#chock full of BAMF Khan goodness

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

A Khan By Any Other Name - chapter nine

Khan in BAMF mode

Synopsis, so far: Khan, under the identity of John Harrison, has escaped captivity several weeks after having been awakened from his cryo-sleep. On the run from Marcus’s thugs, and with plans to get to London to rescue his crew, he enlists the aid of a young woman to elude them. Involutarily, at first--but an electric attraction between them soon changes the dynamic. 

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Khan’s best estimate was that he was dealing with a two man team.  Due to the failure of his men at the roadblock, Marcus had obviously opted for stealth and discretion over brute force—not a surprising choice, but one Khan was certain he could turn to his own favor.  He’d have to deal with the one he sensed lurking just inside the alley, and do so quietly and quickly, ideally disposing of that threat before the faceless voice in the dark was even aware he’d taken the second man out.

Resolved on his course of action, he raised both hands in the air, still keeping the phaser in his grip.  “Release the woman,” he insisted, knowing his demand would be ignored, “And I’ll lay my phaser down.”  He tensed, waiting on the response.

“Lay it down now,” the voice reiterated, “Kneel down, fingers laced behind your head, and once we’ve got you in restraints, she’ll walk free.”  An outright lie, Khan knew; Seraphina’s value would be nil to them, once he was disarmed and captured.  She would be the loose end destined for termination—if not here, than back in Marcus’s secret facility.

“No, John,” she called to him, the strain in her voice a mix of fear for her own fate and honest concern for his, “Don’t let them take you.”  She moaned sharply, and Khan imagined that she had been harshly silenced.  A dark fury bloomed in his chest, but he restrained himself for the moment; he’d release that anger only when the timing would favor success.

At the edge of the alley, Khan bent over and laid the phaser at his feet, and then—as a show of compliance--kicked it into the darkness.  “I have disarmed,” he said grimly.  Clasping his hands behind his head, he took to his knees—though his body remained taut as a tightly wound spring, prepared to strike out as soon as opportunity presented itself.

The scrape of heavy work boots against the pavement heralded the advance of Khan’s would-be captor; as stealthy as his approach may have been, Khan’s ears were far too keen to allow for surprise.  He easily judged the distance and precise direction from whence the unfortunate fool came, and calculated the precious seconds he had left before he needed to strike.

When the man had taken his expected position, and was busy moving the muzzle of his weapon against the side of Khan’s head, Khan moved with uncanny speed and accuracy, driving his elbow mercilessly into his assailant’s solar plexus.  The man grunted in surprise and obvious pain, doubling over and giving Khan the opportunity to finish his rough task.

Locking the man in a shime-waza, while taking care to not completely cut off his air supply, Khan shortly lowered the unconscious man to the ground, and considered his next move.  With Seraphina held captive in the darkness, he needed to move carefully—but speed was vital to success.

He surmised that Marcus and his people had learned a valuable lesson from the attempted capture in the desert; Khan was immune to the stun effects of phaser fire.  While in captivity, he had never given them a reason to use those weapons on him—so knowing now that such weapons were useless to them (unless set to kill, he pondered, and they would not want to chance that), these men were equipped with projectile weapons familiar to him.  In fact, examining the one he had pried from his fallen assailant’s hand, Khan noted it was not too far removed from the semiautomatic pistols of his time.  He made sure the safety was engaged, and then tucked the gun in his waistband, at the small of his back.

Khan remained silent, listening intently for any sound that might lead him closer to Seraphina.  The dark of the alley was nearly complete, except for spare moments when moonlight filtered through the wispier clouds.  He heard the shift of bodies, and a female moan of discomfort; the cur had likely tightened his grasp on her, anticipating a showdown with his opponent, now that his partner was incapacitated.

Time to apply pressure; the odds had improved considerably, and Khan knew if he rattled the man’s confidence, he would be all the easier to overcome.  “Seraphina,” he called into the dark, moving forward cautiously, “Remain calm, no matter what transpires.  I promise I will have you shortly.”

Unshaken, Marcus’s man t’sk’d several times, before mocking him, “Awwww—that’s sweet…but you shouldn’t be making promises that you know damn well you won’t be able to keep.”

“Your cohort lies at my feet, and I promise that you will join him shortly.”  Khan maintained a calm, even tone, seeking to erode his opponent’s complacence, “Did they not warn you about my deadly skill set?  Or how many men I singlehandedly defeated to affect my escape?”

“You don’t scare me, Harrison,” he snorted, “I know plenty enough about you…”

“Such as?”  Though his eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness—allowing him to mark vague shapes--Khan needed to keep the brute speaking, as he waited for another break in the cloud cover.  A break long enough for him to discern Seraphina’s condition, and enough to set his prey solidly in his sights.

“Let’s see—how about that you’ve got a soft spot for this…”  Seraphina yelped alarmingly, and Khan balled his hands into fists, hard pressed to restrain immediate action, while promising himself the bastard would pay dearly for any mark he left upon her, and every moment of pain he put her through.  “…this pretty thing.  Oh, the things we’re gonna do to her once we get her back to the lab,” he taunted, laughing wickedly, “And maybe we’ll even give you a front row seat for the festivities.”

“Your efforts to goad me into action are foolish beyond measure,” Khan informed him dispassionately—far from his true feelings.  In reality, he imagined driving the voice’s owner to his knees before crushing his skull with his bare hands.  “And I believe you only managed to find me out of sheer luck, despite your stunning incompetence and miscalculation.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” came the grunted reply, “You really don’t have a clue do you?”  And then, eager to assert some sort of superiority, he revealed the answer to the question Khan had been unable to resolve for himself, “You’re supposed to this off the charts genius—but you’ve been tagged, you sunuvabitch.”  Voice dripping with derision, he added, “Tagged like some stupid animal.  And like some stupid animal, you couldn’t even figure that out.”

For the first time since his escape, Khan felt out of his element, doubting himself.  It made perfect sense; it explained how they’d found him so surprisingly, so quickly—but it had never even occurred to him.  Yes, he hadn’t been quite himself in the initial days of his return to consciousness; he’d experienced moments of uncharacteristic mental weakness—and even a feeling of despair, when he realized how completely alone he was, stranger in a strange land, surrounded by creatures that controlled every moment of his life.  He had attributed these things to the effects of his long cryo-sleep.  He wondered now if he simply hadn’t lost his edge.

“Give it up now, Harrison, and I’ll consider letting her off easy.”

Khan glanced at the clouds again, registering that he had moments left until the full light of the half-moon would illuminate the alley.  “Your words mean nothing,” he growled back, readying for action, “Unhand her and I’ll consider letting you off with your life.”

Seraphina’s painful yelp was the initial reply, followed by throaty laughter and words as cold as steel in winter, “You’re killing her, Harrison. One drop of blood at a time.”

As the moonlight finally pierced the darkness, Khan issued his last warning, “Release her now, or I assure you the only real blood spilled in this alley tonight will be your own.”  And then he saw clearly enough: a dangerous tableau, in which Marcus’s minion had Seraphina pressed tightly against him, an arm across her chest while he traced the edge of a knife along her exposed collarbone.  At this distance, Khan judged that the cuts she bore were shallow, but surely enough to cow her.  Her eyes went wide as saucers as they met his own for the span of a heartbeat.  Then he was flinging his jackknife with the deadly accuracy he had promised her captor; as ever, his aim was true, and the blade lodged itself to the hilt in the man’s left eye

For a split second before he fell—pulling Seraphina down on top of him, still caught tight in his grasp—a look of complete surprise colored the dead man’s features.  Khan was not surprised; he had seen that look before.  Far too often in fact, and it always reminded him that most men—most of mankind—did not fully grasp the meaning of their own mortality until it took them without warning.  He rushed forward to free his little flower from that rough embrace.

Despite her shock and stunned silence, she had managed to disentangle herself before he reached her side.  She scrambled away awkwardly, crab-crawling backwards until she reached the solid wall behind her.  She watched Khan a moment, registering that her captor was dead and that she was finally safe--just as Khan had promised her—and then pulled her knees in, wrapping her arms around them, and resting her face against the peak they made.  Even at the distance of several feet, he could tell that she was trembling, but there was a thing or two needed doing before he could go to her side.

He bent over the motionless body, noting the fog of death in its one good eye, not deigning to even close the lid, as it deserved no bit of human sympathy, even in death.  Khan jabbed its shoulder roughly with his booted foot, satisfied with his dire handiwork, and then pulled the jackknife out of the ruined eye, wiping the blade clean on the shoulder of the dead man’s jacket. He then set about removing any identification on the body and riffling through its pockets, to take anything that might be of use to them as they continued their hazardous flight.

Seraphina had begun to sob, the sound muffled but heart wrenching, and Khan’s anger for the pain her gentle spirit had suffered—as much, if not more, his fault, than the fool who lay dead at his feet--made him lash out; he kicked the body squarely in the chest, grunting with grim satisfaction at the sound of several ribs breaking, vaguely wishing the man could still feel the real pain he so deserved.  He turned and moved quickly to her side.

Crouching beside her, he raised her head gently; lost in her misery, Seraphina flinched at first, but then gave in to his ministering hands.  Khan studied her swiftly, first checking her head and face for serious injury, and then running his hands firmly along her neck, shoulders and arms, assessing the physical toll of her ordeal.  Relieved that any damage was superficial, he relaxed at last, and pulled her into the circle of his arms.  She offered no resistance, shivering against him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, and giving in to greater sobs as she clung to him for comfort.

Holding her as tightly as he dared, Khan laid his cheek against the soft cushion of her hair, while she wet his neck and collar with bitter tears.  Without a second thought, he began to gently croon, meaning to calm and console her, “Softly, now, my sweet flower.  I have you now, and will keep you safe.”  Other kindly words he offered, grateful to feel her trembling slow and then cease, as she came back to herself.

When she had quieted completely, she withdrew a little from his arms, lifting her tear stained face enough to meet his eyes with her own.  They held no anger, or accusation (both of which he so richly deserved), and Khan surprised himself with the flood of tenderness that welled up in his chest—until he realized it was that same old weakness of his, astounded at how quickly she had found a place inside his secret heart.  Such a complication could not bode well for his success, and yet a part of him was grateful he could still feel such softness after all the months of pitiless cruelty which he had endured.

Tenderly, Khan brushed his lips upon her brow, pulling her close again, to murmur words of comfort between quiet kisses to the crown of her head. “There, my brave one…my sweet flower…my pretty, pretty Seraphina,” he told her between those modest kisses, allowing himself to deeply inhale the perfume of her hair again.  And as had been inevitable from the moment he had carried her unconscious form back to her hovercraft only a half-day ago, that familiar fragrance of jasmine and honey broke through his final vanguard of stoicism, opening the floodgates of his most bittersweet memories.

This was the scent he would forever associate with the last time in his life he was truly free of care--before he was forced to fulfill the destiny designed for him by scores of others.  None of whom had ever grasped the simple fact that inside his superhuman body—and despite his formidable brilliance and cunning—dwelled the very human doubts, vulnerabilities, and confusing jumble of hormones and adolescent emotions, of an average fifteen year old boy.

Not here, not now, Khan chided himself; the stakes are too high to give these thoughts play, and so many lives—including Seraphina’s--depend upon what I do in the days ahead.    

Gently, he prepared her for what lay ahead. “We must be on our way, Seraphina.  At once, if you can bear it.  Even if these men have not communicated our location to their superiors, the tracker I bear will give us away.”

She nodded against him, and he felt her resolve return in the straightening of her shoulders before she withdrew from his arms.  She drew a long, calming breath, raising her head regally, the flame of defiance in her eyes; he marveled at the picture she made, thinking what a perfect consort she might’ve made for him under other circumstances.  Free of the fear that had gripped her, Seraphina replied with unwavering conviction, “I’m ready, John.  They don’t get to win.  Not now—not ever.”

Khan stood, pleased with her commitment to continue, and gave her his hand, helping her to stand.  “There is a vital matter we must address before we go any further.  And I must rely on your fortitude. Seraphina.”

She nodded again, managing a sad smile, “Whatever you need, John.  Tell me and…and it’s as good as done.”

He raised his eyes skyward, gaging an approaching bank of clouds.  “We must be swift about this; the moonlight will have to be enough.”  He extended the handle of the jackknife to her; she took it silently, wariness in the set of her brow.  “The tracker they’ve tagged me with must be removed and destroyed…”

She met his eye squarely, and swallowed hard before asking, “You want me to…to…cut it out?  Is that even possible?”

“I’m gambling that it is,” holding her gaze patiently, “As we have no time to spare, you must be my eyes and my hands in this.”

Wide-eyed with apprehension, Seraphina agreed to his request, listening intently to his instructions.  Trusting that she would handle the task with steady hands, Khan removed his shirt, and then moved to kneel with his back towards her, hoping to maximize the fall of moonlight upon his flesh.  Seraphina began to first trace along his spine as he’d directed her; firmly and methodically, then widened her path as she searched for any abnormality.  Given the technology, and what he knew of Marcus’s inclinations, Khan believed his adversary would have seen that the tracker was placed clear out of his reach.

“Nothing…just…nothing,” she muttered under her breath, “There’s nothing here, John—no, wait…”  Her fingers paused beside his right shoulder blade, then pressed harder as she explored the area.  His hissed softly, more in surprise then discomfort, and in seconds he was certain she’d found it.  “There’s something here—it’s small, but it’s hard…it doesn’t feel natural…”

“No hesitation, now, Seraphina; dig it out, and do it quickly.”

He felt her falter for only a moment, and then the blade sliced into his skin.  Fortunately, she only needed to make a shallow cut, and her fingertips probed the wound only briefly before they withdrew.  “Got it,” she exclaimed in relief, “What now?”

“Crush it, if you can,” he commanded, and she did so without hesitation, dropping it to the ground and grinding it under her foot.

“You’re bleeding, John,” she advised him, “It’s slow but steady.  I should apply pressure until it stops.”

“No time,” he told her, quickly slipping his shirt back on and rising to his feet, “It will clot soon enough and we must be on the move.”  He took back the knife, folding the blade back before pocketing it.  “You did well tonight, my brave one,” he rumbled down at her, studying her lovely face in the moonlight, gratified to see no trace of fear, “Better than I deserve.”  Despite what she’d endured, she had risen to meet his need, just as his instincts had told him she would.  An exceptional woman—and in the flush of danger, in the extremity of a situation she never would have encountered if not for him, the fearless beauty of her spirit shone undimmed upon her features.  If he believed she could leave him now and return to her quiet, safe life, he would send her as far from him as possible—she had more than earned it; but her fate was truly tangled up in his now, and truthfully he was loathe to part from her just yet.

“What?” she asked breathlessly, reading the hesitation in his thoughts; caught in the intensity of his regard, she responded unconsciously by moving nearer to him.  Seraphina’s upturned face was temptingly close as she whet her lips—her soft, willing lips, that had been so delicious in the kissing--so that Khan had restrain the urge to trace the curve of her cheek before taking her lips with his own, and force himself to focus on what came next.

“Nothing of concern, Seraphina,” he replied, “Only that you have been an unexpected helpmate in many ways.  I sincerely regret placing you in any harm’s way.”

She shrugged and countered with a show of gay bravado, “No use barring the barn door now, John, as my grammy would’ve said; the horses done moved along.”  She smiled crookedly, then looked away shyly, perhaps thinking her jest had failed to charm him—when in truth, she was charming and distracting him at every turn.

A small, indulgent smile creased the corners of his mouth, despite the severity of their predicament.  “Come now,” he said, taking her arm gently, urging her forward.  He paused to retrieve his phaser; and Seraphina stopped as they came to the edge of the alley, and the body lying there.  Anticipating her question, Khan answered truthfully, “He lives, though when he wakes--between the headache he will have and the ire of his employer--he may well wish he does not.”  As they passed onto the street, heading for her hovercraft, he added, “He lives, my dear, only because of you.  I will continue to honor the admonishment you laid upon me to do the least amount of harm—though you must understand that the other sealed his fate in threatening your life.”

She bowed her head, “I do, John, and I don’t blame you.  You saved my life…I’m very clear on that.”

As she moved forward to gather up her fallen things and board the craft, Khan reflected ruefully…your tender heart may well be my undoing, Seraphina; already I find I cannot do entirely as necessity dictates, for the pain it might bring you.  He took his place at the guidance controls, and began to navigate them back to the crossroads where they had made their fatal choice, and to the journey that lay ahead.

Work-in-Progress   Chapters 1-12 on AO3