A/N: Sorry it's been so long. For some reason, I had a hard time getting through this chapter as well as real life kinda carried me away for a bit. I know I promised last chapter that updates would come more regularly. They will.
This chapter has a bit of everything, including important information about the Romulan war.
Thanks to Mana, my beta!
----
Archer waited in a gown open at the back, seated on a cold bio-bed, glad that he could at least leave his socks on – the temperate in the room made the hair on his arms stand up and his teeth chatter. Starfleet Medical. The walls were pristine white and all the equipment on the other side of the room were gleaming silver, sterilized more than once to obliterate any infection. The lights flickered, their luminescence muddled in a hot white light, and buzzed as if a bulb required changing.
Tapping his fingers, Jon sighed looking across the room at a clock, noting that he'd been in there for nearly an hour while nearly naked reading PADDs of news stories about which actors and actresses were together and which weren't (a topic that didn't interest him in the slightest) to bide the time.
Just as he was about to walk out the door to collect someone, deciding mooning whoever he passed would be preferable to staying in the room another second, the door opened. His jaw dropped; it was the redhead he'd met before getting into a relationship with T'Pol, a woman that was Jhamel's friend – Miranda. It was the woman who had a daughter in the same school as Tallah. Radiant, her smile beamed whiter than the sanitary conditions that surrounded him.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said. Suddenly, he felt as underdressed as he was and crossed his legs, protecting what little dignity he had.
Miranda smiled and nodded to her PADD. "I expected to see you – Admiral Jonathan Archer. Sorry I'm late."
"It's all right." He scratched his head attempting to deliver polite conversation. "So, how have you been?"
"Better than you," she said. Taking a stylus from the front pocket of her coat, she scrolled through the information and frowned at it. "I notice you didn't bring a cane in here. Isn't that what the doctor aboard the Potomac recommended for the next month?"
"I felt well enough not to use it."
"I see," she said, disapprovingly. She took that down as a note.
As she continued to look over his records, he coughed. "Listen, I never called because I became involved with a woman I'd known before. Someone who's been in my life for about eleven years."
Taking a scanner from her pocket, she ran it over him and nodded. "I heard."
"Just didn't seem appropriate."
"Yeah. Are you urinating okay?"
"Yes." He paused and then added, "I mean, this woman that I'm involved with … I've been interested in her for some time."
"Okay. Any pain in your side or back?"
"No. At the time, I didn't think anything was possible between us …. I mean me and her."
"That's fine. Stomach pain?"
"Not really. So, it had nothing to do with you."
"Is that a no?"
"Yes, that's a no."
She jotted a few things down in her PADD and then looked at the scanner again.
He said, "I mean, you seem like a great woman, and … I feel badly about what happened."
Finally, the woman chuckled. "It's okay, really, Jon. My ex and I have reconciled, so everything turned out great."
"Well, that's good news."
"For the most part. I'm happy, and my daughter's happy. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to see much of him."
He was quiet as she continued to jot down a few things.
"He's in Starfleet." She said, "Maybe you know him. Jack Stiles."
"Commander Stiles? I know him." Not knowing her security clearance, he merely added how brave he was.
"Yeah." She sighed. "Sometimes I guess it takes disaster for everything to work out."
Nodding, he thought maybe that's how he and T'Pol were able to begin a relationship. Miranda sighed and put the stylus back into her pocket. Walking closer, she put her cold hand on his arm.
"I'll need to give your side and back a little poke. That all right?"
"Sure," he said.
Gingerly, she opened up his gown, causing the man to blush, and pressed on his side and back. Although he winced with embarrassment, nothing but his pride wounded him.
She asked, "That hurt?"
"No."
It caused her to grab the stylus and jot down a few more things before putting the stick back in her pocket.
"Want the good news first or the bad?" she asked.
"I'm an optimist, I'll take the good."
"Your urine specimen you gave the nurse is clear. The scan looks relatively normal – no complications from your surgeries." She paused. "The bad news is you really need to rest. Your immune system is weak; your white blood cell count is up. Also, you're slightly anemic. I'd like you to include iron in your diet more regularly: meat - like liver - beans or spinach."
"How long am I grounded?"
"I'd say probably another month or so, depending on whether you listen to me." Her eyes narrowed into slits, daring him to defy her. "I'd like to see you back in here in two weeks."
"Okay."
"Good." She smiled. "This time I won't make you wait around."
"That's okay, you're busy. I imagine you had a lot other patients to see."
"Not really."
He guffawed. "You wanted me to wait?"
"You didn't call me," she said, winking. "Go ahead and get dressed."
As soon as she left, he gathered his clothes and put them on eagerly, wondering if she'd lowered the temperature of the room to make him more uncomfortable. A mild laugh came to his lips, and he pondered the idea that everything had turned out all right. He'd even have a couple of months with T'Pol rather than rushing back to the front.
----
T'Pol leaned over the stove when she heard the bell ring. It sounded like a formality, because she heard the door open right away and heavy footsteps, shuffling as if someone had injured themselves, ensue.
Jonathan.
Turning, she saw a smile cross his face as he tossed his keys on the table, scuffing it, and kicked off his shoes in the middle of the kitchen, showing one sock tattered enough to display a hint of a hairy toe. Stretching, he looked out the window and rubbed his hand under his shirt at his lower back, scratching what she presumed was an itch and then turned around.
"You making dinner?" he asked.
"I am," she said. Her eyes inadvertently headed to the shoes that cluttered the floor and then the keys on the table, silently asking him to pick them up.
Instead, he came behind her and wrapped his arms around her, preventing her from reaching the pan she attended. Sniffing near her ear and over her shoulder, he gazed at the food below.
"There's a lot of orange. What is it?"
"A lentil dish – the doctor indicated you need iron."
He kissed her temple and as her hand reached out to the pan's handle, his grip tightened – drawing her closer to him and farther away from her pot – and he pressed his lips against her neck.
"Jonathan, the doctor also indicated you needed to rest."
She didn't have to turn around to see a smirk on his face, but he released her to grab a glass of water and sat down at the table. After only a few seconds of silence, he frowned, stuffing his keys in his pocket and slipping back on his shoes.
"Everything okay?" he asked. "You seem … agitated."
"I'm fine."
His eyebrows climbed and she sighed; it was no good to hide her emotions now that they were tethered together.
He said, "I can feel it through the bond. Annoyance."
"It was a difficult day."
Closing the gap between them, he spoke softly. "Ki'ar left today."
"He did."
"I don't think you're irritated about that though." Gently taking the spoon she'd been using to stir the mixture from her hand, he turned her to face him. "Want to tell me what the problem is?"
She could feel her eyes roam, eyeing the window, the ceiling and then the floor, and then felt him poking through the bond, urging her to share with him. Her eyes gazed into his – warm, tender like grass in a meadow.
"Shran and the others, excluding Skon of course, seemed intent on discussing … private matters."
"Like what?" Before she got the chance to verbally say it, he seemed to read her thoughts. "Oh."
What she didn't understand is rather than grimace or become angry, the man purred – a laugh teeming with amusement. As she knitted her brows at him, he strangled his snicker.
"Humans don't necessarily brag about sex, but …. I'm not embarrassed for them to know we're sleeping together. Human couples usually do." Pausing he finally said, "We are living together."
"Vulcans can couple, even outside of Pon Farr, but they do not discuss it with anyone." She hesitated. "Pon Farr is never mentioned."
Through their connection, she saw images flash to his mind – ones brought to life from holding Surak's katra. Savagery, similar to those they had both witnessed at Starfleet's headquarters regarding the Vankara, a Vulcan ship lost in the Expanse. Depravity. Wilder than the fantasies he had while watching the Orion women dance, shimmying their scantily clad bodies as he heard maybe the most beautiful was interested in him.
Blinding. Chaos.
A pant left his lips and she tugged at the bond, stirring him from those visions as he shifted in his seat.
"Now you understand why we do not discuss our mating rituals," she said.
He licked his lips and then said, "You've brought up sex before – the first year you were on Enterprise. You told Trip and me that we needed our tensions eased," he said.
"I was hesitant to discuss it, but believed it was for the good of the crew. I knew that humans engaged in the act more frequently and believed you had not, thus decided to say something." Pausing only for a minute, she attempted to speak without sounding haughty, something she knew she failed as soon as the words spilled from her lips. "As I recall, you were embarrassed."
"It's not something you want your attractive, Vulcan, female first officer to mention. Besides, back then I didn't know you as well as I do now."
T'Pol knew that aliens perceived her people of being logical to a fault in all things, and assumed that was true of their mating rituals. Not only was that not the case, but the exact opposite was true. Vulcans lost all reason when the blood fever took them; Vulcan men especially were driven to insanity – destroying everything (even other Vulcans) in their path to mate – and women transformed into harlots, seducers – strutting wantonly for the male like a vixen to entice them to mate. Even the casual mating she'd engaged in held elements of illogic and Pon Farr, especially when she was addicted to trellium; she had seduced Trip, using pretense to bring him to her room with only a single robe, one she easily wiggled out of, to clothe her.
Archer squinted at her and she looked down at the pan.
"I've never believed our lovemaking was illogical, T'Pol," he said.
He slid back behind her and put his arms around her, holding her loosely around her waist and it comforted her.
"Vulcans have emotions like desire," he said. "And I don't think it's wrong for you to feel that way about your bondmate. I prefer it." He whispered into her ear. "Besides, we share secrets, the two of us, because of our bond. Only the two of us know what happens in our bedroom."
Illogical.
He said, "I think I'm missing the issue."
And just as she was about to open her mouth, it seemed to strike him.
"You think you're some sort of Jezebel?" he asked. He punched a few buttons, turning off the burner, took her hand and led her to the table so they could talk.
"Vulcans mate outside of our cycle, but it is rare."
"So? Do you like it?"
"Liking it is beside the point."
He lifted her chin with his thumb, gazing into her eyes as if searching for an answer; and yet she had none to give.
She said, "It may be just the two of us who are aware, but I know, Jonathan. I understand that this … craving is not Vulcan. Not logical."
"All Vulcans have emotion."
"Mine spews from my pores."
He sighed, "Surak had similar thoughts about his wife."
Turning, she looked down. "He had those thoughts in Pon Farr."
"No. Not quite. He … felt desire even outside of it."
"Surak was able to control it."
"You're not Surak."
"That is obvious."
"You are who you are, ashaya," he said.
Catching his eye, she let her gaze travel along his build – refined. Even lanky as he was, his form pleased her as did his mind and his heart. The formation of their katra, the unification wasn't at jeopardy, it was the way he made her feel these days.
Out of control.
Wrapped up in his emotions, feeling as he did – pain, love, ecstasy – it started to become too much. A constant ebb and flow, thoughts washing over her, tingling her skin – causing the hairs on her arms to stand upright. No Vulcan had ever succumbed so readily to pure feeling, letting it overtake them and drown them so willingly; only the mentally insane fell under emotion's snare, tumbling them into bedlam. Chaos. Darkness.
"The problem is, Jonathan … I like the loss of control. I enjoy it ... And it is unVulcan to feel so."
An understanding smile spread across his face, a small one, and his hand reached out to hers. "What can we do about it?"
"I have been meditating more than once a day," she said. "Yet emotion bubbles inside me, yearning to spring free."
"Is it the trellium?" he asked, his voice suddenly hushed and quiet.
"Perhaps." Defeat and shame forced her to bow her head.
"I can meditate more as well." His hand cupped her cheek. "Maybe you can also resolve yourself that it pleases me to see you … excited. And I would never call you anything but Vulcan, T'Pol."
Her lips twitched unsure, when he spoke again, two fingers of his left hand stroked her neck – a comforting motion, not one fraught with desire.
He whispered, "Infinite Diversity in infinite combinations. The fact you are more or less emotional doesn't make you more or less Vulcan."
Although human, he understood the concept of the IDIC and she lowered her eyes in thought. A conversation with T'Pau before she arrived on Earth popped to mind – the minister seemed to also know that emotion was her strength.
"And the fact that you have some emotion – some that you allow me to see, T'Pol, makes you more suitable to me."
With that, he leaned across the table and kissed her, their lips gently touching. His hand cupped her cheek and she restrained a sigh.
"Would you like dinner now?" she asked, bringing the conversation to as much of a close as she could for tonight.
"Sure."
Leaving the table, she heard her bondmate collect a PADD and knew he began to read the latest news as she finished. The silence was comfortable, and never silent – he was always there, in her mind. Today, as she hovered over the pan, stirring it, she realized she'd relied on Jonathan Archer in a way she always had: his strength. Able to meet her logic and yet provide more information, the human actually did something she hadn't expected: he'd cheered her up.
A human notion.
The thought stuck with her, musing in her mind. It wasn't allowed to stay there long, the doorbell rang and when Jonathan answered, she knew exactly who it was even before the guest entered.
Skon.
As she heard the two talk, ignoring the jabs that tainted nearly every remark the two made to each other, she thought about how Vulcan Skon was. The epitome of Vulcan. His mind seemed clear and unencumbered, his voice a placid sea of stars and his manners as smooth as the desert at noon. Peeking around the corner she looked at both men: human and Vulcan.
"Ambassador, I did not want to interrupt, but I have heard some interesting news from my sister," said her aide.
T'Pol waved him in. "Jonathan and I were about to have dinner. Would you like some?"
She heard her bondmate sigh heavily and protest loudly in her mind. Ignoring it, she watched Skon give a brief head nod, folding his hands behind his back as he strolled to the table.
"It smells like you are cooking svan-ta. I have not had that now in many months."
Pointing to the table, she ladled out servings for three and then set them on the table along with human-style spoons. Glasses of water were filled by Jonathan as well as a glass of wine for himself. Skon used that time to discuss Staron had awakened, living through his injuries, and had already spoken with T'Pau. Although it nearly made T'Pol crush the glass – that Staron would have such an extreme break in protocol – she set it gingerly down on the table, she restrained herself and waited for more information to be divulged.
"Why didn't he contact T'Pol?" asked Archer.
Skon nodded. "Yes, that is problematic. Ambassador, I did not wish to offend you by bringing this to you. My sister should have told you first and would have, had I not already contacted her. I contact my sibling once an Earth week."
"No offense is taken," said T'Pol. "Will he be returning to Vulcan?"
"That is unknown. He has expressed interest in staying."
"I had not expected that," she said.
"If he wishes to return to his duties, I am unsure whether my presence would be needed."
"Your presence, Skon, is most needed," said T'Pol. "My preference would be to have you continue."
"It would be mine as well," said Skon.
T'Pol didn't have to look at Jonathan to know he disagreed.
"I wish the others would awake, like Ambassador Simon," said Archer. "Although I'm not sure Simon would be much help, it'd be good to know exactly what's going on."
"Agreed," said Skon.
As the three talked about the Council, they began eating despite Vulcan practices. There was too much to discuss to wait until the meal was over, and her mate was anxious to ask about the details of whether Simon would be welcome in the Council when he awoke. It was a notion T'Pol hadn't considered.
During the dinner and after, she knew Archer wished they could have a chance to talk – discuss the censure he'd withstood and her own – rather than entertain Skon.
"We have many opportunities," she thought to him.
Finally, the evening lasting much longer than expected, Archer retired to bed alone as the Vulcans stayed awake and chatted about tactics to take with the Coridan ambassador; the race was not overly fond of Vulcans, seeing their intrusion as an occupation rather than just meddlesome.
At the end of the evening, in the wee hours, T'Pol finally said goodbye to her aide and meditated on her blue mat before retiring for bed. She was surprised when she put her head on the pillow that Jonathan awakened.
"You with Skon all this time?" he asked, his voice groggy with sleep.
"We had much to discuss," she said.
Shifting his weight, he turned to face her and she saw the mix of emotions crossing his face in the darkness. The hint of moonlight let her name those feelings: jealousy, confusion, mistrust, irritation and mild anger.
"It'd be easier to share thoughts with a Vulcan. You'd have less worry about showing emotion," he said.
With that, he turned again to face away from her and drifted back to an uneasy sleep. A hand almost reached his shoulder to tug him toward her when she heard a light snore rumble in his nose. The Vulcan embedded the information into the recesses of her brain and spooned against her companion, providing the smallest of kisses to the back of his neck and pondered addressing everything in such a way that there was finality for Jonathan.
And then she wondered if that could ever occur.
-----
Shran drummed his fingers on the table and noticed his child giggle at the motion. He had to admit it was a ridiculous human habit, one he supposed he'd picked up from being on Earth for nearly six months. As his child squirmed in his harness, one attached to Thy'lek's chest, the Andorian father waited for T'Pol and Skon to arrive.
Gral finally interrupted the silence. "It's not like Skinny to be late."
Tares agreed, "Let's face it, Vulcans are punctual if nothing else."
Gral said, "Maybe you should call her at her house once more."
Shran huffed and then pressed a few buttons in the console next to him. A figure formed onto his screen almost right away and the blue man grinned at it.
"Pink Skin!" said Shran. "Your Vulcan there?"
"You mean T'Pol?"
"Yes."
"No."
It took Shran a second to figure out Archer was without a shirt and the Andorian shook his head at the ape-like appearance as his friend, questioning silently how an Earth man could look so hairy.
"Is she in your mating bed now?" he asked.
The human sighed. "No, Shran. She left."
"Was she in your mating bed?"
An impish smile overcame his face, and he held back the urge to tease his friend about being tyla-tora with her, which he was sure was the reason for their tardiness. Disappointed, Shran frowned as Archer headed off that line of reasoning.
"I just got out of the shower. T'Pol left about an hour ago."
"Oh." Shran scratched an antenna. "Then she should've been here by now."
"She went out for breakfast with her aide first."
"Skip?"
"Skon."
"And you're okay with this?"
Archer sighed, "They work together."
"Good Grendal." Shran shook his head. "Pink Skin, I think you and I should have drinks alone tonight, without your mate."
"I think that's--"
"I'll ask Jhamel to watch Shras." When he saw the human shake his head, about to say something, Shran leaned into the monitor. "I have to discuss something with you anyway."
There was more to be said, but at that exact minute T'Pol and Skon strolled through the door and as if guilty, Shran immediately shut off after murmuring he'd be there at six p.m. The Vulcans seemed eager to determine exactly who he was speaking to and of what importance it was, but the blue man remained obstinate and began weaving tales of the Imperial Guard as if to shut them up. He took the opportunity to also needle them about being tardy, something he knew Vulcans never were. Although T'Pol was his friend, there was something satisfying about shutting up a Vulcan … extraordinarily so. And it did the trick, Skon piped down and T'Pol gave him the faintest hint of a frown before sitting down.
The Andorian watched the pair sit as his eyes slid over to Gral who hurled a small grunt. The two were always sitting together, working together, dining together; they were inseparable. And it didn't take amazing leaps of logic, as the pointy-eared creatures next to him would say, to determine they were building a relationship. He already knew Skon was crazy about T'Pol, of course in a stoic and perfectly Vulcan manner. Worse was that T'Pol enjoyed the company of Skon almost as much. There was a glint in her eye when he was with her, almost the same one he'd noticed back before the Pink Skin and Vulcan were mating. Maybe Archer wasn't troubled by that twinkle in her eye, but Shran was – deeply so.
They talked about Coridan, and Tares led the conversation indicating how they felt about the Vulcans. Gral added his two cents. Shran waxed, what he considered philosophic, giving Shras a bottle from time to time or performing other fatherly duties. And the Vulcans addressed they weren't exactly the most loved of aliens on the planet of Coridan, outlining how they would approach the situation: Shran could lead the discussions as long as they were in agreement on the results.
Everyone settled on that approach, settled the arrangements and determined the drill for the next few days. In the background, he could hear Gral go over the details, but Shran looked out the window to notice the sun barely dipping behind the trees, the sky beginning to light with a faint orange glow. His antennae twisted. Spring. It would darken early and lighten early and the air was still crisp. He liked it.
When the day was over and the arrangements settled, the team separated. Skon and T'Pol left together, just as they had arrived and Shran shook his head.
"They've been spending a lot of time together. And I worry about how she looks at him," said Gral. A growl rumbled in his throat.
"I think you're right," said Shran. As if disgusted with himself, he confessed, "I'm mad because I like Skon."
"You boys don't understand," said Tares, shaking her head. "I don't think Archer has anything to worry about. T'Pol--"
The blue man ignored her. She didn't know the Vulcan like he did, and he was pretty sure the pointy-eared woman who'd become his friend was developing something for the logician. It made the conversation he wanted to have with the Pink Skin more imperative – whatever attraction was growing. The human would have to challenge him, maybe in one the duels he'd heard Vulcans fought to the death.
Gathering his young son, he offered Tares a ride to her place and the two of them hopped in. Shuttling as quickly as he could, he dropped her off – insisting she hurry up and leave – and then raced to his house where he had just enough time to drop off his child before heading to T'Pol's abode where he thought Archer would be.
When he got to the door, he was surprised. Captain Vega answered – the woman he'd been holed up on a planet with for a more than a week … alone – dressed casually. It concerned him because out of her uniform – long raven hair cascading down her slim shoulders, fresh lipstick and eye makeup to enhance her dark brown eyes – the Andorian believed she was even lovelier.
For a human.
"Where's Archer?" asked Shran.
A purring laugh followed her, and he saw Archer dressed just as casually and sporting a wide smile.
Good Grendal!
"Shran," said Archer. "I didn't think you'd actually--"
"Where's T'Pol?"
"I assumed she was still meeting with you and the others."
Shran shook his head. "I've had enough time to drop of Tares, take Shras home and then stop here. I would think your mate," his eyes fixed themselves on Vega for a moment, "would be here."
A furrow worked along Archer's brow. "Maybe they're caught up with other business, she said --"
Shran didn't believe that for a second. Accusingly, he pointed his finger to Vega. "What's she doing here?"
"Mel just stopped by," he said.
The woman twisted a finger in her tendril and looked at her watch. "I didn't realize I'd been here so long. Time just flew."
"It's okay. It was nice to have some company."
Shran glared as Archer's smile turned lopsided and Mel averted her eyes to look at her shoes.
"You have the Vulcan to keep you company," said Shran.
The Pink Skin rolled his eyes and started talking about friendship – all of which got ignored. Shran stepped through the door, leaving it open, and nodded his head for Vega to leave. Instead she narrowed her eyes.
"Jon, do you want me to--?" she asked.
Shran knew she was about to ask stay, so he interrupted her. "I've got business to attend with you, Pink Skin. I need your time."
After an awkward farewell that lasted way too long in the blue man's opinion, the woman finally left and Shran shut the door. His antennae, he noticed, whirled.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.
"Huh?" asked Archer.
"You're enticing her to be your mate."
"What?!" Confusion spread over the human's face and he shook his head vehemently. "We're friends, Shran."
"Mmmm-hmmm."
Without letting the human say more, Shran cajoled him into attending a bar – a favorite with Ki'ar, in the middle of a neighborhood that Archer protested was seedy. Shran didn't mind or notice; he enjoyed the lampposts missing light bulbs and the smell of fish that hung in the sea air. He also liked the crowd at the Anchor – everyone there could've been in the Imperial Guard dressed in dark colors, sporting grimaces and with a glint in their eyes that held contempt. The Andorian pushed his way into the place and sat at a table toward the back where light barely illuminated from the walls surrounding the joint.
Shran kicked his feet into the next chair and leaned back after ordering Andorian ale. A smile slid onto his face as he heard Archer ask for the same.
"Pink Skin, you've got to fight Skon."
"Shran, where do you get--"
"I'll be your second, in case something happens to you. As the arat to my son, I owe you that much."
"T'Pol and Skon are colleagues and friends."
Humans are as thick as Tellarite mud. "They spend a lot of time together."
"So do you and I."
Shran's finger unconsciously moved around his newly brought glass and he swallowed his ale in one gulp.
The Andorian said, "She … looks at him."
"That's what eyes are for."
"I remember the way you used to look at each other, before either of you admitted feelings. She stares at him that way, and he returns that gaze."
That made Archer put down his drink. "I trust T'Pol."
"Trust has nothing to do with it." Shran paused only long enough to order another drink. "If a man looked at Jhamel that way, I would sever his antennae."
"Humans have friendships that are close. I think T'Pol likes having a friend from her home planet."
"What is your intention with Vega?" asked Shran.
"What do you mean?"
"Why are you enticing her to mate?"
He coughed, nearly sputtering the drink he was nursing. "What makes you think I'm enticing her to mate?"
"I've seen you act that way before – with Jhamel's friend, Miranda. Although, I can't say as I blame you."
"I was never really interested in Miranda. She was pretty, but … I was interested in T'Pol."
"And now?"
"I'm still only interested in T'Pol." Archer leaned on the table. "What's gotten into you?"
"I'm telling you, I don't like the way Skon and T'Pol look at each other."
"I have a bond with T'Pol. I know exactly how she feels – she likes him. She's friends with him. That's it."
"I would've thought you would be jealous. I've seen you narrow your eyes at Skon."
Archer sighed. "I … might be a little jealous, but I trust T'Pol."
"Jhamel has a friend – a human – who was married to a man for twenty years. Just last week, this woman determined her mate was sleeping with another. I don't want that to happen to you."
"You don't understand," said Archer. "Because of the bond, I would know."
Shran's mouth fell into a straight line. The poor dyga. "I know it's human tradition to marry. You going to?"
The human fell silent, as if pondering how to answer the question.
"You already asked her."
Archer sighed. "Kinda."
"And she rejected you?"
"It's not quite like that."
This is worse than I thought! Immediately he ordered another round of ales. "I knew after mating with Jhamel in the ice caves that she and I were destined to be together, but she was hesitant at first. I had to woo her – show my sexual prowess as a male."
Archer scratched his head, wincing.
Shran continued, "I wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, and eventually she became overwhelmed by me." He swallowed the entire contents of his drink. "That, and I got her pregnant. Maybe you should do that with T'Pol."
A cough prevented him from responding.
"What's wrong? Are you not mating often enough?"
The human blinked for a few moments before answering. "We mate … enough. Shran, maybe it's acceptable on your planet to impregnate someone which prompts them to marry, but …. I want to give us both time. I've only been home a few days and we've only been in a relationship where we've been together about three weeks."
"You've known her for more than ten years."
"I've known her as a friend, not romantically. Even in the time I've been home, we haven't had a lot of time together."
"Skon?"
A frown crept on Archer's face and he shrugged his shoulders. "Part of it is him."
"I knew it!"
"But, she's been busy with the Ithanite and now meeting with the Coridan."
Another round was delivered and Shran greedily emptied the glass. "That's no excuse!"
"You said you had something else to discuss?" asked Archer.
A glass thudded on the table, not wanting to beat around the bush. "I do. General Krag wants to use dilithium for a war ship."
"Ever since you've shown us that crystal, our scientists have been working on it, but … I'm not sure we're even close to figuring out how to get energy out of it. The Vulcans might be closer to--"
"The General doesn't want to work with the Vulcans. He wants me to work with the humans."
The human bristled a little. "That goes against the treaty our governments signed … that we've signed, Shran."
Thy'lek kicked back a little more, and nodded. "I know."
Archer narrowed his eyes. "By telling me this, you know T'Pol might find out."
His antennae drooped by centimeters. "Maybe."
"Did you want her to?"
"I can't help what happens after I've done my duty."
The human crossed his arms and settled into his seat. "Do you really think it's possible to run a starship using dilithium at warp seven while maintaining shields and firing phase canons?"
"Our scientists have proven it's possible, but converting it into energy has proven more difficult that we could've imagined."
Suddenly, Archer's face went pale. "The Arali wanted that crystal you had and the whereabouts to others like it."
"Yes."
"Do you think the Romulans started war looking for power?" asked Archer. "I mean literal fuel?"
"I would think they would have plasma as Earth or Andoria."
"Plasma only allows a ship to maintain warp seven or raise shields or fire phase canons. Not all at once, at least not with current technology."
"They have been more intent on Andoria," said Shran.
Archer sipped at his drink, wincing only slightly as he swallowed it, and then rested his head on his chest. With a long breath, he spoke quietly.
"Maybe having Andoria and Earth collaborate on dilithium-based energy isn't such a bad idea."
"You mean leaving out the Tellarites and Vulcans?"
The light in the Pink Skin's eyes faded, turning dark and his voice went hoarse. If Shran didn't know any better, he would say the human had a secret in which he couldn't share.
"Maybe," said Archer.
"So you would betray T'Pol and her people?" asked Shran.
"Never T'Pol," he said quickly. "There may be reasons for keeping this from the Vulcans."
That stiffened his antennae, but he knew better than ask questions about that; he knew the Pink Skin wouldn't answer. "And the Tellarites? Gral would never forgive me."
"If we shared the technology with them when complete--"
"I don't know if Krag would do it."
"Earth would."
"It would hurt the alliance."
"Yes, but every planet would be eager to have it; they would forgive our races easily."
Shran waved the bartender over for another drink. "I feel like a cheat. As an Imperial Guardsman--"
"Your general asked you to do it; it wasn't your choice."
"And if T'Pol finds out?" he asked.
"Not if, when." Archer finished the rest of his drink. "I believe she would side with us."
This was the human Shran knew – cocky. "You'll contact your government?"
"I'll let you know." Before the drinks were brought, Archer began to make excuses about getting home, but the Andorian wouldn't let him off so easy.
"Let's go back to our conversation about T'Pol," said Shran.
Archer sighed, "Let's not."
"I'm telling you, keep Skon at bay. I don't like the way my antennae twitch when the two are together."
"What am I supposed to do? He's her aide."
The Pink Skin grew pinker, as if the ale was beginning to affect him despite only having two glasses. The words he spoke were less formal than before and desperation rang in them, as if he was indeed worried about the Vulcan as a potential rival.
"I gave you plenty of ideas – challenge him or impregnate her." Waving Archer's dismissal away, he said, "Watching T'Pol with Shras, I think she wants to be with child. She'd be a good mother. You've known her for years and … let's face it, you're not getting any younger."
Archer rolled his eyes and was about to push himself from the table when the Andorian pointed at him.
He said, "Everything I say is true. None of us live forever."
"I know."
"Then you'd better do something about it before a younger man takes your mate."
This time he was sure Archer was about to get up, so the Andorian decided to table that issue for the time being and talked about a subject he knew Archer wouldn't mind – Shras.
"My child is hung like a cry-rog," said Shran, a grin spreading over his face.
And then he happily covered the topic of his son eagerly and thoroughly.
---
T'Pol looked at the clock and watched the hands of it swing past midnight, giving the slightest frown as she did so. Jonathan wasn't home. Through the bond, she knew he and Shran had migrated from a bar to a place where in her bondmate's words they could "shoot pool." And although she knew exactly where he was and what he was up to, she was disappointed they didn't spend time together that day.
Ever since he'd been home, they'd barely had an opportunity to see each other. She had duties for her planet – involving the Ithan and now Coridan, hoping to sway them to join the council. There were obligations as the arat that robbed her of more than a day.
Yet, none of those things bothered her as much as the disagreement they'd had yesterday, the one that Skon came at the end of. She'd tried to explain how out of control she'd been, how engaging in sex, being bombarded by his thoughts and living with him made her more emotional. He'd asked if it was her addiction to trellium, and in some ways it felt that way – the loss of control was pleasurable, tantalizing. But when she took trellium, there were peaks and valleys. In the valleys, she could focus her attention on the bridge, compute astrometric projections and perform her duties. Now, nearly every minute of every day was a peak – emotion nearly seeping out at every interaction. When Jonathan laughed, she had to concentrate on preventing a smile. Jealousy, something that had rumbled in him, caused her to clench her fists and her stomach to tighten. Even as he began to feel inebriated playing billiards with his friend, the room lurched slightly to the left and her motor skills suffered.
The hands of the clock dipped past twelve thirty.
Every single emotional response her bondmate had became her own, as if it belonged to her. Controlling her own emotions was difficult enough, controlling his and hers together: impossible.
It is no way for a Vulcan to live.
Then, she remembered: this emotional closeness created problems with Trip as well. When Enterprise brought aboard three Orion slaves she noticed emotions raged within her – desire – but not at the green-skinned females who traipsed down corridors. She found herself wanting Trip, desperately. It caused her to kiss him, wantonly in the hall as if she were a human woman. They were Trip's emotions, traded so that he would be immune to the Orion's and their pheromones.
It wasn't just the Orions. Many other emotions, due to the bond, presented themselves and attempted to swallow her whole. Back then, the trellium still fresh in her system, it was more impossible to control. There were times she remembered showing emotion.
Disgusting.
A thought occurred. Maybe it is something else entirely.
During Jonathan's absence, she felt only slightly more out of control. Increasing her meditation seemed to stave outbursts.
The bond is stronger now. Perhaps that is the problem.
Before she could think on it further, the door to her apartment opened and she watched as her mate tossed his keys on the table and removed his shoes in the middle of the kitchen. A habit.
"You did not tell me where you would be," she said.
"You knew I was out with Shran," he said. "I didn't think I'd need to call home. Besides I could tell Skon was keeping you company."
Pushing herself from the table, she rose. That was a subject that needed to be addressed. From the conversations with Shran, she knew her mate's ire had awakened.
"Skon left three hours ago."
A hand dug through his hair and he slumped into a chair at the dining room table. "I'm just tired of him spending all his time over here. Doesn't he have some place to go?"
"We see Shran on a regular basis, you don't seem to mind that."
Archer blew out a long breath.
Thoughts came to his mind; although he'd ignored Shran's comments about pregnancy and challenging her aide, he ruminated on marriage or more precisely why she didn't want to. Watching his eyes, she could even tell he was warming to the idea of children if it meant they could be together.
Sliding into the seat across from him, she stared into his eyes. "You'll be gone in another month."
"I don't think I'll be ready to go. I want more time with you."
Her hands reached out for his, covering them. "You could resign."
"No. No, I can't."
The two gazed at each other for a few minutes and she read every thought in his mind – loyalty and duty to Starfleet – they were too strong. She had already known that, but the suggestion of leaving needed to be said.
"Let's go to bed," she whispered.
Their hands intertwined and they walked into the bedroom together. Teeth brushed and face washed, he scooted beside her on the bed and she wrapped her arms around him to hold him while they slept. It may've been his wishes, but the feeling to protect him crept around her insides as well. Placing her head on the pillow, she snuggled to his body before drifting to sleep.
TBC