A/N: Ok, so…it's been a very, very long time since I last updated this 'verse. I know this isn't chapter two of Where Dreams & Darkness Collide, but I promise that's coming soon. This chapter came about as a desperate attempt to break through the absolutely atrocious writer's block that I've been struggling with. I think – I hope – that I finally managed to do it! So as penance for my absence, I offer this very long chapter - Khan's side of SIHNT Chapter 11 - and beg you all to bear with me just a little while longer!

And a big thank you to yifrodit for the gorgeous cover art! Thank you SO much!

One very long night later, Khan found himself stalking through the corridors with an extraordinarily large weapon slung across his back…and an extraordinarily self-satisfied smirk lurking just beneath his stoic façade. A self-satisfied smirk that only grew as the swelling sea of Io's residents cut a wide swath around him, the weight of countless eyes following him with widened wonder as he passed.

For a man accustomed to such behavior, it was gratifying to know that he could still inspire such a response from the lessers amongst whom he walked.

That it was, in all likelihood, the weapon, more than the man, who elicited such a reaction…well…that was as may be. The witless fools might not grasp the full measure of the man wielding the weapon, but it was still his genius that they cowered before. There was gratification enough in that to sustain him.

For now.

The time would come though, he promised himself, when they would know. When he was finished with Section 31, they would each of them understand precisely whose shadow they had passed through. Until then, he would take his victories where he could find them, no matter how trivial – and this, his first truly successful manipulation of 23rd century technology, was far from trivial.

I dare even Rebecca Duval to find fault with this weapon, he preened as he rounded the final corner before reaching his final destination. I shall enjoy watching her eat every, single one of her earlier misgivings.

She was standing with her back to him, facing the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the enormous expanse of the construction hanger below. Khan could not see her face as he approached, but from the sharp tilt of her head and the painfully precise square of her shoulders, he rather suspected that she was still nursing her ill humor from the night before. A frustration, if true – she tended to be extraordinarily determined in her anger and he had no doubt that, if provoked, she would refuse to admit to even the most grudging approval.

Galling as it was to admit, he needed her approval. That he wanted it as well…

Khan pressed his lips together tightly, smugness vanishing behind an expression of wary reticence. He would not antagonize her further than he already had. He would approach her with dignified stoicism; give her no excuses to hide behind…no perceived sin to seize upon. She would never again question his brilliance – or his ability to see that brilliance realized.

No, after this day…

"Son of a bitch. Arrogant, fucking toddler of a man; can't even be bothered to look at a damn clock."

Khan stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing at the sheer disgust woven through all of her plebeian crudity. She really was, he snarled to himself, the most distastefully vulgar creature; so disappointingly simple, in both word and deed. That he had even begun to imagine any different was testament only to his own sadly cloistered state, surely.

Ruthlessly knocking aside all his more lofty ambitions for their forthcoming interaction, he let his expression go cold, chin coming up proudly.

"On the contrary, Lieutenant," he snapped to her back, his words cordial even as his tone dripped acid, "I can and did keep my eye most firmly on the clock. I simply assumed that a fully functional weapon would be more welcome to you than punctuality, given the circumstances, though apparently I was mistaken."

Her reaction, so different from the openness of the day before, was infuriatingly non-existent. She simply turned around, expression as placid and unmoved as if he'd simply commented on the weather, though he was at least encouraged to see the tiniest flicker of something behind that deceptively limpid gaze. As it always did, that faint trace of reaction – that tantalizing tease, hinting at what lay beneath all of that carefully cultivated tranquility – needled him. Goaded him, like the proverbial red cape before a seething, stamping bull.

He wanted to provoke her the way that she so easily provoked him; wanted to see those eyes ignite with the passionate intensity that he knew she possessed. He had seen it…felt the lick of its flame…and he wanted more…

"You're absolutely sure it's ready?"

...a desire which the irksome creature apparently had absolutely no intention of realizing.

Disappointed at both her continued composure as well as her persistently pessimistic attitude toward his abilities, Khan arched a brow at her, determined to match her unaffected air with his own decided disinterest. "I had just begun to believe you passably clever, Lieutenant," he drawled, "you might save me the trouble of having to reclassify you by not asking such patently stupid questions."

That certainly garnered him a reaction – the glare that was leveled on him at that was as skewering as any he had earned from her before. "I'm sorry," she bit out, the easy lilt of her words gone short and sharp, "I must have mixed this weapon up with the other absolutely enormous gun you were working on. You know, the one that wasn't even close to being ready just yesterday?"

Lips twisting with displeasure – at her, for being so maddeningly frustrating; at himself, for resorting to the pettiest of insults – Khan shifted the weapon in his grasp, propping the barrel against his shoulder. "How very tedious," he huffed, finding refuge in the familiar mantle of well-worn arrogance. "Sarcasm does not become you, Lieutenant. I would advise you to give up the habit immediately – it is both ineffective and pedestrian."

Her glare shifted then; molten eyes freezing over and going positively glacial. She was, in that moment, as truly furious as he had ever yet seen her…

"Thank you so much for the insight, Commander." She spat the words like so much filth, her entire demeanor suddenly screaming a loathing that took him aback with its vehemence. "I'll surely take it to heart – no more sarcasm. Next time, I'll just tell you to go hell straight away and save myself the effort."

With that, she whipped around and stalked away from him, disappearing into the nearest test range after mashing the access code in so forcefully that it was a wonder she did not break the keypad. Watching her go, Khan's jaw clenched and he fought down yet another entirely unwelcome surge of guilt.

Upsetting Rebecca Duval had somehow, simultaneously become both the very first and the very last thing that he wished to do…and the conflicting pull of two such diametrically opposed instincts was beginning to grate on what little patience he possessed. It was maddening, this continued and evidently increasingeffect she had on him.

Why did he care that he appeared to have genuinely wounded her? Why did it concern him in the slightest, when he had been so actively attempting to accomplish that very thing?

How did this woman, who should have been an open book to him, manage to both confuse and discompose him with barely more than a single, scathing look?

Quite frankly, they were none of them questions that he could even begin to answer. More than that, he had no real desire to even try.

At that moment, the only thing that Khan wanted to do was to simply turn around and walk away; to take himself and the fruits of his genius straight back to their quarters and leave Rebecca Duval behind him with nothing but an empty test range to show for herself. No doubt she would accord him the consideration he deserved once she'd been forced to explain to Marcus why she could not deliver to him the weapon that she had promised.

He spun around, slinging the weapon up behind him and putting the open door at his back…

Of course, a voice – light and lilting and somehow, inexplicably her – said inside his head, I might also just talk my way around the problem until I manage to convince Marcus that it's all your fault. I mean, what can Ido when you deliberately go and sabotage all my good faith efforts to give him what he wants?

Jaw clenching, Khan tightened his grip on the strap of the weapon. She was, as he had seen early and often, a particularly gifted manipulator, especially where her own neck was concerned. He had little doubt that she would find a way to shift Marcus' ire onto him rather than shoulder it herself. While he doubted a disappointment of this meagre magnitude would truly do any real harm to his interests, he was not willing to tempt fate.

So, with a growl, he whipped back around – knuckles gone white around the weapon strap and expression hard as steel and twice as cold. Prowling forward, he swept into the comparatively tight confines of the test range, his narrowed gaze drawn inexorably toward the small woman standing stiffly behind the control console at the back of the room.

Her head was down and she was in profile, but he could see that the clench in her jaw more than matched his own. Finding no small amount of satisfaction in the fact that she was just as annoyed with him as he was with her, Khan felt the hardest edge of his anger begin to blunt. They had neither of them, he reminded himself, asked to be placed in this untenable situation and likewise, they were each seeking to survive it as efficiently and effectively as they could.

It did them no favors to work against one another…

Feeling mildly chastened – though not nearly enough to apologize – he cast her a surreptitious look over his shoulder to find that she was still very pointedly ignoring him. When she flipped a switch so hard that it very nearly snapped off in her hand, he had to turn away again, lest she see the shadow of a grin that pulled at the corner his mouth.

Oh, yes…she was still quite thoroughly furious with him.

Well, he thought as he shifted the weapon against his shoulder, you had hoped to provoke a reaction. Blind fury is most assuredly a reaction.

Just then, a low, rumbling hum of energy surged through the room and he stopped, arrested by the green glow that began in the center of the ceiling before arcing down to cover the walls and the floor as well. He took a step forward, any lingering anger evaporating in the face of a technology that he had only recently read about and had found both complex and interesting. "I have become conversant," he said after a moment spent studying the shielding, "in all currently utilized facets of shield technology through my work on the Vengeance."

He took another step forward, reaching out a hand to feel the pulse of the energy flow against his fingers and palm where it hovered just shy of the actual force field. His mind, as it was wont to do when faced with the new and fascinating, spun away from him, making him forget everything in his thirst for knowledge. "I attempted to research its experimental applications upon first learning of these ranges, but I very quickly discovered that the available literature is appallingly limited and tends almost exclusively towards the theoretical." He stopped, brow arching as he pulled a distasteful face. "Unsurprising, as I suspect that any scientists under Marcus' thumb would operate under a strict, pain-of-death non-disclosure policy, but irritating all the same. I find this particular utilization intriguing…"

Khan turned to look at her over his shoulder to find that she was already looking at him. "I assume," he continued, only vaguely noting the frown she wore, "based on its requisite situational purposes, that this is an amalgam of deflector and structural integrity shielding?"

For a moment, there was nothing but silence while he stared at her expectantly, his mind so consumed by the science of it all that he barely even noticed her frown turn down into a vicious glare.

"How the hell should I know?"

Khan shook his head, undeterred. "You have used these ranges many times in the past. You were, by your own admission, one of the first Agents to do so and I…"

"Exactly," she spat, cutting him off and finally drawing his full attention away from the thirst for information. "I use the range. I come in here, shoot whatever weapons they need me to shoot, offer my opinions and suggestions and then walk right back out again. I've never given a damn about the shields beyond the fact that they're on and working. I'm a spy, not an engineer."

Drawing back – both figuratively and literally – Khan fought to curb his disappointment. Yes, she was clearly clinging to her anger…but he could also recognize truth when he heard it.

"Ah. Yes. Of course, Lieutenant," he allowed, turning back to examine the shielding itself.

Of course she did not know the intricacies of the technology. As she had said, she was hardly an engineer; and while she regularly surprised him with the quality of her brain, she lacked the methodological expertise to…

"I could ask…if you want. I mean, I know people who…y'know…know about this stuff."

Caught entirely off-guard by those oddly tentative words – and even more so by the uncharacteristic stutter in her voice – Khan went very still. Unless he was very much mistaken, the ever-imperturbable Lieutenant Rebecca Duval sounded quite distinctly perturbed.

It should have been glorious – wringing a reaction out of her where she clearly wanted none to show. Instead, he found himself frowning.

"What I mean is," she continued after a moment. While she had mastered herself admirably, he could still hear the unwelcome bite of embarrassment in her voice, "if you're really interested, I can ask around. I'll find someone for you to discuss it with. Someone who can tell you what you want to know – give you a thorough rundown of the whole systems. Again though, only if you want. It's up to you entirely."

It had all come out in a rush, but something about her sudden, strange awkwardness spoke to him. He turned around to face her, not quite believing that such timidity of either thought or word could possibly have come from the bold, brash woman before him. But it was there, written all over her, from the top of her lowered head to the tips of her gracelessly shifting boots – somehow, he had managed to discompose her in exactly the way he had always wished to, even if he had no idea how he had done it.

Yes, her unshakeable composure was often irritating – maintained, as it so often was, in the face of his very decided upset. It was all too often her cool head that managed to calm his own, particularly in situations where he had no desire for either rationality or sense. But now, to see her trip over herself…he could not help but wonder…why had he ever wanted to be the catalyst for this?

And how was he even to begin to go about fixing it, now that he had?

Rebecca Duval was not meant to stutter and shy away. Rebecca Duval was meant to meet him head on without so much as a by-your-leave.

He liked her that way, he admitted to himself – far more than he reasonably should.

She was glancing up at him from beneath her lashes now and he locked his gaze onto hers; any enjoyment he had imagined he might feel in this situation entirely absent. "That would be acceptable," he said, perhaps more forcefully than necessary; guilt over causing this agitation – and annoyance with himself for caring – nipping at his heels with its needle-like teeth. "Though you needn't…"

"It's no problem," she interrupted with a wave and a shrug, sounding far more like herself than she had only moments before. "Really. Don't worry about it."

Gratified to see that at least some of her diffidence had abated, Khan watched in silence as she shifted her attention back to the control console. In the silence that fell between them then, his mind strayed into dangerous territory; the admiration that he tried so very hard to ignore soaring to greater heights than ever before.

He should have been put off by her stumbling; should have pinpointed it as evidence of just how very ordinary she truly was and felt his tiresome attraction to her wane in return. In reality, it only grew stronger; swelling exponentially in the face of the single most tantalizing glimpse he had yet received of the real woman who lived beneath the perfectly, polished façade.

Almost without realizing it, he began to move toward her – drawn to her though he knew he should not be. He stopped beside her, an increasingly familiar knot of tension sitting high in his chest. He watched her work, trying not to feel frustrated when there was not even a twitch of her fingers to show that she was affected by his proximity in the slightest…

"Thank you."

The words came out before he had even thought to form them – surprising even himself with just how much he meant them.

She did not even flinch, just carried on as she had been without so much as a flicker of her earlier openness anywhere to be found. "For what?"

For what?

For what, indeed…

"I was…" he stopped, casting about for an answer and shocked when one presented itself almost immediately, "…abrupt yesterday and again just now. And still you offer me your unwavering assistance."

It was an acknowledgement of an appreciation that he had never even admitted to himself…but he could feel the truth of it even as the words rolled off his tongue.

A truth that – like everything else – she apparently neither felt nor cared about. Without even glancing at him, she gave a negligent shrug, the half of her face that he could see as placid and unmoved as ever. "I'm following orders," she dismissed, "there's nothing special about that. I'm just doing my job."

Khan swallowed hard against the urge to snap at her; the desire to shock her out of her even-tempered mildness, even more staggering in the face of her earlier honesty. "You are," he agreed quietly, trying desperately to maintain at least a little of his own calm. "But it does not follow that it must be a thankless one. So I say again…thank you, Rebecca."

Her head swung up, brilliant green eyes going straight to his, searing him with the heat of her full and undivided attention. It was so much like the day before, that astounding feeling of connection, and yet…it was more than that as well. There was something to this look – an openness, a vulnerability that sent him reeling even as it drew him in. It was a heady thing and he could feel the desire to move in closer, to lean into her, like a particularly stubborn itch beneath his skin. When she bit her lip, his eyes followed, tracing the edge of each small, white tooth where it cut into the lush curve of her mouth…

In his mind, he could see it happen – could see himself sweep in toward her. Could feel his hands wrapping tight around the jut of her hips as he pulled her to him – pressing every lush inch of the delectable body that lived beneath too-much black fabric against his own. Their eyes would meet, and it would be there in her eyes as she looked up at him – that same openness, that staggering vulnerability. He would feel that look like a touch, shivering with it and offering her a glimpse behind his own defenses. Then, thus connected, he would dip his head to hers, pressing his lips first to the skin just beneath her ear before dragging his mouth across the satin-soft skin of her cheek. He would slide one of his hands up her back to clasp her neck, holding her to him, his fingers teasing the always-errant curls that hung at her nape. He would swallow her gasp of surprise at that tantalizing touch, sweeping his tongue across the bitten swell of her lower lip. She would whimper then; her own small, deft hands sliding up his chest as he growled her name against her lips…

Rebecca…

A sharp, stringent shriek from the console beside them shattered the silence and the Lieutenant – Rebecca – tore her eyes from his, spinning back to the controls as relief poured from her in tangible waves. Khan, his mind reeling from the shock of his own fevered daydreams, retreated as well – his relief at the interruption every bit the equal of hers.

Wanting her was one thing. He was alone and he was lonely; to want her was merely the logical outcome of proximity combined with his own extraordinary circumstances.

Wanting her to want him in return…even that he could forgive. He had never been the sort to want where he was not wanted.

Wanting more…wanting a connection beyond the physical…now that was where the true difficulty lay…

Khan closed his eyes, breathing deep as he fought to master himself. He could still feel the imagined creep of her fingers up his chest; the ghost of her touch lingering at the back of his neck and sending a shiver down his spine.

"All systems ready!"

The words were bright but unaffected and in that tranquil tone, he found the answer that he needed.

It was a foolish whim, he decided firmly. A foolish and utterly one-sidedwhim that had nothing but utter disaster written all over it. Far better – far wiser – to simply follow her lead and pretend that there had been nothing at all in that look save honest appreciation.

Down range from where he stood, a target dummy shot up from beneath the floor.

"Time to see if you're as good as you think you are."

Khan straightened at that, eyes narrowing at the teasing lilt of the words – so very different from anything else that had been said between them so far that day. It harkened to the easy camaraderie of the day before – before he had allowed his confusion and misgivings to sour their interactions – and he reached out and grabbed hold of the opportunity she had so graciously presented with both hands.

Because camaraderie was, by far, the wisest choice.

He glanced behind him just in time to see her slip on a pair of protective goggles, lips pursed and pert nose twitching. Looking away again, lips pressed together in a grim line, Khan tried very hard to pretend that he hadn't found the image oddly endearing.

"You're confidence in my abilities is truly staggering, Lieutenant," he offered, aiming for the same air of casual disinterest that she managed so very well.

"You know me," she said airily from behind him, "always good for a kind word or a shot of confidence. Now…ready when you are."

Khan had moved as she spoke, happily taking up position in the firing area with the weapon held lightly in his right hand, its weight virtually non-existent to him. At her declaration, he reached up with his left hand to adjust the power level. "I think half-power should be sufficient for the first go, don't you?"

"Your design, your call."

"Right then." He lifted the weapon, taking aim down range – relieved at the ease with which they had slid into this far simpler dynamic. The key now, he thought as he squeezed the trigger, was to figure out a way to stay that way.

With barely a hint of kick, the weapon fired as intended, emitting a pulse of energy so powerful that the dummy at the end of the range simply…disintegrated, sending a shower of debris raining down and leaving far more to float gracefully through the air above.

From behind him, he heard a small, shocked gasp followed almost immediately by a stunned cry of "Holy shit!"

He turned to find Rebecca Duval staring at the carnage down range with a look of utter delight on her face. A moment later, she giggled – giggled – before nearly skipping over to stand beside him, her eyes entirely for the weapon in his hands. It was captivating, this almost childlike glee; he particularly liked the way it made those lustrous green eyes dance.

"Holy shit," she said again. "That was amazing!"

Camaraderie, he reminded himself as he tried very hard not to preen under her hard won – and utterly inimitable – praise. I must want nothing more than that from her.

"Yes, it rather was, wasn't it?"

He did not even attempt to hold back his smug grin now – he had earned that right, he rather thought. That she might agree…

Well…

Camaraderie.

The little Lieutenant, her eyes still on the weapon, took a step toward him, grinning from ear to ear. "I admit it, I'm impressed. Seriously. I mean…after seeing that…there's just no way that Marcus could possibly spin this against us – you've given him so far above and beyond what he was asking for that even he won't be able to help being impressed."

Little as he liked even the sound of Marcus' name, the praise that came along with it was welcome. "As you know the Admiral so much better than I," he said, refusing to allow even Marcus to ruin his current good mood, "I shall bow to your superior judgment in this matter. However, I must confess to feeling quite cautiously optimistic myself."

"As well you should," she affirmed, moving even closer and now nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet in pure anticipation. "Ok, my turn to shoot it," she said, hands outstretched greedily. "Give it."

Smiling and keeping a firm grasp on the weapon, Khan regarded her down the length of his nose, enjoying her eagerness even as he decided it only fitting that he make her earn the privilege of firing his masterpiece. "Give it?" He tsked, holding the weapon away from her. "Really, Lieutenant Duval, where have your manners – and your grasp of proper language, gone?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, though the playfulness behind the look was particularly infectious.

"I gave them to the dummy to hold," she quipped, "and look where they got him. Now come on…give it to me!"

Khan narrowed his eyes right back at her, enjoying himself immensely. "A please would not go amiss."

"Since when have we ever done that?"

He shook his head, chin coming up haughtily. "Past behavior is no excuse for present incivility. Did I not offer you my heartfelt thanks not ten minutes past?"

She rolled her eyes now, huffing lightly. "All right fine. Give me the damn gun…please."

He was smiling now, wide and easy – he could no longer resist the urge. Offering her the weapon, he gave a little bow, chin dipping deferentially. "As the lady wishes."

Rebecca snorted at that, and it was as inelegant a sound as he could possibly imagine. "Never was much of a lady," she declared as she lifted the weapon to her shoulder with expert ease, "never really wanted to be either – mind setting me up with a fresh dummy? Blue button, top right, thanks."

He categorically did not jump to accommodate her request. He simply…moved with all possible haste…to do precisely as she had bade. Khan sighed, unable even to find the will to be annoyed with himself as he pressed the indicated button and watched a fresh dummy spring up from beneath the floor down range. He looked back to Rebecca, eyes drinking in the lean line of her as she aimed the weapon that was nearly as large as she was…

"After all," she said once she had aimed to her satisfaction, "it's the bad girls who have all the fun."

She pulled the trigger.

The weapon discharged, sending a pulse of energy down range…and sending Rebecca flying backwards, her body slamming hard into the control console before falling into a crumpled heap at its base. She was gasping; her entire body heaving as she struggled for air – fingers scrabbling ineffectually against the weapon that had fallen across her lap.

Khan, his own chest gone uncomfortably tight, lurched toward her; the unfamiliar buzz of panic singing through his veins and making him clumsy in his haste. He dropped down in front of her, frowning at the almost vacant look on her face as she continued to fight for the air that had been knocked from her lungs. Guilt, thick and choking, began to work its way past the panic before mingling with it to leave his insides twisting into ever tightening knots. How had he not foreseen such an obvious eventuality? He had built the weapon as if for himself, without ever once considering how it might function in the hands of a non-Augment.

It had been a simplistic and almost abominably narrow-minded approach.

An unforgivably narrow-minded approach, he corrected himself harshly, as he watched her struggle.

"Rebecca," he called, leaning in closer to her, wanting to help but feeling utterly unequal to the task. His hands itched to reach for her, to brush back the hair that had fallen into her face...but he simply could not bring himself to touch her. Not when it was his negligence which had put her on the floor to begin with. "Rebecca…can you hear me? Are you injured?"

Blinking hard, she gave a small shake of her head, sending several strands of hair dancing across her cheek. Then her eyes slid shut, her brow furrowing with concentration and slowly, inch by painstaking inch, her tortured breathing began to ease. Short, sharp breaths stretched into long, slow ones and after a few long moments, he could feel some of the tension ease out of her.

"Fine," she said softly, almost choking on the word. "I'm fine. Ok…'s ok. I'm ok."

The sound of her voice, even labored as it was, had never been more welcome to him. Relief, hot and heady, tore through him and he released the breath that he had not even realized that he was holding in a gusting sigh. Along with the relief though, there was also a stab of wary unease; there were extraordinarily few people that he had ever cared enough about to feel real concern for – and all of them were still asleep inside their cryo-tubes. That he was feeling it now…and for her…

There was only one logical conclusion to draw from that rather astonishing correlation…and it simply did not bear consideration. Rather than even attempting it, Khan simply shoved the unfinished thought deep into the recesses of his mind.

"Are you injured?"

The question came out sharper than he'd meant it to and he winced slightly. Not that such things gave him any particular pause, but…she really had been through enough for the moment. She hardly needed him barking at her into the bargain…

She opened her eyes, really focusing them on him for the first time since she had fallen. "Yes," she admitted, her voice strained but strong. "Shoulder."

Glad for the distraction, Khan leaned back on his heels, eyes jumping between one shoulder and the other before settling squarely on the right. He narrowed his eyes, noting the unnaturally flattened shoulder and the faint anterior bulge. "Dislocated?"

He watched her shift, jaw clenching as she tested the shoulder and then almost immediately froze with a hiss, pain turning her expression pinched. "Oh, yeah. Very, very dislocated."

Having already arrived at that same conclusion for himself, Khan wasted no further time, lowering himself to his knees beside her even as he scooped the weapon from her lap. He tossed it behind him, not caring in the slightest if it was damaged in the process, and then shifted himself even closer to her, his hand slipping around to palm her lower back.

He knew what to do, his own shoulder having required re-setting on several occasions over the course of his life. He also knew what correcting the issue would entail...and he did not relish the thought. "I can fix this," he said roughly, his eyes jumping from her shoulder to her face and then back again. "If you will permit me, I can fix this."

"Yes." That there was absolutely no hesitation in that response was, he knew, testament to just how much pain she was actually in. "Please…yes…fix it."

Matching her swift word with his own deed, Khan moved forward until he was pressed up against her side, the hand at her back slipping around to grasp the curve of her opposite hip. "Sit up," he urged, lending his strength to aid her. "Slowly."

Following his instructions without question, she eased herself up and forward, leaning on his supporting arm far less than he knew that she should have. "Enough," he cautioned, pressing in even closer until she had no choice but to lean back against his arm, hopefully easing at least some of the pressure on her shoulder. "Have you ever suffered a dislocation and subsequent relocation before?"

Rebecca laughed at that; a thin, self-deprecating sound that spoke volumes. "On occasion."

He nodded, swamped now by an entirely different sort of relief. "Good," he said, ecstatic not to have to try and explain the realities of what she was about to face. "Then you are aware that this is going to hurt."

Still…it was, perhaps, better to be absolutely certain…

"Oh, yes. Well aware."

She sounded so matter-of-fact – so utterly unperturbed. There was no doubt that she was in pain…she simply seemed not to care that she was. Her self-control was, quite frankly, astounding to him.

Khan pulled his arm away from her back, palm landing lightly on her right scapula. He could feel the tension humming just beneath her skin; could feel her tense, the pain no doubt surging uncomfortably beneath his touch. Ignoring all of it – as he had to, if he truly wanted to help her – he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, feeling the thump of her pulse beneath the soft skin he found there. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Taking a deep breath and feeling his stomach clench with nerves – gently, he chided himself; gently – he very slowly began to lift her arm from the wrist, holding just tight enough to keep the injured limb straight. "This appears to be a subcoracoid, anterior dislocation," he said absently, talking himself through the procedure as it ran through his head. "Fairly standard, as dislocations go and as such, a standard reduction procedure should prove sufficient."

Already she was breathing harder, her breath hissing between her teeth. Swallowing down his unease – medicine had never been one of his interests – he just kept lifting her arm. "The key to proper relocation is that it must not be rushed. It must be a slow, deliberate process, utilizing abduction and external rotation to find the angle at which the humeral head will slide back into the glenoid fossa." He shifted the hand that was pressed to her back then, palming her shoulder blade as he began to very tenderly manipulate the shifting ridge of her scapula. "Concurrently, the position of the scapula must be fixed in order to prevent rotation or anteversion, the natural scapular reaction to any marked glenohumeral movement due to abduction."

They were deep into the worst of it now, her teeth grinding so hard that he could hear the creak of her teeth between her short, panting breaths. Frowning in sympathetic discomfort, Khan leaned in closer to her, his lips hovering at her ear. "Nearly there," he breathed, nearly as eager for this to be finished as she was. "Nearly there…" the resistance increased and he felt a surge of relief. "Ah…here we are…"

With a pop that made him flinch, the ball of her shoulder re-seated itself and almost immediately, he could feel the tension drain out of her. She sighed, her body going lax against his as he slowly lowered her arm. Knowing that there was still more to be done, Khan gently urged her forward and then shifted himself around so that he was kneeling behind her, the base of the control console at his back. Eyeing her right shoulder blade, he brought his hand up and began massaging the affected area.

There was a reason for this – a sound, medically necessary reason; a fact that he very sternly reminded himself of when she let out a tiny groan of what sounded like utter satisfaction. A moment later, she rolled her head toward the injured shoulder; baring the long, curving line of her neck to him. Mouth gone dry and eyes riveted to the spot where black uniform met smooth skin, Khan gave himself a mental shake.

There was a reason for this. A sound…medically necessary…

She gave another groan and he very nearly cursed out loud; the low, rasping sound sending a shiver of want along each and every nerve-ending he possessed. He closed his eyes, attempting to calm himself and failing entirely. Perhaps it would help, he thought desperately, if he told her why he was massaging her back – perhaps hearing the words out loud would help him to realize the truth of them.

"Forgive my familiarity," he said, each word said slowly, lest he trip over them. "I am merely ensuring that the scapula migrated properly. In addition, your deltoid, trapezius and rotator cuff muscles are locked tight and pulling hard on a joint that has seen enough discomfort for one day."

She groaned. Again. This time, the surge of longing he felt nearly bent him in half.

"No apology necessary," she said as she dropped her head backwards against his shoulder, melting into his touch, "not if you keep doing this."

Her head tipped even further back, another throaty groan slipping past her lips even as the soft, rounded curve of her cheek brushed against his. Khan, laughing with sheer disbelief, had to close his eyes against a wave of lust so thick that it nearly drowned him. Struggling against it – nearly dizzy with it – he curved himself around her, turning his face into hers and savoring the sweetness of her skin against his parted lips.

"I take it," he said thickly, his mouth gone bone dry, "that I am acquitting myself admirably then."

That caught her attention. She stiffened in his arms and he froze, even as he memorized the feel of her against him, certain that she was about to retreat…

"Well now…isn't this interesting."

And just that swiftly, it all came crashing down around his ears.

Marcus.

It was Khan's turn to stiffen now, his hands pausing mid-massage. He grit his teeth, biting down hard on the swiftly sparked fury that wanted nothing more than to flare up and consume the man where he stood.

"Dare I ask what exactly is going on here?"

Smug and insufferable, the question needled Khan, burrowing beneath his skin with an efficiency that he knew was entirely intentional. Regardless, he snapped his head around, unable to restrain his glare. Marcus had not come alone, but it was to him that Khan's eyes went, ignoring the other two as if they were not even there. And Marcus, wearing a sneering leer that only provoked Khan further, stared squarely back at him, eyes dancing with triumph.

Just that quickly, all of the warmth that had filled him – that she had inspired – drained away, leaving him cold and empty once more. He could see the approval in Marcus' face…he was pleased by what he had seen. Ecstatically pleased.

While I'm making sure you jump through Marcus' hoops, I'm also supposed to learn you. To earn your trust and to be anything that I need to be in order to—in the Admiral's words—secure your loyalty. He even went so far as to suggest that I should seduce you.

Those words – her words, from all those weeks ago – cut through his mind like a saw blade, jagged and tearing. She had told him the truth then with a bluntness that had both surprised and intrigued him…even as he had summarily dismissed the possibility of her ever succeeding, even if she did elect to try.

...be anything that I need to be...

Could he have misjudged their interactions so egregiously? Could she truly be that skillful a liar?

Still glaring at Marcus – despite his inner turmoil, he categorically refused to be the first to look away – he felt Rebecca ease herself away from him, shifting forward into his peripheral vision as she leaned around his body to face the door.

"Admiral Marcus," she acknowledged, her voice perfectly even. "Good of you to drop in, sir. We weren't expecting you."

Khan turned to study her, eyes tracing a profile wiped clean of every ounce of the pain she must certainly have still been feeling. Instead, she looked as she ever did – calm and so utterly unaffected that it turned his stomach.

…be anything that I need to be…

Yes, he realized, with chilling certainly. Yes, she absolutely was thatskillful a liar.

"Obviously," Marcus said, attempting to snap the word, but far too pleased to manage it. "Now answer the question, Lieutenant…what the hell is going on?"

Eyes never straying from her face, though she ignored him with infuriating ease, Khan watched as Lieutenant Duval – not Rebecca, he reminded himself sharply; never Rebecca – attempted to rise, her façade so complete that she forgot about her own injury. The minute she put even the slightest pressure on her right arm, she fell backward, bumping against him as she cursed and cradled the injured appendage.

He moved without thinking; that acknowledgment of pain sending him surging to his feet. It was not until he was staring down the length of the arm that he was offering her that he felt the first, faint stirring of disgust with himself.

She had not lied to him; had played precisely the part that she had specifically told him that she was meant to play…and he had fallen for it anyway. Even now – even knowing – he still could not help himself. As she slipped her small hand into his, slender fingers sliding across his palm, he felt his heart give a traitorous jolt; felt his blood sing when he pulled her gently to her feet to find those deceptively clear green eyes looking straight up into his.

…be anything that I need to be…

He dropped her hand, dragging his eyes from hers before turning crisply away to face Marcus, channeling his anger at himself toward a much more satisfying target. "This is a testing range, Admiral. Even you possess intelligence enough to infer the answer to that question."

Marcus only smiled all the wider. "Well, I see a gun," he drawled, nodding his head toward the weapon lying, forgotten, on the floor. "And I see a target." He nodded the other way, indicating the untouched target at the far end of the firing range. "But what I fail to see, is why testing that gun on that target required the two of you to cuddle up on the floor."

It was intolerable. The entire, ridiculous situation was just utterly intolerable, and somehow managing to grow even more so with every miserable second that passed. To be laughed at, and by thisdetestable wretch of a man…

"We were hardly cuddling, sir. The Commander was helping me…"

"Oh, it certainly looked like he was…"

Khan went rigid, furious to the point of detonation. One more word…one more mocking word, and he would remove that jeering smirk from the old man's face with his bare and inevitably blood-soaked hands…

Lieutenant Duval, her arm held carefully across her middle, stepped forward, putting herself in the middle, Khan at her back as she faced Marcus. It was a bold move – she knew perfectly well that she would be a bug easily swatted, should he choose to attack – and it showed yet again just how well she could read him.

"The weapon lying at your feet, Admiral," she began, putting just enough annoyance in the words to make it seem as though she had actually been offended by her commanding officer's taunts, "is the palpable proof of the Commander's hard work that you had requested during our last meeting. I didn't want to bring it to you until we had fired it for ourselves and established that it was working as the Commander intended that it should. If you look down-range, you'll see from what little remains of the target, that the first test – fired by the Commander – was wildly successful. When I attempted the second test, the weapon kicked harder than I had anticipated and it knocked my shoulder out of joint. What you walked in on was the Commander being good enough to relocate the dislocation for me."

Khan shifted his gaze then, eyes boring into the back of her head and only vaguely noting that Marcus had moved down the length of the range away from them.

Good. She was very, very good.

Rebecca Duval was the most accomplished sort of liar that there was – the sort who could lie with the truth as easily as they could with a falsehood.

"Vazquez, Allen…clear the room."

Marcus' voice had changed entirely with that order, stripped clean of his earlier gloating and turning crisp and professional. The work, no doubt, of her extraordinary talent at manipulation, which appeared to extended just as easily to her handlers as it did to her targets.

Under any other circumstances, he would have been impressed to the point of admiration. As it was, the evidence of her skills left him cold and fiercely bitter. Oh, but she had done her job well; manipulated him in ways that he never would have imagined possible.

But he knew her game now. He knew her now…

…and he would never forget what she was ever again.

"So the weapon works."

The sharp, business-like precision of the comment pulled Khan from his thoughts, finding that he, Marcus and Lieutenant Duval were now alone in the room. He shifted his gaze down range to where Marcus was standing, his anger and frustration humming just beneath the surface. "Of course the weapon works," he snarled, offended all over again by the constant questioning of his abilities.

"A single shot did this?"

"Yes, sir," the Lieutenant confirmed, a hint of pride coloring both the affirmation and the honorific attached to it.

Seething, Khan watched Marcus walk back toward them, his fingers itching for the weapon that lay at his feet. It would be so easy. A single shot…

Yes, his common sense hissed from beneath his fury, a single shot…and they will be lost to you forever. You are subjecting yourself to this for a reason. Stop allowing your emotions to cloud your better judgment.

Gritting his teeth, he lowered his eyes to the floor, trying very hard to master himself.

"I believe I need to see that."

Khan went very still, his eyes darting over to the discarded weapon. Marcus wanted to see, did he? Well then, let him see. Perhaps then he would better realize who, precisely, he was dealing with.

Moving with only a fraction of the speed that he was capable of, Khan swept the weapon up from the floor, turned and fired, barely even pausing to take aim. A moment later – the remains of the second dummy littering both the air and the floor – he turned around, the weapon held across his chest and his head held high and proud.

Marcus saw none of it though, his attention caught and held by the carnage down range. Lieutenant Duval, he noted sourly, was looking decidedly elsewhere as well, though her eyes were for Marcus alone.

A loyal dog, he sneered to himself, seeking the scraps from her master's table. How could I have allowed myself to imagine otherwise?

"So to summarize," Marcus began, his eyes swinging around to look at the weapon still held tight in Khan's hands, "Khan shoots, the target is decimated." He nodded toward the Lieutenants injured arm. "You shoot, it dislocates your shoulder." Finally, he turned to face Khan fully, looking him straight in the eye and cocking a brow. "I think we can all see the problem there."

He sounded almost reasonable. Khan found that he hated that even more than he had the old man's gloating. It was too…normal. As if they really were working together, a thought that made him sick to even contemplate. "You wanted a working weapon that functioned beyond your current capabilities," he snapped, his hatred for the Admiral leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "I have given you that and more."

"Yes, you have," Marcus acknowledged, very nearly smiling. "But I'm not arming super-humans, Khan. I need my Agents to be able to fire the damn thing without it inflicting bodily harm."

"A simple matter of adjusting the power sequencing," Khan ground out. "The essentials of your demand have been met; the rest is merely a matter of fine tuning."

"We'll get it worked out," the Lieutenant chimed in, stepping across the empty space between them to place herself back at his side. "He'll tinker, I'll test and within the next few days, we'll have it exactly where it needs to be."

He would not look at her. He refused to look at her. She made it sound so simple, so honest. So real. As if she meant every word…as if they were truly a we. It would have been so easy to believe her in that moment, and judging by the look on Marcus' face, he did.

Precisely as she had intended that he should…

"Hmmm," Marcus hummed, his smile turning knowing once more, "just look at the pair of you…quite the little united front you've got going on here. It's a far cry from the last time I was in a room with you both, I'll say that."

Disgusted – with himself, more than anyone else – Khan shot Marcus a sneering look. "Necessity, it would seem, breeds cooperation."

Smiling even wider, Marcus gave a short nod. "So it does." He turned then to look at the Lieutenant, almost glowing with approval. "I knew you were the right Agent for this assignment, Duval."

Just that quickly, the simmering fury began to boil over once more and just as it approached critical mass and he lost what tenuous self-control he had managed to scrape together, Lieutenant Duval rushed forward into the breach.

"Thank you, sir," she said, moving forward and once more putting herself between them. "After everything, I truly appreciate hearing that."

Khan glared at the back of her head. She was acting on her own behalf, he knew; saving the situation for her own purposes and to her own benefit…but it did not change the fact that her innate good sense had just saved him as well. Had she not stepped forward, he would have committed a capital error, for which his people would have paid the highest price.

"Now if you will forgive me for saying, sir," she continued, stepping forward and extending a hand toward the door in clear invitation, "we have work to do and Khan works best without an audience. Allow me to escort you out, Admiral?"

She was so perfectly controlled. So perfectly sensible. So perfectly…everything.

She handled two extraordinarily powerful men as if they were mere putty in her tiny, infinitely capable hands, and she did it in such a way that it was nearly impossible to recognize that she was doing it at all.

He wanted to hate her for that.

He hated the fact that he could not manage to even more.

"Oh, absolutely, absolutely," Marcus said happily with a negligent wave of his hand. "Far be it from me to get in the way of your…budding partnership. Lead the way, Lieutenant." He turned and looked at Khan one last time, grin stretched from ear to ear. "I look forward to further progress, Commander Harrison."

Khan only stared back at him, far more controlled than he had been only moments before – thanks to her, his traitorous mind whispered. He would not give the old man the satisfaction of a reaction.

A moment later, the Lieutenant had hurried Marcus out the door and it had shut firmly behind them, leaving him alone in the blessed silence of the range. Heaving out a heavy breath – he had anticipated such a simple morning when he had left their quarters – he let his chin fall toward his chest, eyes falling closed.

He had been pulled in so many different directions; his mind shifting from certainty to confusion and back to certainty again too often for so short a period of time. It pained him to admit, even to himself, but he was…confused.

Worse, he was confused with himself.

He was convinced now of her duplicity…and yet, somehow, it did not at all lessen the effect she had on him. Even now, he felt drawn to her in a way that he simply did not understand. In a way that he was not certain he even wanted to understand.

"Relax, Duval. He won't touch me. He might run off at the mouth, but he'd never actually lay a finger on me."

Khan lifted his head, eyes blinking open as Marcus' voice, distant but clear to his hyper-aware ears, floated back through the closed door.

"You're a hell of a lot more confident about that than I am, sir."

He could not help it – he smiled at that; a tiny grin that lifted the corner of his mouth. She really had learned to read him very well indeed. A wonder that Marcus did not pay her more heed. But then, from what he had seen, he rather doubted that Marcus fully understood how masterful she truly was.

"Always such a worrier. Don't forget, Duval…I've got that man's balls in a vice. A very big, very effective vice. Feel free to remind him of that if he steps so much as a toe out of line…you'll be amazed at the results."

"That's an excellent suggestion, sir. I will definitely keep it in mind."

Fury, righteous and swift, consumed him – the flame of it burning hotter and brighter than any yet. She would keep that in mind, would she? She would keep it in mind to use his people…his family…as a bargaining tool? Khan's eyes narrowed, his hands tightening their grip on the weapon. Drawn to her or not, she would learn very quickly how truly ill-advised an idea that was.

They had continued talking while he was not paying attention, but he zeroed back in on their conversation, every word spoken only increasing the re-ignition of the blaze that she had only recently put out.

"…you turned it around when I was positive you couldn't. Keep it up – keep getting me these kind of results – and I guarantee there will be a promotion waiting on the other side of this assignment."

"I'll hold you to that, sir."

That was enough. He had heard entirely enough. Closing his eyes once more, Khan tuned them out, focusing his thoughts decidedly elsewhere. It was time, he told himself firmly, to check this growing fascination with the woman. Yes, she was impressive – but she was also treacherous. He had work to do, beyond the idiocy of Marcus' demands. He had seventy-two people to save and he could not afford weakness.

And she would be a weakness. If he allowed himself to continue as he had been, she would most assuredly prove a weakness.

Opening his eyes, he walked over to the control console, dropping the weapon to the ground and propping it against the base. Then, he walked back to where he had been standing – hands at his sides and eyes on the door that he knew she would be coming through at any moment.

He could not allow her to think that she had fooled him, even for a moment. He knew, if they were to have any hope of working together effectively – which they did need to, no matter how little he liked it – that he would need to make her understand that he knew her game.

And that he would not play an unwitting part in it any longer.

Finally, the door opened and she came rushing back in, freezing just inside when she found him standing exactly where he had been and staring fiercely at her. Before his eyes, she changed – the coolness that had appeared with Marcus, vanished…

…and suddenly, he was looking once more at the proud, passionate, unguarded woman who had rested so trustingly in his arms in this very room…

Jaw clenching – lies, lies, lies – he lifted his chin, staring at her with furious disapproval. "Why so hesitant, Lieutenant? I would expect to see you glowing with satisfaction at having reclaimed your coveted role as the Admiral's lapdog."

He expected her to puff up at that, as she always had in the past. But, in typical Rebecca Duval fashion, she did precisely the opposite – she deflated. Her shoulders dropped and she shook her head tiredly.

"You heard all of that then?"

His head snapped down, eyes boring into hers – he would not be fooled. "Every word – both said and unsaid."

She sighed then, rubbing at her eyes in seeming misery. "We discussed this," she said tiredly. "Yesterday morning, I told you how it would have to go. He is my superior officer and this is my life. I was just…"

"Doing your job," he cut in, throwing the words at her like knives. "Yes, I know. I remember. And you do it well, Lieutenant Duval. I eagerly await hearing your particular version of Marcus' favorite threat. Tell me, how will you go about using the people I love as leverage against me?"

Her head came up, eyes snapping to his and to his surprise, she stalked straight over to him, leaving only scant inches between them. Looking up at him, she did not waver, did not so much as flinch – she stared up into his eyes with a determination far larger than someone so small should have been able to contain.

"I'm gonna say this one time and only one time," she began, her voice gone hard and sharp, "so you listen to me and you listen good. I am many things, Khan…some of them good, most of them not so good. I am, as you've so often pointed out, a paid liar. I've done terrible things to equally as terrible people and even worse things to good people because I do my job and I follow the orders I'm given and I don't question them. I don't make friends and I don't make promises because the nature of my life means that I'm never going to be able to keep either of them. But right here, right now, I'm going to break my own rule. I'm going to make you a promise and you are going to believe me because, for whatever reason, I've never lied to you and I don't want to lie to you."

She leaned in even closer then, her body nearly brushing his and Khan stared down at her, utterly transfixed by the fierceness of this woman.

"I will never use your people against you. Ever. Tarnished as it might be, you have my word on that – Marcus and his piss-poor suggestions be damned."

She was not lying.

Try as he might, deny as he would, he could not ignore the evidence of his eyes.

Rebecca Duval, who lied as easily as she breathed, was staring up at him with such naked, righteous honesty that he knew – knew – straight through to the very marrow of his bones…

She was not lying.

Like the sun burning through fog, the confusion that had plagued him melted away and suddenly, he saw as he had not been able to before. He saw Rebecca Duval with absolute and unflinching certainty…and he finally understood what she had been telling him all along without actually saying a word.

She always followed orders…but with him, she had not.

She made no effort to befriend anyone…but with him, she had.

She never made promises…but for him, she did.

Rebecca Duval, who by her own admission was every bit as ruthless and opportunistic as he was, was also every bit as drawn to him as he was to her…and every bit as confused by how to handle it as he was.

Sighing deep as he finally let go of the anger he had been holding onto so tightly, Khan let his shoulders drop along with his defenses and he lowered his head toward hers. Relief, sweet and vindicating, trickled through his veins – it had not been his imagination after all. Her reactions…he did affect her…

"You believe me?"

The question had been sharp, almost shocked and he watched her eyes darken with something that looked astonishingly like longing. She wanted this, from him. She wanted his trust.

Just as he wanted hers.

"Yes," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Her entire face lit up, eyes glowing and lips parting in a hesitant, yet slightly terrified smile that made her look oddly young and deceptively fragile. "Thank you, Khan."

It was enough. In the silence that fell between them after that, Khan decided that they had been through enough emotional upheaval for one day. Straightening, he took a small but marked step away from her, looking down at her now with what he hoped was a fairly neutral expression; turning the conversation toward a more pressing – and far safer – subject.

"How is your shoulder?"

Rebecca – yes, Rebecca – followed his lead without question, as apparently eager to sound the retreat as he was. "Hurts," she admitted, rubbing at her injured shoulder even as she grimaced lightly, "but nothing like before."

A shiver of guilt went through him and Khan found himself staring at the spot where her fingers lay across her shoulder. "I will better remember, in future," he said, getting the words out before they choked him, "the target user of these weapons I am building with far greater accuracy than I did this one."

It was an apology…of a sort. Or at least, as close to one as he was comfortable with offering.

"Probably a good idea," she said, the small smile on her face telling him better than words could that she understood. "I don't particularly want to play this scene again."

She was drawing him in again, when he had no desire for her to do so. At least, not yet. He needed to think, to collate the influx of new data that he had obtained over the past…had it really been less than an hour?

"Nor do I," he said, stepping around her to retrieve the weapon yet again, tucking it in against his side. "I was not merely posturing for Marcus' benefit, by the way. It will be a fix easily made."

"Good, because I still really want to shoot that gun."

He smiled. How could he not? There were parts of her he found infuriating and parts of her that he found irresistible…and her enthusiasm for heavy weaponry fell firmly into the latter category. When he lifted his head and found her smiling right back, green eyes sparkling with impish delight, he felt an answering grin pull at his own lips.

It had been his experience in life that great reward never came without inherent risk. If that held true, then the potential reward laying before him was virtually unimaginable…because Rebecca Duval was, without question, the most perilous risk he had ever taken.