Khan to stay awake as blood pools beneath the massive wound on his head, Khan trying to suppress tears of pain as Arthur gingerly bandages a horrifying chemical burn that covers much of his lower leg, Khan stumbling into the ship barely able to stand because a phaser shot glanced his spine and now electricity is sizzling across his central nervous system, haunt Arthur's nightmares.

These terrifying incidents are few and far between, and Arthur knows it. But Khan doesn't really tell him what happens on these missions, and Arthur can't stop the tickling from growing painful as his mind forces him to consider the worst. Khan bleeding, Khan drugged, Khan captured, Khan beaten, Khan tortured, Khan killed, breathtaking blue eyes staring vacantly into the sky…

Arthur runs a hand through his curly ginger hair and takes a seat at the table. He rests his head on his forearms and sighs, slightly shaky, at the thought of the most terrifying prospect of all.

What if he never comes back?

What if he doesn't make it home? What if Arthur never sees him again, always wondering how, or if, he finally met his death? What if he leaves Arthur forever, leaves him to wander through the lonely space with no home planet to speak of and nobody to turn to?

And then Arthur hears a sound, a faint vmmmm that steadily increases in volume until the cake is vibrating slightly on its platter. A grin blossoms across Arthur's face and he leaps off the chair. That vmmmm indicates that a smaller ship is close to docking alongside their own. And it's 3:00 exactly.

The ventilation system hisses as oxygen is pumped into the airlock chamber that serves as a landing stage for other ships. Arthur races out of the kitchen, beaming irrepressibly, and into the corridor.

The airlock door opens with a geriatric clanking, and out steps Khan, glancing around and smiling slightly. He sports a black eye and a bandage on his head but no obvious signs of other injuries. His hair looks damp. Was it raining where he was? The sight of him makes Arthur's heart sing with love and joy in his chest.

"Khan!" Arthur shouts, bare feet pounding the floor. "KHAANNNN!"

Khan's head whips around, and that smile, that beautiful, beaming, improbable smile that's always been for Arthur and Arthur alone lights up his whole face. Arthur runs straight into him, almost knocking him over, and Khan's strong arms wrap tightly around him. Using their combined momentum, Khan swings Arthur around and around, his feet leaving the floor but miraculously not crashing into any walls.

When they finally slow down they're both breathless and giggling – Arthur can count on his fingers the number of times he's heard Khan giggle – and their arms are wrapped viselike around each other. Khan wastes no time in tipping Arthur's head up with a hand at the base of his neck and pressing his lips to Arthur's. It begins as a gentle "I missed you" but evolves into a full-blown snog, "I was so worried" and "I couldn't stop thinking about you" and "why did you have to leave" and "I'm finally safe again" and "I love you so much" and many other unnamable things, all wrapped up in a tangle of passion and love that ends in Arthur pinned against the wall with his hands curled into Khan's hair.

"Are you hurt?" he murmurs softly when they pull apart, skimming his fingertips over Khan's black eye. That's the question he always asks first, because of tradition and because it's obviously the top priority.

Khan shakes his head, nose nudging against Arthur's, and runs his hand through Arthur's curls. "I missed you," he says, as if it needs saying.

"I missed you too," Arthur replies, because it can't hurt. "Maybe you should take me with you next time."

Khan shakes his head again, harder this time, and tightens his grip around the infinitely soft, beautiful, precious and amazing thing that is his Arthur, and that he'll do absolutely anything to protect. "I can't. It's too dangerous."

"I know," says Arthur.

They stand like that for a while, Khan pressing kisses to the top of Arthur's head, Arthur resting his face against Khan's chest and listening to his heartbeat, luxuriating in the warmth of each other's company.

"I made you a cake. To welcome you home."

Khan isn't used to spontaneous acts of kindness such as this quite yet. He pauses a bit before replying. "…Thank you."

"It's chocolate. You should come tell me if it's any good."

"Of course it is."

They head into the kitchen, shoulders touching and hands entwined. Khan sits down first and pulls Arthur into his lap. Arthur snuggles back into Khan's chest and they take turns feeding each other pieces of cake, chasing them down with kisses. Khan is right about the flavor, and neither of them can imagine a more perfect homecoming.