TITLE: Days and Knights
AUTHOR: Twilite_Tyme
SPOILERS: Sleeping Dogs, Breaking the Ice
SUMMARY: Archer gets a lesson in Vulcan fashion.
DISCLAIMER: This fiction is in no way affiliated with Enterprise, and is in no way meant to infringe on the copyright and trademarks of Paramount Studios, a Viacom Corporation. All characters are © Paramount/Viacom and are used here without permission.
ARCHIVE: Just say where and keep the headers attached.
FEEDBACK: twilite_tyme@yahoo.com
RATING: PG
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah, I know it's sexist.
CATEGORY: Archer/T'Pol
TITLE: Days and Knights
He stood there, his arms folded across his chest, mimicking the stance of the Klingon before him. "So what's it going to be?" he asked.
To this he received no response.
He found the reason for the Klingon's distraction. Archer's eyes moved with his over the rise and fall of T'Pol's skin-tight uniform. He felt his fist tighten of its own volition. "Are you going to help us or not?" he asked him again.
Finally, the Klingon acknowledged him. But only briefly. "What exactly is it you want?" he asked. Then his gaze returned to T'Pol who refused to meet his eye. Instead, she focused on nothing in the center of the war vessel's bridge.
Archer leaned in toward the seven-foot giant. "If you could manage to peel your eyes from my science officer," he almost shouted, "you might find it a little easier to keep up."
"It's all right, Captain," T'Pol stoically said.
He looked back over his shoulder at her. "Like hell it is!"
Taking advantage of the Klingon's full attention, T'Pol began to explain, "We need fuel," she said, folding her arms. "Our holding tanks were inadvertently compromised, our reserves contaminated. We only need enough to reach Marcus 9. We can replenish our reserves there."
The Klingon looked back to Archer. "Why should we help you?" he growled.
"As I said before, we'll pay you."
"And what could you possibly have that a Klingon might want?"
"Alcohol," he said. "Lots of it. Plenty for you and your entire crew."
"Alcohol? This is a WAR party. We wouldn't dare partake in..."
"I'm not interested in your posturing," Archer said, his patience wearing thin. "Either you want the liquor or you don't."
The behemoth's eyes slowly returned to T'Pol. "Surely you have more to offer."
Frustrated, Archer moved between them, effectively blocking the Klingon's view. "That's all," he said harshly. "Take it or leave it."
"A ship of your size. You can do better."
Archer turned to T'Pol. "I think we've wasted enough of our time..."
"Not so fast," the Klingon relented as they began to walk away. "Perhaps we can work a deal. My first officer is on a scouting mission. I'll need to confer with him. He's scheduled to return in two days."
"We don't have a lot of time."
The Klingon's eyes found T'Pol's breasts and lingered there. "I might be persuaded to act sooner. You could leave the Vulcan. As a sign of good faith."
Archer strode toward him. "You walking, talking pachyderm..."
"Captain," T'Pol said, stepping in front of him and touching his arm.
He stopped, then looked down at her. "Let's go," he said unequivocally. He stepped aside, purposefully allowing her to walk ahead, then he turned back to the Klingon. "We'll be back tomorrow. I'll expect your answer then."
When they reached the shuttle pod, Archer took his place at the helm. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
"You vetoed my first suggestion," she said, finding her seat behind him. "This was our only alternative."
He started the engines. "There has to be something we overlooked."
"Your pride is what brought us here," she said matter-of-factly.
He rolled his eyes. "Don't start."
"The Vulcan ship was only two days away. Now, it's three."
The launch bay doors closed behind them. "Buckle your seatbelt," he said tersely.
After riding for some time in silence, he turned back to her. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
"Sorry?"
"The way he looked at you, talked to you."
"I appreciate your...concern, but it isn't necessary."
Had it even bothered her? He would certainly never know it if it had. He sighed heavily. "You're a member of my crew," he said. "Of course it's necessary."
*******
"Archer to T'Pol," he called to her the following morning.
"T'Pol."
"Meet me on E deck as soon as you can."
"Yes, Captain."
He was waiting for her when she arrived. "Had breakfast?"
"Yes."
"Good. They're loading the pod now. Just in case the Klingons decide to take us up on our offer."
She turned to see a small, older man appear from behind a door.
"This is Lieutenant McGuire," Archer told her. "Our tailor."
She assumed her usual stance, hands clasped behind her back. "Yes, we've met."
"Good," Archer said. "Then he already has your measurements?"
She silently studied them both, then nodded.
He turned to McGuire. "Do you have something Star Fleet in her size? Or better yet, a size larger? With officer's stripes, of course."
"I'm sure I do, Captain," the man said. His eyes moved over her, sizing her up again. "I'll be right back."
When he was no longer in the room, T'Pol turned to Archer and raised a brow. "Do you honestly believe this will help?"
"It can't hurt."
"If it were the uniform," she said skeptically, "don't you think it would have the same effect on you and the rest of your crew?"
He suddenly found himself unable to meet her eyes. "I'd like to think we're more civilized," he said, sidestepping her question. "...That we know how to exercise a little more self-control."
Lieutenant McGuire returned with her new Star Fleet issue, and he and Archer turned their backs while she systematically stripped and put it on.
After a long moment, Archer glanced back. "Aren't you done yet?" he asked.
"I'm afraid so," she said warily.
Both men turned to look at her. The shoulders of the new uniform reached midway down her arms, its fullness masking her shapely breasts.
"Perfect," Archer announced proudly.
She stared back at him incredulously. "You can't be serious."
"It's a little big, but..."
"It's...inhibiting, to say the least. I'm not even certain I can walk."
She had inadvertently left the zipper partially open, and his eyes traveled to the smooth skin above her breasts. His pulse quickened as he watched her methodically roll the lengthy sleeves with her elegant fingers. Perhaps this wasn't the ultimate solution after all, he thought. He debated asking her to stay behind, had in fact debated it all night. But he couldn't penalize her for something over which she had no control.
She didn't flinch when he moved in front of her and found the zipper at her chest. He slowly pulled it up to her neck. "I'm sure you'll be fine," he said.
*******
Once again, they stood on the bridge of the Klingon war vessel. "Have you made a decision?" Archer asked the captain.
Still, he seemed more interested in T'Pol. He studied her new uniform, and then slowly, openly, undressed her with his eyes.
"God dammit," Archer swore under his breath. It took every ounce of his self control, but he managed to restrain himself.
The Klingon glanced at him. "I have conferred with my first officer, and he has advised me to aid you. In return for what you promised, that is."
"We have the goods now," Archer said, anxious to have the whole ordeal behind them. "You can have your men start unloading."
"There's one small problem."
"Problem?" Archer turned to T'Pol. "Problem. Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"We've lost the comm. link with our fuel cruiser," the Klingon said. "We'll have to approach manually."
"And how long will that take?"
"We've targeted its location. One more day."
"One more day?" Archer said, pacing now. "One more day."
"That should be sufficient."
"And one more day after that, and one more day after that."
The lecher's gaze returned to T'Pol, and he slowly licked his lips. "Your science officer can travel with us. Protect your investment."
Archer reached up and grabbed his collar, daringly pulling his face down to meet his. "Get this through your thick, armor-plated scull," he said when they were nose to nose. "She's not going anywhere with you."
"Captain!" T'Pol said, appalled.
The Klingon's brows came together in a scowl. His curdled skin turned a deep shade of red. "As you told me before," he seethed. "Take it or leave it."
T'Pol steadied her voice, "May I have a word with you, Captain?" she asked. Then quietly to herself, "Before you get yourself killed."
He reluctantly released the Klingon and stepped off to the side with her.
When they were alone, she lowered her voice, "It may not be a bad idea, Sir."
"Are you out of your mind?" he shouted, not caring who heard.
"You know as well as I do that Klingons aren't exactly known for their forthrightness," she said. "If I go with them, I can see to it that we don't get anything we aren't expecting."
"No," he said, shaking his head.
She folded her arms. "I can assure you, Captain, he won't lay a hand on me."
He studied her silently. She was probably right. No one in their right mind would dare try to penetrate that cold, hard exterior without her permission. But, as much as Klingons were lacking in integrity, they didn't exactly make up for in intelligence. "Wait for me in the shuttle," he said.
"With all due respect, Captain, we've already wasted one day..."
"And now we've wasted two," he said.
She studied him for a long moment. Then, with her arms still crossed, and in her unwavering, ever-serious tone, she said, "You won't do anything..." She raised a brow. "...manly."
He felt himself relax for the first time in days, and he couldn't help but laugh. "No," he said, still smiling, "I think I've pushed my luck far enough. I'll meet you at the shuttle."
And he did. After convincing the Klingon he had lost his chance for a long night of debauchery, Archer stood at the open door, looking in on her. "That Vulcan ship is what? Probably four days away by now?"
"That would be my estimation," she said.
He drummed his fingers along the roof of the pod. "So...you think you could convince them to meet us halfway?"
The gleam that flashed in her eyes disappeared almost as quickly as it came. "I think I can arrange it, Captain."
End
AUTHOR: Twilite_Tyme
SPOILERS: Sleeping Dogs, Breaking the Ice
SUMMARY: Archer gets a lesson in Vulcan fashion.
DISCLAIMER: This fiction is in no way affiliated with Enterprise, and is in no way meant to infringe on the copyright and trademarks of Paramount Studios, a Viacom Corporation. All characters are © Paramount/Viacom and are used here without permission.
ARCHIVE: Just say where and keep the headers attached.
FEEDBACK: twilite_tyme@yahoo.com
RATING: PG
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah, I know it's sexist.
CATEGORY: Archer/T'Pol
TITLE: Days and Knights
He stood there, his arms folded across his chest, mimicking the stance of the Klingon before him. "So what's it going to be?" he asked.
To this he received no response.
He found the reason for the Klingon's distraction. Archer's eyes moved with his over the rise and fall of T'Pol's skin-tight uniform. He felt his fist tighten of its own volition. "Are you going to help us or not?" he asked him again.
Finally, the Klingon acknowledged him. But only briefly. "What exactly is it you want?" he asked. Then his gaze returned to T'Pol who refused to meet his eye. Instead, she focused on nothing in the center of the war vessel's bridge.
Archer leaned in toward the seven-foot giant. "If you could manage to peel your eyes from my science officer," he almost shouted, "you might find it a little easier to keep up."
"It's all right, Captain," T'Pol stoically said.
He looked back over his shoulder at her. "Like hell it is!"
Taking advantage of the Klingon's full attention, T'Pol began to explain, "We need fuel," she said, folding her arms. "Our holding tanks were inadvertently compromised, our reserves contaminated. We only need enough to reach Marcus 9. We can replenish our reserves there."
The Klingon looked back to Archer. "Why should we help you?" he growled.
"As I said before, we'll pay you."
"And what could you possibly have that a Klingon might want?"
"Alcohol," he said. "Lots of it. Plenty for you and your entire crew."
"Alcohol? This is a WAR party. We wouldn't dare partake in..."
"I'm not interested in your posturing," Archer said, his patience wearing thin. "Either you want the liquor or you don't."
The behemoth's eyes slowly returned to T'Pol. "Surely you have more to offer."
Frustrated, Archer moved between them, effectively blocking the Klingon's view. "That's all," he said harshly. "Take it or leave it."
"A ship of your size. You can do better."
Archer turned to T'Pol. "I think we've wasted enough of our time..."
"Not so fast," the Klingon relented as they began to walk away. "Perhaps we can work a deal. My first officer is on a scouting mission. I'll need to confer with him. He's scheduled to return in two days."
"We don't have a lot of time."
The Klingon's eyes found T'Pol's breasts and lingered there. "I might be persuaded to act sooner. You could leave the Vulcan. As a sign of good faith."
Archer strode toward him. "You walking, talking pachyderm..."
"Captain," T'Pol said, stepping in front of him and touching his arm.
He stopped, then looked down at her. "Let's go," he said unequivocally. He stepped aside, purposefully allowing her to walk ahead, then he turned back to the Klingon. "We'll be back tomorrow. I'll expect your answer then."
When they reached the shuttle pod, Archer took his place at the helm. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
"You vetoed my first suggestion," she said, finding her seat behind him. "This was our only alternative."
He started the engines. "There has to be something we overlooked."
"Your pride is what brought us here," she said matter-of-factly.
He rolled his eyes. "Don't start."
"The Vulcan ship was only two days away. Now, it's three."
The launch bay doors closed behind them. "Buckle your seatbelt," he said tersely.
After riding for some time in silence, he turned back to her. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
"Sorry?"
"The way he looked at you, talked to you."
"I appreciate your...concern, but it isn't necessary."
Had it even bothered her? He would certainly never know it if it had. He sighed heavily. "You're a member of my crew," he said. "Of course it's necessary."
*******
"Archer to T'Pol," he called to her the following morning.
"T'Pol."
"Meet me on E deck as soon as you can."
"Yes, Captain."
He was waiting for her when she arrived. "Had breakfast?"
"Yes."
"Good. They're loading the pod now. Just in case the Klingons decide to take us up on our offer."
She turned to see a small, older man appear from behind a door.
"This is Lieutenant McGuire," Archer told her. "Our tailor."
She assumed her usual stance, hands clasped behind her back. "Yes, we've met."
"Good," Archer said. "Then he already has your measurements?"
She silently studied them both, then nodded.
He turned to McGuire. "Do you have something Star Fleet in her size? Or better yet, a size larger? With officer's stripes, of course."
"I'm sure I do, Captain," the man said. His eyes moved over her, sizing her up again. "I'll be right back."
When he was no longer in the room, T'Pol turned to Archer and raised a brow. "Do you honestly believe this will help?"
"It can't hurt."
"If it were the uniform," she said skeptically, "don't you think it would have the same effect on you and the rest of your crew?"
He suddenly found himself unable to meet her eyes. "I'd like to think we're more civilized," he said, sidestepping her question. "...That we know how to exercise a little more self-control."
Lieutenant McGuire returned with her new Star Fleet issue, and he and Archer turned their backs while she systematically stripped and put it on.
After a long moment, Archer glanced back. "Aren't you done yet?" he asked.
"I'm afraid so," she said warily.
Both men turned to look at her. The shoulders of the new uniform reached midway down her arms, its fullness masking her shapely breasts.
"Perfect," Archer announced proudly.
She stared back at him incredulously. "You can't be serious."
"It's a little big, but..."
"It's...inhibiting, to say the least. I'm not even certain I can walk."
She had inadvertently left the zipper partially open, and his eyes traveled to the smooth skin above her breasts. His pulse quickened as he watched her methodically roll the lengthy sleeves with her elegant fingers. Perhaps this wasn't the ultimate solution after all, he thought. He debated asking her to stay behind, had in fact debated it all night. But he couldn't penalize her for something over which she had no control.
She didn't flinch when he moved in front of her and found the zipper at her chest. He slowly pulled it up to her neck. "I'm sure you'll be fine," he said.
*******
Once again, they stood on the bridge of the Klingon war vessel. "Have you made a decision?" Archer asked the captain.
Still, he seemed more interested in T'Pol. He studied her new uniform, and then slowly, openly, undressed her with his eyes.
"God dammit," Archer swore under his breath. It took every ounce of his self control, but he managed to restrain himself.
The Klingon glanced at him. "I have conferred with my first officer, and he has advised me to aid you. In return for what you promised, that is."
"We have the goods now," Archer said, anxious to have the whole ordeal behind them. "You can have your men start unloading."
"There's one small problem."
"Problem?" Archer turned to T'Pol. "Problem. Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"We've lost the comm. link with our fuel cruiser," the Klingon said. "We'll have to approach manually."
"And how long will that take?"
"We've targeted its location. One more day."
"One more day?" Archer said, pacing now. "One more day."
"That should be sufficient."
"And one more day after that, and one more day after that."
The lecher's gaze returned to T'Pol, and he slowly licked his lips. "Your science officer can travel with us. Protect your investment."
Archer reached up and grabbed his collar, daringly pulling his face down to meet his. "Get this through your thick, armor-plated scull," he said when they were nose to nose. "She's not going anywhere with you."
"Captain!" T'Pol said, appalled.
The Klingon's brows came together in a scowl. His curdled skin turned a deep shade of red. "As you told me before," he seethed. "Take it or leave it."
T'Pol steadied her voice, "May I have a word with you, Captain?" she asked. Then quietly to herself, "Before you get yourself killed."
He reluctantly released the Klingon and stepped off to the side with her.
When they were alone, she lowered her voice, "It may not be a bad idea, Sir."
"Are you out of your mind?" he shouted, not caring who heard.
"You know as well as I do that Klingons aren't exactly known for their forthrightness," she said. "If I go with them, I can see to it that we don't get anything we aren't expecting."
"No," he said, shaking his head.
She folded her arms. "I can assure you, Captain, he won't lay a hand on me."
He studied her silently. She was probably right. No one in their right mind would dare try to penetrate that cold, hard exterior without her permission. But, as much as Klingons were lacking in integrity, they didn't exactly make up for in intelligence. "Wait for me in the shuttle," he said.
"With all due respect, Captain, we've already wasted one day..."
"And now we've wasted two," he said.
She studied him for a long moment. Then, with her arms still crossed, and in her unwavering, ever-serious tone, she said, "You won't do anything..." She raised a brow. "...manly."
He felt himself relax for the first time in days, and he couldn't help but laugh. "No," he said, still smiling, "I think I've pushed my luck far enough. I'll meet you at the shuttle."
And he did. After convincing the Klingon he had lost his chance for a long night of debauchery, Archer stood at the open door, looking in on her. "That Vulcan ship is what? Probably four days away by now?"
"That would be my estimation," she said.
He drummed his fingers along the roof of the pod. "So...you think you could convince them to meet us halfway?"
The gleam that flashed in her eyes disappeared almost as quickly as it came. "I think I can arrange it, Captain."
End