[! WARNING: SEX !]

Chapter 53 contains sex in needlessly florid literary style that says nothing but implies everything. Sex has been linked to feelings of moderate vicarious excitement and a desire to attempt to carry out the anatomically questionable practices on a suitably disposed compatible partner. Sex has also been shown to be linked to feelings of abject disgust, embarrassment about reading about said act at work and questions regarding exactly how much of a cream-puff the author actually is. If you experience any of these side-effects, close the browser window and immediately seek entertainment in the form of How-To Videos such as "How to image a system using Symantec Ghost" or demonstrations on how to sweat pipes using a disposable oxyacetylene torch. If side effects persist, discontinue use and seek help from a sock and bottle of lotion or leave nasty reviews micro-managing story grammar and critical analysis of just how far off base all characterizations as depicted are. Chapter 53 has been known, in the state of California, to be an example of patriarchy and has been known to demonstrate the Male-Gaze and Rape-Culture. Chapter 53 contains triggers…what kind of triggers we're not certain of at this time because Tumblr couldn't be relied upon for long enough to provide a coherent explanation of what triggers actually are and how they apply in this situation. Chapter 53 has been known to catch fire while at high speeds and while raining. Do not attempt to use Chapter 53 while in the bathroom or preparing Fugu fish sushi. Do not taunt Chapter 53. If Chapter 53 begins to exhibit aggressive behavior, immediately lower your eyes, curl up on a ball on the floor, and mimic sheep or goat sounds. Chapter 53 has been known to spontaneously attack geese because geese are assholes no matter how majestic they may look from a distance. Not all side-effects will be the same and they may vary, consult at beta, pastor, or parent before attempting to utilize Chapter 53. If you suffer from a deficiency of low-grade-sub-mommy-pr0n fan fiction, then Chapter 53 just might be right for you.


Duras reflexively opened and closed his right hand, forming it into a fist that was impotent to resolve their present situation. They may have hard the numbers on their side, but the qarDaSgnan warships were definitely larger and seemed to be better armed. The question had almost immediately sprung to his mind that perhaps the success of the original foray had been highly exaggerated and if it were not a case that Khurd had left their space just ahead of an angry mob.

He didn't want to doubt his friend, and even as hard as he tried to consider the possibility he honestly could not see that such events could have happened with Khurd in command. Then again, this was an alien culture, and one that was perhaps hyper-susceptible to slight or insult. As it was, Krapt currently stood at the forefront of the viewscreen, split between his ship and those of the other three in the convoy with the strangely ridged, thick-necked scowling visage of the qarDaSgnan captain staring back at them.

Both Khurd and Krapt took turns speaking to the captain in his native tongue while the universal translators began slowly working out what the pair of Klingon speakers were saying. The language was polite, deferential; perhaps more so than was to be expected from a Klingon warrior, but it made sense given they were entering qarDaSgnan territory and would be expected to extend them the due courtesy. As Khurd declared they would lower shields and power down weapons to allow the captain to scan their ships' contents Duras gave a nod to his shield and navigational systems officer who complied with the volunteered concession. The entire time the weapons remained armed on the patrol ship as the qarDaSgnan captain had his sensor officer carefully document the contents of each ship.

This seemed to cause the ridge-necked alien to calm visibly, the stern countenance relaxing only to have his attention momentarily stolen by a chiming on the bridge of his ship. He looked down as if to read something then brought his head back up showing visible embarrassment. To Duras' delight, the universal translator began processing his own speech as he spoke.

"I must extend full apologies for detaining you, honored guests. Please proceed, you should be able to power up your shields and weapons to your normal state of readiness with no further harassment, on behalf of the Cardassian people, I welcome the clan of Lo'wahl back to our territory."

Duras nodded to himself with clear satisfaction at the proceedings, the qarDaSgnan showed courtesy, respect, and honor on top of their clear military readiness; all qualities one sought in an ally. It was his task to begin treating with them in terms of shared relations beyond mere trade and while he felt they would be open to this idea, they would also be shrewd, and the thought of this almost made him more excited about the eventuality of negotiation; an ally who was wise, even cunning, was better than one who was unreservedly open. With his holds full of gifts to honor his hosts he felt reasonably certain that by the end of these proceedings there would be an open trade corridor between their peoples if nothing else, but even something so simple was a strong foundation on which to build alliances.

"Krapt." He called out from his command chair.

"Sir?"

"Contact Khurd, advise him to get the other ships to dip our cannons in pass."

The young Klingon furrowed his brown then nodded, "A salute, a fitting gesture to show respect to their captain."

"We will illustrate out strength through deference where it is not necessary and in all things we shall seem martial, if they see us as warriors of honor then they will not come to expect duplicity from us." Duras elaborated, and there was a kind of logic to it. Without an empire united in common cause, it was up to the representatives they did have to the qarDaSgnan to appear in a way that at once satisfied an expectation and served as paragon of that expectation.

"In all things, honor." Krapt provided as a sort of benediction, he turned to the communication station, "Relay the captain's recommendation to the group."


As hard as she tried to focus on the reading selection she had on the PADD, T'Les found herself distracted. Not buy the domestic entertainment device that was covering a rather loud and lively human sports match consisting of two teams attempting to score points by the process of taking an elliptical leather ball through a prescribed scoring line, not buy Solans occasional fidgeting, but rather by the Sehlat which was staring mesmerized at the mounted trophy head and neck of the buck it had slain almost a week before.

For the fifth time that she counted, she watched as the creature which had been sitting on its haunches staring at the display for the last thirty minutes at least canted its head to the side quizzically then lifted itself from where it sat to his hind paws, placing his forepaws on the wall to sniff at the display as if trying to revalidate to itself that it was dead. Any time Solan would draw close to it, he'd leap to his paws and herd the young demi-Vulcan away until he'd once again inspect the trophy to determine whether or not it posed a threat to the child before letting him close again. The small brass plaque on the wooden shield-shapes mount bore the inscription listing the sehlat as "Teeth Tucker" with the date of the kill and the pre-dress weight of the animal. This had prompted some research on her part and she discovered that the majestic looking creature truly was an exemplar among its kind as most white-tail deer listed at weights of between 80 and 120 terran avoirdupois pounds with a notation for kilograms parenthetically inserted.

"It is just as dead now as it was twenty minutes ago." T'Les gently scolded, finding herself amused by the fact she had already adopted the human custom of speaking to the Animal despite certainty on her part that the smilidon was incapable of understanding her words.

As if to contradict this belief the creature chuffed at her then crossed the couch on which she sat and climbed up to the end opposite her before settling down. She gave no heed to the behavior and went back to her reading when Solan let out a cry of consternation. She looked up to see the child approach the couch and looking at the sehlat with a quite clearly indignant expression began to chastise the creature.

"Get down, you know you're not 'sposed to get onna sofa!" He pointed to the floor, his tiny pointed ears visibly darkening a more olive shade.

The creature looked at him then made a protesting whining yowl.

"No! Get offa the sofa!"

The creature chuffed then let out a series of low yowls, varying in sound and pitch almost like the creature was attempting speech as it climbed down from its perch, its ears folded low in a way that looked like embarrassed contrition to T'Les. The creature skulked past the tiny pedagogue before abruptly turning his head and butting his forehead into the bottom of the he that had chastised him. Solan made a small sound of alarm as the creature to a jumping half spin and tore off out of the room at high speed. It only took a second for Solan to right himself and turning on his heel took off after the recalcitrant sehlat as a giggle that tried to exit his throat was choked off by sound of faux-indignity.

"You bettuh run mithter!" He slurred as he took off after the creature on his tiny legs.

T'Les lowered the PADD, here is where she took issue, "Why would he declare the state of action was necessary when it was already occurring?"

"That's the human part…making it seem like he's in charge and that he's a threat." Charles Jr. answered from the other side of the sitting room where he was diligently polishing his son's dress white regalia, currently working on the shoes after having 'done the brightwork' which had referred to the officer's insignia, medals, and career certification devices. It was a tacit display of his intense pride and affection for his son, a seemingly understated act that most would overlook as anything more than the effects of boredom.

"So, stating the obvious as a form of bluster is universal to humans?"

"For the most part." Charles Jr. affirmed as he began working the soft-bristle brush across the white faux-leather of the dress uniform shoes.

"Interesting, such behavioral displays occurring despite the disparate cultural influences would make it appear that it is a genetic affectation. Have such things been studied?"

Charles shrugged, "Frankly, I have no idea, I was never the brightest bulb in the string."

T'Les furrowed her brow, "I had always assumed you were involved in the sciences."

He laughed, "I was…providing operational security and integrity, all the brains in the family skipped my generation and ended up in our kids, Trip getting' the lion's share it seems."

Elaine Tucker promptly entered the room, dragging the sehlat reluctantly by the tuft of fur and loose skin on the back of his neck and Solan by the back of his shirt. The sehlat made another series of low protesting yowls, again sounding as if it was attempting to ape speech.

"Charlie, you need to take this one for a walk and this one needs a nap."

The elder Mr. Tucker looked over to his grandson, "Alright, go get your leash." And he at that he winked, forcing a stifled giggle from the little pseudo-Vulcan.

The sehlat clearly knew what that word meant and twisted, breaking free of Elaine Tucker's grip and went bounding toward the foyer. Solan's mood then abruptly changed, big frustrated tears starting to fill his eyes, "I don' wanna go bed…its louder when I go t'bed."

His tiny face flushed a slightly greenish hue as his tightened his little hands into fist which he then rubbed angrily at the eyes filling with tears. His expression showed a kind of anguish that should have been years beyond his capacity to even begin to adequately experience, much less express and the three adults in the room turned to look at one another in turn sensing that something was profoundly disturbing their grandson beyond just the absence of both his parents.

Charlie Tucker glanced to Elaine then both of them walked their gaze over to T'Les who had stolidly placed the PADD on her lap, eyes closed for a moment as if in contemplation. The Vulcaness sat with flawless posture, seeming even more regal when compared to the kind of practiced casualness exhibited on the part of the elder Tuckers. She opened her eyes and turned part way on the couch to face the child.

"Solan, please come to me." The order was softly worded and she held out a hand towards him.

He complied, wiping the tear-wetted back of his hands against his short-pants before crossing to the couch where she sat. When he reached her, she reached forward to brush the strands of hair from his forehead then placed a pair of fingers at his left temple. She allowed her eyes to close for a moment before looking to the other adults in the room.

"His temperature is slightly elevated and he is experiencing great mental confusion and turmoil."

Charles Jr.'s countenance grew very grave, "It's because of the…" he snapped his fingers a few times, trying to spark recollection of the correct wording, "the…bond, he has with T'Pol, right?"

"I believe that to be the case." T'Les replied evenly with a hint of solemnity.

"Momma's confused, she is mad at dadda, but not mad at him. Then she sees the blue eyes and she thinks blue eyes is there, then she knows dadda is there 'n' she gets mad at him again." He sounded perplexed by the last part.

T'Les watched as Charles Jr. and Elaine shared a look, some unspoken recognition occurring there but neither spoke as T'Les pressed a pair of fingers to an area just above Solan's collar bone then another pair just above his waist to the side of his stomach. "Solan, go and make sure 'teeth' has acquired his walking harness and then you should go walk with your grandfather, when you return I will assist you in your nap."

He nodded, unhappily, but without defiance, "Kuhkay."

When the child had left she looked to the human adults, "I am going to give Solan a session of neuropressure to assist in his relaxation; that should allow him restful sleep which will greatly increase his ability to contend with the feedback from his mother."

"Trip has blue eyes…" Elaine said, "why do you think she's reacting to the eyes."

Charles Jr.'s expression was unpredictably dire, "Ellie, do you remember that time when Trip was about six months old that we went to Henderson Beach?"

Elaine Tucker rolled her eyes up and away as if physically accessing the memory, "Which time?"

"The last time we went." Charles said in a low, almost mournful tone.

Mrs. Tucker's hand came up to her mouth as her eyes went wide, paling visibly.

T'Les cocked a brow, "What was the significance of this occurrence?"

"When I was stationed out at Whiting Field we used to go down to the state park at Henderson Beach. We had placed Trip on a beach towel under a palm stand and were getting some things out of the car for Albert to play with, we only had our backs turned about two minutes and weren't too worried because I'm coded to superior sensory perception so I could hear if anything went wrong." The motion of the buffing brush stopped as other sounds seemed to fade out to lend additional attention to the words of the Tucker patriarch, "I heard Trip just babblin' away and he didn't sound upset or distressed so I didn't pay attention to the sound of the other person speaking, talking right to him. When we turned around, Trip was in the arms of a young Vulcan woman, and they were staring into each other's eyes. I shouted and started heading towards her but she didn't seem to react, just kept starin' at Trip and he was just starin' right back at her."

Charles put down the shoe he'd been working on, and folded his arms across his chest, staring towards the coffee table, and through it, as if cataloguing the electrons in the wood, his expression indescribably severe. "It was kind of like…Trip was staring into her, the way his expression was, the way his eyes were locked on hers, the way he was touching her face. It was like he could see right into her soul and he didn't make a sound the whole time. But she…" he made a huffing sound that could have been disbelief or a chuckle or a sound of derision, T'Les couldn't tell, "she was just caught by him, mesmerized, she couldn't see or hear or feel the world around her. I stopped a few feet away, because, I dunno, I could see something was going on. And then after a few minutes, she just set him down and walked away. I hadn't thought about it for years, we kind of wrote it off at the time but we never went back to Henderson after that."

T'Les felt the need to swallow but didn't do so.

"When we first met T'Pol I had completely forgotten about the event, it was one of those 'scary things that happened to your kids' you just kind of mentally file away once they get older, but it got me rememberin' it again." He continued.

T'Les felt a compulsion to ask, not even sure why she was feeling some peculiar sense of dread, "Did the young woman resemble T'Pol?"

Charles stood, pacing across the room, looking out through the bay windows to the beach in the distance as the ballgame in the background seemed to be drowned out by the gravity of memory that had seemed to thicken the air of the room with the subtlest threat that without a moment's notice it could all rush out. He turned to look to his wife, then to T'Les, "It was T'Pol."


Cupping water from the sink with his hands, he dipped his face into the soothing coldness of it only to have the relief stolen away by the sting of the abrasion on his cheek. He'd made the mistake of looking away, and suddenly he'd ceased to be pla-kar-uk and become some sort of stranger. Moments before she had been transfixed on those eyes, needing them, loving them, wanting them, but then had looked away for a moment and he was an object for her to destroy; physically, sexually, mentally.

How had he not learned his lesson yet? He looked at the bruises on his chest and sides, some the dull ache of black and blue, others angry red where blood continued to slowly seep just below the skin. She didn't hold back a second when he was no longer pla-kar-uk and what frightened him more than anything was that she seemed to know he was Trip when she was doing it. It had not taken him long to figure out that she was not referring just to his eyes, but rather to an idea or a person…pla-kar-uk was the name of someone who was identifiable only by that single feature and part of him began to wonder if, perhaps, T'Pol had not, in fact, had another lover prior to him, one who controlled her in a way he never could. The doubts it engendered bothered him more than he felt he had any right to allow, he'd had other women before, other partners, women he'd thought he might have loved. But the idea that T'Pol had one for whom her soul had burned and he was just a pale replacement almost ached.

"Ra aitlu tan-tor, nash-veh." She growled from in the room, sitting on the floor, her naked body supine but with a kind of tension in her arms and legs that threatened an attack at less than a moment's notice. The sheet was coiled part way around her in some perversion of a toga that covered all the non-essential and revealed every bit of the essential. Her own throat was bruised from where he'd tried to hold her back when she had gone for his eyes in one of those moments he wasn't Pla-kar-uk.

"Just a minute." He pleaded with exasperation, less than 48 hours in and he was already a wreck. She fell asleep after their seventh coupling, and he was able to get about three hours of sleep before she awoke and attacked, rousing him with a hard cuff to the head when he hadn't managed to produce a sleep-erection for her to utilize. Of course that hadn't helped tremendously as it had taken him another twenty five minutes to manage a minimum level of usability and had been forced to use his fingers and the hypnotizing effect of the eyes to mesmerize her long enough to prevent additional attacks. There had seemed to be moments when she acknowledged him as Trip, but even then she was boisterous beyond what he was used to and mated with a fervor that left him incidentally injured instead of deliberately.

As if to reinforce it all, his bruised left testicle hit his upper left thigh, sending a jolt of stomach churning pain through him.

It's not about me, it's about her…it's not about me, it's about her. She needs this, what kind of man am I if I can't give her what she needs?

He reached for the bottle of stimulants, opening the bottle and dropping out a pair of pills which he quickly cupped into his mouth before leaning into the sink to drink them down with water from the tap.

Love is war, love is a battlefield, I'd die for her; I can certainly take some bruises from her.

He felt something snap in his brain with an intensity that almost seemed physical.

Trip!

I'm here, darlin'.

Trip-ip-ip-ip-ip, Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriip! She mentally rolled the "r" and he felt a giggle in the bond.

He looked into the room as she looked around, breathing heavily as she did so.

"Ahh Jesus, you're off your gourd aren't you?"

"K'avon nash-veh."

Well it was about time for that, it might even give him a few minutes respite for the stimulant to kick in and mentally work himself up for the next few hours until she passed out from exhaustion again. By his best figured he couldn't possibly have any sperm left, it was just seminal fluid without the prize inside. Another few hours of this and he'd need to put his balls on ice just to make it through.

Of course he'd prepared for the event they would need something to eat. A heuristic he'd tied into the room's sensors and routed to his desktop console would put in a call to the mess for non-perishable food items to be delivered outside his door five minutes after biometric signatures began indicating a sleep cycle, entry into the latrine/shower, or whenever T'Pol's pulse dropped to under 35 beats per minute at any point he build in a 12 hour lock-out period so that only 2 request could be sent in a 24 hour period, they'd just have to make do with that even though he was relatively sure he'd blown through what had to be a few million calories since it all began.

He quickly pulled on some sweatpants, eliciting a sound of protest from her and made for the door, opening it, peaking outside, and grabbing a plastic meal transfer box from just outside the door. He hadn't even been able to stand back up when she pounced on his back. The change in weight characteristics caused his balance to shift but he managed to redistribute his weight quick enough to avoid falling forward, righting himself and stepping back into the room with naked Vulcan clinging to his back and a tray in his hands. She wrapped her arms around his neck but wasn't trying to choke him, she was trying to hang on, there was no biting, no clawing, no gouging, at any other time he would have found it delightfully playful. He took just long enough to thank God, fate, and the law of averages that there hadn't been anyone outside the door when the pounce came as it would give them all a fantastic view of everything T'Pol's body had to offer. She was almost babbling insistently in Vulcan.

"H-h-hal-tor, t-tor-ri!" She leaned her head in next to his jaw, nipping at it with her teeth, not hard, almost playfully but with a hint of irritation, "Hafau-la!"

"I'm just gettin' your food." He protested, feeling the surge in his groin paradoxically occurring in spite of his exhaustion and barely tamped-down irritation as he felt the sensation of her breast pressed into his back and legs clamped around his waist; the stimulant hadn't even kicked in yet.

She dropped off him and pressed her back against the cool of the wall panel while he set the plastic container on his desk and lifted the clam-shell lid.

"Trippuh!" She said to seemingly nobody, over emphasizing the ending p consonant sound with a pop of her lips.

"Why couldn't you be this adorable the whole damn time?" He mumbled to himself as he lifted the items from the covered lip-tray consisting of a covered bowl of saffron rice, multiple grilled or braised vegetables in vacuum sealed pouches, and sliced beef also vacuum sealed. It was premium fare as the standards of the ship went and at least part of him was convinced this was Nassir's doing. God bless him.

He was just about to begin arraying the food for her when he felt her hands going to the waist of his sweatpants and began pulling them down, clumsily.

"Hey now, I thought you were hungry!" Trip barked as he spun around to face her, divesting her grip of his pants.

"K'avon…aitlun…" She stopped a second, looking away, her lips pursed like she was thinking, but in a fashion that was decidedly more emotive than what he was accustomed to, "Riko-guv-aitlun-" the last part cut off into peels of giggles as she lunged in to finish pulling down the athletic pants to his ankles.

She dropped to her knees, looking at his groin, specifically at the state of limbo between flaccid and erect, quizzically, giving the organ a rather firm pat with her right hand, "Tonk-peh! Shen-tor!"

He grinned in spite of himself, stepping obligingly out of the pants pooled around his ankles as the environmental system cut on, sending cool air to bathe over the naked flesh of his legs, crotch, and buttocks. "Give it a sec."

Her hand shot up grabbing the organ tightly and eliciting a flinch from him. She seemed to perceive the discomfort and loosed her grip, giving it a few clumsy tugs until she began to feel the blood rushing into it, hardening the flesh in her hand.

"Tonk'peh!" She chirped in delight. She looked up at his face, her own flushed dark and covered in a thin sheen of sweat that matted her hair, eyes squeezed shut with a big smile showing the white of her teeth, "Nash-aitlun!"

And that was all he needed, he literally felt the blood displacing from any part of his body it could reasonable be considered in reserve and flooded to his groin and he stiffened further in her grip.

She made a little squawk of alarm that shifted into a delighted squeal, "Masuk'lok!"

He felt the blush happen, the swell of situationally ridiculous male pride, but felt he needed to play it off, "It's the same size it was the other twelve times!"

"Ma fa'nash-veh?" She inquired, seeming somehow surprised.

And now he was thoroughly turned on, something about the confusion but enthusiasm in her mind radiating to his exciting some desire to conquer the pristine. "Well let me show you and maybe you'll remember."

Yes!

Yes yes yes yes yes!

This was what he'd hoped pon-farr would be; an adventure for them, delving into their sexuality without reserve, being able to show and teach and learn. He loved T'Pol with all his heart and soul, but he was also intensely attracted to her on the basic physical level. Their sex often became more about their affection for one another than their enjoyment of each other's bodies. The physical release and contentment just a happy side effect of that most basic illustration of love, this was a chance for them to be completely free, to learn those vague things about what they liked the most, the way to do this or that that curled the toes more than anything else. Right now T'Pol was coming off like the eager virgin, wanting to dive into the exciting world of sex rather than tentatively skirt the edges.

But again, the voice in his head kept saying "this isn't how it's going to be, this isn't reality."

He started fixating on the dour thoughts, the fatalistic stab of reason that threatened everything he was feeling right now. He felt it ready to drain the tacit display of desire when a pair of lips tentatively pressed to it, snatching his attention the Vulcan on her knees in front of him and what the events of the last few minutes promised. And just like that…the doubt was gone.

He chuckled partially to himself, partially to T'Pol who seemed to believe the organ needed a good morning kiss after having woken up, "Darlin' I don't think we've got the time to get you acclimated on how to do that right."

She hadn't seemed to transition to the next logical step after kissing it, but seemed intent on continuing to do so when he hooked his hands under her arms and lifted her upright, tossing her up at the end of the lift to catch her under the legs and behind the shoulders to carry her back to the bed, tossing her back into place then dropping to his own knees on the floor, pulling her knees over his shoulders.

"I don't think you're wound up enough, we're gonna fix that."


Nassir Al-Sistani stood, arms folded looking out over the CIC, his jaw working diligently at a piece of, allegedly, black cherry flavored chewing gum while delta shift went about their normal, boring, everyday tasks. There was a kind of tense malaise in their activities, a sure sign that this crew had been dialed in for far too long to even slip into the sort of torpor of boredom that usually set the pace for a normal cruise. It was hard to call some of them battle hardened as they didn't have that subtle horror sitting just behind their eye, but he could see the subtle clues in even the greenest of them. When the 1MC would kick up, General Quarters, the klaxon blaring, he could see in their hands, in their faces, in the hue of their skin; the nervousness wasn't even there anymore, there was no fear, no apprehension, just a kind of calm practiced border-line apathy. They were dialed in now, it was all routine, even the damage control teams would be standing with almost languid disinterest in preparation to react to any battle damage that may occur. He'd watched it happen, clad in their navy blue NWU, black body armor and helmets, pockets and LBE stuffed full of tools and patching material, wires and EPS shunts, and their expressions didn't show a hint of concern or fear. They knew their duty, knew their roles, knew what could be expected of their comrades and the rest of their crew when the guns ran out, ordnance was outbound and hostile fire was inbound.

They were walking, talking, flying, sailing, eating, sleeping, and whatever other verbs he cared to add, asymmetric warfare. He loved this ship, loved its crew, loved the life more now than he probably ever had. The subtle twinge of his biological clock telling him it was time to find a nice Druze girl and start a family was drowned out and washed away by the thrill that tickled him every morning or night or whenever he rose for a shift and realized that he, he, was part of the very heart and soul of the single greatest technological accomplishment in human history.

From over at the communications and electronic warfare station Crewman Holtz lifted his head, "Sir, we are picking up EAM from little whiskey."

Nassir turned his head towards the station, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, "Let's hear it mister Holtz."

"Aye, sir."

The message began broadcasting over the speakers, the sounds flattened and somehow digital sounding as it was broadcast via the quantum ultra-high frequency utilized for faster-than-light flash traffic.

"…mike oscar lima three one one tango, time; three four four, authentication; bravo zulu. I say again, Skyking Skyking, do not answer, mike oscar lima three one one tango, time; three four four, authentication bravo zulu. I say again, Skyking Skyking, do not answer, mike oscar lima three one one tango, time; three four four, authentication bravo zulu. This is little whiskey, out."

Al-Sistani sent a concerned gaze over to Master Chief Glen who returned the look, "Mister Holtz, how many times did the message repeat?"

"Four, sir."

Glen whistled, a single long note, "Damn…"

Nassir shook his head slowly, he'd been privy to an EAM once, that had been back in 53 when a twelve boat group he'd been part of patrolling just outside the Delphic Expanse was sitting pending additional orders to charge in there. The official mandate was strategic strikes against heavy Xindi population centers. Five frigates total were part of the group with the rest as destroyer escorts back when he was still just XO of the Detroit, word was the standard Type 51 torpedoes had been outfitted with seventy megaton yield anti-matter warheads. He found out later that the order coincided with Task Force: Dragoon's retreat from the expanse having taken heavy damage in a series of large surface combatant actions, one of which had forced Task Force: Zouave to retreat two weeks earlier. Xindi naval power had been gutted by the time Dragoon had been forced to fall back, but the threat that they would mount a final desperate suicide attack with whatever spheres they had left had prompted MCS to authorize the use of strategic nuclear weapons against population centers if it became necessary to destroy the sustained viability of the Xindi as a racial conglomerate.

"Where do you think they're aiming that?" Glen asked, breaking the moments of silence that had followed his invocation.

"The De Guello." Nassir replied, "My former CO is on the Revenge, it's out there for the express purpose of glassing Qo'nos should it ever come to it."

"Gawwdayum." Glen muttered, "how much hate and discontent they have on that thing?"

Nassir shook his head slowly, some great religious dread coming over him as he thought of the ramifications of the Revenge's payload. "Every type fifty one on the boat is outfitted with a seventy mike tango, with an active reserve for each tube, think…ten tubes, eight missiles each, five point six gigatons of yield total."

"Think that's a go code?" Yeoman Gottlieb quietly wondered.

Nassir shrugged, not sure how else to react to the numbing sense of dread crawling through his body, "If it was I think they'd still be sending the order to make sure it gets through."

He paused, then shook his head again, eyebrows simulating a shrug, "It's probably just a drill, but it means there is someone still seriously thinking about it."


Why wouldn't it work? Why wouldn't her body do what she wanted to, what it was supposed to? She was dry, her want was there, her willingness was there, but she couldn't seem to produce the necessary amount of fluid to facilitate the process. His reluctance was bothering her too; why wasn't he willing to just continue without the necessary lubrication, if she could abide by it, so could he. Who was this again? Some human? Some stranger? No…she knew him, the blue eyes flashed at her again.

Blue eyes…blue eyes, my blue eyes.

The hands clamped around her backside, lifting her up and away where she straddled him, the hands felt nice, squeezing slightly, strong, powerful, practiced, lighting up the nerves and sending a shiver of delight up her spine. Who was this again? Human…human! Where was her mate?

It spoke, she didn't understand a word of it, but the words echoed in her brain as well.

Remain calm for a moment.

Blue eyes? Where is my blue eyes?

Look at my eyes.

She froze, all the pleasure muted by the moment of soul quaking catharsis as she focused on the blue irises, the large pupils, seemingly ringed in almost glowingly bright white. All the cursory surface level pleasure slid away as she felt herself overwhelmed by a sort of soul submerging euphoria, tempered by threads of sadness. Trip, Trip was her mate, why would she betray that for the blue eyes? But the call of those eyes was stronger than any compulsion of the bond, and she found she could not help but surrender to them.

Please, let me go to my mate, I need my mate.

I am your mate.

No, no, blue eyes, you are not my mate, I need my mate, I cannot forsake my mate.

T'Pol…

She focused on the lips, moving from the eyes to the lips that spoke the words she heard in her mind, focusing on Trip's face.

I am blue eyes.

She started to shake her head but the hands clamped on either side of her face.

Say my name.

Blue eyes…

No…say my name, who am I?

The eyes seemed to fade back and away, sinking back into the eyes of the human, the human…her mate, her Trip…but something there, in the eyes of her mate, the flecked glaucous that seemed to be ringed in the most intense indigo, staring at her, locking her in place, his lips moving in time with the voice in her head.

Say my name, T'Pol.

Trip!

Who am I?

Blue eyes.

Put it together. His hands would not release her head, the voice wouldn't release her mind, the eyes wouldn't release her soul, she was transfixed.

Trip…k'diwa, my mate, my blue eyes.

Is it all clear now? Hs hands relaxed, letting her free, Do you understand it all now?

Yes.

Good, now can you stop fighting me?

No, I want to bite you now.

And she did.

He flinched, then started to laugh, the things radiating from his mind a jumble of emotions that was too varied to even begin to catalogue and reconcile. The confusion, the unease seemed to flow away from her and all that was left was a need for fulfillment and comfort, the dull and chronic gnawing of the fever was now just a persistent need. She nuzzled into his chest in the same place she bit him, feeling the texture of his skin and the body hair on her face, his scent wafting into her nose and bringing back compulsion memories of exactly this sort of intimacy from the past. A churning in her stomach, different from the other churning stole her attention away.

"I am hungry." She declared sitting up from where she had straddled him.

His words were incomprehensible, the human tongue that for some reason she couldn't seem to understand, but in her mind she heard the words in her native language, We have food, eat something.

"I want you to finish first, put it back in."

His next words seemed to register for her for some reason, "You're 'bout as dry as yer sense of humor right now."

She cursed her anatomy for not doing what it was meant to. She wanted it inside her, but for some reason her own anatomy wasn't about to facilitate the process. He brought her right hand to her mouth, running her fingers across her tongue for moisture and went to reach down, grabbing his organ and rubbed her slightly wetted fingers over it he made an exasperated sound, a kind of sharp exhale.

"Just a minute."

He rolled beneath her, reaching for the desk and producing a small bottle of clear liquid, popping the top on it and pouring some in his hand, he closed the cap and dropped it next to where he lay, reaching down with the hand and stroked himself a few times before sitting up and putting the hand between her legs, rubbing the outer folds then snaking a finger inside. She felt the shiver again, a kind of anticipatory pleasure that caused some reflexive twinge through her body more in anticipation of what it promised than the actual sensation itself. She latched onto his shoulders as the second finger slipped its way in and began methodically working at the tender tissue inside awakening some part of her anatomy that moments before hadn't been working and rewarding his efforts with the natural moisture her body had seemed unwilling to produce moments before.

"Put it back in." She whispered over the huffing of her breath.

"That's the first thing you've said in English since this started." He mused in counter to her imperative.

"Trip…stop fucking talking and do it." She ordered again between shuddering breaths as he played her with middle and ring finger, pushing her closer to that single bright point of climax that lingered somewhere in the distance.

She felt herself flipping over before she could even begin to react, her back landing on the spread arrayed haphazardly across the scratchy carpet of the room. She shifted, rising above her as his hips forced her knees apart and after a moment of rubbing against the inner fold she shoved the lubricant slicked organ back in her. And then he began to move…on top of her, inside of her, seemingly at once above, beneath, inside, and outside of her. Hard muscle and bone pressed against her flesh and hot blood engorged shaft burning against the walls of her core. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours; time was inconsequential as the fire between their conjoined legs burned away the fever just a little bit more. The feeling took over every nerve in her body as she felt this strange sort of tingling urgency starting where he had entered her, radiating up through his torso and down through her arms and legs out to the tips of fingers and toes where it seemed to touch the air and explode putting her back to arching and body to shaking as she desperately writhed confused as to whether she wanted it all to stop…or, more likely…to keep going.


[! Author's Note !]

Just one more chapter and that'll be end of the smut biscuits for a while.