4So...a long time ago I wrote Shadows & Pheromones, and I said I had an idea for a sequel. I wrote snippets of it but never got around to the rest. Until this weekend. Whether that's a good thing or not is debatable.
This is not a happy follow-up to S&P and there's no smut, so if you're looking for more of the same, I wouldn't recommend this. You'll get a sense of the mood and why it isn't happy within a few paragraphs. And I wish there was a way of adding triggers that don't directly relate to the ones AO3 already provides without also tagging spoilers.
Unbeta'd and I was having serious problems keeping my tenses straight since I'm writing a lot in present tense at the moment. Basically what I'm saying here is I've got sick of looking at this and it's ruined my ability to judge it's worth.
Without further ado...
Ashes & Dust
Noise. Disorienting noise, almost painful, pushing in on her from all sides.
Focus.
Molly blinked, took a deep breath, stared down at the edge of the trestle table she stood before. She couldn't escape the noise of the refugee camp, so she had to bear it. Even when all she wanted was silence. Peace.
You'll never have peace again.
The queue shuffled on, and Molly moved with it, clutching a metal bowl in each hand. Some of the few possessions she and Alana had. Alana was guarding the rest, back at their makeshift tent, while Molly got their evening meal. Stew, again, from the scent in the air, being ladled out to the camp residents by the ones who'd designated themselves in charge of such things. After eating little else for weeks, Molly should have been craving a change, but it all tasted the same to her now. She may as well have been eating spoonfuls of the ash that coated the cities they fled from, that coated everything she owned and everything she was.
But not this valley. This little corner of Wales was ash free. Its speciality was mud, the grey skies ominous with the threat of more rain.
She was distracted from her examination of the sky by the clink of metal, the movement beside her. She'd finally reached her place in front of the vat of stew, and obediently held out the bowls for filling.
One of the women behind the table didn't even look at her, just dolloped the stew in, but the other paused and squinted at Molly in recognition.
"You're that nurse," she said. "Mary?"
Molly nodded. It was who she was now, how she earned her keep in the camp. It wasn't like there was anyone around to check her credentials. If she could stitch up wounds and treat sickness, they didn't care.
"I'm Martha," the women said. "You helped my grandson Billy the other day."
"Oh." Molly forced a smile onto her face. "Sweet boy." Truthfully, she couldn't even remember his face.
Martha added two ladlefuls to the bowl and held it out to Molly.
"That's too much," Molly protested. "You know I can't take that."
"Hush, you've earned it, and you need it more than most."
"I'm fine, I'm not hungry—"
"But it's not only you, is it?" Martha tutted at Molly's blank expression. "You need to take care of yourself, girl, especially when the world is like this. I know it hurts but we have to keep going. I know that look. Seen it on too many of late, but it hangs heavier on some than on others. Don't worry, I won't pry. Yet you've got so much to live for, haven't you? And there's many here who owe you a debt."
Molly fought the urge to wince: they all owed her their lives, though they'd never know it.
"I'm holding up the queue," she said, backing away from the table and away from that too-sympathetic stare. Back to the shelter of the tent, to the one person she had left.
Maybe this would have been easier if they could have just settled in London, slipping between the cracks in the vast city and helping them rebuild. Anonymity would have so much easier there. Even with the damage it had sustained, the population thrived, but Alana insisted it was too dangerous. Molly's old life was closed to her, because of who she'd tied herself to, and all she could do now was hope to build a new one. Though hope was a strong word, when she doubted she would ever feel it again.
Flames everywhere. She should run, but she doesn't move. There is nowhere to go, and it's all her fault anyway. She condemned them to this, she should suffer their fate alongside them.
Then Alana is there. Molly can't see her through the smoke, but her scent is strong even over the burning. Strong arms around her, pulling her away from the engine room. Screaming, fighting, digging her teeth and nails into Alana's skin, but it's like scratching at an automaton: there's no reaction. "Leave me! Leave me alone!"
The smoke grows thicker, black and acrid, and there's distant, muffled explosions. The Botany Bay will be torn apart from the inside soon. But the birds are singing—
Molly opened her eyes. There were birds on the roof of the tent, intent on announcing dawn to the world. She wasn't sure what they felt there was to be joyful about a new dawn, but she was grateful to them for rousing her anyway.
Alana was curled beside her, still deep asleep. Alana could sleep through anything short of a full marching band in the tent—though were someone to unsheath a knife within fifty paces, she would be alert. It was a skill Molly had come to rely upon, given the way she was seen as easy pickings by the less civilised of the camp's inhabitants. Alana's hair had grown longer, the tight curls covering her forehead. Molly had bartered for oils and creams for her hair, a luxury but a small token of appreciation for her guardian. In contrast, Molly had cut her own hair short, fed up of washing ash away and dealing with the resulting tangles.
Above her head, their possessions hung from a rope strung across the roof of the tent, kept clear of the ground: a few small bowls and pieces of cutlery, waterskins, a comb, a change of clothes each, and Alana's weapons. A handcarved long bow, a quiver of arrows, and a selection of knives. Alana used them to hunt game, her role in the camp, and the tools were payment for Molly's services as nurse, or taken from men who had foolishly thought to turn them on Alana.
The birds did not quieten down, and Molly rose, heading out into the dawn and in the direction of the medical hut. There was always something to do, even if there was no one seeking treatment, work and preparation to undertake and distract her from her thoughts. The lights across the camp had already shut down, precious resources for the generators preserved as best they could be.
She did not see Alana until breakfast, when they met in the queue for porridge. It was watery, without any attempt to sweeten or add flavour, and definitely didn't provide the sustenance Alana required. She'd lost weight in the two months since—since. Even getting her pick of meat wasn't enough to sustain her. Molly's own cheekbones were more prominent than they had been, but she still carried extra weight around her torso. The additional meat went further for her.
"We need to talk," Alana said, her posture tense. They waited in silence for their rations, before returning to the tent. Theirs was on the edge of the camp, which was Alana's preference, although with the camp expanding everyday it likely wouldn't be for much longer. They dipped inside and Alana folded herself down cross-legged, while Molly took the tiny folding stool they had acquired. It was the closest thing they had to furniture, and Alana insisted Molly used it. It was probably because Alana's long legs made the stool uncomfortably low.
Molly waited for Alana to speak. Molly rarely had much to say anymore.
"Some of the other hunters are going to make trouble for me," she began. "They've started questioning what I am. They don't believe it's possible for my aim to be as good as it is." While she spoke she plucked strips of dried rabbit from her pocket, passing some across to Molly. "Eat, you need your strength," she admonished when Molly shook her head. "We will be travelling again. I've secured us a place on a transport to another camp, before anyone starts to look at us too closely."
Molly nodded mutely. They had already left one camp for the same reason. No one could know that Alana was one of the augments, or she'd be hunted down and slaughtered. Molly too.
Though maybe it was just a matter of time. Rebuilding was happening, all of Starfleet's resources siloed towards repairing the damage done during the war. Eventually all the inhabitants of the camps would return home, or find new permanent homes. One day, somebody would realise Alana was more than human and come for them.
Molly returned to the medical hut to give her leave, rambling about word arriving from the east: a relative surviving and searching for them. She knew her story was shaky, her eyes too bright when she spoke, but the people she worked alongside were too used to her silence to pry. One of the nurses stopped her before she leaves, pressing a vial of vitamins into her hands.
"The camps aren't a good place for the pair of you," she said. "You'll need to find somewhere settled sooner rather than later."
Molly attempted a thankful smile and left. She didn't understand why people treated her like such a fragile, broken thing. She was far from the only person in the camp grieving and yet everyone was so soft around her.
She didn't deserve it.
When she reached the spot where the tent was, it was gone, folded away with its contents into three bags. Alana was waiting, ready to carry the two larger bags. She could take all three with ease, but not without drawing attention to her strength, so Molly was left with the smallest, lightest bag. Alana winced as she watched Molly hoist the bag up. It was bulky but the contents manageable.
"I'm not that weak," Molly snapped, turning away and heading into the throng of the camp. Alana followed her silently.
A van waited on the edge of the sea of tents, idling at the foot of the road which led out of the valley. Alana handed the man in the driver's seat two pheasants, and ushered Molly into the passenger seat, sandwiching her in when she climbed in beside her.
"Where to?" the driver asked. He had the grey-tinted appearance of everyone who arrived from outside the camp, reeking of stale cigarette smoke and sweat. The smell made Molly's stomach roll, but she was used to the sensation. She'd been nauseated for months.
"Midlands," Alana replied.
"There's a camp outside Stoke."
"That'll do."
"It'll take more than two birds."
"I can fetch you rabbits if you get us there tonight."
He looked like he was about to argue, until Alana shifted. Even sitting down, relaxed against the seat, there was a breadth to her shoulders which warned not to mess with her. He couldn't see them, but the knives were strapped to her arms under her sleeves, and the bow rested against her leg. "Okay. Buckle up, it's going to be a long ride, and the roads are still mostly potholes."
He wasn't lying. The van was an old petrol-powered vehicle, the kind of vintage people had retreated to using since the war made powering modern cars that much harder. The engine was loud and the fumes noxious, but Molly gritted her teeth and settled in as they wound their way uphill and out onto winding, bumpy roads.
They stopped three times, coming across way-stations that enterprising people had set up at the side of the main routes through the hills. Alana left her with a bowl of soup while she disappeared into the trees, returning with three pigeons and two rabbits. She slung them into the rear of the van, with the supplies the driver was delivering to the various camps. "You'll have to skin them yourself," she told the driver.
The new camp was dark and quiet by the time they arrived, night having fallen some hours earlier. The lights were on, the generators humming somewhere close by. The driver decided he was staying the night too, so Alana prepared a stew, and they all slept in the cab of the van. Molly dozed, but not much. At least she did not dream.
The driver left at first light, and Molly hitched the bag higher onto her shoulder. They had cold stew for breakfast, and Alana had quietly taken back one of the rabbits from the van before it left. They sought out the admin office for the camp, ready to grease the wheels of bureaucracy.
The office was a dilapidated hut built from corrugated sheeting, its only inhabitant a bleary-eyed man stoking a brazier fire. His gaze was questioning as they approached, but he waited for them to speak.
"Is there space?" Alana asked.
"Depends."
She held up the rabbit. "I can hunt. She's a nurse. We can earn our keep."
He regarded the rabbit. "It's been a while since we've had newcomers."
"Yeah well, London's not what it's cracked up to be right now. Too dangerous." She tipped her head in Molly's direction. He turned his attention to her, his expression softening when he took her in.
"There's not much room, ducky. You'd be on the edge of the camp."
"That's fine," Alana replied.
"You sure?" His eyes cut to Molly again. "It's not the safest spot. We've had bandits raid us, not for a while, but I can't guarantee they won't be back. I could rearrange a few pitches, but it'll take a while."
"I can protect her," Alana insisted. "Do security detail if you need to me to, as well."
"I'll bet." He rummaged around for a scrap of paper, then drew a rudimentary map of the camp, pointing out where the canteen, hospital tent, and shower blocks were. They headed off for one of the empty pitches, erecting the tent in silence. It was only when they were stringing up their possessions inside that Alana spoke to Molly again.
"We don't have to stay in the camps. There are empty properties we could go to—we passed so many farmhouses on the way. We'd be away from all of this, and we'd have real beds."
Molly shook her head. "I have to help people. I have to—" She swallowed the words. She had deeds to atone for. The war wasn't her fault, but she had blood on her hands in other ways. "I'm a doctor. It's what I am."
Alana didn't press the suggestion further, but Molly knew it would not be the last time it came up. At some point they would need to settle. But a farmhouse wasn't the solution: they would need to maintain contact with the outside world for supplies, and they would stand out more for isolating themselves.
They stayed in the camp for a few days, but Alana couldn't settle. This place was so different to the valley they'd been in before, where the steep sides had made approaching unseen impossible. This camp was surrounded by fields and forest, and the words of the administrator rankled her. "I can hear bandits coming, but they could still hurt you," she said to Molly.
"I trust you," Molly replied. "I've seen you fight, I know what you're capable of."
"Much as this pains me to say, I'm not infallible. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it."
Molly paused sipping at her cup of watery porridge. "There's no one left to punish you if you fail."
"I am. I would punish myself. It isn't just about the vow I made to him—you are my friend. You are my only remaining family, and I will fight until my own end to protect that."
"I'm sorry." It's all she could offer Alana. She sank onto the stool. "For all of this. It's my fault. You lost everyone and I don't know how you can bear to look at me…."
Alana squatted down beside Molly. "I don't blame you, not even a little. If you hadn't done what you had done, you wouldn't be you. You aren't just my last friend in the world because of circumstance, Molly Hooper, but because there is no one I would rather call my friend." She gave Molly's hand a squeeze, the closest Alana ever came to a hug.
The world became blurry, and Alana rocked Molly while she cried. She didn't deserve the other woman's protection, nor her fierce devotion, not when it would probably lead to both of their deaths in this ruined world.
Molly hadn't bled since she'd met Khan, a change she'd assumed permanent once they'd bonded. But that night, she woke up with slick thighs, belly cramping—her body slipping back into old patterns, after so long without her mate.
Her tears, quiet as they were, woke Alana, who was prompted into a flurry of movement, helping Molly clean herself up and procuring the necessities from a neighbour. She prodded at Molly's abdomen, more than was necessary, until Molly waved her away. The bleeding was heavy but unimportant. Then Alana held her, in the darkness of their tent.
"He's really gone, isn't he?" Molly whispered as painkillers from her own supplies dulled the cramps. "Gone for good."
"It's for the best," Alana replied after a long moment of silence. "People would ask questions—"
Yes, Molly supposed they would. The first time she went into heat, it would have raised suspicions about who she really was—worse, when Alana responded to that heat. It took so much for Alana to mask who she was in this world, to hide her strength, her skills and her mind.
It was only as the first slivers of sunlight pushed their way into the tent, that Molly noticed the silver tracks lining Alana's face.
They moved on again, after burning the bloody blankets. Molly wept as they watched the fire consume them, her emotions shaken loose for the first time in weeks. She wasn't sure why something this simple affected her so badly, but she felt raw, like someone had peeled her skin away to expose all of her nerves to the world.
She wanted the numbness back.
The new camp was further north, and they contacted the van driver who had ferried them last time. Alana bargained a price with him, and he arrived at dusk.
"You're late," she grumbled, hoisting the agreed price of pheasants and hare into the rear of the van.
"Roads are bad." The driver looked even more gaunt than last time, restless and fidgety.
"Can we travel tonight?"
"Yeah, we might have to camp halfway, but I've got places to be tomorrow so we're leaving now."
Alana's eyes narrowed, but she cocked her head to indicate Molly should clamber in. The van smelt much the same, which meant it left her gagging, but she'd been so tired the last few days that she didn't have the energy to protest. Instead, she allowed her head to loll back and her eyes drift shut.
It felt like she'd only just closed them when the van's engine stopped. "Can you get a fire going?" she heard the driver ask Alana. "My belly thinks my throat's been cut. Reckon we should have some grub and grab some kip."
They both climbed out of the van and Molly followed, blearily seeking Alana out in the darkness. She was collecting firewood from the bases of the trees which lined the road, throwing it in a brazier which had been hauled out from the back of the van. "I'll prepare a hare," Molly offered, taking one of Alana's knives and settling herself down on a tree-stump.
It was messy business. Blood got under nails and into the creases of her hands, but she'd never been squeamish. Quite the opposite—it was what led her into pathology. Most of the patients she'd been treating recently only had small wounds and simple infections: stitches and medication, treatment the old-fashioned way when they didn't have the resources available from before the war. So it was the most blood she'd seen in a while.
Except for on the blankets.
She had to close her eyes for a moment, to think of something else. Bleeding was natural. Bleeding was something she'd done long before he came into her life, albeit irregularly. She shouldn't fixate on it.
Instead, she recited the elements of the periodic table, while her hands continued working, attempting to turn their meagre supplies into a stew.
As they ate around the warmth of the brazier, the driver talked. Molly supposed he had a name, but they'd never asked, and it would be rude to do so now.
"To tell you the truth," he said, "I'm not much of a fan of sleeping out in the open like this, though they say the camps aren't much better. He's seen there a lot."
He left a dramatic pause, staring until Alana bit. "He?"
"The revenant, they're calling him. A black-cloaked figure people keep seeing—but only at night. You'll catch sight of him up the road in the beam of your headlights, but when get to where he was stood, there's nobody. Or you drive past him, but he's gone when you check your mirror. Get up for a slash at midnight, there's more shadows than there should be."
Alana snorted. "Ghost stories. How quaint."
"Yeah, that's what they reckon he is. Say he's wandering, searching for something. Probably some poor bastard who got caught in a Klingon strike and is looking for his body. Doesn't realise it got vapourised."
"If that were the case, England would be full of ghosts."
"Maybe. I'd rather not see him, myself."
Alana failed utterly to hide her contempt at the entire story, and the driver eyed her with new interest. Molly wasn't sure what kind, but she decided it was in their best interest to make sure he had plenty of game to take with him when they reached the next camp.
They got back into the van to nap, only this time Alana swapped places with Molly—one hand on her hip stopping Molly from climbing back in first, one silent and inscrutable stare all the explanation she received. Molly didn't ask questions, attempting to settle against the hard ridges of the passenger door instead.
Molly is not with him, but she can hear him, his voice broadcast across the Botany Bay as the stand-off continues.
"I should have expected this," he says, disdain dripping from his words. "All Starfleet admirals are as dishonorable as each other, it appears."
"You are an enemy of the Federation, Khan. We cannot allow you to leave this galaxy, and we cannot contain so many augments as our prisoners."
"And here I thought helping you defeat the Klingons would win us some grace. I wonder how many of your cities would lie in ashes if it hadn't fought on your side."
"Whether your aid actually made a difference to the war is a matter of debate."
Khan growls. "Not at all." He had gone directly from battle to their quarters, Molly's heat drawing him away from any diplomacy until her cycle was over. Now he is on edge, aggressive from the strains of war and the cocktail of hormones, and Starfleet's uncompromising stance is making it worse. "We won the final battle on our own. Without us, you would be nothing but memories."
"This is not a negotiation."
"If you destroy my ship, I will make it my dying act to destroy those cities which yet stand. Don't test me."
"Open fire."
There's a distant boom, and Molly jumps from the bed, rushing to gather her clothes. The Botany Bay can withstand many things, but Starfleet developed new weapons over the course of the war, and there's no telling what they will unleash. Not when they have decided to wipe out the augments.
"Bellamy, aim the warheads at every settlement with a population over 5,000 people."
Molly scrambled for her comms. "Don't do that! Khan! Stop it, don't retaliate, just get us out of here!" She screams the words, but he does not respond.
"Khan, I would advise you against this course of action…" the admiral begins.
"As I advised you against yours. This is not a negotiation."
Molly runs from the room, heading for the bridge when she hears him command Bellamy to prepare to launch—
The van rocked with movement, and Molly blinked awake to find Alana's arm coming up to block the driver. He was looming over them, and she couldn't see why, not until Alana knocked the knife from his hand and sent him flying back into his seat with a brutal punch. He didn't take the hint and stay down, licking the blood which drips down from his nose. He reached under the dashboard, but Alana grasped his wrist and broke it before he could grab whatever he was aiming for, then snapped his neck for good measure.
She kicked the driver's door open, tossing his body out, and slammed the door shut again. When she fumbled under the dashboard, she came away with an old phaser: rusted and buckled. She crushed it with one hand and threw it into the footwell.
"What was that?" Molly asked. She should have been shaken, but the expected adrenaline rush didn't come. Instead, she watched dispassionately as Alana slid over into the driver's seat and turned the engine over.
"He was going to kill us, probably to keep our stuff and sell it. Decided to take me out while I was asleep. Fool." She edged the van forward, back onto the road, and away from the body lying on the verge. "Can you check the map?" She nodded her head towards the road atlas lying by Molly's feet.
It took an hour of passing road signs to figure out their location and realise he hadn't been driving them to the new camp at all. He'd taken them down an isolated road, one where they wouldn't be stumbled upon.
No one was looking for them, and likely no one was looking for him either. Nevertheless, they changed plans and went further east instead of north. It took a day of driving, and the welcome at the new camp was much the same as the old one. The main difference here was the warning wasn't about bandits, but about the revenant.
"Someone thought they saw him a few nights ago, and now everyone is panicked," explained the harassed administrator, this time a middle-aged woman with the sunken skin of someone who had lost a lot of weight in a short space of time. "It's all we could do to stop a stampede."
Alana gave her a tight smile. "Do you believe it?"
"Of course not, it's fairy tales. But we've had people moving in from other camps, since they're getting more crowded, and they bring this nonsense with them. So will you be using the van to do supply runs? We could use someone with wheels."
They pitched up at the boundary, as Alana preferred. This camp felt different. It was newer, but the infrastructure was better planned, with a medical block built from more than just canvas and wooden panels. Plus, they were close to the sea. At night, when everything was hushed, Molly could hear waves crashing against the base of cliffs. The air was tangy and fresh, and though her psyche was as shattered as it ever was, her body began to feel less frail, even while she lost weight. The constant nausea dissipated too.
This time Alana acted as a driver as well as a hunter, and Molly returned to where she belonged, in the medical block. They had been in the camp a few weeks when she heard someone calling out to her. "Mary!" Startled, she turned to find Martha, the old woman from the camp in Wales, waving at her. A little boy with a scarred face stood by her side, clutching a pot of ointment. She smiled at Molly in recognition, then her gaze tracked down to her belly and back up. Her sympathy deepened into outright pity. "I'm sorry, my love," she said. "There's no worse loss."
Molly refused to dwell on her words, nodding a polite hello and rushing past to the queue of patients.
Just as Molly was beginning to feel settled, a fresh wave of incomers arrived, this time from the camp she and Alana had originally being headed towards. They brought with them more whispers about the revenant.
"No, no, he's not a ghost," one woman said as they waited for dinner. "He's a man, just a bloody fast one. One of the hunters took a potshot at him and he missed, but he was definitely there. Was looking through the records, put the frighteners on the administrator. Looks like he was trying to find someone because later on they caught him checking the tents, but he didn't take anything."
Molly left the queue and headed for the tent, where Alana waited.
"You've heard too?" Molly asked.
"Yes. His methods have changed. He's more willing to come out into the open and be seen."
It took Molly a few attempts to get the question out. "Do you think it's him?"
Alana took even longer to reply. "If anyone could survive…he would."
Molly sank to the floor, but it wasn't relief. Yes, there was a tiny bubble of hope swelling inside her, but she refused to let it grow. It was only a suspicion anyway; they had no proof. But if he was alive…
She wouldn't be for much longer.
"What are we going to do?" she whispered.
"We leave. He's checking the camps, so he believes you're in Britain. We need to get to mainland Europe."
"They'll let us through—we can both work as nurses."
"Then we go, now."
They surreptitiously packed away the tent and their belongings, taking several trips and different routes across the camp to deposit everything in the van. Alana stole a good quantity of petrol to refuel. No one could know they were leaving, or ask where they were going. Two hours later, they were on the road once more, this time headed south.
"We can't do this all in one day—not even in two," Alana warned her. "But we have enough supplies to avoid the way-stations. We'll need to stop at night. Just don't go anywhere on your own."
Molly didn't need warning about that. The perpetual numbness had given way to nervous, jittery fear, every shadow potentially her lover coming to take his revenge.
They won't let her near the bridge to argue with Khan. She is sick with fear, for all the loved ones she left behind on Earth, for all the people about to die at his hand. She is still shaky from her heat, emotions at their most turbulent, and she cannot tamper them down.
There has to be a way to stop this chaos.
She heads for the engine rooms instead, heart bursting with the exertion. Khan is still arguing with the admiral, who is warning him not to do this.
"You have no hand left to play, admiral. You already plan to annihilate us, what could be worse than that?"
The admiral stammers, blusters, but does not stop his assault on the ship. The engine rooms are hectic, enough that Molly is able to slip through unnoticed to a control panel. Khan has given her access on a par with his own and Alana's, which she uses now to disable the chief engineer's own access.
"Captain, whatever they just hit knocked out some of our systems…"
She tries to power down the weapons too, but the launch sequence has already begun.
She does the only thing she can think of. She wipes the target coordinates. They will explode where they lie, in the belly of the Botany Bay.
For good measure, she turns the shields down, and immediately the ship is rocked by fire from Starfleet. Molly has just condemned every soul on board.
Including her own.
They weren't dreams, really. Memories, her guilty conscience plaguing her with her last moments aboard the ship. She'd been fully intending to die with it, before Alana found her and pulled her to one of the escape shuttles.
They hadn't made it far in the shuttle before the warheads detonated. The resulting explosion had damaged the shuttle so rather than getting out of the galaxy as intended, they'd only made it as far as Earth, where they'd become refugees like so much of the population. Condemned to a pitiful life, Molly without her alpha, Alana without any hope of meeting an omega of her own.
The weather was grim as they travelled, windscreen wipers working hard to clear the pelting rain. Winter was approaching and it was going to make life in the camps more difficult. Molly hoped Starfleet and the government had a good plan for that.
"We could go to Italy. It'll be pleasant there, at least compared to here." Alana suggested. They'd been debating where to go as she drove.
"My French is better."
"Shame. I'd like to see the ruins of the Vatican again. I hear they rebuilt them since the last time I walked on Earth. But there are mountain strongholds in the south of France which were mostly untouched by the war. We can head to one of those."
The rain meant that camping out was impossible, so sleeping in the van it was. Alana stretched out in the back and Molly curled up across the seats, hoping she would dream of something other than the Botany Bay's final moments.
"I vowed I would protect you, and that is what I am doing!"
"No! If he is dead, then I should be too!"
On the third night, she woke suddenly, only just managing to shove the door open and run into the trees by the roadside before her stomach emptied its contents onto the ground. She sank to her knees, heaving and feeling the flush on her face despite the cold. She'd told Alana they couldn't rely on three-day old rabbit—Alana's digestive system could handle it, but Molly's apparently couldn't.
When she'd finished—for the time being—she rose to shaky feet and rested against the closest tree, rinsing the taste from her mouth with the waterskin at her hip. The night was dark enough that she could barely make out the looming hulk of the van, but she knew it was to her right. It meant the soft crunch to her left was not Alana coming to check on her.
The shadow which emerged, thicker than the others, could not be Alana either. It was too broad, the posture all wrong.
And that scent. She'd know that scent anywhere.
Just don't go anywhere on your own.
She turned to run but of course, of course, he was faster, pinning her to the tree with his body and one hand covering her mouth. She swallowed waves of his scent down, spiked with something that made it earthier than normal. It should have calmed her, to be reunited with her mate after so long apart, but instead she shook in his arms, eyes closed, waiting for the killing blow.
His free hand travelled down her body, to rest on her belly, and he made a surprised grunt. Then he was ripped away, and Molly opened her eyes with a gasp to find Alana's back to her. Alana was crouched low, poised to attack, while the outline of Khan's body was barely visible a few steps further away.
"Run," Alana instructed over her shoulder. "Take the van and leave—I will meet you where we intended to go, if I am able to."
"No." Molly braced herself against the tree, pushing herself forward. "I'm not leaving you."
Alana made the first strike, knocking Khan off his feet before he pushed himself upright again, launching himself at her. They grappled, and it ended with Alana on her back. Khan stepped forward, poised as if to attach again, but Molly threw herself between them, hands reaching out to Khan.
"Stop! It's me you want."
Khan had frozen, but he was staring over Molly's head at Alana, expression filled with rage. "Is it really? I think right now, I want the person who spirited you away."
"I was following your order," Alana said. "I was keeping her alive. If I'd failed, you'd be stalking me even in death, wouldn't you?"
"You took her," Khan replied, his voice dropping so low it was a guttural rasp, "and you ran."
"You found us," Molly said, proud that her words didn't shake like the rest of her. "It's over. Let her go, and end this. It was my actions alone which destroyed the Botany Bay."
"No." He reached out and caught one of Molly's outstretched hands, weaving his fingers around hers. "It was mine."
Molly knew she was gaping at him. His movements were gentle, reeling her towards him, and her body reacted without her permission, staying pliant instead of fighting him. The closer he pulled her, the easier it would be for him to tear her apart, and yet every part of her hummed in pleasure at the nearness.
"You should never have heard what I was saying…" he continued, and that did it. She wrenched her hand away, and he let it go.
"Because then I wouldn't have known you planned to slaughter the population of Earth, and done something to stop you. Do you honestly think I would have ever forgiven you for doing that?"
"Because then you wouldn't have heard what I wanted the admiral to hear, to distract him while I prepped the ship to enter warp speed and leave the galaxy."
"You planned to fire. Those warheads were aimed, they were so far into their launch sequence I couldn't stop it—"
"But they weren't aimed at Earth."
It felt like someone had a hand around her throat, although both of Khan's were by his side. Alana had risen and was waiting next to Molly, knives out, ready for Khan's next move.
"The coordinates—" Molly choked out.
"Were for Klingon colonies. Already abandoned and in ruins. We didn't need the warheads anymore, not with the Klingons defeated, and getting rid of them would have lightened our load. But the admiral needed to believe the threat was serious and stop firing, so we had a window of opportunity."
Molly was on her knees, blindly grasping at the ground. She felt Alana's hand in her hair, gently stroking, and Molly bent away. She didn't deserve comfort. "They're dead because I was too stupid to see. All of them. Gone." She raised her eyes to Khan's. "Get it over with. I deserve it."
"It appears you are labouring under the notion I am here to kill you. Molly, you could not be more wrong."
"You should."
"You are my mate. No one knows you as well as I do, and I knew how you would react to my actions, yet I failed to make sure you knew the real plan. The crew's deaths were at my hands, and even then, we might not have been able to escape."
"Then it's still my fault!" She closed her eyes again, but it didn't help. The faces of dead augments passed through her mind's-eye, taunting her. "We would not have even been in the war if I hadn't asked you."
"This is nobody's fault but Starfleet's, for their duplicity, and my own for trusting them." He was on his knees before her, pressing his forehead to hers.
"We could have been safe. Halfway across the universe and alive—"
"The Klingon dogs would have needed dealing with soon enough. If they decimated Earth, there would be no one else to check the spread of their Empire. War would have come to us eventually. Don't you understand? I have not tracked you down to end your life. I sought you because I need you." He paused, his gaze tracking down her torso again. "I had hoped…" He reached out for her again, palm resting against her flat abdomen. "But it was not meant to be."
Molly rested her hand over his. "I'm sorry. I could have done more. I just didn't want to believe—I couldn't hope—"
Because now she was willing to accept the truth: the way people had treated her, the changes in her body, and that awful night when she bled and it all ended.
She cried, sobbing until she retched again, and he held her while she did so. He rocked her, wrapping his coat around her to stave off the encroaching cold, and smoothed her tears away with his fingers.
When she was empty, spent, she looked up at him. At the face she hadn't seen in months. To anyone else, he would look much the same, but there were new lines, and scarring around his left ear. It would heal, given time, and she could only assume he'd gained it in the destruction of the ship. His hair was longer too, curling around his ears, but the eyes…oh, his eyes were the same. Little more than pupil in this darkness, but catlike and intense all the same.
"How did you know?" she whispered. "I didn't even know myself—"
Though it had been denial. Everyone around her at seen it.
"At the end of your heat, your scent changed. It's why I sent Alana to get you off the ship, in case my plan failed. If I couldn't survive, then I had to ensure you did."
"In the end, it didn't matter," she said, her words heavy with regret.
"Ssssh." He pulled her towards him, until her head was cradled on his shoulder. "We have time together. Time which won't be spent in warzones and refugee camps. We can build a new family, eventually."
"Where? Here? We aren't safe!"
"No, not here. I have secured us a ship, and passage to Parilia." He reached out a hand to Alana, bringing her into the embrace. She was part of the family, after all. "They had no part in the war, and they won't care about what we are. They will accept you, daughter of Parilia, and Alana will have chance to find an omega of her own."
"What will even do there?" Molly asked, desperately trying to quell the rising hope. It was too good to be true.
"We grieve. You learn to forgive yourself. No more war, no more fighting. I've lost my taste for it with so many dead. For the first time in my life, I want peace."
"Peace wouldn't suit you," Molly protested.
Alana snorted and nodded in agreement. Khan smiled and rubbed his nose against Molly's, realising she'd already accepted their new future.
"I'm sure you'll keep me on my toes."
That's it. Show's over folks. Hey, at least I got them back together at the end!
