The forcefield snaps to life audibly, and Khan takes a step back, eyes narrowed. His expression shutters, going cold and hard, rage leashed once again. This time, however, there's no curiosity tempering the look he gives Bashir, no interest.

It's almost like a betrayal.

He doesn't have time for sentiment, now. Khan takes another step back, folding his hands behind his back, and just stills completely. His posture is achingly straight, and he watches the doctor, the Sickbay, but he doesn't move. He's trapped, and it grates, itching beneath his skin, a burning need to escape, to get out. He's right back where he started a year ago: at Starfleet's mercy.

Except this time he has nothing to live for.