A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for the love.

See the first chapter for content disclaimers.

Let Me Take You Out

Chapter Six

For the longest time after their fateful discovery, Archer and T'Pol remained frozen in place in the middle of the hallway, trying to make sense of what had just unfolded over the course of the past few minutes.

Minutes? Had it been hours, or even days?

Jon reached for his PADD, only to discover that he'd somehow lost it in between the banquet and the maintenance closet and the heated embrace that had stolen away all his good sense. Even though the sight before them was almost unimaginably horrifying, he was still reeling from the very fact that he had kissed his first officer and she had kissed him back. Her scent was intoxicating, her presence was utterly commanding, and he had been content to allow her to have exactly what she wanted. Even now, he could almost feel the ghost of her lips on his neck, his cheek, the tip of his nose, the utter bliss reverberating through every nerve ending in his body. The experience had been simply indescribable. Starfleet and the High Command be damned, he wanted to feel that again.

It had all been so perfect. It had all been so right - exactly the opposite of now, with this severed head staining the marble before them, laying in a pool of blood with its features twisted in a grotesque mask of mortal terror.

They had seen Veela alive and well just a short time ago, had shared a laugh or two before the mania took over. The obvious couldn't be ignored.

"Those drinks we shared were meant for the prime ministers. The intended effect of that…" T'Pol paused, sighing deeply, and resumed bouncing the small boy on her hip. Though she was clearly searching for the right word, her demeanor remained calm, something Jonathan certainly couldn't say for himself. "...aphrodisiac was to get Nallim and Veela into an isolated area so the assassination could be carried out undetected."

That very word felt like a punch to the gut, a small victory and a miserable let down all at once. Not only had T'Pol acknowledged what had just happened between them, she had drawn attention to the suspicions they'd both held from the moment they set down on this planet. Suddenly Jon felt awfully guilty for everything that had transpired - she had embraced him willingly, had trusted him, and he had neglected to stop even after he knew he should, had allowed his own impulsiveness to lead them into trouble again. They would be lucky to escape this alive, let alone with their friendship even remotely intact.

"T'Pol, I…"

"Captain," she interjected, swiftly redirecting him before he could deviate from the task at hand. He wasn't sure what it was, but something had shifted between them, and he could nearly feel the maelstrom that lay beneath the surface of her stoic exterior, the confusion, the anxiety, the embarrassment. Without even saying it, he knew she wasn't angry, and that was comforting. "We need to call up to the ship."

"No, we should find Nallim first. I think this hallway leads back to the ballroom, or maybe the next…"

He was cut off by the rise of an eyebrow arching into her hairline. The baby was still whimpering, so she redoubled her efforts, consciously turning away from his mother's severed head and rubbing his back in small, careful circles. "There is no guarantee he is still alive."

As much as he wanted to deny it, the odds that this little boy was now alone in the universe were growing steeper by the second. The absence of the nanny spoke volumes. No longer was he responsible for just his own safety and that of his crew, but also a helpless, innocent child, who probably had a target on his back.

Desperately, he went for his communicator, only to find that it was missing as well. T'Pol shifted her charge to the opposite hip and reached for her own, then shook her head, indicating they were fresh out of luck.

No scanners, no weapons, and no way to speak with the outside world. At least Jonathan was used to overcoming nearly insurmountable odds, and found solace in the fact that they had survived worse. Before he could talk himself out of it, he slowly closed the distance between them and what remained of Veela, threaded his fingers through her blood-stained updo, and cradled her head as one might an infant, swallowing hard to keep his lunch down. He wasn't sure if it was the residual toxins in his system or pure, bumbling instinct, but he had the slightest hint of an idea, one that might just work, given an absurd abundance of luck.

Within a matter of seconds, he felt a warm, familiar hand come up to rest in the curve of his free elbow. It came as a shock to the system, and Jon stopped midstep, glancing back and meeting the fraught, wide-eyed gaze of the woman he adored more than life itself.

"Do you still trust me, T'Pol?"

It was a loaded question, the same one he'd asked before they disappeared into the maintenance closet the first time. She had told him point blank that she trusted him more than anyone else, and though her tongue had been loosened by a bit of liquid courage, Jonathan knew without a shadow of a doubt that she meant it.

This time, she didn't say anything, just let the tips of her fingers stray from his elbow down his sleeve to the curve of his wrist. The soft buzz of electricity was back, shooting up his arm and traveling directly to his heart. It skipped a beat or two, and he hazarded a deep, shuddering breath, only to find her nodding her assent, heartbreakingly earnest as always.

With every meter they descended towards the surface, the more Crewman Cutler became convinced that this was all going to end very badly.

Travis was doing his best to keep spirits high, though the tension was unbearable. She had to fight to keep their cargo load light, but they were still going to be weighed down and slow moving, which only increased their chances of being spotted. Sensing that her patience was wearing thin, Phlox had cleared off a spot on the bench for her to sit amongst his tools and implements, but she had refused, preferring to pace the length of the craft over and over again.

Malcolm and Hoshi had practically guaranteed that their path would be clear to the basement, and they would be waiting there in the company of the dead man. The B'Saari were known for their medical innovation and technical skill, and her companion had read enough into their methods of temporary revitalization to convince himself that it was well within his capabilities as a surgeon to throw the dice, to play God, to bring a man back to life.

Really, Nallim would only be capable of simple neurological and metabolic functions, but that would be enough. If he didn't show up along with his wife to accept the party nomination at the end of the night, the opposition would make their move, and the couple's entire regime would topple before they could get Veela and the child to safety.

That was assuming they were even still alive. Even now, Liz wasn't feeling too optimistic.

Ensign Mayweather turned off their headlights as they broke through the clouds, landing the craft discretely in a grove of trees through sight alone. The second the thrusters powered down, he released his iron grip on the joystick and turned around, studying the two of them as though he'd never seen him before. "Should I even wish you two good luck?"

"Ah, luck has nothing to do with it," Phlox replied, chipper as usual, and began to shoulder one of the suitcases they'd dragged all the way from sickbay. She'd spent enough time with the doctor to know that he hid his doubts behind a smile and a blithe denial of the obvious, which she found both endearing and frightening.

As usual, he wore his heart on his sleeve, forever willing to stick his neck out to help those in need. Liz could only hope it wouldn't be their downfall.

She mumbled something about needing a miracle instead, and Travis replied by leaning forward to rustle around in the glove compartment, coming away with something compact and silvery in his hands.

"If anyone tries to apprehend you, convince them to let you pass. If they insist, make sure they ask nicely." The object changed hands, and she realized at once what it was, testing the shape and heft with her fingers. "The phase pistol's name is Nicely."

Everyone on the Enterprise was a competent shot, as they all had put their fair share of time at Lieutenant Reed's targeting range, but never before had she been authorized to use lethal force. The senior staff faced these kinds of life or death situations on a daily basis, and today, she would be called to do the very same.

And to think that just a year ago she'd been settling into a teaching position at a local university, fully satisfied to make slow, unhurried progress towards tenure and an unremarkable life. The very fabric of the universe, of their own little reality, was slowly tilting away, and it was all she could do to hang on for the ride.

The rush of cold air enveloped her in a tidal wave, and she snapped back to attention, slowly clambering over the threshold. The night was cool and overcast, impossibly dark given that they were presently in the middle of the city. Somewhere, insects were singing and hovercars were running and the whisper of conversation from the party reached them on the breath of the wind. She remained standing there stock still for one moment, then two, until she heard the hatch sliding shut behind them and began to stalk through the tall grass, hustling in a desperate attempt to keep up with the doctor.

The closer they drew to civilization, ducking in between shubberies and topiaries, dodging feuding couples and trysting lovers behind every tree, the more her own worry threatened to consume her. In such a time as this, she needed comfort and reassurance, and though their relationship was still undefined, she still reached out to him, grabbing onto Phlox's hand with force and bringing their pursuit to a grinding halt.

This time, he hardly glanced down at the point of contact, something that she had grown to expect over the weeks and months of dinners and movie nights and experiments in sickbay. Denobulans weren't too keen on physical touch, but she seemed to be the exception, something she was all too grateful for.

"I don't understand how we're not going to draw the attention of the staff," she confessed, keeping her voice low. "We're going to be running the cardio-stimulator at maximum power. That's bound to trip a few breakers."

"We'll work as quickly as possible. It will only take a single cerebellar implant and remote controller to maintain his motor functions during the speech." Ever so slightly, he turned his head, fully anticipating her skepticism. "Believe me, I've seen it done at a symposium. My memory of this procedure is excellent."

Still, she wasn't convinced. Liz squeezed his hand tightly once more before letting go, resolving to swallow her trepidation and take the lead as they made their way through the gardens around the house. "Wouldn't we need to operate on both brains?"

"That's a common misconception. B'Saari can actually live with a single head for some time due to their redundant nervous systems."

They were achingly close to the entry to the basement now, and she paused, crouching down as two lawmen passed by their hiding spot, deep in conversation. Her pulse was racing so fast she could barely think, and didn't register how odd her question sounded until it was too late.

"Do they have two of everything?"

It could have been the shadows or the clouds drifting overhead, but she could have sworn that their normally brash, unashamed doctor blushed. "Almost everything."

Liz buried her smile in the sleeve of her uniform, coming away with an outstretched hand counting down from five. On one, they charged across the lawn together with all the grace of two bulls in a china shop, threw open the hatch, and thundered down the stairs, praying they wouldn't fall and cause a pile up in the otherwise pitch black basement. The second she reached the bottom of the landing, she let the pack she'd been carrying go flying, and doubled over her knees, struggling to catch her breath.

That was when she heard it. In the near darkness, there was a rustle of movement, the barest hint of boots scraping against the floor. She reached for her flashlight, but Phlox was faster, and they soon realized they weren't alone, but surrounded by two terrified officers and a lifeless body on a gurney, already hooked up to all means of monitors. Both Malcolm and Hoshi were covered in blood from head to toe, and they had both affected that thousand-yard stare, the likes of which she had only ever really seen in movies.

"How long do we have?" She had no idea of where to start, so she skipped right past her natural revulsion to the stench of death and staggered over to the corpse which had once been Nallim, prime minister of the B'Saari.

They were lucky - the particle weapon blast had only entered one temple before exiting the other side, and unless she were to miss her guess, the cause of death was likely an extreme loss of blood, which most of them were now sporting. She would be tasked with making him presentable while Phlox dug around in his gray matter, forming into a horrifying, Frankenstein-like puppet of their own design.

There was something so terribly macabre about it all that she felt her breath die in her throat. Behind her, Malcolm made a big show of retrieving his PADD and checking the time. "Forty-six minutes on the dot."

"Have you managed to reproduce his voice?" At some point, Phlox had joined her, bending forward to indicate the sensor secured to one of the man's throats. If they were to convince a room full of power hungry dissidents that their leader was in fact still alive, they would need to depend on their resources - namely, sunglasses, a wheelchair, and the most capable communications officer this side of Sol, who was presently so pale she looked like she would pass out at any second.

Hoshi said nothing, only retreated to the sink, where they soon heard water running. By contrast, Malcolm hadn't even bothered to wipe the blood from his face, and drew even closer, helping her arrange instruments all over the operating tray.

"The coast is clear," he promised. "No one knows we're down here. Ensign Sato and I were meticulous."

She almost wanted to ask how they'd gone about dragging a corpse halfway across the building without being noticed, but withheld her curiosity. Glancing down, she confirmed that they were both carrying the same phase pistol, and the significance of that was not lost on her.

"He's going to need supplemental oxygen," Phlox said quietly, giving her a subtle nudge in the right direction. At a time like this, all she wanted to do was collapse into his arms and weep, but she simply threw her shoulders back and went for the cannula, unwinding the material between her fingers.

"Our next step is going to be to find Veela," Malcolm continued effortlessly, as if he weren't watching the two of them prepare for experimental surgery. "She's got to be in on the plan if we want this to work."

"There's no way people are going to fall for it."

"It doesn't have to work for long." Her paramour's reminder was perfectly nonchalant, without a hint of malice. "Just enough for her and the child to escape."

Of course. This wasn't about them, but for their allies, the likes of which would almost certainly never do the same for humanity. The double standard was apparent, and she was consumed by it as she wrestled with a handful of sterile dressings, preparing to gown up within an inch of her life.

The sound of the magnetic lock shaking reached them from across the room - though she couldn't see it in the dark, there was little doubt someone was at the door now, that they had been discovered, that it was only seconds until their holographic assassins returned to finish the job. In the blink of an eye, Malcolm's phase pistol was in his hands, and the rest of them were frozen, glancing between one another as they desperately tried to figure out their next move.

It was then Liz noticed that Hoshi's hair was lose, having been divested of its elastics and bobby pins, and that she looked terribly guilty, enough that it instantly made her wonder if she'd left a trail of breadcrumbs for the Captain and the Sub-Commander to find.

All of this was a hell of a gamble, and for a split second, she was sure that Malcolm was about to throttle her. But then a familiar voice cut through the stillness, a welcome reprieve to her frayed nerves.

"Anybody in there?"

(to be continued)