A/N: Welcome back and thanks for the support! Back up in orbit we go. Next time, get ready for the mother of all awkward conversations.
See the first chapter for content disclaimers.
Let Me Take You Out
Chapter Five
Before this day, Archer wasn't sure that a man could ever really die from happiness.
Their first embrace was somewhat tentative, and he'd initially been terrified that he'd blown it, but once T'Pol pulled away, it was as if every single wall between them had finally fallen by the wayside. Though her expression remained impassive, he could almost feel her affection surging towards him like a rising tide, threatening to roll him asunder.
He had been foolish not to expect such passion from a Vulcan. That much was obvious.
This time, she stood on her toes to kiss him again, parting her lips slightly to taste him. Both of her hands came up to hold the sides of his face, and he pulled her against his chest, anchoring her by two arms wrapped around her waist. All he could feel was heat, impossible heat, and the sweet satisfaction of finally showing this woman whom he had respected and admired for so long just how much she meant to him. Jonathan couldn't bother to spare a thought to the potential consequences of this. His head was swimming and as the seconds stretched into minutes, he became more and more sure he would drown in her.
Soon that little sliver of physical contact wasn't enough, and before he could caution her, T'Pol had deftly popped the top two buttons of his undershirt, running her fingers through the hair on his chest. His groan reverberated around the room, and it struck him then that they were rapidly approaching the point of no return. Though he knew it was far from likely, he had dreamed of courting his science officer, inviting her for a private dinner in his quarters. She would show up in one of those elegant sets of robes she often favored off duty, and the adorable tips of her ears would redden from the good wine and conversation. After that, he would take her to that little stargazing spot on D Deck and explain that he could imagine no better reward than the honor of her company, for as long as she would have him.
It would all be so perfect. And she deserved so much better than a desperate makeout session in a maintenance closet.
T'Pol seemed to sense his misgivings and pulled back slightly, but the amorous haze had yet to clear from her eyes. Without saying anything, she took his hand and moved towards the door, her intentions clear.
Many a time he had disregarded her ideas when his own thirst for adventure intervened. Now, he found that he possessed absolutely no willpower to object.
They burst out into the empty corridor, and his lapel caught against the doorframe, causing his tricorder to go flying, but he scarcely registered the impact. T'Pol took two steps away from him and glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow in a blatant challenge.
He pursued her as fast as the lift, and as soon as the door closed, drew her into another heated embrace. Her hands were everywhere, his heart was pounding, and he knew he couldn't step away if his life depended on it. Perhaps she reached for the hold button, or maybe it was him, but that simple act catalyzed his desire, and he knew they were only seconds away from doing something they might go on to regret.
Mercifully, the universe intervened in the form of a blood-curdling scream somewhere in the new vicinity. They broke apart, breathing heavily, and the spell was broken in an instant. T'Pol stepped back, smoothing her hands over the planes of her uniform as the barriers of propriety came slamming down once again. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, met his gaze, and visibly experienced a moment of sheer, unreasoning panic, knowing they could never go back to the way things were.
They needed to talk about this. But now, mortified and bewildered and flushed with fading arousal, the only thing he wanted to do was get the hell out of there.
When the doors opened onto the second floor, he had to do a double take. Undoubtedly these were the living quarters for the ruling elite, if the marble mosaic floors and teardrop chandeliers were any indication. Portraits and paintings of important historical events lined the walls, and their presence along with several towering wooden doors was entirely expected; what he hadn't anticipated, however, was a small boy with two heads, no older than a year old, sitting in the middle of the hallway and looking for all the world as though he were about to burst into tears.
"What are you doing here?" He questioned, but T'Pol was faster, and before he could investigate further, she had scooped up Veela's son and drew him into her arms. He squirmed and whimpered a little bit, and this time her presence didn't do nearly enough to stop his cries. Now in the company of a squalling infant, Jon reached up to rub at his temples and staggered a little further down the hall, peering around a junction for any sign of his parents or the nanny.
What he found, however, shocked him to the core, and seemed to be plucked straight out of his worst nightmares.
His hand came out to beckon to her, and T'Pol joined him instantly, before inhaling sharply and covering the little boy's eyes.
They had been in trouble before, but now, they were going to be lucky to escape with their lives.
Together they would have to be blind not to recognize a severed head when they saw it.
Up in orbit, Commander Tucker was enjoying an uneventful night on the bridge, and didn't care who knew it.
He had already driven most of beta shift out of the room with his impromptu harmonica concert, but it had still been a banner day in engineering full of troubleshooting and finished projects, and there had been plenty of pecan pie in the mess hall at dinner, enough for him to get seconds and thirds. His team had trounced the armory in a pickup game of basketball, and there hadn't been a hint of communication from the surface all night, not a peep. The first round of scientists they had sent down to the tropical zone of B'Saari II completed a handful of scans without injury, and he was looking forward to a good night's sleep. For him, that only meant five or six hours, but he digressed - he was in charge, and life was good.
A flutter of movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he momentarily pulled his harmonica away from his lips, swiveling around in the captain's chair with some difficulty. His knees slid off the armrest, and the second his boots hit the floor, he locked eyes with the current tenant of the science station, raising an eyebrow in mock consternation.
"Can I help you, Crewman?"
Liz Cutler crossed her arms and leaned over the console, ever so careful not to disturb the sensors. With T'Pol gone, she was all too eager to take her place, and had been in her chair all night, scanning the surface up one hemisphere and the next. Though she wasn't officially part of the senior staff, her relationship with the doctor made her one of the family. That was something their peers whispered about frequently, but he didn't care to gossip - right now, it was enough to have someone in his little circle of friends that could match his boundless enthusiasm.
"No, sir. It's just that I finally understand why the Sub-Commander always comes by sickbay to get something for a headache after you two share a bridge shift."
He smiled goodnaturedly, blew a final, defiant note on his harmonica, then stowed it in his pocket. "What about you, huh? The longer you spend with her, the more Vulcan you sound."
"I'm no science officer," she reminded him, because it was true, she was only here to finish a post-doctoral thesis on xeno-entomology, which would likely become the cornerstone of her career. But the longer she spent in deep space, the more she took to adventure, the more she relished the challenge, the thrill of not having a daily routine for the first time in her life. The first away mission they shared had nearly ended in tragedy, but that hadn't come anywhere close to dulling her shine.
"You could be." He gestured towards the display behind her, the genetic profiles of several different invertebrates she'd managed to isolate from orbit. "Ever thought about returning to San Francisco and completing the officer's training program? With your prereqs, you'd only be gone a couple of months."
"And miss all the excitement out here?" Liz sounded incredulous, even a little offended. "The doctor and I have a private tour of the zoological park in the capital tomorrow. They have some species that humans have never laid eyes on before."
He clucked his tongue at that, feigning indifference. Between her and Malcolm, teasing his fellow crewman was all too easy, and he couldn't resist. "Is that your only stop on the surface tomorrow?"
"That's the plan."
"That's funny, because I saw Phlox digging around in the airponics bay for red roses this morning." This time, she couldn't hold back the shock that darted across her expression, followed by an ensuing blush. "What are the odds he's saving them to give to someone? Maybe at dinner?"
Liz started to reply, but fortunately, she was cut off by the chime of the comm. Without warning, she rocketed off her seat and went to answer it, slinging Hoshi's headset over one ear with trembling hands. One glance at the display confirmed her suspicions, and suddenly her smile was back. "You've reached the desk of Ensign Sato. She's currently unavailable, can I take a message?"
As Trip watched, her expression went from relieved to confused to horrified, and when she spoke again, her voice was perilously close to a whisper.
"You're hiding in the closet with a what?"
In a matter of minutes, the remainder of the senior staff converged on the situation room at the back of the bridge, breathless and panicked but otherwise present.
Travis had apparently been asleep, and he'd missed a button on his undershirt in his haste to get dressed, leaving him with a slightly disheveled and bewildered appearance. The doctor, their resident nocturnal officer, was as bright-eyed as ever, and all the while his assistant lingered at the science station, unsure whether she was welcome or not. Wearily, Trip met her gaze and beckoned her forward, silently questioning the powers that be as to why they couldn't go one day without encountering ridiculous misadventure.
"Let me guess. Another political assassination?"
"Another case of our hosts not telling us the full story," Trip pulled up a detailed schematic of the B'Saari government complex, zooming in on the banquet hall. "Nallim and Veela's control of the legislature was shaky at best. Now, it looks like the opposition is plotting a coup, a raid on the capital is imminent, and…"
"There's more?" Travis interjected, entirely in disbelief. Without even looking up, Trip reached up to clap a hand on his shoulder, silently conveying that he didn't even know the half of it.
"Their servants were compelled to slip them a love potion, just so they might get them far enough away from the crowd to strike. Instead, the Captain and the Sub-Commander took a drink, and now, they have no idea where they are."
For a split second, none of them moved, let alone breathed. They could all put two and two together, and despite how often their relationship was the subject of gossip and speculation, none of them had ever considered that the tension between Archer and T'Pol would boil over so quickly. Even Trip was prone to tease his friend about his infatuation with their Vulcan chaperone, how much he valued her friendship and her council, but now, he understood that this couldn't leave the bridge. They had to protect their reputations, no matter what.
"They went out looking for them, and Nallim got shot." Trip hastily took over from Liz, determined not to give them more than a moment to mull over that. "His wife and kid are probably next, not to mention that they were due to accept the party's nomination at the banquet tonight. If they don't show up, the protestors in the atrium will make their move."
So that was it. Unbeknownst to even their staunchest allies, the ruling pair had suffered a stunning fall from grace, centered around whether or not they should have allies at all. Nallim and Veela likely had no friends left in the capital, and if they were to find their people and get out of dodge, they would need to be crafty.
"How long has he been dead?"
Phlox's question took them all by surprise; Trip could practically see the wheels turning in Liz's head, though when she finally deciphered the meaning of that, she started shaking her head adamantly. "Absolutely not."
"Elizabeth…"
"No, that's insane. You've never completed the procedure before."
"But I've done plenty of reading." Frustrated, he looked up at Trip and Travis for backup, finding nothing but bemusement at how the two of them bickered like an old married couple. "As long as it's within the first few days, any B'Saari can be temporarily revived enough to perform basic neurological and metabolic functions. With a chair, some speakers, a trick of the light…"
"By the looks of it, I can land within a half-kilometer of the palace while staying outside of their surveillance net." Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour or pure bumbling boomer enthusiasm, but Travis had fallen for the doctor's plot, hook, line, and sinker. He treated him to a Denobulan grin, then they both looked at Liz expectantly, waiting for her to give in.
Finally, she did, turning to take one step towards Hoshi's station. "Fine. I'll let them know to meet us in the basement."
Trip faltered, having expected their brainstorming session to go much longer. All the same, he felt the great compulsion to verify his suspicions.
"Just what exactly are you doing?"
"What do you think?" Liz threw her arms up in the air, shrugging deeply. "We're about to raise the dead!"
(to be continued)