docwithablog | you came to me in peace.

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you came to me in peace.

[ Going out had been his idea, revenge for all the fast food they (read: Khan) had eaten last time. The other man hadn't objected, so here they are -- orders placed, appetizers just delivered to their small corner table (some kind of mousse with chunks of shrimp arranged on slices of cucumber, garnish, looks ridiculous and ridiculously expensive in equal measure) and the waitress with her brown ponytail disappearing into the kitchen, leaving them -- not quite to themselves in the quickly filling restaurant, but close enough. Seafood's a popular choice on a late Friday afternoon, apparently.

John raises an eyebrow at Khan across the table, reaching for his glass of white wine, ignoring the appetizers for now. Frankly, they resemble tiny, green flying saucers with fish bits more than anything. At least they were on the house. ]

You looked like something out of Back to the Future, honestly. Not sufficient sparkle to match Hollywood, but I'm sure you can tweak that.

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[ Neither of them seems totally enamoured with the shrimp mousse, so after Khan has taken his second fill, John pushes the plate aside as a signal for the waiters that they're done, they'd like to get better food now, thank you very much. Khan's words make him pause, however, halting with his elbows on the table, hands folded mid-air -- this isn't a posh enough place that keeping his arms off the table is even a priority, so he doesn't move them before looking over at the other man with eyes that have gone slightly wide. He knows, he knows, 300 years into the future, but even so. Even so. We're talking Star Wars here. ]

If we still got people who are convinced the Earth is flat, it's a lost cause for us. [ He licks his lips, careful about not coming off too -- well, excited, bloody hell, he isn't twelve, but seriously. ] So, what, you can travel at the speed of light?

[ He frowns. ]

Beyond.

[ A pause, as the waiter comes by to pick up their half-finished appetizers. She smiles at them both, asking if they need anything - but thankfully, doesn't inquire as to whether or not they liked the shrimp-cucumber-fusion. He didn't hate it, granted, but then again, Khan doesn't generally hate food. He isn't a picky eater by any means. In any case, he ignores her and continues, once she's left the table: ]

Simply propelling ships to light speed is not ideal, as it would require an impossible increase in kinetic energy. They have discovered how to warp space, itself, to escape this dilemma. [ Pause. A slight tilt of his head, as he figures out a way to keep it simple. ] Thus, the ship remains relatively stable - [ He holds up his hand, palm flat. ] - while space changes around it, drawing closer from the front - [ Drawing a circular motion around his palm with his other hand and folding his fingers, like a tube. ] - propelling it forwards.

[ The waitress comes to pick up their less than half-eaten appetizers at the rather inopportune time when Khan has just revealed that apparently in his world, they can travel faster than light speed, asking if she can get them anything and John smiles briefly at her, telling her no, we're good, perhaps sounding just a tad bit impatient, because -- come on, if Star Wars got it wrong, what's really left to get right in the universe?

Once she's left again and he's picked up his glass once more, taking a drink of the rather good wine (though, he prefers red), the other man proceeds to -- explain to him, in detail and with hand gestures how they don't travel fast, they warp space around the moving object and okay, good, that makes absolutely zero sense to John, but the man's hands are very nice to look at, making semi-dirty movements like that. Both his eyebrows go up as he takes a longer drink, because seriously -- this calls for alcohol. ]

And how do they -- do the warp thing? Change space.

[ It's interesting, talking about this outside the context of Section 31. It's less rage-inducing and more... genuinely fascinating. Then again, he is planning on freeing his people in a very short while which has lifted his spirits markedly ever since he managed to get the last details fixed. Everything's looking brighter, really, this new world technological advancements included.

With how fast they're drinking it, this wine will soon be gone. ]

By the use of warp nacelles. A technology capable of bending a subspace field around the ship itself. [ He does smile, this time, very thinly. ] Is this truly interesting to you? It must sound very far-fetched, considering.

[ Not that he minds going on about his own field of interest but the fact remains that he's here to visit John and until the day he pulls the other man with him to his own universe, none of this is truly going to matter much to him, at least not in a practical sense. He empties his glass, gaze fixed on John, unblinkingly. ]

[ Usually, had he been out with any of the women he used to go through like bloody candy wrapper, John would have shaken his head, insisted that no, no, of course he was interested, drunk the rest of his wine for moral support and waited impatiently for the next leg of the evening. As it is, although he truly does understand very little, if anything of Khan's technical terms, he is actually interested. Come on, the man is talking about traveling to other galaxies, moving faster than light speed, warping space. Little boy dreams, yes? Of course he wants to know more, grasp at what he can't quite fathom. John's got a vivid imagination, he can give it his best shot. ]

Far-fetched, sure -- and rather fantastical and completely nutters, but I can always just tell myself I've ended up in a really geeky sci-fi franchise, when we're reaching the limits of what I'm willing to buy.

[ Not to mention, there's something very attractive about Khan actually asking whether he's interested at all, very mature and very mutual. John's pretty much used to being fascinated in spite of all the things he didn't understand, thank you very much, Sherlock, this is the opposite. He's fascinated because of all the things he doesn't get. Yet.

And because. Space. ]

[ He watches John's face carefully. It's an earnest reply, for certain, and he can understand the fascination - a very small part of him, after all, the part that was born a scientist, was delighted about waking up 300 years into the future. The technological advancements. The possibilities. ]

Warping makes it possible to travel many times faster than the speed of light.

[ He speaks the words in a hushed tone, the excitement of it carrying over very, very slightly; his demeanour, of course, doesn't change much at all. Gaze still fixed on the other man, he leans back in his chair, dropping the straight-backed stance that follows him everywhere otherwise, across standing and sitting positions both. About to expand upon the subject, he pauses as the waitress returns with their main orders. Placing a bowl of steaming bisque in front of John and a plate of grilled trout in front of Khan, she throws a curious look at the both of them before leaving. Listening in the corners, he thinks dispassionately, ignoring her until she leaves. She's a gossiper. Valuable to some, a nuisance to most. ]

[ Yes, good, the waitress is an eavesdropper, that much is obvious by the looks she shoots them before leaving them to their mains; she will undoubtedly return to the kitchen and gossip about the two complete nutters sitting at the corner table talking about space travel, he's sure, but John couldn't give less of a damn, because Khan sounds uncharacteristically animated by the implications, when he says that warping means traveling many times faster than the speed of light and relaxes back in his chair, losing some of his commanding presence -- not all of it, never all of it, but enough to emphasise the glimpse of excitement. He gets off on it, John realises, in his own way. The science, he likes it. Well, doesn't John Watson seem to have a bloody type?

He picks up his spoon and looks down at his bisque, really just a fancy word for thick soup, then glances back up at Khan, his head angled slightly to the side. The natural follow-up question, of course, would be... ]

How far has it taken them? [ In this world, his, they dream of Mars, don't they? Well, he imagines they've left Mars in the dust, where Khan comes from. ] Any parts of the universe left untouched?

[ John catches on, as he's done so many times before - doubtlessly, he's observant enough to note the changes in Khan's body language and he wouldn't expect anything else from him; the man's a soldier and a doctor, if he couldn't read his surroundings, he'd be sorely misplaced on a battlefield. Khan looks his trout over for a moment, critically, before peeling off the charred skin and starting in on the meat, rosa-pink and nicely seasoned. It's good. Much better than that tiny bit of unfortunate experimentation they brought them before. When he speaks, he doesn't look up at John, though the raised eyebrow does not, indeed, relate to the trout: ]

You are aware that the observable universe measures around 93 billion light years in diameter? [ A look at John. There's a tint of humour here, and perhaps - perhaps - a little hint of mockery. He is perpetually smarter than you, after all. His voice softens slightly as he continues, going serious once again. ] No, it has not been explored in total, nor will it ever. But they are working on their own galaxy quite diligently.

[ He works through his trout systematically, from head to tail, eating measured and without haste. He doesn't take much enjoyment from the food, generally speaking, because food is energy and energy is necessary. ]

Nothing to work up an appetite in a man like being lectured on the immeasurability of the universe.

[ A chuckle as he shovels in the first spoonfuls of soup, the bisque strong and thick on his tongue, very flavoursome, hearty in the best of ways -- infinitely better than the appetizers, they were probably free for a reason, shit.

He catches the hint of mockery that Khan presents him with, because come on -- if John couldn't pinpoint mockery when it slaps him in the bloody face at this point, Sherlock hasn't trained him well enough and they all know how that partnership panned out in the long run. Well, relatively long run... A moment's pause and he pushes the inevitable sense of regret aside, focusing on the man before him, enjoying his fish with a raised eyebrow and a little bit of humour. Suits him, John thinks. Suits us.

Khan eats his fish with the same focus and -- what, strategy that he does everything else, from head to tail, measured bites, no hungry gobbling down. John has seen people eat neatly, mostly women, certainly, but still -- this is different, it's not for the sake of meticulousness, it's for the sake of efficiency, obviously. You eat your rations and don't leave rubbish behind, in the field. Yeah, John recognises the procedure. It's familiar, very much so. And welcome.

Going through his soup equally well-organized about the routine, he raises an eyebrow at Khan, challenging. ]

[ Silence.

There's something very unique about the way John manages to balance shows of attitude with that all-important foundation of respect, born from years of living and breathing the concept of hierarchy. It's not altogether common amongst humans and Khan can't abide any relations without it; at best, human arrogance in itself annoys him. At worst, it makes him want to end people. But now, John changes his eating pattern very subtly, matching Khan's organised precision, falling into step beside him without question. There's a challenge in his raised eyebrow, of course.

Are you still keeping up?

He doesn't smile, but there's an amused glint in his eyes as he continues eating, silently. In a moment or two, he'll tell John about his last visit to Qo'noS. Give him something to think about, see whether he can't stretch his limits for geeky sci-fi another inch or two. ]

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you came to me in peace.

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