OF TWO WORLDS.

difficult to explain.

i'll explain it in more detail when i see you.

where will be convenient?

think you can find it?

do you have the coordinates?

will five minutes be all right?

we're beaming down.

they must have interfered with the normal evolution of the planet.

it will be interesting to see the results of the contamination.

the evidence is only circumstantial.

let's not argue about it.

let's go study it.

this is like coming home.

home was never like this.

would you mind explaining that statement, please?

put your hands over your head, or you ain't going to have no head to put your hands over.

what's this?

that's a weapon.

be careful with that.

you trying to make trouble?

don't give me those baby blue eyes.

i never heard such stupid questions in my life.

get moving.

is this how you greet all your guests?

that man's dead back there.

some people got nothing to do but complain.

make yourself a drink.

i'll take care of it.

fascinating, but quite impossible.

out of the question.

what's this thing?

how does it work?

i wouldn't waste my time.

if you don't mind, i'd rather walk.

you do that very well.

what are you doing on this frequency?

would you mind telling me how you even know who i am?

i guess you want to know why i brought you here.

i want you to help me.

what do you think, we're stupid or something?

that's too bad.

you mean you're giving up?

how'd you get back up there?

irrelevant, since we are here.

i'm afraid i find it difficult to trust you.

business is business.

you'll show no further hostility?

we'll call a truce.

you mean you're going to trust him?

as a taxi driver, you leave much to be desired.

it was that bad?

they don't look like the trusting type.

i beg your pardon?

who you calling a babe?

this is likely to be quite hazardous.

what's in it for me?

what do you want?

we're taking over.

do you think that's wise?

must we?

it's faster than walking.

are you afraid of cars?

it's your driving that alarms me.

all you had to do was explain it to me.

don't get smart.

i'm a peaceful man at heart.

you've been brooding ever since we returned to the ship.

isn't that logical?

i don't know how serious this is.

i don't quite know how to tell you.

you left it?

Yes, as odd as it may sound to some people - despite Khan being who he is, genetically superior on many levels, strong and healthy, having been drilled and shaped from his early childhood on to achieve perfection, possessing blood that heals him (and others) from almost any illness... he actually needs sleep.

It annoys him too, that basic need; If he were allowed to decide what to change about himself, he would ask for said need to be eradicated from his existence. Yet, probably because of his extremely fast metabolism, sleep is a necessity, even if he doesn't need as much as the average human does. Three to four hours are perfectly sufficient for him, and two hours will allow him to keep going for the day - but only for a certain amount of time before exhaustion sets in.

He's barely getting two lately, more on the side of one to two hours, and even though he's not breaking because of it - he can keep going for longer, he's not at his limits yet - Khan can feel the effect it has on him. Muscles feel heaver than usual, his neck and shoulders are tense, and the steady hum of something akin to a headache sits within the back of his head at all times. It's easy to ignore for now, but at some point it won't be anymore.

"---Didn't know a Vulcan meld could do that - render someone unconscious.", is what he gives as an answer to the Vulcan's offer; Khan's not highly educated when it comes to Vulcans, so he only knows the basics regarding their kind, including the fact that they can initiate mind-melds that will... do things. More or less pleasant, depending on the situation one is in.

It's distantly similar to something he can do, but still different. Yet Khan wonders if his own psychic abilities were to make such a meld harder, perhaps more complicated for a Vulcan... and he's unsure if he wants to find out.

were he outwardly as expressive as other species are, particularly without regard for company, perhaps spock would smile. not out of joy, or happiness; but something mirthless, sharp. he does not, but for a nanosecond, the impulse crosses his mind, even if left unrealized. spock imagines it is rare to surprise an alien such as him, even if not impossible -- one who seems to know so many things. who has had access to so many things. of course, vulcans are notoriously secretive, even among their allies. it stands to reason they would be doubly so, among their enemies. or, in this case, tentative alliances, balanced precariously on a knife's edge. a single grain of doubt, or of truth, could tip the scales in either direction. even if one side is far less malleable than the other. ❝      . . . among many others.   ❞

With some fraction of hesitance, she lowers her hands from where they hold themselves primly --with a little too much tension--- at her waist, to take one of his gently in hers. It is a marked display of all that T'Pring has not given voice to; Her uncertainty. The incompatible notion of her acceptance of him in the face of such a calamitous occurrence, the validity of their bond now made void in the eyes of Vulcan law by the instinctive actions of the Kerkhovians. Her inability to see the logic in prematurely entertaining the preconception in which they would be forced to part.

She gives pause, in a silence that has already felt remarkably heady. There was little that could be done to offer respite, until Dr. M'Benga and Nurse Chapel had found a restorative medical solution.

Now, hand in hand in the manner of human mates, Spock has never felt so distant from her.

" ---I suppose... that would be--- conventional. " In T'Pring's quiet and stilted response, she reveals her scepticism, her gaze fixing with a touch of solemnity on nothing disntinct as it lowers, darkening.

were the link between them flowing like a current as it typically was, and not stretched so thin it nearly disappears with the sudden, unwanted change -- the displeasure in him would be evident. the words are like ash in his mouth, and the taste of rotting fruit lingers. decidedly unwelcome. while it is not the outcome he is seeking, should he remain like this, it is . . . inescapable. his own willingness to be bonded still is nearly negligent in the face of the overwhelming criticism and abandonment she would endure. such things he is familiar with; and not what he wishes for her, if such can be avoided. even still, her acceptance of him, is a balm -- it is a warm salve over his mind, his heart. even now, the root of him is vulcan, despite being overtaken by his human blood.

❝     they will expect it of us.    ❞ spock's voice is low, and guarded; his touch along her hands gentle and purposeful, as always. he misses the depth of feeling he could surmise from this alone; the minute details his senses as a vulcan could identify. the familiar, pleasant hum of her in the back of his head, sparking against his skin every time they touched. ❝     i feel i must elucidate : it is not what i wish. human or vulcan, i would choose you as my mate all the same.   ❞

he recalls being beamed down onto the class m planet with a small away team -- eager to document, catalogue, and experiment on the local flora. his team dispersed; covering more ground, though each had their communicator and could be beamed up at a moment's notice. tricorder in hand, he was gathering readings when suddenly human - like individuals appeared out of thin air, and surrounded him. their voices still echo in his mind : . . . part of massive sequence violation. / variant identified! / on behalf of the time variant authority, i hereby arrest you for crimes against the sacred timeline. what followed was a sequence of events he could not properly comprehend. plucked from the planet, from his reality, and taken to a place that exists between the flow of time. stripped of his uniform, and given a drab, one piece jumper similar to what criminals oft wear, he is -- alarmed, to say the least. the animation he had been forced to watch offered an explanation of sorts, but not one he could readily accept. if what was said is true, it provided far more questions than answers. it was logical, then, to cooperate : if only to asses the situation more thoroughly, and weigh his options. the room is devoid of any personalization. a standard interrogation center, offering nothing beyond the walls. he is chained to the table, with restraints he was assured would withstand the strength of a vulcan. which certainly begs the question - have they dealt with other vulcans, or, another him? pulled back to the present, his gaze snaps to the door as the older human(?) enters; entirely at ease, almost lackadaisical, were it not for the thick file in his hands, and apparent knowledge ( and unintentional bastardization ) of some vulcan customs. and his name, of course.

spock watches with sharpened interest, and intent; analyzing everything from the auditable click which the door locked back in place, to the winkle upon the bridge of the man's nose. there's the faint, but muffled noise of other individuals walking the halls; heavy foot falls. the kind that would be made by the boots those that captured him wore. even if he managed to escape this particular room, he does not know what lays beyond, the capabilities of his captors, nor how to return whence he came. the vulcan's lips press together faintly.  ❝   agent mobius.   ❞   

Yet his tone is gentle, soothing where he says, "— talk to me."

                  it is not unexpected that his captain would find him here; lock himself in the room, even. yet that does not make it precisely the opposite of what he had hoped. that, perhaps this once, jim kirk would not meddle. would not interfere. would respect spock's wishes to isolate himself. of course, he does not. the typical heat of the room was exchanged for something far cooler. though by the gathering of perspiration on his skin, on his hairline, it may as well still be sweltering within his quarters; a dry heat worthy of vulcan. his eyes remain closed, as he sits in his preferred meditative pose, willing himself not to move. not when spock cannot entirely trust his own actions to be his.

                ❝   there is nothing to speak of, captain.   ❞     . . . lie. a muscle in his jaw twitches, teeth clenched; the words are rotten fruit across his sandpaper tongue. vulcans cannot lie; a lie in itself. at the very least, it is in this moment. but he does not relish lying, least of all to jim.