The Sunflower and Her Moon

Prologue

Khan didn't know where he was going. He thought that maybe, just maybe, the London he knew wouldn't have changed so drastically in 300 years. Khan wasn't thinking of the city's schematics as he escaped Marcus and the dreaded Starfleet. His mind could only think of separating from that devil of an Admiral of Section 31, and the revenge that will rain for what he has done to his crew.

What the hell did they do to his beloved city during his time asleep? And what was with all the god-forsaken alleyways? Khan would turn, and that turn could lead to three more turns, and still somehow put him exactly back to where he started. Maybe that's what gave the gang the courage to sneak up behind him and knock him unconscious. If Khan was paying more attention to his surroundings, he would've noticed each member stalk him like prey. He would've noticed that with each turn the bright city lights' became replaced with abandoned streets, sewers that could be smelled two stories above the ground, and the scattered Federation Security patrols that would shine their bright lights into every dark corner.

But he didn't.

And now he was lying unconscious while said individuals used rusty knives to carve him open. He could only imagine the surprise on their faces when each laceration slowly started to heal itself. It kept them entertained long enough not to notice the tiny figure behind them, her arms wielding a piece of wood she found stashed by a dumpster nearby.

The fight lasted a while as most four versus one scuffle usually go. Khan's consciousness ebbed in and out for the duration of the fight, during the short period he was able to make out a small frame hovering over him keeping the other four larger figures at bay. When he came to--he was lying on a beaten up couch, topless. Peering down he could see bandages; one on his lower abdomen and a couple around his neck.

Khan took a look around his surroundings. It was a very run-down apartment from the looks of it. All of the furniture placed inside seemed to have made its way to a dumpster first, before settling down in the unit. The only thing pleasant about the scene was the smell coming from what Khan can assume was the kitchen. It was earthy, and pungent in all the right ways.

It smelled like home.

"You're awake," an English accent caught Khan's attention. A small brown-haired woman popped out from another room. Her messy bun was halfway from untangling itself completely. She had bandages covering a portion of her face and multiple on her arms. She couldn't be taller than five-foot-two, yet Khan couldn't help but look up at her.

"Where am I?" Khan asked as she set down a tray filled with bandages, syringes, and stitches.

"Safe." She smiled. "If it's alright with you, I'm just going to change those out," she pointed to the bandages, " and put some salve--"

Khan ripped off his bandages; "If it's alright with you--I'd rather be going."

"Oi! You can't just...."

"Fascinating," She leaned in close to the topless Khan. "They're virtually gone. Not even a scar." She let her fingertips graze his bare skin. So focused on assessing her patient, she forgot how half-naked he was.

"If," Khan's deep voice rumbled above her. She slowly looked up and realized her close proximity, "you're going to be staring at my body all night, I feel I deserve the right to know your name."

She turned red and sat up, throwing Khan his shirt simultaneously. "Nyla."

"Well, Nyla." Khan put his shirt back over. "Considering all of the patches on you, I can assume you fought off whoever got the jump on me. But I need to be going."

"Going?"

"Yes."

"As in leaving?"

"From what I remember, that is the definition of 'going'." Khan stood up.