full_of_wrath | captivity

Kirk shows up full of swagger and deep irritation.

"Do us both a favor, just ride this out quietly."

Khan is just roiling in his cell, moving from one end to the next, corner to corner. He stops when Kirk comes in, biting the inside of his cheek and soothing himself down, giving him a look that is more calculated, more controlled.

"Lives hang in the balance, and you ask me to ride this out?"

"Those lives are my responsibility," Kirk says as flatly as he can. "You're a prisoner. You can sit here and cooperate, or I can make you quiet. Keep harassing my crew and I will."

"You'll what, muzzle me? Come in here and slip a gag in?"

Coming up to the glass in a blur of movement, still pacing like a panther in a cage.

"Oh dear, Captain."

He could soundproof the room. He could tranquilize Khan and keep him sedated--probably. He could go in there and try to beat him unconscious.

But Kirk just smirks at him.

"I'll surprise you."

"Go on then. Thrill me."

He says, still right at the glass. Waiting is excruciating. Ill advised as it is, he'd really rather fight once more, even if it's him taking a beating.

There's such an edge to Khan's voice; Kirk has never heard anything like it, has never heard words and felt positive they were serrated before.

But he can also hear Spock, hovering around in his mind like a conscience, warning him not to do what he desperately wants to do. And thanks to the four hundred men, women, and agendered aliens under his command, Kirk won't rush in there to face him. Not like this.

"Is that your escape plan, or is that a three hundred year old line?"

He snarls, turning away. Kirk is all talk. Khan is back to pacing.

"Escape to where, precisely? To roam about your shiny little bauble of a ship?

Another one of those smirks. There are smartass retorts, and then there's being smart, and with Khan, Kirk wants to err on the side of caution.

"Next time you disturb one of my crew, I'm putting you to sleep."

He turns on his heel and stalks off, back to the bridge.

But he finds it hard to stay away. When he's off duty, he finds himself winding down the decks to the brig. He tries to delay himself by checking on McCoy's progress, but a mere ten hours after his visit he's back in front of Khan's cell.

Khan is, apparently, sleeping. It's hard to say if it's an act or not, but he's still as a stone on his side on the narrow ledge they've provided for a bad. He doesn't react to the sound of Kirk coming in.

It's like closing himself in a cage with a sleeping bear. There's a rush to it, a jolt of adrenaline that Jim tends to get after a first blow has landed.

"Up and at 'em."

He's here for a fight, but his honor just won't let him punch a sleeping man.

His eyes fly open, stunned and clear, and he's upright, clutching at his chest like he thought he might not wake again.

Fortunately, Kirk will get his wish. Instinct kicks in and he flies at him.

Kirk ducks and punches as hard as he possibly can, knowing full well that to Khan it will still hardly be an impact. He remembers the rage he'd felt the first time he hit, and hit, and hit him, the hatred and desperation he'd felt at having finally found Pike's murderer.

It's not hard to muster that up for this, to try to lend himself strength.

The blow glances off, Khan doesn't seem to feel it. Still dazed, his momentum carries him into the opposite wall, and he whirls to face him there, trying in a hurry to absorb what is happening.

He goes for a two-handed blow this time, wanting nothing more than to make him bleed--to at least knock him to the ground. To leave a tiny scratch.

It succeeds in rocking him back, a little, though his expression remains vacant as it did the first beating.

Kirk is not someone he can hurt or alienate. He's the closest thing to a chance he has.

It doesn't stop Kirk from landing another blow, and another, he'll go to a dozen if Khan doesn't stop him.

By five, he's been driven backwards against the cell wall. On twelve, his legs give out, and he slips to the ground, arms tucking behind his back to keep his fine boned hands out of harms way.

Kirk realizes that Khan isn't fighting back. But he keeps pressing on, because he can't hurt him (not really). His knuckles are throbbing and he keeps going, letting the pain fuel him.

He can't even pretend he's fighting out of self-defense or surprise now.

What eventually happens is his eyes roll back to white, hair a mess, cheeks at last coming up in a flush from the pattern of abuse. His bottom lip is splitting a little, not enough to bleed yet.

Jim's muscles give out before Khan does. He knees him in the face, wanting to make him bleed just a little, before he has to relent and stagger back to sit on that bed-shelf.

He's in very good shape, and yet he's sweating and panting now.

His head snaps back at the knee, colliding with the metal behind him with a frightening sounding crack that'd mean serious consequences for anyone even a little bit less than he is. But he manages to lift his head upright with a ragged gasp, trying to blink his eyes back into focus.

His hands are already bruising and swelling. He looks over at Khan, and finds he has no regrets. He probably should, there's probably a Star Fleet codified rule about that, but fuck it.

He's sure Khan's fine. But in case he's not...

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Mmh?"

He asks, hands still laced behind his back, lip bleeding freely now.

"Hey. Hey."

He snaps his fingers (or tries to; they don't cooperate and just touch weakly against each other), and so he kneels in front of Khan to examine him.

He feels such terrible joy at seeing that blood trailing down Khan's chin.

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