She walked back into the room, considering.
Vehlen watched her silently.
"Where's your money?" she asked him brusquely.
"In the vault."
"Where's that?"
"A hidden compartment in my docking port. You'll need my help to get into it, unless you plan to take the docking port apart, which could be problematic."
"Why?"
"I have placed certain defensive measures there," he said.
"Will you help us get to it, then?"
"Yes." He smiled grimly. "But don't expect me to hand anything over until I'm safely out of the airlock."
She scowled. "Just because you blithely eliminate anyone who could get in your way, doesn't mean we do."
"That's yet to be seen, isn't it? And I don't, actually, blithely eliminate anyone who could get in my way. You and Mr. Tucker are still here. For that matter, I only needed one slave but I took three, at some additional trouble and expense, simply to keep you three together."
"Yes, of course. That was pure charity. You had no use for an engineer. Or a physician. Or a spare."
He winced. "That was an unfortunate turn of phrase. But it did work out well. I had no desire to come between two bond mates. That sort of thing generally results in a fight to the death." He coughed. "I'm sorry the ponvau makes such a terrible first time." He paused and gave her an appraising look. "But I couldn't help noticing that you adjusted to it surprisingly well."
Fury surged and she slapped him hard across the face.
He didn't say anything, just blinked rapidly. She turned away, her heart still pounding with anger but already embarrassed at her loss of control. She'd hit a man who couldn't defend himself – technically, her patient – and even if he did deserve it, she didn't want to think of herself as the kind of person who would do something like that. She took a deep breath and began to pace.
"Do you know what resolves the ponvau?" he said softly.
She ignored him and kept pacing.
"The male must play his part, of course, but ultimately its resolution depends on the female. Her contractions signal that she has created a hospitable environment for conception."
She stopped. If this was true, nature was kinder to Vulcanoid women than human women. Or perhaps not - what if a woman never came? Then again, Vehlen could just as easily be making this up in an attempt to keep her off balance. "If I were you, I'd shut up," she said.
"I think there may be more of a connection between us than you care to admit."
She planted her feet, folded her arms, and told him what she'd been telling herself, although it had proven to be very cold comfort: "What happened to me is not that unusual in human women who are the victims of sexual assault. It's an instinctive mechanism that evolved to protect the female of the species from excessive damage. Your average caveman probably wasn't a very patient lover."
"I see," he said, and considered this for a moment. "If anything, my ancestors were probably worse. The ponvau has never been considered a terribly good time for the female, especially one without a pre-existing bond to help her through. So, look, Kendra – I'm sorry I started out as such a caveman, but I can do better."
She picked up the weapon.
"And I'll shut up now," he said quickly.
Tucker came by a couple of hours later and said, "Why don't you go eat and get some sleep? I'll take this shift, and T'Pol will take over when she wakes up. You might as well try to get a decent night. Tomorrow morning we're going to attempt to get moving."
"I already ate," she said. So had Vehlen, not that he'd eaten much. He had taken the stew she'd spoon-fed him in a brooding silence so profound that she had begun to miss his conversation.
This was a realization that had disturbed her greatly, and she'd been puzzling about it ever since, as he slept propped up against a mound of pillows, his open-mouthed wheezing audible across the room.
On top of all that, in sleep he looked far too young and vulnerable and the curl of dark hair that had fallen over his forehead kept calling her to smooth it out of the way.
And that was just too creepy.
What the hell was the matter with her? Was she developing Stockholm syndrome – beginning to identify with their captor? That didn't really make sense when he wasn't even their captor anymore. Or was she that lonely? She didn't think so. Perhaps she was overcompensating for her far more understandable desire to murder him?
Was it possible Vehlen had tapped into a deep current of submissiveness? God, she hoped not. Could anything be more humiliating?
Tucker lowered his voice. "Did he say anything?"
She quietly told him about the defensive measures.
Trip rolled his eyes. "We should probably keep an eye out for those all over the ship. Do you think he'll be up to helping us get at it?"
She turned to study their sleeping prisoner and was quietly appalled all over again at the unmistakable feeling of protectiveness that rose up in her at the sight of him. "I think so. This appears to be classic congestive heart failure, but it doesn't look like end stage yet to me. Unfortunately, I have no experience with Romulans. I'm sure there are very basic treatments that could extend his life – we just don't happen to have access to any of them." She frowned in frustration.
Tucker studied her for a moment, then said, "You should go get some rest."
She turned and looked at Vehlen.
Tucker frowned. "Kendra? Shall I make it an order?"
She looked up at him, startled. Tucker had never pulled rank on her before. "I'll go."
At the door, she hesitated. "You won't..."
Tucker looked up from where he was already settling into the desk chair, "What?"
She wanted to say, "You won't hurt him?" But that would betray how screwed up she was, so instead she swallowed and said, "You wouldn't do anything ... important ... without letting me know?"
Tucker looked perplexed. "Like what?"
Her eyes went involuntarily to Vehlen for a moment, before she shook her head. "Never mind."
He was on her again, but this time there was no captivity. He was taking his time, and so was she. "I told you I could do better," he said.
She didn't say anything, just panted in pleasure.
"You're mine now," he said.
Whatever. She certainly didn't want to argue at a time like this.
"Are you mine?" he said.
She felt the first stirrings of irritation.
"Say it," he said. "Say that you're mine."
She stopped cold. "You really know how to kill a mood, you know that?"
"Say it!" he demanded.
"I'm not yours. I'm not anybody's!"
"Wrong answer!" he said, and pushed her head down into the pillow. She struggled but he held her tight; she couldn't breathe; she was suffocating...
"Doctor!"
Kendra gasped awake, taking in deep, desperate breaths.
T'Pol was staring at her with concern. "I believe you were having a nightmare."
Tucker's half-panicked voice came over the com. "Hey, Doc, I need some help here."
Kendra blinked at T'Pol for a moment, then raced after her to Vehlen's quarters.
Tucker was hovering uncertainly over Vehlen, who had turned grey and was gurgling and gasping and thrashing as much as his bindings allowed.
"What happened?" Kendra said breathlessly, fighting hard not to lapse into an unprofessional panic. She could feel her own pulse thundering as if the nightmare hadn't ended.
"I don't know!" Tucker said. "I thought he was asleep. I guess he rolled over or something because I heard him start choking."
"Let's get him vertical," Kendra said. "Help me." Tucker lifted Vehlen up to the side of the bed and she and T'Pol grabbed his legs, trying not to get kicked, and dropped them over the side. He was still coughing and gagging, but Kendra could tell that getting him upright was helping. "Undo the cuffs," she said.
Tucker hesitated a moment, then fished the key out of his pocket and did so.
"You're okay, Vehlen," Kendra said. She wrapped her arms around his chest, bracing herself to lift him, and said, "Stand up. Come on, I'll help you."
Vehlen didn't respond, but Tucker helped her haul him into a standing position. Vehlen was still gasping and coughing as Kendra supported him, but eventually there were more breaths between the wet coughs, and he began to actually stand unsteadily on his own feet. His arms came up to wrap around her and she frowned but let him hang onto her. Drowning on the fluid in your own lungs was terrifying, and that was what he had been doing.
"Go on, cough," she said, rubbing his back. "Get as much of it out as you can."
They stood there for some time while he coughed and wheezed, and she tried not to notice the looks passing between Tucker and T'Pol, especially when Vehlen rested his head on her shoulder and sighed, "Ihlla'nh."
Ignoring that – she had no idea it meant, anyway – she told the others, "He's going to need to get up and walk around every four hours or so. And no more lying down. I wish we could give him oxygen."
"Oxygen? No problem," Trip said. "He has an EV suit. We could just put the helmet over his head and hook it up."
Kendra stared at him in chagrin. "I should have asked before."
Tucker looked quickly at T'Pol and said, "I'll go get it, then."
Kendra began to feel self-conscious under T'Pol's gaze. She patted Vehlen awkwardly, trying to signal that enough was enough. "Let's see if you can walk around a little."
He nodded, his face still very pale, and shuffled along with her. He looked thoroughly shaken up.
"Let's just head for the chair," she said. "We'll get you set up for some oxygen. Then you'll feel better." She settled him into the armchair and checked his wrists, feeling a little stab of shame at the condition she'd left them in – surely she should have at least cleaned and bandaged his cuts? "Maybe we could just cuff one of his hands to the chair?" she asked T'Pol. "I don't think he's going to be much of a threat for the immediate future."
"I believe that could suffice for now," T'Pol agreed, and attached the cuff herself, with an efficient 'click' that gave Kendra a chill.
Those cuffs.
She blinked. Those cuffs had been used to choke her into submission. What the hell was the matter with her? Why was she wasting so much concern on this bastard? Why did she care about his wrists, or his captivity, after what he'd done to her? To them?
"Is something wrong, doctor?" T'Pol asked.
"Do you think it's really true that Romulans aren't telepaths?" she asked. "Could he..." she trailed off. How best to put this? "Could he be messing with my head?"
Vehlen looked sharply at her. He was still pulling hard for every breath.
"In what way?" T'Pol asked softly, with an extra calm that made Kendra suspect that she was definitely concerned.
"I don't want to talk about it here," she said, conscious of Vehlen's stare.
Tucker came in then, with an EV helmet much squarer in design than Starfleet's, as well as a canister. "Just plop it on?" he asked Kendra.
She nodded.
"It's pretty heavy."
Kendra went to the bathroom, rolled up a towel, and placed it around Vehlen's neck. "Try that. Just don't make it a tight seal."
Tucker put the helmet over Vehlen's head, made a few adjustments to the towel, and stepped back.
"Is that better?" Kendra asked Vehlen, but she already knew the answer. She could feel it in the lightening of her own chest.
He nodded, his dark eyes staring piercingly back at her through the helmet.
"Trip, the doctor and I need to discuss something," T'Pol said abruptly, and went to wait at the door.
Kendra followed her nervously. She hoped it hadn't been a mistake to speak up. It was hard not to feel that she was really going to be in trouble now.
To be continued