A/N: Hello again! Some of you may be familiar with me, EnlightenedSkye, as an RTP shipper and secondarily as an ATP shipper, but I can also see many pairings coming forth from this magnificent show. I am endeavoring to prove this to all of you. The premise is simple-take a simple, unassuming episode-like season two's Dead Stop-and see how many pairings I can write based on it. I'm not promising much, maybe about a thousand words each go around, but I will attempt to include every one of your suggestions. You may send me these via comment or private message, and I will do them, unless you give me something completely ridiculous like Phlox's Pyrithian bat and the repair station's computer. (Although I could see myself doing something absurd like that some time down the road, just for kicks and giggles.) I'll try to update this one every week, which is indeed less often that my other fic, which is updated sporadically every four or five days or so. This emphasis here is on quantity, although I'd love to stop on a nice round number, such as fifteen or twenty. Remember, these characters don't belong to me, but to Paramount. Without further ado, here's your first pairing. Also, what are you waiting for? Send me suggestions!

Musings on a Dead Stop Part One

ATP

Captain Jonathan Archer of the Earth ship Enterprise sat in his quarters, angrily pressing buttons at his computer console. Now faced with the idea that he and his crew may be a decade or more away from Jupiter Station and the familiar comforts of Earth, he had caved and done something he had previously thought that he would never have to do: ask Ensign Sato to transmit an open distress signal asking for any available assistance from any species, any ship—and this had dealt his pride a severe blow indeed.

It was his fault that the so much damage had been inflicted on the ship in the Romulan mine field—exploration be damned! They should have just stayed on course, just the way they were. Now they were practically adrift in open space, soliciting help from god knows who with god knows what—

"'Ya hear that?" He reacted to a sudden small noise behind him, swiveling his chair around to survey the deck plating. Immediately, his trusty beagle Porthos trotted over to him, his head tilted inquisitively. "I don't believe it," he addressed the quadruped, absentmindedly stroking his soft fur; "Trip told me he fixed that squeak!"

The comm button on his computer chimed and he reached behind him to answer it. "Go ahead."

There was nothing for a moment, and then a low, feminine voice. "Captain, we're receiving a response to the distress call."

Instantly, his stomach twisted up in knots and he found himself having to swallow back a massive lump in his throat. Stop this, Jon, you're a grown man! He chided himself silently before standing and taking several wide strides to the door.

On his way to the bridge, Jonathan took a few deep breaths, trying to absolve any remaining nerves that he had acquired listening to his Vulcan subcommander inform him of the latest developments. It was not the possibility of running into a species of ill company that had him so nervous; it was her voice. Her damned voice.

He shook his head. Over the past year and a half, he had found himself growing more and more fond of T'Pol; although straight-laced and driven by protocol in the most severe sense, Jonathan could sense that she truly enjoyed what she did here on Enterprise and put an element of passion in everything that she completed. Yes, passion, that was what he felt. Passion and unrequited admiration for his Vulcan first in command.

I wonder what a smile would look like on her face, he found himself wondering, starting at the tips of her shapely lips and spreading upward to her elevated temples. He imagined that her bright hazel eyes, however luminous already, would light up and squint slightly. She would extend a delicate hand up to her mouth and clasp it there, all the while looking on at him with interest. All of the tension he had gotten used to seeing on her face was gone, instead replaced with a countenance of amusement and—what was that—attraction? How beautiful she is, he mused, even without the grin plastered there.

His stopped abruptly in his tracks a few feet from the turbolift that would take him up to A Deck, shaking his head like a dog out of a bath. She's Vulcan, Jon, incapable of feeling the way that you do. At the most, she sees you as a child, someone that she has to constantly monitor and keep out of trouble. And those damn fraternization rules—it's impossible. Just forget it. Focus on the mission at hand.

All of his resolve was forgotten the moment he stepped onto the bridge and saw her there, poised gracefully at her station, hands arched over the controls. She raised her eyes to take in his face, her own expression nearly devoid of emotion…but not quite. His heart jumped into his throat and stayed there, for a moment thinking that he had seen a flicker of a smile. But perhaps it was only his imagination.

"It's a Tellarite freighter," she stated, once again business as usual. Her gaze fell to look at her computer console and the moment was lost in his memory, ready for him to replay in his mind over and over while laying, for this he was sure, sleepless in his bunk tonight. Alone, like always.

He set his lips in a firm line and opened his mouth to order, "Put them through."

Sub Commander T'Pol of Vulcan stepped quickly through the corridors of the NX-01 Enterprise, remaining steadfastly on the heels of her slight subordinate, Commander Charles Tucker, and her commanding officer, Captain Jonathan Archer. From their body language, the diminutive Vulcan could gather that they were nervous—she, too, was feeling an element of apprehension. The operators of this strange repair outpost had not responded to any of their hails. Upon closer examination, she found that she could not detect any biosigns on the station whatsoever. Then, her curiosity having been piqued, and she offered to accompany her colleagues on an impromptu survey of their new discovery.

Mr. Tucker, she noticed, walked with high steps, arms swinging, closely mimicking the posture of an animal on the human's homeworld known by the name monkey. Jonathan's gait was significantly shorter and more pronounced, bouncing slightly on his heels.

From her vantage point a few meters behind him, she examined him as his shoulders shifted from side to side. They were broad, perhaps even more so than many specimens of her own species. An agreeable set of proportions, the scientist noted, stepping to the side of him as he pressed the button that opened the door that would lead them into the repair facility. Her eyes drifted upwards to examine his face for a split second. Steely gaze, strong brow, square jaw—an appealing set of facial features as well. His eyes met hers and she quickly averted her gaze. Careful is what she had to be, cautious, unlike how she had been on the bridge earlier. Indulging in a moment of voyeurism during the Captain's arrival into the command chamber, she had felt her control inexplicably fail her for a few short milliseconds. She desperately attempted to conceal the smile that was now retreating across her face by returning her focus to the console in front of her.

It was true that she did partake in some illicit pleasure in surrounding herself with the Captain's company; his appearance was certainly aesthetically pleasing, a perfect example of human strength and stature. He was as rational as humans got, for this she was sure—level headed, yet unequivocally passionate about his work and his mission. These brief sparks of temper he exhibited were intriguing to say in the least, and the Vulcan officer would even wager to say that she felt a bit of attraction to Jonathan—Captain Archer, she advised herself. She was normally vigilant is monitoring these impulses, but in the past few weeks she had found herself coddling her irrational compulsions, imagining herself and the Captain in intimate, albeit compromising positions. Were humans' ears as erogenous as those of her own species? She did not know, but she was sure that these were urges that she must keep close to her heart, quiet, hidden, and never acted upon. Unless…

"This facility may have the technology to repair Mister Reed as well," now within what she imagined was one of the many chambers of the repair facility, she stated in a perfectly measured tone, tilting her chin up to look him in the eye.

His gaze was unmistakable, distinct, penetrating. It unnerved her. It shook her from within. It…aroused her. At the same time…it calmed her. I might never be able to look away, she thought. He is an enigma. He is magnetic. He is—

"The analysis of your vessel is now complete." A computerized voice drew his attention away from her and to a screen that had just slid out from the wall. He, along with his companions, took a step towards it.

Crisis averted, she found herself thinking, now on to the next matter at hand.