A/N: Alright, so due to popular demand and all those lovely, wonderful reviews on this story, here's a little treat. Assuming they rescued Khan before warping out of the Mutara Nebula in ST II, but everything else is the same, here is the second conversation between our brave men.
As for my ABC fic... still working on it, just landed an unexpected opportunity that has sucked away all my free time; no, I'm not dead. Thank you for bearing with me!
References to Milton and Shakespeare are not mine. Enjoy!
Khan slowly awoke to the soft sounds of a thumping monitor and distant hum. He seemed to vaguely recall flashes of consciousness earlier than this… but those memories were gone almost as soon as he remembered they were there.
He kept his eyes closed as he took stock of himself. He was sore, his breathing labored. The rhythmic thumping was in time with his heart so he must be on a biobed. He remembered waking like this once before… he flexed.
His limbs were restrained. They had learned.
His face hurt, but didn't burn like it had been before… before the transporter beam. They must have thought they could prevent what he was doing by stopping him that way. He grinned. They were already too late.
But then… why weren't they currently floating debris?
Unwittingly, Khan snapped his eyes open. Yes, he was in the Sickbay of the Enterprise, sequestered from the main ward, but there were no red alerts, blaring klaxons, or other forms of chaos to suggest they were in immediate danger. He must have been unconscious for longer than he realized. Had they truly managed to escape?
A hopelessness started welling up inside. No! This was the day he vanquished James T. Kirk! This was his reckoning! His due justice! He, he…
Was alone. In Sickbay. His people… all dead. He…
The door to his private prison swished open. A young, very young, nurse widened her eyes at seeing him. She turned. "Doctor… he's awake."
But through the gap she created, Khan could see out. He saw a sheet on a bed, and two pointed ears peeking out from it.
The door closed as the nurse left. Khan felt himself grin, the beast in his belly for now sated.
He had hurt Kirk… more than the man had fathomed possible.
Khan lay recovering for several more days. Hushed nurses checked his vitals from a distance. A doctor had apparently seen him through his worst, but was staying away for now. Likely dealing with the body of that Vulcan.
He wasn't sure how long it'd been. No officer saw to him. Kirk was keeping far away, which was wise… they would likely kill each other. He did suspect that the moment he was deemed well enough he would find himself in the brig.
It seemed to be the middle of the night when his door swished open once again. His visitor was backlit against Sickbay, a silhouette in the doorway. Strapped to the biobed, he had trouble determining who it was.
"Killing is illogical."
Khan was a brave man, but he momentarily felt his hair rise on the back of his neck. That… that Vulcan was dead. He was sure of it. It was the only explanation… the pointed ears, the pointed absence of Kirk… this figure in the dark couldn't be…
His visitor let out a deep sigh, then called for lights. Khan squinted, but recognized the haggard face of Dr. McCoy.
It looked like Khan's actions had aged him 10 years. Then again, it had been longer than that since Khan had last seen him. Regardless, the doctor did not look well.
Khan lowered his head slightly. "I was wondering when someone older than 20 was going to grace my door," he said as McCoy approached.
The doctor glared at him.
"A fine thing to be proud of – attacking a ship crewed by a bunch 'a kids." He sat down.
"I was not aware of it." Khan watched him. "Have you come to kill me for it?"
The glare grew icy, then dropped. "No," he said heavily. "Although I would like to."
Khan stilled. Was it… power that he held? Driving a doctor to kill?
"Then what is stopping you?"
McCoy also stilled. His gaze seemed fixed far away. When he spoke his voice was unusually controlled.
"Killing is illogical. For me… and you."
"You wonder why I didn't run off with my freedom?" Khan deduced. "I suppose you cannot understand until you have lived 15 years on a wasteland at the will of another."
"That is any child in a desert," McCoy said flatly.
Khan blinked. He was not sure what to make of that response.
McCoy shook his head and scowled. "That's not why I'm here."
"Why are you here, then?"
The doctor rubbed his brow. "When we arrive back at Earth you'll stand trial. I know no one's told you, but we believe in legal justice here in the Federation-"
"Trial for the murder of your Vulcan friend?"
McCoy's eyes flashed and cooled. "You don't get to gloat about Spock."
"He is dead and I am alive… is that not a victory for me?"
The coolness hardened into obsidian. "You sacrificed your entire crew for yourself. Spock sacrificed himself for his crew. If you really think you've won, I should remind you of whose ship we're flying away in."
Khan glanced away and berated himself for it.
"In addition, even your perceived victory will be moot once we reach Vulcan."
Khan turned back to the doctor and frowned. He felt as if he were missing a part of the conversation… but factually Spock was still dead. Perhaps they were delivering his corpse to his home planet?
He had learned not to assume.
"I was under the impression we were flying straight to Earth," he said dryly, looking for a sign weakness. "For my urgent murder trial."
The doctor had been staring across the room but now turned to him and raised a curious eyebrow. "That makes no sense."
Khan studied him closely. "The trial?"
"The murder."
Khan felt himself still, an ingrained reaction to the unknown. The doctor looked back at him… only mildly. Despite his lingering pain, Khan was at full alertness. He didn't know what the doctor was trying to get at.
"I am curious," he began slowly. "To hear your reasoning."
"I must go to Vulcan first."
"And how does that make my crimes irrelevant?"
"It does not."
McCoy was very still the entire time. Khan had dealt with him before but this… this was unusual. The train of logic the man was using wasn't even consistent.
"I believe your grief is affecting you more than you realize, Doctor," he said.
"Grief does not-" McCoy made a small choking sound and fell silent. Khan tensed. They'd held eye contact throughout the strange conversation but now the doctor broke it and looked wildly about the room. His breaths quickened.
"-th'hell you think you're doing?" McCoy ground out. "Gloating all about… I shouldn't even be here. I have to… go." He moved to stand but a myriad of strong emotions suddenly crossed his face. The man looked like he wanted to cry, scream, and hit someone all at the same time.
Just as rapidly, his energy seemed to bleed from him and he slumped back in the chair. Khan absorbed it all intently.
They waited in silence for several minutes. McCoy rubbed his brow. Khan continued watching before he broke it.
"You are not well, Doctor."
McCoy glared at him. At least it was a familiar look. "I don't need to hear it from you."
"So there is something," Khan deduced. "Was I the cause of it?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" McCoy said sharply. "It's pitiful that the only thing you have left is how much damage you think you've caused us." He stood up. Khan watched him cross to the door, making it slide open, then pause.
"What is it?" Khan inquired, slick as oil. "A final, parting insult?"
The doctor was still, once again only backlit by the door to Sickbay. "Can one rule in Hell," he said slowly, precisely. "When there is no one to rule?"
It was biting, and chafed straight at Khan's sensibilities. And yet, the mannerism, the delivery, and the entire reference itself coalesced into one, certain, incredulous realization.
Khan could only gape as the doctor retreated, but he was certain, however impossible, that the being who spoke those final words, and indeed part of their conversation, was not Dr. McCoy.
He felt a cold, primal shiver up his spine. Those parting words from a dead man tumbled in his mind. Hell is empty, Khan found himself agreeing. For all the devils are here.