#tbd|Star Trek au {Kelvin Timeline}

[brooklynislandgirl]

@fasciinating {{from: xx}}

Spaced.

Utterly and truly spaced.That's what she is and to make matters worse, there is no part of her that could bring herself to lie to him. Not simply because he is a senior officer, but…she can't really explain it. Something about Commander Spock raises the small hairs at the back of her neck. If she dared to speak a falsehood, he would know. He would be able to see it in her eyes. Read it on her lips. Know it and pluck it right out of her soul. But mercifully he does not seem inclined to pursue the matter beyond metaphorically waving away her apology and with that graciousness the tension she was holding in her shoulders, in her back, seems to drain away. Gives a little room for something different, a bashful amusement. "Well, Sir, I have heard rumours that you're incapable of illness." Well, that's one of the ones she's heard. She'd never repeat some of the wildly more popular ones. "Oh. Of course." She shouldn't have presumed ~anticipated, if a kinder word for it was sought~ his purpose or desire. She nods when he tells her it is an ordinary thing, nothing that would require intervention of greater magnitude and she tilts her head. Curiosity knits her brows loosely, and thins the fullness of her lips though she doesn't interupt again. A quick glance from head to toe shows nothing to be concerned about in an immediate sense. She also doesn't detect the nearly imperceptibly faint traces of blood or infection, broken skin that might be hiding under his immaculate uniform. Another thing she wouldn't dream of saying aloud. What she sees is a person. Exhausted beyond words but perhaps too used to it, one to whom duty trumps any personal concern. She sees shadows of older agony beneath fresh-concealed pain. Like snow, and how it looks blue when there is ice beneath it. She sees a mask so carefully constructed that perhaps he, himself, has forgotten what he might be beneath it. Or. She could be projecting. But she's always been sensitive to things like that. That is a Beth thing, and while in the med-bay, she is only Nurse Riley. She nods at his request. She pulls up his file in a flurry of delicate touches, and only scans through it briefly for what is needed. She has not been invited into his confidences and it would be arrogant beyond belief on her part to presume that she could be privy to all the secrets his file holds. She would also be lying through her sharp little teeth if she wasn't curious about the exact differences between a full human, a full Vulcan, and himself. Once she has the required dosage, she addresses the Commander once more, now a soft but nurturing tone to her voice and a far more pleasant beside manner in place. "If you'd be so kind, Sir, to have a seat?" She couldn't reach his neck without straining, and finding something to climb on and meet him eye to eye would lack an incredible dignity. "I'm sure you're well aware of all the warnings that come with this dose but I can't help think that maybe you should talk to Doctor McCoy about the steady increase of the kelaromol you've been taking. Or, if that doesn't suit your needs, there are other things that might help with its efficacy. If I might be so bold, that is."

[brooklynislandgirl]

Advent Day I ~ Old and New @respondedinkind

Christmas means a lot of things to Beth, but mostly it means peace and family. She remembers eagerly awaiting for the ships to bring pines and spruces in refrigerated containers, and some neighbours simply decorating palm trees in their yards. She remembers stopping and visiting the bearded and red suited Santa Claus bearing his chest to the tropical sun and raising his hand in a universal greeting ~hence why he's called Shaka Santa~ while beside his statue, one of Tutu Mele {Mrs Claus in formality} wearing a grin, her square eye-glasses and her finest mu'umu'u. She remembers feasts down on the beach where members of the community pulled together to bring food and drink enough for everyone, and no one was turned away. There would be carols sung along with the soft strains of ukuleles. There would be Aunties sharing pumpkin crunch bars. Hulas would be danced, presents exchanged. But star ships don't really have anything that can compare. Most of the time, the crew seem to ignore the ceaseless flow of time, marking it all down not as days and nights but strings of numbers that create a stardate. Beth remembers. Keeps track of time as far as earth-dates in her personal journal.

~*~ Weeks ago, she'd taken the liberty to escort Khan back to his quarters. And while he never offered her entry, she couldn't help but notice the barren state of it. She saw no photographs, no hint of anything personal to him. And maybe that made sense in the time when he politely inclined his head, his face an unmoving and expressionless thing, reminding her of nothing so much as an achingly haunting classical statue. She bid him a good evening, and turned back down the corridor. Mind lost in thought as she thought to herself how sad and lonely it all seemed. Not that he would admit to anything like that. But surely, even Commander Spock was prone to sentimental things. Then it occurred to her that maybe… maybe Khan had nothing of his old life. Nothing of home, of kin. Maybe nothing at all. She recorded these thoughts as she did most of her opinions. In letters she would never again get to send to her brother. She tells the idea of him that in some ways she is starting to identify with her mysterious patient, or at least empathise with him. How he and Khan might have been friends. A lot of little things that held no bearing on her assignment or the man's place on the ship. And then after making herself comfortable, she began her secret project. The first order that would take the longest was the blanket. The outermost border was knitted in white. Then cream, then alternating cream and a neutral sort of brown. These colours represented dry and wet sand from her beaches and the way the colours blended down by water's edge. Brown gave way to a thin sort of blue. The kiss between land and sea. That blue became the turquoise and deeper shades of the sea as the ocean fell away into itself, and finally turned to the colour of his eyes that she has no name for and doesn't have the paint to try and replicate it in any other medium. Knitting the cover took all of her time so that it would be ready in the time she wanted to have it. Wide enough to span the size of his bunk, long enough to wrap him shoulder to toe. She doesn't think Khan gets cold like she can, but that isn't the point really. It is a gift. Something for him to own, something that is his and no one else's. So what if she sacrificed a little sleep in order to finish it? Beth has never needed much rest to be fully capable, and she wanted to be kind. The second gift is much more personal in nature perhaps. Or at least in an entirely different way. When Beth was little, her grandfather had given her a little scroll case necklace. The clever design incorporated her 'aumakua ~a family guardian~ in the form of turtles swimming endlessly. Honu are seen as a symbol of wisdom, of long lives, of perseverance. All things he wished to impart in her, and all things she sees in Khan the more she gets to know him. It does make her smile a little when she thinks of the incredibly hard outer shell that protects the soft living heart within. She can think of nothing more appropriate to describe him. What Beth didn't account for, though, was getting caught trying to be a secret Santa. She'd talked her way into getting his quarters opened. She'd set the ribbon-tied blanket on the foot of his bunk, the necklace settled atop of it, and she was fully expecting to make good her escape when she turned…and came face to face with the man in question. Beth blinks. Her cheeks are fire and she lowers her gaze. "I…I can explain."

[brooklynislandgirl]

@respondedinkind

First Contact {a plotted starter}

She did not join Star Fleet with visions of exploration dancing in her head. There was no real wonder what the galaxy might hold, what truths had yet to be discovered, and what civilisations Earth could learn from. Those were her mother's desires. She did not join Star Fleet to subjugate new worlds, to bring them under one authority and to share ~a euphemism as old as the idea of humankind itself~ resources for the betterment of a handful of people. That was what the Admiral worked tirelessly toward. And Star Fleet could not give her back the thing she coveted the most, the part of her that has been missing for the better part of a decade. No, she'd joined because it was expected of her; a duty and a fulfilment of a family legacy. There wasn't much she could argue about. She also had no actual intention to go into space. She would have preferred to remain on Earth, even in San Francisco. Closer to home than where she is now. The sea might be just as dark, might be just as cold but it was not a void. An endless expanse that contained so very little life. So why is she here? Aboard the Enterprise? Special project, they said, though to be honest, she isn't sure who they are. They had gotten Doctor McCoy to speak with her about the assignment and at first she might have fainted dead away. It wasn't til he opened his mouth ~same depth, timber but definitely not what she was expecting~ that the illusion is broken but she's already committed, isn't she? Chosen for her intellect, her range of skills and hobbies, and her relative obscurity. They know her parents and have seen how little contact she has with them. They have her brother's records and the name of the world he'd died on. And now they have her trapped in space, after signing her life away in triplicate, NDAs that come with prison time if they're broken. With a new patient she knows relatively little about. They tell her he is an alien species, but not what kind. They promise her she is in no danger even if the being is potentially monstrous, a destroyer of worlds. They give her a designation. Not even a name. They tell her to go along with whatever the rest of the crew is told and just how to file her reports. They tell her McCoy will be her immediate commanding officer. They tell her a lot of things, honestly, and some of it goes above and beyond her. Her shuttle docks and they show her to the lab she will be working in, an entire section more or less to herself, with labs, diagnostic and research stations, a surgical suite, and her own personal quarters. She has an official cover story as well. It takes her half as much time as the week given to her to settle in. She hears her door slide open. And that's when they bring him, the Alien. She expects some other-worldly creature. Some hulking thing with dripping mandibles and an exo-skeleton made of Rodinium. She expects an entire security detachment or twelve, with phasers set to anything other than stun. She expects... Not this. Okay so he's tall. But then, that's not a very impressive feat in comparison. Hair dark as a moonless night. Eyes that glacial hue between blue and green that's difficult to name, but that bite with a remote sort of chill. By human standards, high cheekbones, northern European skin tone, a nice mouth and.... And she takes a moment to lean to one side, trying valiantly peer around him. Then again to the other side ~he has impeccable posture and broad shoulders~ before her focus returns to his face. Except for the black uniform undershirt lacking rank or occupational colours, this...man... could be anyone. "Forgive me for maybe being out of line but..." Her hands clasp so that only her index fingers pressed together remain upright. They are tapped against her lips twice before she turns them in his direction, pointing. "I think you might be in the wrong place. I'm waiting for my new patient."

[brooklynislandgirl]

She wasn't exactly sure if she'd intended to pry into Doctor McCoy's life. His personal business. Sometimes she gets glimpses of feelings. Of truths or thoughts that are bottled up. Whether this is a result of a sort of extreme empathy, or learned patterns of behaviour observing her mother's diplomatic forays, she can't say for sure. She simply took them as they came and made apologies for it later. But what she doesn't expect is his candour, or just how deeply green his own eyes are, that hint of topaz in them. They're rather pretty but she can feel colour rise in her cheeks. "I'm very sorry to hear that, sir. I've never been married personally, or really in... " there's a tiny pause "…a relationship, if we're being honest. But I could never imagine being so in love with someone that I wanted to spend my life with and then just….giving up on them, you know? Not that I'm saying that's what you did." She's quick to catch herself before she put her foot in her mouth. Having an Admiral for a father and a diplomat for a mother meant that neither of her parents were at home together at a given time and maybe that's how they've remained married so long. But that also isn't her idea of love or happiness. When he finally looks away, her hand slips with the motion and draws down his cheek where it stops near that faint scar just below the corner of his mouth. She might someday work up the courage to ask about that. "I never meant to imply you weren't a grown man, Doctor, or that you need coddling. However. You aren't wrong. You do deserve to be taken care of with as much skill and care as you give everyone else. So let me. Take care of you. I'm one of the most skilled nurses in Star Fleet, if I may say so, and there has to be a reason I beat more qualified applicants to be selected to serve with you." Her gaze seems to pour over his profile. Soft as a whisper but heavy too. Maybe she doesn't realise what it sounds like she's proposing but there's a warmth in her tone that suggests she's being earnest all the same. "Even if that just means you come by for some coffee and to talk once in a while."

@brooklynislandgirl asked

The nurse ~serving under him for months now, always a background part of the ship, as efficient and easy as a tri-corder~ daubs at the cut on his forehead. Her small-boned hands are careful, delicately using the antiseptic pad to clean the wound, her wide green-gold eyes surveying the damage and basing treatment on that assessment. She doesn't demand answers like Kirk or even he might from anyone else, she doesn't hold the alien arrogance of the ship's first officer.

Instead, Elikapeka ~Beth if it's easier to say, sir~ only sighs and her breath carries a hint of cinnamon on its softness.

"With all due respect, Doctor," she begins and her voice is still barely louder than a whisper, "Someone, somewhere has failed you miserably. You were supposed to be loved, protected and cared for but you never were."

"If you're talking about my love life than yeah, somebody sure let me down there but other than that i don't think there's anything about the way that i have or haven't been loved that really bothers me all that much. You got to toughen up really fast when you're always on your own but other than that i don't think i've been done that big of a disservice." Leonard looks up at her and smiles sadly "i do wish that sometimes my marriage would have worked out because we both at one time loved each other i think but that's just a dream of what's past now and nothing can bring it back."

He looks away from those gold green eyes before he starts talking again "I have no desire to be coddled and protected, i'm a grown man and grown men don't need thiings like that but they sure are nice though." Leonard gets a thoughtful look on his face as he stares at the wall in front of him "I would like for someone to take care of me every once in a while since i take care of this whole entire ship full of people but it seems the more i think about it the more you could be right and that doesn't make me very happy because i still haven't gotten the love and protection that i would like to have."

[brooklynislandgirl]

Beth knows she's not his first choice. She never has been. Not his, not anyone else's. Growing up she'd always tagged along with her brother, infiltrating his older group of friends like a tenacious weed they couldn't quite get rid of. Then there's been college and the Academy, where she basically repeated the pattern; her roommate ~a woman two years younger and studying law~ had invited her along to ensure Beth got out and met people but none of them really stayed for very long. She's one hundred percent certain if Khan had anywhere else to be, she wouldn't be seeing him for days. She doesn't blame him, though. It's just how things are. That doesn't really matter though; he's here now and she will try her best to make him feel welcome. When he pronounces judgement and really that's the only way she can describe it, she smiles. Joy is alive in her eyes and on the delicate features of her face, but there's some relief to her as well, evidenced by the way her shoulders allow themselves to relax, losing any tension that had been there before. On the walls there are photographs of a tall young man who bears more than a striking resemblance to Doctor McCoy and Beth herself. Some are taken on a beach with the entire sea and sky as their backdrop. There's one of him in a Star Fleet uniform ~rank insignia proclaiming him to be a Lieutenant~ and she in a formal gown. So on and so on the pair of them always together. There is a niche by the view-port that has its shade drawn wherein there is one with only him in it. Before the image there's another of the electronic candles set in a little red glass holder. She angles her back to it seemingly on purpose. "I had to strike quite a bargain," she says and there's a teasing edge to her voice, "with one of the cooks in the mess hall. But, if you're game to try it, I got my hands on some real egg-nog. It's a drink on Earth that people have during the holidays, and it's…okay it's really not for everyone but I doubt the rum in it will do you harm. And it's really okay if you don't like it. Some would call it an acquired taste. If you'd prefer something else…I'm sure it wouldn't be hard to whip up." She waves a hand again, this time indicating the whole of the area. The chairs at her table, the bed, the deck where she was perched. "Make yourself at home."

@brooklynislandgirl asked: ❛There’s space for you by the fire, come sit.❜ She gestures to the little view screen tucked amidst faux greenery with red berries and electronic candles. Soft music streams into the room from cleverly hidden speakers and the air is filled with a sweetened spice aroma. "Best I could do, but it's not quite the same," she says in apology. [Winter Themed Sentences || Accepting]

She had invited him over.

Just a few hours ago, back in medbay, the words doing such had left her mouth; Khan had simply looked at her, in disbelief, yet felt slightly touched by the sentiment, in a strange way; Sure, he wouldn't have minded much to spend the evening alone (Christmas eve, people call it here, apparently), but if he's being honest with himself, part of him had actually felt a little...

Well, he doesn't know how he could describe it. Lonely, perhaps? Saddened about the fact that he, as an outsider, didn't belong to any goup yet that he would have joined for the occasion? Something like that. Khan could have dealt with it, however, and it wouldn't have affected his functionality for the upcoming days, weeks, months.

But to have Beth offer him to not be alone... it feels nice, actually. Almost heart-warming, in a way; Khan didn't reply back then, to which the woman had assure him that he can make that decision whenever he wants to, and that she doesn't mind if he were to prefer to stay by himself.

...Well, here he is now.

Beth had let him in just a short moment after he'd knocked against the door of her quarters; Blue eyes take in the sight of his surroundings, of the screen, the fake greenery, while his nostrils flare as Khan takes quick, quiet breaths, picking up the scent lingering in the air this way.

He enjoys it, he decides.

Slowly so, he steps further into the room, as if he's a bit afraid to actually cause some damage simply by existing; Like a stealthy, black cat he approaches the place she'd gestured at, taking in the sight of everything once more, before his gaze flicks over to the woman, expression as neutral as always but perhaps a bit softer this time.

"---I like it.", is what he says, voice low, calm. He cannot compare this moment with any other anyways; He's never celebrated Christmas, nor does he know what's traditional or not.

[brooklynislandgirl]

As gently as she can, she uses voice commands to dim the lights so they might not create coronas in his vision and thereby increasing the amount of added discomfort he has to suffer. His gaze is palpable as any caress she's ever endured and she isn't sure whether or not she finds that disagreeable. It might amuse them in different ways to find some sort of sympathy. She feels a deep wave of empathy roil through her once again when she comes perhaps too close. Hears the way he speaks. Each word feels as if it is pried from a closed fist. "I commend you, Sir. Too often a patient comes to rely not on merely the relief of certain medications but it becomes something of a wild fire beyond control. We've made great strides in treatment but sometimes--" she pauses and half closes her eyes before shaking her head. "I'm sorry. You of all people don't really need a lecture on addiction." She makes note of the very faint viridian hue beneath his skin and chooses the exact spot next to his carotid artery, a space he exposes for her, as the site for the hypo-spray. She uses the self-distraction of his conversing with her to administer the medication. Though it is a painless process Beth has noticed that often times patients tense up in the seconds leading up to dosage. It is the anticipation of pain rather than the reality that does it every time. She can't imagine the days of barbaric medicine when sometimes the cure was worse than the sickness. "No, Commander," she says and the whisper soft voice would be the same one the good Doctor would tell him was her natural timbre. Her face remains neutral. There is no offense taken at his words nor is there the set of brows and mouth that suggests she was about to argue in any way. Her eyes remain mild, her entire affect one wishing she could soothe the pains that must be excruciating and give him comfort. "Though meditation can often help, I was actually thinking a more therapeutic remedy. Sometimes it can help to massage the scalp, neck, and shoulders. The same nerves that signal pain can be disrupted by different stimuli. It's something I would like to think I'm fairly good at, if you'd like to try it Commander. I would also suggest a glass of wine in the evening at least four hours after taking any medication. It pairs well with a hot shower or bath when such luxury is available." Not exactly cutting edge medical science, her recommendations border on folk remedy. "Again, you have my deepest sympathy Sir. Often times pain can be so agonising that one can barely breathe."

How she comes by this so earnestly is nothing she explains. Nor does she seem like she will unless he asks her directly. As far as privacy goes, Beth has much in common with the Commander though it doesn't occur to see it in that light. Beth never expected to find herself aboard a star ship. That had always been her brother's dream. The vast reaches of space and surrounded by stars. Touching the heavens in ways few could imagine. She was more the terrestrial sort, content to spend her days near the sea though she would have gladly followed him anywhere. But then he had died and Beth? Her head, her heart had never stopped screaming. Never ceased to feel empty and void of all life. Her mother threw herself into her work, serving as a diplomat amongst new civilisations. She can't recall the last time they were in the same room together. And the Admiral? He was the one that insisted she join Star Fleet's medical corps. She had never had the courage to disobey one of his direct orders. And now here she is. Her losses still hang heavy. Robs her of sleep. Of appetite. She has seen the very same shadows that lurk under his eyes reflected in her own mirrors, but she tells herself most surely that chronic pain of any sort can do that to a body, even one not entirely human. Very carefully, she puts one delicate hand on his shoulder, feather light and barely there. "It should be kicking in any moment now, Commander. Can you feel any relief or are you still…?" She doesn't finish the statement, doesn't think she has to. It's an intuitive leap of logic and maybe she feels it could be insulting if she continues talking at all. She hopes he doesn't take it as a brisk brush-off "If you like, I can have you absolved of duty for a few hours so that maybe you can get some rest far from the maddening crowd."

IF THE CREW CHOOSES TO VIEW him as impenetrable, then he holds no preference place to correct them. The perspective only benefits him and it is a keen advantage he would prefer to maintain when reality would shatter that image—

—truly imperfect or vulnerable; a liar, a thief.

Retaining a facade of control has been engrained into his body through years of discipline, stood neat even now, leans lines as he wars with the weighted tension that has drawn and born itself inside his mind.

                         Nodding once, Spock folds passively into the nearest bench, simultaneously stiff and distant of his prized focus. In truth, he had avoided coming here — he should have alerted Doctor McCoy fifteen hours ago — pushing forward until the strain on his mind demanded it. The cost has mutated his precision, slowed his hands. At this juncture, his thoughts are nearly nebulous, torn between too bright lights and the sweeping sound of her voice.

All of it rings, harsh in his ears, and bordering on something much too soft for Spock to acknowledge in his present state.

It helps to concentrate on the Nurse’s movements. Resting his hands on his thighs, Spock sets to watch her as she prepares the cocktail. There are few with full access to his medical records, even fewer possessing the knowledge of what his people have come to endure. Vulcans are historically private — this is private — Spock has been no exception to the need for reservation.

Yet he finds himself deliberating on whether to provide Nurse Riley with further information to fulfill this purpose and speed his relief. The ache has become intolerable — thus the only reason for his presence — amber liquifying into a muddied ochre, pooling away from him like melting wax to an open fire.

He stares at the hull across the room.

“ I confess I have no desire to become dependent on its effects, ” he tells her. And still, the admittance burns him as he tilts his head fractionally, exposing his neck. He knows there is no logic in reticence; pride is illogical. It may bring him greater consequences than blurred vision and exhaustion.

Spock exhales quietly.

                         “ My present request was never a willing outcome. However, if you are at all intending to suggest alternative methods not unlike meditation, I must disagree. ” His eyes return to observe her response. He means no offense. It is indelicate assumption he makes. But experience — in addition to the Nurse’s implication of his infallible nature — tells him that she will likely consider it in that manner nonetheless.

“ Meditation has failed to curb my discomfort at this — intensity. ”

Another burn of truth.

[brooklynislandgirl]

She takes no offense when he pulls away from her so abruptly. Were it anyone else though she would be visibly wounded. Beth is a soft thing, and sometimes she doesn't understand why she is so often shunned or held at three times an emotional arm's length as anyone else would be. People don't like what they don't know. Most of them never bother to get to know her. But that isn't why he does it, and so maybe that makes it easier to understand. Sometimes she forgets just how much experiences and situations trigger his self-preservation or manage to overwhelm him. She's that way with sound, noises in particular that sometimes overlap into a cacophony. She loses other people's words when there is too much other stimuli to filter through. Even after she manages to get out what her reasons were behind the gifts, and maybe in a way revealing more about herself than he might care to know, she can't help but to feel as if she overstepped. She hadn't bothered to make other people gifts. She did end up in a sort-of-White-Elephant secret Santa thing in sick bay. She'd gotten Dr McCoy himself but that had been easy. A bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and a mug with coffee beans he could grind at his pleasure. Coffee that was in fact from one Irishman to Another. Even if they were several generations removed from their original ancestry. She doesn't blame Khan in any way of course. He's hard to read and as far as she knows that was intended genetically. She has a suspicion that playing games of chance or strategy would be a nightmare for his opponent. Maybe that's something she'll introduce to their next session, something she is already looking forward to. Sometimes she wonders if she's wrong for that. Wonders if she should recuse herself from his care ~a much better word than experimentation~ because she is starting to feel enjoyment from their sessions. She likes to think that maybe back on Earth or if they'd met anywhere else but here that they would have become somewhat fast friends. They are a lot alike in ways she doesn't really share with anyone. She doesn't even hint at in his notes. More to protect him and keep things from changing far too quickly and forcing him to adapt to new people. Growing up as she had there was little in the way of true stability and she knows it can be upsetting if one isn't expecting new environs and new changes. She isn't exactly sure if he's trying to scent her or if it happens to be merely a coincidence. The fine hairs at the back of her neck seem to think it's the former. A predatory advantage in some species. She makes a note to question that at another time. Hoping of course that it doesn't offend him. In no way would she be suggesting he is animalistic. He puts space between them and she respects that. Doesn't try to close the distance between them. He thanks her. Some people might find the words perfunctory but Beth understands that coming from him there is a richness to be mind from the simple words. Anyone who took a moment to study his background could see that. Then too are the subtle things. The blinks. She doesn't recall him doing so very often if at all. They say that is one of his more unnerving traits but she sees it as a thing to covet, a gift in and of itself that he feels comfortable enough around her to allow himself to be even remotely vulnerable. Or maybe she's reading more into everything than she has any right to. That feeling at the back of her mind ~she won't call it a whisper, because that's the kind of thing mentally unstable people say~ indicates that that is likely to be closer to the truth and now maybe she is over analysing everything. Would he find it funny or boring that she isn't the most confident of people and has a tendency to second-guess herself? Her body temperature ~which tends to run a little cooler than the average human~ seems to climb a few slow degrees when he gives the Khan equivalent of praise to her offerings and in turn that warmth spreads across the high and delicate bones of her face enough to visibly pinken her skin.

Crinkles appear at the corners of her eyes and mouth as she smiles gently. "I'm pleased then to be able to surprise you. I don't think many people can. If you have someone in mind to give a gift to, I can help you. If that isn't entirely too presumptuous an offer. No one will mind if it is a little late or a little early. When it comes to gifts, I've always been told it's the thought that counts, and by that I mean….when you give someone something, it's seen as a token of someone's affection or friendship, love or admiration." She realises she may be adding more confusion than clarity and that ideally she should stop talking and politely take her leave instead of further intruding on his time or space. It doesn't matter if she sometimes feels her heart break at the mere idea of him being so isolated. That he has no friends or family or any connection to most of the hundreds of others on the ship itself. She doesn't know if he prefers that or if like her, a lack tends to sour every other feeling he might have. She takes a few steps toward the door while offering him the courtesy of continuing to leave space between them. Beth doesn't think he will bother to stop her. So she only ends up briefly stopping herself at the door. She glances back toward him and is not exactly shocked to notice he'd turned with her. Likely so as not to present his unguarded back but if she were being honest? Unarmed she doubts she could do any sort of damage to him even if she put all her weight and might into him. She also couldn't imagine wanting to, Beth has never been a truly violent person without cause and often times the idea of harming another makes her queasy. "So. Uhm. If you're interested at all, you're welcome to drop by my quarters. We could share a meal or a drink. I could introduce you to music I think you would like or some of the books I brought with me for this assignment. We could sit and talk, but I'm good with sitting and simply…being." Okay now that just sounds not only weird but maybe a little creepy, too. She only meant it as an offer to give him something to do with company. "Uh. I'm sorry. That sounded dumb. But the offer stands."

Khan doesn't need to be human to see how nervous she is, his presence causing her own existence to stumble; She did not expect him to be here, and his mere presence by itself might also scare her to a certain degree - Khan has been made to impress, to be superior so as to lead others to victory in a Universe made of war. He guesses he's still holding that aura, despite him trying not to, but it might be forever staying a part of who he is and what his genes have been meant to become once they had been implemented into a mother's womb to have him grow.

He's a man of subtle things; He inhales when she speaks, explains herself, nostrils flaring as he does, then exhales, though his frame barely moves at all in the whole process. His jaw works as more words come, molars pressing against each other for a fraction of a second but it's barely visible on his features. Bright eyes flick from her left to her right eye, repeat the motions a few times as Khan keeps looking at her, holding her gaze... and that might be the most obvious of gestures he does, because the movement of an eye can hardly be concealed.

He feels...

Touched, in a way.

Sure, Khan cannot know whether this woman - Beth - is doing such things for many other crewmembers, thinking of gifts for them to put them onto their beds whenever their quarters are being left behind empty. Whether she does or not, he's still moved by the gesture - and incredibly impressed about how thoughtful her presents seem to be, the meaning of them going deep.

The blanket is handmade and represents the color of his eyes, he reminds himself; His gaze flicks over briefly, taking in the sight of colored yarn wrapped in a bow, with the necklace on top of it she'd described as something symbolic, a pendant with turtles...

Everything feels incredibly traditional in a way that Khan cannot grasp, a way he's unfamiliar with - and yet he can tell that those gifts have been made not just out of habit, but because this woman has truly, and deeply, thought of what to give him, offering culture in a knitted blanket and a pendant that others (him included) would not get the meaning of without her explaining the details.

Giving culture to another person who is not part of it might be one of the most personal gifts to make, no? Offering a life that Khan has never been a part of and yet, in Beth's opinion, those things will welcome him into what is her life, something she's been growing up with, experienced during the many years of her existence.

His nostrils flare again, a display of an emotion that happens within him that would otherwise go unnoticed.

Her touch is gentle, barely there, like a butterfly's wing---

---Yet, Khan jerks at the sudden contact, unable to stop his body from doing that involuntary motion. A jaw now tenses more visibly so as he brings himself back under control within a fraction of a second, accompanied by an inhale of breath that's audible for the first time, a subtle widening of his eyes that's barely there but displays in the way his bright irises sit more centered.

He's not used to touches of this nature. It's foreign, his frame sensitive, senses already sharpened because of this moment alone - he didn't expect a touch, so his nerve-endings hadn't been able to prepare for it to happen.

That a bit of Khan's stable surface cracks is also visible in another way: he blinks, a couple of times, which is unusual; He's one to be able to keep his eyes open for minutes on end, trained to hold stern gazes - blinking means to be vulnerable, that milisecond of eyes being closed could be used by enemies to attack, after all.

Khan is all made of subtle gestures, of subtle reactions, including said blinking and a slow part of full lips as his gaze now rests on her fingers lingering on his wrist.

As much as he appreciates her, the presents, her words---

He takes a step back.

Not because he dislikes her, not because he doesn't like her presence or the gifts she's made... His body is just too sensitive for this, the connection too intense on his overstimulated skin. The signals his brain had received were almost hurting in nature with how on edge he's been for the last couple of minutes, so he has to block out one of his senses to keep himself stable and calm, and that sense would be touch for now.

"---Thank you.", is what he finally says, and he hopes she won't take it personal that he'd preferred to not have her touch him for now. Khan is aware that his reaction might cause a negative memory to be formed, but he just couldn't...

Blinking again, his gaze flicks back up to meet the woman's features. Nostrils flare once more, a breath being taken and then exhaled, back straight, expression visibly returning to its collected, neutral self now that Khan doesn't need to focus on that hand on his own anymore. Sorry, he thinks. It's just who I am.

"Your... gifts are very thoughtful.", is what he adds, voice low and sonorous, attention briefly snapping over to the package resting on the end of his bed. "I didn't expect..."

I didn't expect to get anything, is what he means. Why would someone gift anything to me? I haven't been here for long, and no one knows me.

[brooklynislandgirl]

She hears that subtle curl of tongue around the word 'they'. She's said it herself more times than she can count inside of her own head, her outward demeanour demure and pliant as she was raised to be. She has dictated it into her private journals. She has screamed it in the depths of the void inside her own heart where no one could hear her grief and rage. There are many words like that. Wrapped tightly in iron chains of emotion that she's learned how to swallow without choking on. But he doesn't spit them out. In fact, he doesn't say much at all. She searches for some kind of nuance but he reminds her of staring out at a view port; she can see the gleam of intellect, the ageless passing of a life removed from others, but the dark is close. It lives and breathes in some sort of imposed isolation, though she can't tell if it is something he chooses or something that is forced upon him. He is space. Cool. Imposing. Distant. A note that she will not include in her findings today, possibly ever. They ask her for factual data. She is not a trained psychologist, they have counsellors for that. They do not care to hear fanciful suppositions. She isn't sure she'd want to share even if they did. She offers him her most bland, inoffensive smile. It lives and dies on her lips only briefly, never showing teeth. "Do you want to be?" This is a critical question. First impressions are important and he's had a few seconds to make his mind up about her. If he finds her off-putting, or maybe she smells weird ~no matter how sparingly little she wears, plumeria and sandalwood isn't for everyone~ or a multitude of other reasons then they're work cannot proceed. Her heart skips a beat and there is a hard pang in her chest. They might acquiesce to his desire, find him someone he is more amenable to work with, and she would be free to return to the earth, to her seas. But that is a treacherous thought. She cannot, in good conscience, sabotage their efforts. He holds a key to unimaginable amounts of possibilities, a way to synthesise cures that might save uncountable lives. That is another duty, a more genuine one. The preservation of lives. Of knowledge. What more noble thing could there be in the world, in the galaxy? She holds up a hand. "Sorry, that might have sounded disingenuous." It isn't like either of them have much choice, though all she knows is a matter of conjecture and half-whispers. She remembers a story from ancient history that vaguely swims up in her memory; she can't recall all the details but she remembers a man forced to wear a mask of iron while being imprisoned away from the world simply because his existence was considered dangerous. He doesn't have a mask, but it isn't that much different, is it? She turns her back on him. An olive branch. A show of preliminary trust. She steps softly toward a sitting table and chairs, not making a single sound other than the rustle of her tunic. "Is the lighting sufficient or would you prefer them to be dimmer?" Doctor McCoy has told her his senses are hyper-sensitive, and she finds the room far too bright for her own tastes. "And would you happen to like something to drink? Coffee maybe? Tea? I feel as though we're best starting at a clear baseline. Meaning I don't want to jump into blood draws and tissue analysis or anything so physically invasive. If you'd be so willing, I'd like to get some background; I'd like to know what your world was like, what your people were like. I'd like to know more about you as a person; habit, diet, sleep…but also things that may not seem important. What you might like to do to pass time, what you dream about…things that make you….you." Only then does she glance over her shoulder. "So if you'd be so willing, make yourself comfortable."

Then it occurs to her. She hasn't so much as introduced herself, and what a phenomenal breech of etiquette that is by most cultural standards, but especially her own. Once more she addresses him, a blink and then another. Neither of them fully close her lashes. "I do feel as though I ought to beg your pardon. I sort of…ah…got ahead of myself, and you. You see…I don't even actually know your name, and I think "Subject AMK-001" is absolutely atrocious. Sounds like a processor or other computer part. So if there's something you'd like me to call you, we can start there. And for you, I'm Doctor Elikap-" Elikapeka'ailine'alohaekauneikahanuola'Ilikea'wahine. A pause, slightly awkward in nature. Most people outside of the islands she calls home have difficulty pronouncing her name, even in part. The whole thing is a mouthful that is not only difficult but long. "Doctor Elizabeth Riley. You may call me what you like but I tend to prefer Beth." No motion forward to attempt to shake his hand. That is a privilege she hasn't earned yet, and won't until he consents.

Whether Khan has reached his desired goal or not, that he still has to find out, to determine based on his own expectations and what he's going to face in the near future; Because yes, he is here, he is back on board of the Enterprise, back after what has been a rather long (and definitely tiring) trial he's been facing over the course of weeks. Again and again he'd told his story, again and again he'd explained the things he's gone through, again and again he's faced humiliation not only from others doubting any of his words, from him having to relive what has happened back during his time at Section 31, but also from the security footage that was brought up as evidence to back up his claims.

Seeing himself being used as an experiment, going through cruel tests, hearing his own voice grunt and shout, sometimes scream, had taken a toll on him. Between those moments, next to the ones where people trying to defend Admiral Marcus were basically spitting on him, he'd resided in a cell, very much similar to the one he'd resided in for almost a whole year. He hadn't been allowed to go out, hadn't been allowed to do anything outside the four walls that had kept him inside... but at least he'd gotten food, medical care (albeit not needed) and had been treated rather humanely, all things considered.

And now? He's here. Captain Kirk as well as Mister Spock, and even Doctor McCoy, had spoken at the trial - all of their combined knowledge as well as the found evidence had, in the end, allowed Khan to leave with what could be considered a good-ending to a live-long story. Kirk's offer to take Khan upon the Enterprise had, surprisingly so, been accepted by court; Perhaps because they've seen what he can do, that he had designed a whole space-ship that had been two times the size and three times the speed of the Enterprise for as long as it had existed. That he had managed to make it much more efficient, riddled with improved technology humans hadn't achieved to control on such advanced levels yet.

And perhaps the fact that Khan had worked together with Captain Kirk, managed to literally fly through space with nothing on them both besides a space suit, entering the other ship and stopping Marcus from eradicating another ship's whole crew, had also greatly improved the likeness of them accepting the deal. A lot of factors to consider, a lot of good arguments to bring up - but without previously mentioned Kirk, Spock and McCoy speaking well of him, Khan's sure he still wouldn't have gotten the chance to be accepted as a living being rather than a world-ending killing machine.

Here he is, however. He's been allowed to be here. On probation, of course; In exchange for sharing his knowledge, for being of assistance wherever needed, for improving the Enterprise's systems and keeping people save should danger face them. Required to send a protocol down to earth every couple of weeks, telling what exactly he's been doing, why he's been doing it, and every single one of those protocols need to be signed by either Captain Kirk, Mister Spock or Doctor McCoy.

Next to all of that, he'd also offered to have medical professionals take a look at him; He's special, after all, his blood literally heals other people from almost every disease known to man. He's much faster, stronger, more durable than any human, his biology is similar yet different and his genes are perhaps something every doctor ever strifes to hold between their own fingers at some point of their lives. Everything is strictly confidental, obviously, since Admiral Marcus had already tried to use his interesting physique to create super soldiers made to be successful at a war against the Klingons---

---Well. As said, he's here now. More precisely so, Khan has just stepped into MedBay; Two security guards are with him, even though he's trusted, technically so. Perhaps they just want to make sure he's not going rogue from the very beginning; It's an improvement, because last time he'd been in MedBay, the Captain had asked six of those redshirts to be by his side at all times.

Now, though? As soon as they deliver him, they leave, and Khan is left behind standing in the middle of a room, facing a young woman that looks surprisingly... surprised to see him. As if she had expected something, or someone, else. He wonders what they'd told her he would be - perhaps they'd mentioned his heritage, his kin, the race he's belonging to, known to only the most important Starfleet Admirals, all files strictly forbidden to ever be looked into. For other people, said race is only just a rumor, something parents tell their children at night to make them behave and never do something stupid, because otherwise earth might be eradicated.

He knows she's waiting for him. There's no doubt about it.

"I'm exactly where they want me to be.", is what Khan decides to reply just after she's spoken; His expression is calm, collected, free of most emotions, his voice deep and sonorous, yet as even as the rest of him is. Blue eyes focus on her, linger on her own irises, take in the sight without faltering... or even blinking once, for the matter. He does not move either, just... keeps standing there.

"---And I'm positive that I am the one you expect to be here."

As disappointing as it might be to her - Khan is that precise patient she's been speaking about, looking the way he does; Less impressive than what her mind must have created when hearing about him.

[brooklynislandgirl]

When she was younger, Beth would huddle close to the warmth of her brother's body as he would retell her the Gospel of Luke, and he would tell her the poem about the night before Christmas, and anything else he could until her eyes grew heavy and she grew still. Even in those days sleep was not an easy commodity to come by. She would be the first one awake and slipping down the stairs. There would be a mountain of professionally wrapped gifts from different worlds and different countries, from where-ever the Admiral and the Diplomat were serving. The housekeeper would ensure the living room was warm, that the cook had breakfast and cocoa, and she and her brother would take turns politely unwrapping them one at a time. The rest of the morning would be spent playing or reading, just as harmoniously as the night before. On the rare occasion that the Admiral would be at home, he hung about them as fog clings to distant and forbidding mountain tops. He hated noise the likes they could make and that sternness seeded a sort of terror into her even at tender ages. She almost feels that way again now, in the shadow of Khan, in the splintering light of his gaze. She almost wants to take a step back and apologise. She doesn't. She doesn't even move. There is no life or colour in her at all until he breaks the silence and her shoulders sag with relief. She even offers him the smallest glimmer of a smile. "Thank goodness," she answers and throughout her gentle tone there is the spark of something brighter. "Normally I would never breach your sense of privacy, I think it's important for you to experience as much autonomy as possible…but…" She holds up small and delicate but empty hands.

A gesture of peace, showing she bears no weapons and no medicinal or psychiatric implementation. "We've both been spending a good deal of time together, and you've allowed me to get to know a few of the layers you hold." That isn't exactly how she would have worded it if she'd had more time to prepare. She is more eloquent when she can write things down. "It is an Earth tradition and holy day to give gifts to people that you care about, to show them your appreciation and their meaning in your life. That day would be tomorrow. And the last time I was here…just on the other side of the door… I noticed you have no…ah. No personal effects. I don't know if that is a choice. There is an ancient warrior culture on my planet that prided themselves existing on the bare minimum. But it also…it made me sad, to think you have nothing of your own, except your first and most sacred possession." She swallows, feeling something rising at the back of her eyes, an emotional sort of prickle that she doesn't know has a place here. "I also wanted you to have something of meaning, as part of the crew…which is our family now, yours and mine. The blanket I made by hand. Picked the colours from the sea where I grew up, and the blues? Remind me of your eyes at different times. They change, you know that? Depending on how you feel or the light in the room. But it is yours to keep or to give away if you prefer. The other…is more complicated. Where I am from, everything in nature, everything in the world, is connected. A rock is the brother of a tree. The tree is the sister of a man. And so on. Our ancestors watch over us. They guide us our whole lives, and often times wear different forms. Honu…sea turtle…is the form my ancestors often take, though some come to us as sharks. The necklace has little turtles scrolled in the metal. You can also fit a little note or something small in side of it." Her brother had given it to her when he joined Star Fleet ten years ago. It's only feels right that Khan should have it now. Someone or something that can watch over him as he starts his new life. "I wanted them to be a surprise, of course. I thought I could slip in and out before you got back from Bridge duty. I guess my timing is not what it ought to be." She smiles again. This time it's brighter but also a little self-deprecating, something she does now and again. She isn't so confident in herself as she would like people to think. Beth doesn't really think about it what she's doing as she talks but slowly she closes the distance that lies between them until she's able to reach out. Her fingertips settle on his wrist, partly skin-to-skin and partly to the cloth of his sleeve. The touch itself isn't heavy. It isn't restrictive in any way. For a moment she gazes at the deck beneath and between their feet. She smells faintly sweet, flowers cultivated in hothouses with care, the spice of cinnamon. She isn't in uniform and the dress she wears is both modest and soft, a pale pearl grey that brings out the rich lustre of her hair, the tawny hue of her skin. She gazes up at him wide eyed. "I don't want you to feel obligated by them, but Mele Kalikimaka, Mr Khan."

Khan has absolutely no connection to christmas - or any other human traditions, for the matter.

Back where he comes from, a planet so far away that mankind doesn't even know of its existence yet (and he sincerely hopes they'll never start to explore that quadrant of space, for the sake of earth), traditions were rare and centered around the great rulers, their glory, their lives, the way they are meant to be superior to everything else that might exist in the Universe. Once a year, everyone would gather - literally everyone, except the poor souls living in the slumps outside the cities - and collectively praise the ones who turned them into what they were, what they still are. Speak a mantra that has been drilled into their heads from the very beginning, to be recited so often until it became part of their existence, their own lives, their own thoughts.

But besides that... well, there are no holidays. No other traditions. Nothing that would distract eager soldiers and others from doing what they're supposed to do.

So, the whole concept of having more than just one holiday once a year... it's very new to Khan. The first time he's heard someone speaking about Christmas, he didn't understand - the second time it had happened he'd grown curious. And when he's heard the very same word spoken out once more, eagerly so, he'd decided to do a bit of research on his own.

The Data Padd had given him a sufficient amount of information; Humans, depending on where exactly they came from, which area of earth they'd been born into, what they identify with (in any possible way), carry different traditions, celebrate them according to what is appropriate, and enjoy their time in such a way. It's fascinating; Khan has read about it for a whole evening, and then finally understood what Christmas is about, usually.

It differs a bit - the religious background has mostly faded, it's more about people enjoying time with friends and family, bringing gifts to show each other their appreciation. It's cute, in a way, yet so very much foreign to Khan that he cannot really understand the sentiment... how it is supposed to feel. He's never given a gift nor has he ever received one, and he's content with it. Yet, after reading about those traditions... he does wonder.

What would it be like to receive a gift? To have someone consider him important enough to come up with anything they can think of to give it to him? ---Perhaps he'll never find out about that, and he's meant to take that as a fact. He does. The slight pang of something bitter he experiences within his heart is quickly pushed to the side; He should be thankful for being here, and that's all that matters.

Returning from his shift one simulated evening, Padd in hand, Khan knows that said Christmas must be around the corner. He's unsure when exactly it happens, but he has spot some people getting excited - and some have even decorated parts of the ship with greenery as well as ornaments that have caught Khan's attention immediately, simply because how sparkly they are in the surrounding lights.

It's the simple things he finds joy in now, he assumes. Even if it's tiny trinkets made of plastic or glass, meant to just exist for the sake of looking pretty.

Humming to himself, he opens the door to his quarters without even needing to think of the action, stepping inside---

---Just to be met with the sight of that woman, the Doctor, standing there, staring right back him with what is obvious surprise - and shock - written onto her face. Khan's brows lift high on his forehead, equally as surprised, blue eyes widened as he stops his motions and takes in the sight of her, allowing silent seconds to pass.

No, he's not angry. Why should he? His quarters are private, yes, but it's not as if he isn't used to sharing them with anyone. Back where he comes from, he's resided in a shared room with three other men for the whole of his life...

He's just that: Surprised. Wondering why she is here, noticing the way she gets overwhelmed with embarrassment because she's been caught doing... well, what exactly?

Khan's blue eyes flick over to his bed, where he immediately spots... something sitting on the covers. Something that's wrapped in a bow. That almost makes those black brows rise even higher along the span of his forehead and Khan blinks, for the first time since he's arrived, as his gaze trails back to the woman who starts to speak a few, quietly muttered words.

Did she...? Are those...?

"---No need to worry.", is what he decides to say after a while; Such things are awkward on him, trying to do small-talk, trying to find the right words. Khan tries anyway, because he wants to. "I'm not... angered by your presence." Does that help? Is that the right thing to say? He doesn't know, but he hopes it will suffice.

And yes, he is still standing there, in front of his now closed door with his Padd lingering between his fingers.