You should have let him sleep (chapter 12 of 15)
Chapter 12 - The Fight
My wonderful beta rranne claims this one 'stabbing'. I'd call it just short:)
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Khan let Kirk’s half-unconscious body fold on the ground as he spun around and froze on the spot, staring. John, too, stopped where he was; the light of the improvised garden falling on his face, highlighting every contour.
“John Watson is dead. Over two hundred years,” Khan bit on the words as if he could revise the reality according to what he believed.
“Look who’s speaking.” John didn’t want to feed the feeling of betrayal brought by the knowledge that Sherlock faked his death and never let him know- he was skating on thin ice right there, no need for emotional outbursts. He only said: “At least, I attended your funeral.”
On the floor, Kirk came to his senses and rolled away quickly to put some distance between him and Khan again. Khan let him; all his attention was focussed on John.
“How did you...oh. The chamber on Reliant.”
“That blasted thing nearly killed me,” John said with emphasis. Then he let out a short laugh. “Anyway, when you found it, I was mortified. Thought you’d catch me right there. Your deductions are going rusty, Sherlock.”
“I’m not the man you used to know,” Khan corrected him, an undertone of warning rolling deep in his voice. John willed himself to ignore the way it made the hair on his neck stand on end.
“Of course not. The one I know used to protect people, not to leave a line of dead bodies in his track.”
“Oh John,” it was Khan’s turn to laugh and this time John shuddered visibly at the coldness of it, “you’re making people into heroes again. You have no idea what he left in his tracks before he became me.”
Khan was now approaching him, slow and measured steps bringing him closer, and John had to gather all his bravery...stupidity, stupidity, this was insanely stupid idea, whose idea was that?...not to turn on his heel and run.
“I know what you had to do.” John didn’t know, really, Mycroft never told him any details on Sherlock’s whereabouts after his faked suicide, but he had his suspicions. “What you had to do to protect your friends.”
“I have never done anything more than protect my friends, and for that we were condemned to a slow, horrible death!”
“Sherlock, now you’re not protecting anyone. You don’t have to do this.” John noticed the way the corners of Khan’s mouth turned slightly down upon hearing his old name. Was it displeasure or regret?
Khan stopped a couple of feet away from him; his eyes, icily blue, all-seeing as ever, burning with something incomprehensible, drank in John’s face- such a contrast to the detached, dismissive tone of his words that John decided at once to believe the eyes instead of the voice.
“You don’t understand. You’ve never lost-”
“I bloody well have!” There it was- the outburst he tried to avoid. Damn it, but it felt so good.
There is no way one could describe the hell you’re going through when you can’t even say aloud that your best friend... is… John gave up on words, knowing how well Sherlock knew how to read him, letting his face express all he wanted to say.
The answering pain on the so different, but still familiar, face nearly broke his heart- but it gave him hope, too.
“I didn’t know,” Khan- no, Sherlock- whispered. “I didn’t know you’d be affected that much. I gave you a way out.”
“The ‘I’m a fake’ bullshit? Did you really, for one second, think that I would believe it?” John laughed over the bitter lump in his throat. “For a genius, you can be so fucking clueless.”
Khan moved again; now he stood close - not so close that John would have to tilt his head up to look him in the eyes, but close enough to reach out and touch. “I wanted to get back to you.” One fingertip, roughened with years of hard manual work, traced the line of John’s short hair above his forehead. There were more of the grey ones than Sherlock would have remembered.
“You still can,” John swallowed, resisting the urge to grab the hand and pull the man into a long overdue embrace. It was a crucial moment - something stretched almost tangibly between them, unnamed and unfathomable, and John searched the eyes for an answer-
Then it shattered and broke. Khan withdrew his hand and slowly shook his head, diverting his gaze from John’s dismayed face: “Everything’s different now. You want to know what happened? I’ll tell you.”
John didn’t know how was it possible to love and hate the same voice at the same time.
“They created us to fight for them- and when we ceased to fit into the grand scheme of things, they condemned us as criminals and expelled us into exile. Your world, John, doesn’t deserve us.” Khan turned away and began to walk over to Kirk, who took a few wary steps back.
“Let him go.” His plan failed, but John was determined to play the game till the end- even if it involved breaking some bones. Probably his own.
“What did you expect, John?” Khan laughed at the audible edge of desperation in John’s plea. “You’ve sided with my enemy. Did you really think I would give him up just because of you?”
“Yes,” John forced his voice to calmness. “If you wouldn’t, then you jumped off that roof for nothing.”
The last word hit Khan like a slap, bringing him to a grinding halt.
"How do you dare," he hissed. "I've had enough of people using my friends against me. This won't work on me, Jo-"
Everybody froze when the high-pitched buzz from the adjacent room split the air. Low drumming filled John's ears and he felt a crawl of tickling sensation all over his skin - the hair on the back of his hands stood up, charged with static.
"You've set it off," John exhaled incredulously, "what were you thinking, you lunatic!"
Khan didn't notice him anymore. "I'm afraid our lovely encounter has come to an end," he drawled at the Admiral instead, covering the distance between them in one incredibly long jump and launching a blow on Kirk's head.
Kirk parried the attack by dodging swiftly to the side - the man had more combat agility than appeared - and countered with a rapid series of punches in the gut meant to throw Khan off-balance; no one knew better than Kirk that the blunt force of human hands could do very little harm to an enhanced human body. Khan, indeed, stumbled one step back - only to trip Kirk up with a swinging kick. Long arm hauled Kirk by the neck, trapping one of his hands under the combined weight of their bodies; Khan pressed the other painfully into the floor, straddling him and closing his free hand round Kirk's throat again. Kirk tried to struggle, trashing his legs in search for leverage, but Khan's grip was inescapable. His eyes blazed with fierce determination and Kirk's vision began to blur at the edges, the loud thrumming of blood in his ears drowning out every sound except for--
"Let him go!" The crushing weight was suddenly removed from his chest, the hand on his neck gone, as John knocked Khan down on the floor with all the force of his compact body. Khan rolled over and sprang to his feet, not losing a second- but John didn't attack him further. He stayed where he was, crouched beside Kirk, and opened his fist.
In his palm lay the small communicator that John had snatched from Khan's waist. He opened it, activating the signal, and pressed it to Kirk's side, rolling away from the range of the beam.
Kirk vanished in the cloud of flickering sparks.
.
.
Chapter 13
My wonderful beta rranne claims this one 'stabbing'. I'd call it just short:)
.
.
Khan let Kirk’s half-unconscious body fold on the ground as he spun around and froze on the spot, staring. John, too, stopped where he was; the light of the improvised garden falling on his face, highlighting every contour.
“John Watson is dead. Over two hundred years,” Khan bit on the words as if he could revise the reality according to what he believed.
“Look who’s speaking.” John didn’t want to feed the feeling of betrayal brought by the knowledge that Sherlock faked his death and never let him know- he was skating on thin ice right there, no need for emotional outbursts. He only said: “At least, I attended your funeral.”
On the floor, Kirk came to his senses and rolled away quickly to put some distance between him and Khan again. Khan let him; all his attention was focussed on John.
“How did you...oh. The chamber on Reliant.”
“That blasted thing nearly killed me,” John said with emphasis. Then he let out a short laugh. “Anyway, when you found it, I was mortified. Thought you’d catch me right there. Your deductions are going rusty, Sherlock.”
“I’m not the man you used to know,” Khan corrected him, an undertone of warning rolling deep in his voice. John willed himself to ignore the way it made the hair on his neck stand on end.
“Of course not. The one I know used to protect people, not to leave a line of dead bodies in his track.”
“Oh John,” it was Khan’s turn to laugh and this time John shuddered visibly at the coldness of it, “you’re making people into heroes again. You have no idea what he left in his tracks before he became me.”
Khan was now approaching him, slow and measured steps bringing him closer, and John had to gather all his bravery...stupidity, stupidity, this was insanely stupid idea, whose idea was that?...not to turn on his heel and run.
“I know what you had to do.” John didn’t know, really, Mycroft never told him any details on Sherlock’s whereabouts after his faked suicide, but he had his suspicions. “What you had to do to protect your friends.”
“I have never done anything more than protect my friends, and for that we were condemned to a slow, horrible death!”
“Sherlock, now you’re not protecting anyone. You don’t have to do this.” John noticed the way the corners of Khan’s mouth turned slightly down upon hearing his old name. Was it displeasure or regret?
Khan stopped a couple of feet away from him; his eyes, icily blue, all-seeing as ever, burning with something incomprehensible, drank in John’s face- such a contrast to the detached, dismissive tone of his words that John decided at once to believe the eyes instead of the voice.
“You don’t understand. You’ve never lost-”
“I bloody well have!” There it was- the outburst he tried to avoid. Damn it, but it felt so good.
There is no way one could describe the hell you’re going through when you can’t even say aloud that your best friend... is… John gave up on words, knowing how well Sherlock knew how to read him, letting his face express all he wanted to say.
The answering pain on the so different, but still familiar, face nearly broke his heart- but it gave him hope, too.
“I didn’t know,” Khan- no, Sherlock- whispered. “I didn’t know you’d be affected that much. I gave you a way out.”
“The ‘I’m a fake’ bullshit? Did you really, for one second, think that I would believe it?” John laughed over the bitter lump in his throat. “For a genius, you can be so fucking clueless.”
Khan moved again; now he stood close - not so close that John would have to tilt his head up to look him in the eyes, but close enough to reach out and touch. “I wanted to get back to you.” One fingertip, roughened with years of hard manual work, traced the line of John’s short hair above his forehead. There were more of the grey ones than Sherlock would have remembered.
“You still can,” John swallowed, resisting the urge to grab the hand and pull the man into a long overdue embrace. It was a crucial moment - something stretched almost tangibly between them, unnamed and unfathomable, and John searched the eyes for an answer-
Then it shattered and broke. Khan withdrew his hand and slowly shook his head, diverting his gaze from John’s dismayed face: “Everything’s different now. You want to know what happened? I’ll tell you.”
John didn’t know how was it possible to love and hate the same voice at the same time.
“They created us to fight for them- and when we ceased to fit into the grand scheme of things, they condemned us as criminals and expelled us into exile. Your world, John, doesn’t deserve us.” Khan turned away and began to walk over to Kirk, who took a few wary steps back.
“Let him go.” His plan failed, but John was determined to play the game till the end- even if it involved breaking some bones. Probably his own.
“What did you expect, John?” Khan laughed at the audible edge of desperation in John’s plea. “You’ve sided with my enemy. Did you really think I would give him up just because of you?”
“Yes,” John forced his voice to calmness. “If you wouldn’t, then you jumped off that roof for nothing.”
The last word hit Khan like a slap, bringing him to a grinding halt.
"How do you dare," he hissed. "I've had enough of people using my friends against me. This won't work on me, Jo-"
Everybody froze when the high-pitched buzz from the adjacent room split the air. Low drumming filled John's ears and he felt a crawl of tickling sensation all over his skin - the hair on the back of his hands stood up, charged with static.
"You've set it off," John exhaled incredulously, "what were you thinking, you lunatic!"
Khan didn't notice him anymore. "I'm afraid our lovely encounter has come to an end," he drawled at the Admiral instead, covering the distance between them in one incredibly long jump and launching a blow on Kirk's head.
Kirk parried the attack by dodging swiftly to the side - the man had more combat agility than appeared - and countered with a rapid series of punches in the gut meant to throw Khan off-balance; no one knew better than Kirk that the blunt force of human hands could do very little harm to an enhanced human body. Khan, indeed, stumbled one step back - only to trip Kirk up with a swinging kick. Long arm hauled Kirk by the neck, trapping one of his hands under the combined weight of their bodies; Khan pressed the other painfully into the floor, straddling him and closing his free hand round Kirk's throat again. Kirk tried to struggle, trashing his legs in search for leverage, but Khan's grip was inescapable. His eyes blazed with fierce determination and Kirk's vision began to blur at the edges, the loud thrumming of blood in his ears drowning out every sound except for--
"Let him go!" The crushing weight was suddenly removed from his chest, the hand on his neck gone, as John knocked Khan down on the floor with all the force of his compact body. Khan rolled over and sprang to his feet, not losing a second- but John didn't attack him further. He stayed where he was, crouched beside Kirk, and opened his fist.
In his palm lay the small communicator that John had snatched from Khan's waist. He opened it, activating the signal, and pressed it to Kirk's side, rolling away from the range of the beam.
Kirk vanished in the cloud of flickering sparks.
.
.
Chapter 13