Redivivus
by HopefulRomantic
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Star Trek: Enterprise is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.
A/N: Note: /dialogue between slashes/ is inner-thought bondspeak.
Thanks as always to my betas boushh and slj91.
Chapter Ten: Mercy
Hour Five
1704 hours
Situation Room
T'Pol called up the schematic of E-Deck on the situation room's display table. "To move them from Decon to sickbay, we'll need to expand the quarantine area." She traced out the pathway she had devised, which skirted a section of biological science labs and stayed well away from any crew quarters.
Archer studied the highlighted pathway and nodded. "That won't be a problem." He looked determinedly from her to Phlox. "We're going to make this work."
Phlox nodded. "I'll prepare the bio-scanner in sickbay."
"Call me as soon as everything's ready," Archer said. "I'll suit up."
As Phlox headed for the turbolift, Archer turned to T'Pol. "Have Malcolm make sure all personnel are clear of the area. Seal off those corridors yourself—I don't want any mistakes."
He started for the lift as well, but T'Pol stepped in his path, stopping him. "Captain, request permission to take your place."
"Denied." His voice was quiet rather than curt, as if he had expected her request.
She didn't back off. "The first officer of a vessel is more expendable than the captain."
"Not this time," he said. "If something goes wrong in there, you could replace Phlox and find a cure for the virus. You could replace me and take command of the ship. I can't say the same about myself."
She tried again. "Can I persuade you to send a different crewman instead? A medical technician, perhaps?"
"You know me better than that."
Indeed, T'Pol was well aware of the captain's predilection for putting others' safety before his own. Starfleet officers often exhibited the behavior, but Archer was especially prone to it; he was quite devoted to his ship and crew, and considered himself personally responsible for their well-being.
Clasping her hands behind her back, she stepped aside. The captain had made his decision, and she knew that no amount of logic would dissuade him. "It was my duty to make the attempt. You know me, Captain."
He flashed a grin at her. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Commander." His eyes softened with sympathy. "I know you want to be with Trip, but you'll be the most important crew member I have out here, after Phlox and I enter the quarantine zone. I'm depending on you."
"Sir, I must remind you..." T'Pol drew herself up, endeavoring to maintain her composure. Evenly, she said, "If the bond is severed, there is the possibility that I may become incapacitated."
Archer took her lightly by the shoulders. "T'Pol, you're strong, and you're stubborn, and you have the will to survive. I have no doubt about that. Whatever happens, you'll get through it."
She nodded, reassured by his calm certainty. Am I hoping for a miracle? Or adopting a positive attitude, as he has? One was as illogical as the other.
They walked to the turbolift together. As the captain stepped inside, he gave T'Pol a confident nod. Then the door slid shut, and he was gone.
1739 hours
Sickbay
"Right now, Enterprise needs a doctor more than it needs a captain!" Archer pulled out of Phlox's grasp. The Denobulan made no further protest, watching in wide-eyed silence as the captain stripped the seal from his EV gloves and pulled them off, exposing himself to sickbay's air, and to the silicon virus.
Once it was done, Phlox seemed to snap out of his shock, moving to Hoshi's side to prepare her for defibrillation.
xx-xx-xx
Security annex
E-Deck
Claymare ventured closer to the monitor, studying the captain with quiet astonishment. "Remarkable," he mused.
Ayelborne moved to stand beside the senior Observer. "In eight hundred years, no one's ever done that before?"
"No," Claymare admitted. "Not once they know it's hopeless."
"Then this is the corroborating evidence we lacked," Ayelborne said. "Archer's sacrifice to protect his doctor and crew validates the engineer's earlier attempt to protect his mate."
"Or Archer acted rashly, out of desperation," Claymare countered. "That would indicate something else entirely."
Ayelborne couldn't bear much more of this! Perhaps he wasn't as resilient as he had thought against the agony of human emotions. Their suffering was affecting him far more than his superior, that was clear enough.
He understood the need to avoid interference, but at what cost to these innocents? The harm they were coming to was pointless. He needed no more convincing that the humans were different. Claymare, however, was another matter.
1741 hours
Bridge
As she viewed the events unfolding in sickbay, T'Pol felt as though she were trapped in one of Trip's nightmares, unable to awaken. Curiously, time seemed to slow, enabling her to see the most minute of details...the delicate touch of Archer's fingers on the long-needled injector, the faint condensation fogging Phlox's faceplate, the tenderness with which the captain gathered up Hoshi's body from the exam table.
She heard Phlox's devastated voice as if from a great distance, telling Archer that the radiation treatment on Trip had failed. She now understood that sense of unreality that humans sometimes spoke of regarding events they could not process, either intellectually or emotionally. It was strangely difficult to accept that Hoshi was dead, that the captain soon would be, that T'Pol was about to lose her husband.
She felt her control beginning to slip away. No! I cannot falter. I am Vulcan. I am Trip's bondmate; I am Archer's first officer. I will be strong; I must be. The needs of the many...
As she had done countless times over the past hour, she reached out through the bond to Trip. Between the damage wrought by the virus and the sonambutril's sedating effect, he was virtually comatose, even his subconscious mind beyond her reach. His body was played out; the time for fighting was nearly over. She couldn't even tell if he was aware of her, but it didn't matter. She enfolded him in a mental embrace, endeavoring to give him, and herself, what comfort she could.
Archer approached the sickbay monitor. All of his earlier desperate energy was gone, leaving him subdued. "Archer to T'Pol." His voice sounded infinitely weary.
"T'Pol here, Captain."
"I take it you've been watching?"
"I have," she said.
"Then you know you're in command?"
He was dying. She was losing them both, her bondmate and her friend. For a moment, the grief threatened to overwhelm her again, to wash over her and drown her. No! He is depending on me. "Yes, Captain," she replied calmly.
"Admiral Gardner's a good man. He'll do his best to make sure you stay in command." Archer glanced back at Trip, lying on the exam table, his every breath a struggle for air. "How is he?" the captain asked, almost plaintively.
T'Pol found it difficult to speak. "Safe," she said softly. "Without pain."
Archer smiled faintly, before the sadness claimed his features again. "I'll look after him now. We'll talk after..." He faltered, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment before he composed himself once more. "We'll talk again. Archer out." The image from sickbay winked out.
T'Pol stared at the viewscreen without really seeing it. She felt light-headed, as if part of her were floating away. Was she sensing Trip's spirit coming loose from its mortal tether? Was her hold on him slipping away?
How in the name of Surak could she possibly survive this? Did she even want to?
"If you look like that, things must be pretty bad."
Startled, T'Pol looked up sharply at the familiar voice. Trip's voice.
She wasn't on the bridge any longer. She was sitting on a beach with sand as white as sugar crystals, looking out on an emerald-green sea. Clouds scudded past a sun that hung large and low in the sky. A lone sea bird drifted past overhead, its shrill cry carried aloft by the breeze.
Trip stood at the water's edge, watching the waves as they lapped against the shore.
She knew it couldn't be real. She was seeing it with her mind's eye, through the bond. It must be some sort of mental construct created by Trip, much like the daydream settings they had shared after they first became aware of their bond...had it been only three months ago? It was a remarkable environment, meticulously rendered down to the tiniest detail. She wished it could have been real.
She knew why Trip had compelled her to join him here in his mind. Time was short. Still, she rebelled. She wasn't ready for this. Would she ever be ready? Could she be?
"Where are we?" she asked.
"Panama City Beach," he said, as he gazed out on the water. "I used to camp here a lot when I was growing up. I'd look up at the moon and the stars, and wonder what it'd be like to go exploring out there." He turned to her. "This was one of the places I was going to show you when we got back..." He shrugged and smiled. "We didn't quite make it."
She felt her heartache stretching away, toward the setting sun. How will I live without you?...
Trip came nearer. "The captain...I can feel him. He's close, isn't he?"
She nodded. "He's watching over you. He did everything he could to save you."
Trip smiled affectionately...but then he scowled as he realized what she meant. "Dammit, I am gonna kick his ass."
T'Pol arched an eyebrow in mild reproach. "He was protecting Dr. Phlox. And the crew."
"Yeah, okay. But still!" Trip kicked at the sand.
"It is his way, t'hai'la."
"I know." With a sigh, he dropped to his knees beside her. "I'm sorry, darlin'. I shoulda stayed here with my wife and my engines, and not gone galloping off to some planet to play explorer. I musta been outta my mind."
T'Pol felt his remorse. "No," she said patiently. "Curiosity is a hallmark of your species. If not for your wish to explore new worlds, you would not have joined the crew of Enterprise. We would likely never have met. Rather than object to your curiosity, I am thankful for it."
He smiled again, but it was fleeting. "Now the same thing that brought us together is tearing us apart. What is that, fate? Destiny?"
"It is what it is," she said simply.
"You agree with Tennyson, then. 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.'"
She considered the quote, and nodded. "The benefits have far outweighed the detriments. It is logical."
He shook his head in admiration. "Leave it to you to analyze love and pronounce it logical."
The sun was sinking like a ball of fire into the ocean. The sky had darkened to a deep blue, and the breeze was cooling. There wasn't much time.
Trip took T'Pol's hand. "It doesn't seem fair to Lorian, me bailing on him all over again."
She felt the sure grip of his fingers, the calluses on his palm. "He is strong. He will understand."
"And God knows I don't want to leave you." He smiled, and she felt a surge of love from him. "I feel as if it took my whole life just to find you." He pulled her into the comfort of his arms. "Damn, I was looking forward to a lifetime of this. I wanted to grow old with you, have kids with you."
She nestled her head against his chest. "It is better for us to focus on the time we had together, rather than what might have been."
He stroked her hair. "Here I was thinking that a hundred years with you wouldn't be long enough. And now I get myself killed after three months."
She gazed serenely up at him. "We had three months, t'hai'la."
As he leaned down to kiss her, she saw tears in his eyes. He filled her senses one last time, encircling her with his mind and heart, touching her very soul. As she embraced him fiercely, part of her wished, quite irrationally, that she could keep him here by sheer force of will, simply by refusing to release her hold on him.
"I love you forever," he whispered. "You tell Lorian to keep his priorities straight."
Stay with me...
Gently, he began to pull away. "You have to let me go, darlin'."
She didn't want to. She wanted them to last forever.
"We will." He touched his fingers to her cheek in a delicate ozh'esta. "The hardest thing to do is to let go of someone you love. But I need you to keep on living, T'Pol. For me."
She leaned into his touch, feeling the bond resonate between them. "For you, I will." Summoning all her courage, she began to release him.
He smiled...that smile he saved for her alone. "I'll always be with you, t'hai'la. You won't have to look any further than your heart..."
And suddenly he was gone, and her soul was being torn to pieces.
1745 hours
Bridge
Phlox had pulled off his bulky EV suit as quickly as he could manage. He knew Captain Archer didn't want him out of sickbay and on the bridge merely for his own safety, but to check on Commander T'Pol. With Commander Tucker near death, she was at risk.
The turbolift ride seemed to take forever. At last the doors opened, and Phlox burst onto the bridge, medkit in hand. His stomach knotted when he saw the communications and helm officers rushing to the science station, catching T'Pol as she fell from her chair.
With her typical Vulcan reticence, T'Pol had spoken little about the matter of the bond earlier, saying only that if the worst came to pass, Phlox would be able to do little to help her, and that her survival would ultimately be up to her. Now it was all happening too quickly. He couldn't even take her to sickbay; it was under quarantine.
"Lay her down," he ordered briskly. As the two crewmen gently lowered T'Pol to the deck, Phlox knelt beside her. She was unresponsive, her eyes blank and unseeing. He ran his scanner over her: pulse weak and irregular, blood pressure dropping precipitously, skin pale and cooling to the touch, respirations shallow. Her pupils were fixed and dilated. It was some sort of shock.
Leaning close to her face, he spoke sharply to her. "T'Pol! Can you hear me?"
There was no response from her, no hint of recognition in those sightless eyes. He tried again. "You must wake up now. T'Pol!"
Wherever she had been driven by the severing of her bond with Tucker, it was beyond Phlox's reach. Her life signs were deteriorating rapidly; she was hardly breathing at all now. He didn't dare administer a stimulant without knowing whether it would unbalance her system even further. Vulcans and their secrecy! He pulled a hand-held respirator from his medkit. "Don't give in to this, Commander," he told her in a stern voice, though inwardly he was pleading. "This ship needs you. Your crew needs you..."
xx-xx-xx
T'Pol was falling, tumbling into a black abyss. There was no warmth here, no sound, no joy or love, only the agony of loss. Surely this must be bogozh, the Vulcan hell of ancient legend...the endless torment of a broken bond. The pain blinded her, froze the air in her lungs, threatened to still her heart. But none of it mattered. There was no point, no logic in continuing—not without Trip. How could she endure alone in the harshness that was life—bereft, only half a soul, half a heart? She wished only for the darkness to swallow her up. Then there would be an end to her suffering, and she would have peace...
Listen to me, T'Pol. You have a ship to command. Wake up...
Phlox...a voice from far away, reminding her of...of what? The needs of the many. Her responsibility...a duty to uphold.
You're in command. I'm depending on you.
Archer, her friend...a trust given.
I need you to keep on living, T'Pol. For me.
Trip, her soulmate, her t'hai'la...a life lost.
For you, I will.
A promise made...her promise to him.
I must live!
She had to live, for Trip. But in which direction lay life? She saw only blackness, felt nothing but excruciating emptiness.
She was lost.
1747 hours
Sickbay
It was obvious to Ayelborne that Archer was in great distress. He had been unable to save his engineer and communications officer. He was coming to grips with his own impending demise. And he could not fathom why two advanced beings—currently inhabiting the reanimated corpses of his dead crewmates—were allowing it all to happen, though they could have stopped it. At the moment, Ayelborne was wondering much the same thing.
He saw no trace of sympathy from Claymare, however. "We're leaving now, Captain," the senior Observer said to Archer. "You'll have no memory of our presence—"
Abruptly, the human began to cough, an early sign that the virus had taken hold of him. "Not that it matters," Claymare remarked. "In three hours, you'll be dead."
Ayelborne could not sanction this needless suffering any longer. "No," he said. "We have the power to save them all."
Claymare was clearly taken aback. "Are you defying me?"
"I'm defying the entire protocol," Ayelborne declared. "What Archer has done, his act of compassion—you've never witnessed it before. He and Tucker have demonstrated to my satisfaction that humans are sufficiently advanced for First Contact. In fact, their actions indicate that our criteria for making that determination should be broadened. Intelligence alone is not a sufficient measure."
Claymare seemed unwilling to go along with either Ayelborne's decision or his argument; the elder was far too unsettled by the idea of dispensing with protocol. "This is your first observation, Ayelborne," he said carefully. "You are basing your findings on evidence that is decidedly unorthodox, from a tiny sampling. In time, we'll study other humans. If we see a pattern—"
Archer spoke, startling him. "There's another way. Experience compassion for yourself. If you want to know what it means to be human, you need to do more than observe."
Claymare stared at him. Ayelborne couldn't tell if his superior was more shocked or revolted by the captain's suggestion.
"It is unthinkable," Claymare finally responded. "We have adhered strictly to a protocol of non-interference for ten thousand years."
"That is the problem," Ayelborne said flatly. Claymare turned to him in puzzlement. Ayelborne continued, "Efficient routine can lapse into stagnation. Detachment can turn to indifference. We become so accustomed to protocol, so complacent with keeping our distance, that we can no longer recognize the remarkable when it presents itself." He pointed to Archer. "We lose sight of our ability to effect change at all."
"Would you have us interfere with the development of others?" Claymare demanded. "That is unacceptable."
"Of course, if done heedlessly," Ayelborne agreed. "But what if our intervention were done responsibly? What if we were to assist, nurture, prevent...even teach by example, perhaps?"
Archer stood still and silent in his corner of the room, following the debate with anxious fascination.
"We have evolved beyond that point," Claymare said dismissively.
"Perhaps we have evolved to that point," Ayelborne replied. "Organians abhor violence, and we do no harm to others. But what if we are presented with a situation with the potential for violence, or suffering, or a risk to life? If we, through inaction, allow it to come to pass, there is little difference than if we committed the wrong ourselves."
Claymare didn't look entirely convinced. "It is not our place to police the universe."
"Of course not. But we can make a difference." Ayelborne regarded his partner earnestly. "If we have the power to be benevolent, how can we in good conscience continue to remain aloof?"
xx-xx-xx
A light pierced the darkness. Gratefully, T'Pol turned toward it. At last, she had a direction to follow, a beacon to lead her back to life. The light was brilliant, blinding, white-hot, enough to warm the endless cold of the void. She didn't know its source, but she could sense a powerful life force within...no, two...
/T'hai'la?/
She stopped. The voice didn't come from the radiant lights up ahead. It was another presence, heartbreakingly familiar. The voice was so faint that T'Pol felt it rather than heard it, deep within her mind, in the part of her consciousness she thought had been lost forever. She reached out with the tattered remnants of her bond...
/Trip?/
She could feel him now. He was confused, disoriented...but he was her beloved, and somehow, he was alive again. With quiet desperation, she began searching the blackness...
There! A tiny pinpoint of light, flickering to life. She embraced it, warming it, fanning its delicate flame brighter. It began to grow...
1751 hours
Sickbay
Archer was tired, so tired. Why? Because it was over? It wasn't, not yet. He knew that Phlox was more determined than ever to find a way to save him. The doctor would tilt at windmills until he succeeded, or until Archer breathed his last. But despite the steel in Phlox's voice, Archer had seen the slump of his shoulders, even through his EV suit. The radiation treatment that had failed Trip had been the Denobulan's last desperate hope. He was out of ideas. Barring a miracle, Archer was a dead man.
Still, he had a sense that he'd just been through a battle, the most significant battle of his life. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had fought well, though the evidence before him clearly belied that. How long had he been staring at Trip's body? At the sheet draped over Hoshi? He'd lost track of time. All he knew was that his eyes burned and his throat hurt from the tears he'd been trying fruitlessly to keep at bay.
For the first time since he had pulled off his gloves, Archer let himself think beyond the confines of this claustrophobic room and the three souls within, two of them already lost.
Phlox would take Porthos; Archer and the doctor had a standing agreement about that. The rest of Archer's affairs were in order, as always. He had looked death in the eye too many times not to be prepared. Now, though, he was leaving so much more behind. Karyn, who had embraced him as family...Danica, with whom he had so recently reconnected...
...And Kyle. They had gotten to know each other over the past few months, through scores of letters—family stories, goofy work anecdotes, thoughtful musings about literature, philosophy, music. And then there was the ongoing exchange of playfully salacious suggestions on how they would spend their time together after he returned. The list had gotten pretty long, and quite inventive. He felt as though he'd fallen in love with her all over again. There was so much he wanted to say to her, so much he hadn't yet said. He had planned to tell her in person when he got back, so he had put it off... He'd put too many things off.
A flicker of movement across the room caught his eye. It was the bioreading panel over Trip's exam table. The gauges were inching upward.
Archer frowned. He didn't recall Phlox mentioning hallucinations as one of the symptoms of the virus.
He looked from the readings to the body. Trip appeared to be breathing. His chest was rising and falling, slowly and evenly.
Archer squeezed his wet eyes shut and rubbed them. It all looked so real...but it must be the virus addling his mind, playing tricks on him. He had watched Trip die. He had felt his friend's heart stop beating.
What he wanted most...a miracle...it couldn't be happening.
Could it?
Hesitantly, he approached the exam table to study the bioreadings more closely. They were getting stronger. Color seemed to be returning to those ghostly, sallow cheeks.
Archer touched Trip's face. The skin was warming. Archer slid his fingers down to Trip's neck, and felt a steady carotid pulse there. "Trip?" he whispered, daring to hope again.
The sunken eyes snapped open. Archer jumped back, startled, his breath catching in his throat.
Trip blinked, looking vaguely confused. "I thought..." He chewed his lip. "I guess not."
Archer stared at him, completely dumbstruck. Trip looked fine. He looked great.
Trip propped himself up on his elbows, still appearing a little disoriented. His eyes wandered the room, finally settling on Archer. "Cap'n? What happened?"
Archer swallowed. His throat was bone dry. "I have no idea."
Behind him, he heard another bioreading panel blipping softly to life. He turned to see movement under Hoshi's sheet. Good God! He covered the distance in two steps, tearing the sheet away. Hoshi was alive again too. It was astonishing, wonderful, impossible to believe. She peered up at him, squinting against the bright lights. Her face was no longer deathly pale, but flushing with color and life.
"Hoshi!" Archer gathered her up and hugged her, almost overcome with joy.
After a moment, he felt her hands on his arms, hesitantly returning his embrace. "Captain?"
Realizing what a scene he must be making, he released her and stepped back, but he couldn't wipe the broad smile off his face. "How do you feel?"
In her typically observant fashion, Hoshi took in her surroundings, his EV suit, her unbuttoned clothing, and the defibrillation leads attached to her chest. "I'm not sure," she said slowly. "I remember breaking out of Decon...I guess I missed a lot after that."
"Let's just say you look a damn sight better than you did a little while ago. Both of you." If neither one of them ever remembered the last few harrowing minutes they'd spent here, that would be fine with Archer.
Trip sat up. "Anything to eat around here? I'm starving."
Archer burst out laughing, and realized how close he'd come to weeping again, this time with sheer gladness. This is really happening, he thought jubilantly. Believe.
1752 hours
Bridge
T'Pol blinked once, twice—and then, with a great gasp of air, she was awake and talking, her words trapped behind the respirator mask Phlox held over her mouth.
He took the device away. "—Alive," she was saying. "He's alive."
Gently, Phlox took her shoulders. "I'm sorry, T'Pol, but I don't—"
She fought her way to a sitting position. "We must go to sickbay."
"That's not possible." Phlox was concerned. Was she delusional? Had she suffered neural trauma when her bond with Tucker was so suddenly severed? "T'Pol, you've suffered a severe shock..."
"Archer to the bridge," came the captain's voice over the comm.
T'Pol was up and answering the call before Phlox could stop her. "T'Pol. Go ahead."
"You'd better get down here."
"Trip is alive," she said. It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes," Archer confirmed. "So is Hoshi."
Phlox listened in astonishment. He knew Hoshi was dead. He had seen the readouts with his own eyes. It was incontrovertible fact. He rose, joining T'Pol at the comm panel. "Captain, Hoshi is—"
"You too, Phlox," Archer said. "Maybe one of you can tell me what the hell just happened."
Phlox and T'Pol bolted for the turbolift.
Hour Six
1814 hours
Sickbay
Despite Reed's assurances that the quarantine zone was clear, Phlox would not allow sickbay's doors to be unsealed until Archer scanned all three patients for the virus. Four times.
"C'mon, Doc!" Trip paced back and forth in front of the double doors. He could see T'Pol through the glass, waiting patiently, her eyes never leaving his. He could feel her, achingly close. "How long are you gonna keep lollygagging?"
"Until I am satisfied, Commander," Phlox's unruffled voice intoned through the open comm link, as he dug his scanner out of his medkit. "I must say, Captain, he certainly sounds healthy enough."
Archer punched in the results of the latest scan. "He is. Results are negative on all three of us—again. I think Hoshi's a little dehydrated." He brought a glass of water to the comm officer, who was still looking a little peaked. She had washed her face and brushed her hair earlier, and it had almost exhausted her. "How are you doing, Hoshi?"
She took a sip. "A little light-headed...I don't know." She looked uncertainly up at him. "Are you supposed to feel a certain way after you've died and come back to life?"
He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "I don't think there's a rulebook for what you've been through."
Trip caught sight of Phlox doing an unobtrusive scan of T'Pol. "What're you doing?" he asked worriedly. "What's wrong with her?"
"Calm yourself, Commander," Phlox replied, putting his scanner away. "She seems fine now. Captain, you may unseal the doors."
"She seems fine now?" Trip echoed. "What do you mean, 'now'?"
Archer released the lock, and the doors slid open. Phlox bustled inside, heading in Hoshi's direction. "All right, Lieutenant, let's have a look at you..."
Trip turned anxiously to T'Pol as she entered sickbay. Wordlessly, she moved into his arms, silencing whatever further protest he might have been preparing to make. They simply held each other for a long moment, both savoring the physical contact.
Archer raised his eyebrows questioningly at Phlox. "We had a bit of trouble on the bridge," the doctor murmured, as he prepared a hypospray for Hoshi.
Trip finally pulled away from T'Pol, but he didn't release her, keeping one of her hands firmly clasped in his. "You don't mind if I hang onto you for a while, do you?" he said. "I kinda missed this."
"I don't mind," she replied contentedly.
He hesitated, trying to keep the concern off his face, and doing a miserable job of it. "What happened up there?"
She dropped her eyes, studying their joined hands. "I don't fully remember. I recall being with you...the beach, the sunset..."
She looked up at Trip, and he nodded. He remembered the beach, too.
"Then...there was blackness..." She frowned faintly. "And I awoke, with the doctor administering first aid." She turned to Phlox. "How long?"
An eternity, Archer guessed, judging from the haunted look he glimpsed in the Denobulan's eyes.
"Several minutes," Phlox replied, in his imperturbable doctor-voice. "You went into shock, and then you stopped breathing."
Tucker's hold on T'Pol tightened. She kept her focus on Phlox. "You revived me?"
The doctor shook his head. "You did it on your own. My guess is that your recovery was connected to Commander Tucker's. This bond of yours...it may have nearly killed you, but it also appears to have brought you back."
Trip and T'Pol gazed at each other in wonder. "I'll be damned," Trip said softly. "Do you think the bond might not have broken completely?"
"I don't know." She paused. "Do you remember...dying?"
He touched her cheek lightly with his fingers. "All I remember is you, darlin'. Then I was waking up, and I could still feel you with me."
Slowly, she nodded. "It is reassuring...if less than illuminating."
He laughed and hugged her again. "It'll have to do, hon. I don't plan on goin' through that again for another seventy years or so, if I can help it."
Phlox turned to Archer with a bemused smile. "I've looked at all the scan results, Captain, and conducted another one myself, but I'm at a loss. Commander Tucker's recovery has to have been a delayed reaction to the radiation treatment, but how it spilled over to you and Hoshi, I have no idea."
"A miracle?" Archer suggested.
Phlox threw up his hands. "That is as credible an explanation as any I can offer."
"It would certainly turn some heads at Starfleet Medical," Archer grinned. "But until they figure it out, I think the best way to fight this virus is to avoid it. We'll leave a warning beacon in orbit here to make sure that what happened to us never happens to anyone again."
xx-xx-xx
Security annex
E-Deck
Ayelborne turned from the sickbay monitor to Claymare. "Well? What do you think?"
"About all that emotion?" Claymare shuddered faintly as the two exited the room. "I am decidedly unsettled."
Ayelborne smiled as he led the way down the corridor. "I found it quite gratifying."
"I'll have you write the field report, then," Claymare said dryly. "Though I doubt anyone will be able to make sense of it."
"I'll need to make certain that it does," Ayelborne replied. "I'm going to recommend that we start preparations for an official First Contact mission."
"Indeed?" After a moment, Claymare nodded. "I concur."
Ayelborne was surprised. "What changed your mind?"
"The evidence, of course," Claymare said stoutly. Then he conceded, "And your fresh perspective as well. You compelled me to study the situation in ways I hadn't considered. It proved enlightening."
Ayelborne inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I'm glad I was able to contribute."
"In fact..." Claymare proceeded in thoughtful silence for a moment. "Considering your unique insight into these humans, it may be prudent for you to oversee the preparations for this First Contact. If you believe you're ready to undertake such an assignment."
Ayelborne brightened. "I look forward to it."
"I thought you might," the elder remarked knowingly.
Already, Ayelborne's mind was filled with possibilities. "We may wish to consider manifesting corporeally for them, to give them a recognizable lifeform with which to interact; we must take care not to overwhelm them. And we may need to provide physical landmarks as well, to give them a frame of reference..."
"Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?" Claymare asked. "We should have several thousand years to prepare."
"Far less, I think," Ayelborne mused. "The influence of other species such as the Vulcans and Denobulans is liable to have a stimulating effect on the humans' progress."
"You have a point." Claymare clasped his hands behind his back as they continued. "Very well, then. There's research to be done."
"We'd better get started," Ayelborne agreed. He turned speculatively to his partner. "May I suggest we visit the mess hall before we leave? There is another of those presentations scheduled, similar to the one we saw when we arrived... What did they call it?"
"A 'movie'."
"Yes! A movie. I found the first one quite interesting."
Claymare raised an eyebrow, and Ayelborne shrugged. "It would be research."
The senior Observer shook his head as they detoured toward the mess hall. "These humans have not been a good influence on you, Ayelborne..."
-tbc-