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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[ It's a very different situation compared to his last visit - today, he is waiting. He's got at least three days before he can act on his plan, everything's in order, ready, all pieces placed in positions. It's the perfect time to visit John, knowing that it might be a while in his own time-frame before he can do so again. It's an average restaurant and the food is similarly unremarkable but John looks quite comfortable, if a bit skeptical with regards to the garnished shrimp.

Pseudo-fancy appetizers never appealed to him either but he eats one quietly, without displaying much reaction to it. ]

Are you equating a few, subtle remains of visible, temporal disturbance with a big, clunky car, hurtling down a street and disappearing in a crash of lightening? [ He sips his wine and shakes his head very slightly. ] It looked nothing like that.

No. [ A laugh. It's an easy admittance to make, because it really, really didn't. Not even close. ] But on the other hand, my psychological reaction to seeing you disappear like that was probably a lot like my fourteen year-old self watching that shit piece of cinema for the first time. [ Khan eats one of the cucumber things, his expression changing exactly -- not at all, actually. John cocks his head, putting his glass down and reaching for one of the little bites in turn, popping it into his mouth and chewing on it somewhat reluctantly. Very watery, but not bad as such. Fresh, he guesses. The motion takes the beat of a second at most, then he adds: ] Equal parts fascination and outright horror.

[ Just like realising that somewhere, in another bloody dimension, someone decided to make Back to the Future... again. In Khan's world, obviously, humans really haven't learned from their mistakes, have they? At least in John's world, they stopped making more of that rubbish after number three -- or was it four, five, he actually doesn't remember which speaks volumes.

He looks across the table, catching Khan's eyes. Smiles. ]

[ He looks John over for a moment before grabbing another shrimp-on-cucumber-dish. Really, 300 years into the future? He's seen and tasted weirder. He doesn't mirror his smile, exactly, though his gaze warms very slightly in response. ]

They travel to other star systems in my universe. [ He remembers finding out about that for the first time, realising that they wanted him to design weapons and space ships despite a knowledge gap, spanning three centuries' worth of formulas and discoveries. Naturally, upon diving into it, his anger at the entire situation had far out-weighted any scientific fascination he might have felt, otherwise. ] Even in the 90s, they were further along in terms of space travel than your world has ever been.

[ Sip, sip. As opposed to the odd appetizers, the wine is actually decent. He prefers it red, granted, but this is fine for... shrimp and vegetables. ]

[ 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. ]

[ It's late in the evening, close to midnight. He's lying on his back in John's bed (the one he shares with Sherlock, who has left him behind), one arm curled around John's waist. His skin is flushed very faintly still and sticky from a mixture of his own fluids and John's. Everything smells of sex.

He breathes out evenly, thinking about the timer. The countdown. This time, it truly is that - when he comes back, there'll be a few days left to fix the rest of the details and then - then, he'll be ready to end this intolerable situation once and for all. He glances sideways at John. Mm. The other situation, of course. This one, he'd rather like to keep. This is not the time to suggest that John follows him, of course; it's a warzone, yes, but it's Khan's. Instead, he says, voice a low rumble in the darkness: ]

I am getting them out, John. In three days.

[ He's been drifting in and out of a post-orgasmic snooze the past ten minutes, the comfortable warmth of Khan's body against his, his arm around John's waist, like a very natural, very effective sedative. The bedroom carries the unmistakable smell of sex and their skin sticks together from fluids, mostly cum, sweat, the likes. Khan's exhalations are even and slow, though no indication of sleep just yet. John will be drifting off in approximately 60 seconds, give or take, maybe more take at this point. They've been equally good on the giving front tonight, he thinks, smiles slightly.

Then, Khan murmurs -- something, a deep rumble of info. In three days. What, he's getting them out? His brain reels for context, who -- his family, obviously... Shit, has someone died in the meantime, should he feel bad for Marcus? John blinks against the semi-darkness of the room, forcing himself awake to have this conversation which is quite evidently essential. Still, his voice sounds somewhat groggy. ]

You found a way?

Yes.

[ He pulls the other man closer, settling down against him and closing his eyes. Inhales. Once more, the smell of sex, sweat, cum, post-orgasmic hormonal bliss - and underneath it, John's own, personal scent, magnified. It's a risky (terrible) plan, to be fair, but it's all he has and he'll be damned if he sits around for another month, two, three, waiting for Marcus to start picking off his people. The man's hell-bent on starting a war and if he doesn't get them out of there soon, Khan and his people will be right in the midst of it, taking the brunt of the impact.

Not that they couldn't - and they'd win it, too - but Khan knows exactly what's in it for them, by the end of it. Exile, again, if they're lucky. Certainly no victory, certainly no freedom. His grip on John tightens, just a fraction. He opens his eyes, staring into the side of the man's head, hair tickling his nose. ]

72 torpedoes, all crafted to fit one cryotube each. I've planned for them to be transported straight to a warship I've designed, currently docked on the outskirts of the solar system.

Torpedoes... [ John feels the way the other man's grip on him has tightened, not much, but noticeably, seeing as the man's so much stronger than -- well, normal mortals, supposedly. Him wriggling his little finger could possibly break someone's neck and Marcus is lucky, he has his family in reserve, because without them as leverage, his life expectancy would be both painfully brief and just -- really, very painful, yes? It's a strange feeling, considering how short a time they've known each other, how few stakes they really have in each other, but John desperately hopes for Khan's sake that this plan is going to work out more smoothly than he can imagine -- it might.

Shifting onto his side a bit, sot they're lying almost front to front, face to face, he can push his nose in against the dip between Khan's jawline and ear, lips brushing over earlobe -- and he lowers his voice a fraction, so he isn't shouting directly into the man's ear, having landed in a more natural pitch by now. ] I'm not assuming they're just empty holsters. They're armed, right?

[ John shuffles closer until they're practically front to front. His breath tickles across Khan's skin where his nose nearly touches his ear. They're armed? he asks. Khan blinks once, then his entire face stills, as if frozen. It's the subject matter. The potential consequences. Swallowing, he finally nods. ]

They must be or people will wonder.

[ His crew - they are durable creatures, all of them. Even whilst resting on loaded dynamite, vulnerable and unawares, they are the brightest and strongest in the galaxy and he's not afraid for them, he refuses to be. Instead, he settles down more fully against the mattress, still on his back. He isn't tired, hasn't been for several days. Rather, he's battle ready, as he will be until this whole thing is over, until his people can rest quietly and safely once again. Perhaps then - and only then - will he finally return to John Watson with more to offer than a temporary respite. ]

Edited 2019-08-11 10:26 (UTC)

[ They will wonder or they will launch them as test, John thinks, but doesn't say anything. These are logical worries, he's sure Khan -- who is literally more made for war than John ever was, has already thought the very same things. There is no worry that John could possibly bring to the table that the other man would really have much of a use for. It's there already, no doubt. It's there in the tenseness of his muscles, the stillness of his features as he settles down against the mattress more fully. John draws away from his ear a little, glancing up and letting his eyes follow the dark outline of the other man's face, the silhouette so damn familiar. It's my face, he can almost (almost) hear Sherlock exclaim. He blinks.

It occurs to him, after another minute, that if Khan succeeds -- and Christ, John hopes he will, it could mean he might never see him again. Once he has his family and his freedom, his priorities might (and naturally so) shift, enough that going on even brief 24 hour trips to some backwards world of the past just isn't -- worth it anymore. The risk, the effort.

He breathes out shakily. ]

I'm really hoping no cluster fucks for you, Khan.

[ He doesn't react immediately, noting the shakiness of John's exhalation, the time it takes for him to reply. I'm really hoping... Yes, John, what are you hoping for? He thinks about the other man, here in London with no direct pathway to the stars, waiting for a man who's been gone for too long and now, soon, for Khan. It's an odd thought, waiting. It's very primarily human. Khan's people are all warriors, they wait for no one, least of all each other. It's not in their blood.

But people do this. They wait. And they grow exhausted from it. John, too, though he's strong enough to atrophy only in stages, in small but significant acts of isolation. ]

I am coming back for you.

[ It's spoken without even a shimmer of doubt or hesitation. He's decided already, weeks prior. It's something else that makes him add his next words - not uncertainty. Pride. He will force nothing on this man, not now and not later. ]

By then - [ He leans in, runs his lips across John's temple briefly. ] - you can tell me yes or no.

[ There's a long moment after Khan has spoken in which John just lies silent, his temple burning from the brush of lips and his breath feeling bated. He turns his face a bit, away and stares out into the darkness, frowning. I am coming back for you, Khan insists -- by then you can tell me yes or no. There is a doubleness to the entire situation, the fact that he gets the choice, returning with Khan to his world of space travel and star wars, getting to stay with him, yes -- and then, the fact that he gets the choice, Khan refraining from forcing any one decision on him.

It's absurd. It's like the kind of dreams you have, coming off a high. ]

All right.

[ He shakes his head once, makes a noise of bemused frustration and then, turns his face back, angles himself so he can rest his chin on Khan's shoulder, slinging one arm across the other man's chest. Neither of them will get to fulfill any promises tonight, but who knows -- maybe it's enough that they want to. For now. ]

Edited 2019-08-11 11:25 (UTC)

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you came to me in peace.

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