Chapter Five: The Part Where Our Intrepid Heroes Finally Get Some Luck (or Just Get Lucky)
AUTHOR: Mnemosyne
RATING: PG-13
T'Pol was meditating quietly in her quarters when Cupid returned.
"Hey, Tee-pee!" the god enthused, beaming at her as he flashed into existence in front of her bunk. "Hey, niiiiice lotus position. Look, sorry to jet on you like that - Mom sort of read me the riot act. But that's all okay now, because I told her my plan and she got all gooshy and happy and everything's fine with her now. Then I hopped over to Obee's place and got the magic herb," he waved a small, drawstring sack woven of golden thread in front of her placid features, "and we are good to go! Frankly, I think it's just some fancy shmancy oregano he's put the whammy on to make him look all important, but I'm not going to say anything. I'm just glad he didn't stiff me for it!" He paused in his explication and cocked his head curiously at her. "T'Pol? Hello? Helloooooo, Olympus to T'Pol." He waved his hand in front of her eyes. "You in there, T'Pol'san?"
Chocolate brown eyes raised to look at him. "I am here." Slowly, she stood, body unfolding like a pocket knife.
"Phew!" Eros wiped a hand across his brow. "Man, thought I'd gone all Claude Raines on you or something. You know, they never really mention it in the movie, but in order to be invisible, the Invisible Man has to be the NAKED Invisible Man. Don't you think that's weird? I mean, I don't mind flashing the wedding tackle now and then, but I'm a god, so I can more or less get away with that kind of thing. Unless Psyche finds out, then holy Gaia - stay out of the way! There was this one time I saw a particularly foxy Naiad, and I was all, Hey, baby, what's your sign? and she was all Aquarius, and I was all, Hey, I know him! No offense, babe, but he's a bit of a wet blanket. Get it? The water bearer? Wet blanket? Yeah, I thought it was pretty funny, too. So I was in good with her, then Psyche came along and went NUTS. I mean, she went PSYCHO-"
He was cut off by T'Pol smacking him - very hard - on the arm.
"OWWW!" he howled, jumping back and fiercely rubbing his bicep where she'd slapped him. "What in Hades name did you do that for!" he demanded, flexing his arm a few times to try and diffuse the pain.
"You disappeared quite suddenly and with no explanation," the Vulcan explained calmly. "Therefore I was led to believe that I had been hallucinating our encounter. I returned to my quarters to meditate on the problem, before seeking Doctor Phlox's diagnosis. When you reappeared, I was unsure whether you were corporeal or merely another mirage."
"And you figured clocking me was the only way to determine how real I am?"
"Yes."
"You couldn't have ASKED me first?"
"If you were a hallucination, it would be illogical to… ask your permission prior to…"
"Prior to assaulting me? Yeah, well, SOME species have enough manners to ask anyway!" He scowled at her. "Bet you still don't believe I'm a god, either."
"I am not entirely sure you are even real."
Cupid rolled his eyes. "Look, you can continue to live in your little fantasy world, if you like. Personally, I have a job to do." Reaching into the drawstring bag, he withdrew a pinch of the magical herb. "This is my ticket to a happy eternity, T'Pol," he told her, tossing the little bag onto her bunk and staring at the spice clinched between his fingers.
"What if it does not work?"
"You're too negative, T'Pol," he said, clucking his tongue and standing straight to stare her in the eyes. "Nothing's going to go wrong. We're golden."
"And if it does?"
"Look, quit thinking that way, all right? You're making me nervous."
"It is best to have a contingency plan in such affairs."
"It is best for nosy Vulcans to shut their traps and quit yapping like constipated Shi Tzus in such affairs, too!" He knew he was being unnecessarily snappish with her, but she'd disturbed his inner pool of calm, and since he was a god, the ripples were staggering. "Just wait here, smarty spandex, and you'll see the awesome power of a god at work. Begone!" With a snap of his spare fingers, he disappeared.
Thirty seconds later, he was back.
"Hang on," he said, fetching another pinch of spice from the bag. "Okay, let's try again. Begone!" Again, he vanished.
Twenty seconds later, he reappeared.
"The heck…" he muttered, staring at the bag. "Obee, you two timing fairy bastard, what'd you do to my herbs!"
"Is there a problem?" T'Pol asked calmly.
"What?" he snapped. "No! Nothing's wrong at all. Leave me alone! Sheesh, no need to get so invasive."
She arched an eyebrow.
"Cut that out!"
"Cut what out?"
"The eyebrow thingy! It makes me feel guilty, like I've done something terribly, horribly wrong."
"Have you?"
"Yes! I mean, no! I mean, it's not my fault!" Picking up the bag, he thrust it toward her. "Obee made them transmorphic!"
T'Pol began to arch her eyebrow again, then thought better of it and merely took the bag from him. "What is transmorphic?" she asked.
"It means they can pass through solid matter." He pouted. It wasn't fair. The perfect plan, ruined by an egotistical sour puss. "Everytime I try to sprinkle the stuff on Hoshi's eyelids, it just passes through her face and then her mattress, and piles up on the floor."
"Intriguing."
"Yeah. Intriguing. If by intriguing you mean a HUGE FRIGGING DISASTROUS NIGHTMARE!" With a groan, he flopped down on the bed and covered his face with his hands.
"Mom's going to have a fit," he muttered.
Two hours later, Cupid was still sulking on T'Pol's bed, while the Vulcan, curled into a customary position, meditated quietly on the floor. In truth, Cupid wasn't so much sulking as he was practicing excuses and winsome faces. Whenever his mother had been particularly angry with him in the past, all he'd had to do was flash her his big, knee-buckling smile, make a few cherubic comments about her beauty, intelligence, and taste in hair care products, then find her a REALLY big present with lots of glitter on it; preferably diamond glitter. Preferably just plain diamond.
He didn't think that was going to help him this time, though. For the first time in his very long life, he was troubled. Venus had been honestly excited about how he was handling the Hoshi situation, and he really did want to impress his mother. Impressing didn't include scurrying home like a shamefaced lobster and begging for help.
Besides, he'd already given her the Coeur de la Mer for her last Emerging From the Sea Foam Day, so he was sapped for good jewelry ideas. Yeah, he'd had to steal the necklace away from Uncky Poseidon, but what was the old man going to do with a huge blue diamond anyway? Use it as a fishing lure? Besides, if some old woman was going to be silly enough to toss something THAT VALUABLE into the ocean, then it should at least go to someone who was going to appreciate it. And if, along the way, he had been able to smooth over that little Britney/Justin break-up affair, then who would be the wiser?
"I believe I have solved your problem."
Eros stared vacantly at the Vulcan for a moment. Then, shaking his head to rouse himself from his depressed thoughts, he STARED at her. "What? How?" She'd been so quiet, he thought she was asleep.
Standing gracefully, the Vulcan crossed the few steps between herself and the bed and picked up Cupid's discarded pouch of herbs. "The herbs do not pass through the bag," she told him evenly. "Therefore they exist in some corporeal form."
"What help does that give me, Tee-pee, if I can't get them from the bag to the target?"
Calmly, T'Pol tugged open the drawstring mouth of the bag, reached in two long, slender fingers, and withdrew a pinch of spice.
Cupid stared.
"I believe this amount is satisfactory?" she queried, arching an eyebrow.
Cupid continued to stare at her hand, mouth slightly agape. It was an undignified position for a god to be in, but he'd never really cared much about manners. "H… How…?" he jibbered, pointing at her fingers as he dragged his eyes up to stare dazedly into her eyes.
"Logic."
"Wha'?"
T'Pol considered him blandly for a second, then continued. "Based on what you have told me of Oberon, it appears the King of the Fairies sees you as an imbecile with little capacity for logical thought. In this regard, he is true."
Eros blinked, then sat up. "Hey!"
Before he could argue further, T'Pol continued. "Love is seldom related to logic. Logical marriage, for example, would be that which is arranged for the purposes of peace, property or personal gain. Humans have long frowned on such arrangements, choosing instead to focus entirely on such obscure romantic concepts as true love and love at first sight." She arched an eyebrow in obvious disregard. "As a result of this dependency, you, as an embodiment of love, have matured into a flighty deity with little in the way of common sense."
"All right, all right," Cupid muttered, crossing his arms petulantly. "I could hit you with a thunderbolt, you know."
"May I continue?"
"By all means."
"Oberon, aware of your character, tricked you into believing he had bewitched your herbs. In actuality, he bewitched you."
Cupid blinked and sat up straighter. "But I'm a god!" he protested. "He's just a fairy king!"
"And yet he is the only one in possession of the herbs you need to reverse your own magic."
Cupid frowned thoughtfully. "Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully.
"However, Oberon was not aware of one important fact."
"Which is…?"
"Me."
A slow grin spread across the god's face. "Logic," he said smugly.
"Precisely." T'Pol returned her pinch of spice to the pouch and closed it tightly. "In this situation, logic demands we ask one question."
"What's that?"
"If the herbs go through physical matter, why not the bag?"
Cupid was beaming now. "So that clockwork Vulcan mind of yours started working like crazy, until you came up with an answer!"
T'Pol nodded once. "It is just a theory."
"A theory that's going to save my hide!" Bounding up off the bed, Cupid picked up the surprised Vulcan and spun her around in an enormous bear hug. "T'Pol, you are a GENIUS!"
"Please put me down."
"I'd make you a god in thanks, but we already have one Vulcan, and it'd get confusing."
"Please put me down."
"He's also known as Hephaestus, but that's too hard to spell, so we call him Vulcan on all our important godly documents."
"Eros?"
"Mmm?"
"Please. Put. Me. Down."
"Oh! Right." He hastily set her back on her feet.
"Thank you," she said drily.
"Not a problem." He grinned at her. "Now all I've got to do is voom you to Malcolm's quarters, then you can work the magic on Hoshi, and bingo! All's well that ends well, bring us the umbrella drinks and sit back to watch the sunset."
There was the dratted eyebrow again. "I cannot do this for you," T'Pol said with maddening calmness.
"And why not?"
"I am not convinced you are real," she told him. "This entire conversation may simply be a delusion, brought on by too much time spent with Commander Tucker."
"What the Tartarus does he have to do with anything?"
"He is an infuriating man. It is possible he has driven me insane."
Cupid rolled his eyes. "Look," he said, holding his hands out to her, "just do this one thing, okay? Just this. Believe in it or don't, I don't care, so long as you DO it. If it's not real, no harm done. If it IS, though, then not only have you helped your friends, but you've saved the skin of a god and made him very, VERY indebted to you. Honestly, what's the harm?" A sly twinkle flared in his eyes. "It's only logical, right?"
When she lowered the eyebrow, he knew he'd won.
Malcolm was balanced on a wonderfully warm line somewhere between ecstasy and heaven. For the first time in his life, he didn't feel the urge to move, think or concentrate on anything at all. In fact, he was inclined to do exactly the OPPOSITE of all of those.
Except the last one, actually, because Hoshi Sato was sleeping peacefully in his arms, and he very much wanted to concentrate on THAT.
Not for the first time, he found his eyes tracing the delicate curve of her ear, trailing down the column of her neck and up over the smooth rise of her shoulder. He was spooned up against her back, one arm above the blankets, curled protectively around her slender torso. Under the sheets, he was still in his boxers - somehow, he'd managed to keep them on, despite all of Hoshi's protests to the contrary. Though towards the end, she hadn't been protesting too loudly, or too often. All those one-nighters at the Six Oh Two Club had taught him PLENTY.
"Mmmm, cinnamon buns," Hoshi murmured, shifting in her sleep. Malcolm grinned as she moved in his arms. He was doing that a lot - grinning. Grinning when she moved. Grinning when she mumbled. Grinning when she breathed. He fancied he must have looked something like a great skinny gargoyle to any outsiders who might have chanced to see him. He didn't grin often, but when he did, it was full frontal.
He was just beginning to doze, visions of Hoshi dressed as a sugar plum dancing in his head, when there was a bright flash of light - as if someone had cut the air with a bolt of lightning - and then T'Pol was there.
"Sub-Commander?" he asked groggily, trying to rouse his soggy brain.
"Oom-pah-pah, oom-pah-pah," she replied in her usual matter-of-fact tone as she leaned over the edge of the bed. "Boom chaka laka laka hey."
Malcolm blinked. "What?"
"Oh Danny boy," she continued, as if she didn't hear him, extending one slim hand over Hoshi's face and sprinkling something onto the sleeping comm officer's eyes.
"Sub-Commander, WHAT are you doing here?" he asked, more stridently this time, as he pushed himself up onto one elbow, careful not to jar the ensign awake. "And why are you … seasoning … Hoshi?" Seasoning didn't have quite the threatening ring to it he'd intended, but he was under pressure.
T'Pol took a step away from the bed and stared down at him with placid eyes. Then, quite suddenly, she began to…
Oh, bloody hell.
"Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena."
There was something obscenely peculiar about watching T'Pol hop about like a lunatic rabbit.
"Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegria y cosa buena."
Malcolm had been through quite enough peculiarity for one day, thank you very much.
"Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena."
"Reminder to self," he muttered, lying down again. "No more salsa before bed."
T'Pol appeared to raise an eyebrow in response to his comment, but didn't stop dancing.
"Ehhhh, Macarena."
As she clapped her hands, there was another blinding flash, and she was gone.
Malcolm grunted, satisfied, and closed his eyes. "Bloody dreams," he muttered, burying his face in Hoshi's sweet-smelling hair, already nodding off. "At least she could have been naked."
"Brilliant! Brilliant!" Cupid enthused as T'Pol reappeared in her quarters. "And the Macarena bit at the end? Nothing short of genius!"
"He should be suitably convinced it was a dream," T'Pol responded placidly.
"T'Pol, I could KISS you!"
"Please put me down."
"How can I repay you!"
"By putting me down."
"I mean, I have to do SOMETHING. But what!"
"May I suggest putting me down?"
"You are SUCH a spoil sport," Cupid complained, but obligingly put her back on her feet. "Come on, give me something to work with. What do you want?"
T'Pol crossed her wrists behind her back. "I require nothing."
Eros snorted. "T'Pol, baby, you have a GOD in your debt. A GOD. Do you know what that means? That means you can have ANYTHING YOU WANT." He paused to think, then tilted his head, considering. "Well… Okay, not ANYTHING. I mean, I can't, say, give you the sun, because Apollo would get pissed with me. He may look like a pretty boy, but he's got a right hook that'd knock your socks off. Although… I wonder… You know, since Vulcan doesn't share the same sun as Earth, I MIGHT be able to pull that off-"
He was just beginning to warm to the idea of giving T'Pol Vulcan's twin suns as a present, and was trying to figure out how to wrap them, when the science officer interrupted his thoughts. "I have a suggestion."
Cupid's ears perked up. "Oh?"
She nodded.
"Spill!"
She did.
Hours later, Malcolm muttered something unintelligible and opened his eyes. He was still in bed, and the digital clock he'd mounted above his bunk told him it was approximately three in the morning. Normally, his mind was clear and sharp as a razor when he woke - it came from years of training. But right now, for whatever reason, he felt like he'd been buried in a mountain of fuzz. He couldn't think straight.
It took him a minute to realize the mountain of fuzz was real, and another thirty seconds to deduce it wasn't fuzz, but hair. Long, thick, glorious, glossy black hair that smelled like Lily of the Valley.
Hoshi's hair.
"Bloody-!" he yelped, sitting bolt upright and pressing his back against the wall as memories of their … activities from earlier that night came back to him. A sick weight settled in his stomach as realization washed over him.
He was a pig. A base, disgusting, hormone-driven pig. Instead of fighting his lowest impulses, he'd given in; only luck and a little bit of lingering decency had kept him from crossing that final boundary.
Oh… God. Hoshi would hate him. Who had he been kidding, thinking he could get away with… DOING those things with her - TO her - without any repercussions? Hoshi wasn't some toy to be teased and tucked away in a drawer for reinflation later. She was a woman, with memories and feelings and dignity. If he was lucky, she wouldn't stab him in the chest the next time they were on the bridge together. With luck, she'd make it the back, so he wouldn't have to see the utter revulsion in her eyes as she did it.
Dear God… what would he do if, when she woke, nothing had changed, and her hormones were still sky high? How could he get away?
"What have I done?" he whispered hoarsely, already planning escape routes. If he was careful, perhaps she'd wake up thinking she was in her own cabin, not his. True, the framed pictures of naval battle cruisers that were his only decoration MIGHT be a bit of a drawback-
"Malcolm…?"
He caught his breath as the sleepy voice meandered past his ears, and he felt the woman in front of him shift in her sleep. With a tremendous yawn and a catlike stretch, she rolled onto her back, blinking her eyes and gazing up at him.
"Time…?" she mumbled blearily, rubbing her eyes.
"It's…uh… well, almost three in the morning." He pressed tighter against the wall, trying to ignore the fact that the blankets were inching down her body, half revealing her breasts. "Feeling better?"
A broad smile stretched across her face. "Mmmmmmmmm, much," she affirmed, nodding as she stretched again. "You?"
"Fine," he replied evasively. "I… Let me call Doctor Phlox. I'm sure he'll want to take a look at you." He was trying to find a way to get over her without touching her so he could reach the comm panel, when a delicate hand rested on his arm. His blue eyes snapped up to her face.
She was smiling at him.
"I don't want to talk to Phlox yet," she murmured, rubbing his arm gently. "Just… wait?"
Malcolm swallowed. Hard. "All right," he said quietly, sitting back again, back a rigid line against the wall.
Hoshi sighed and rolled her eyes. "You're nervous, aren't you?" she said, sitting up and keeping the blankets tucked neatly around her upper body. Well, that was an improvement at least; earlier, it had been all he could do to get her to STAY covered up. "You think I'm going to be all angry with you, right? You think I hate you."
He hung his head. "I'm transparent," he murmured.
"No, you're not. But I know you well enough by now to tell when you're beating yourself up inside. Misery. It's your second favorite emotion."
"What's my first?" He looked up, but tried not to meet her eyes.
She would have none of that, and tugged his chin around until he was staring directly into her eyes. "I'm not sure," she told him, smiling as she said it. "But I've decided I'd really like to find out."
He blinked at her. Then, slowly, the hint of a smile began to dawn on his face. "Is that… really you, Hoshi?" he asked tentatively.
She nodded. "In the flesh." A soft laugh escaped her. "Literally, it seems."
"You're not still…" He made a vague gesture, encompassing her whole body.
"Nope." She shook her head, silky hair sliding over her shoulders.
"Are you sure?"
"Have I tried to jump you yet?"
"Well… no."
"Then there's your answer."
Malcolm couldn't help but smile at the teasing tone of her voice. His Hoshi, by some miracle, was back, and she wasn't angry with him. "Is everything… okay then?"
"No."
His face fell. "What's wrong?" he asked.
A wicked smile flared to life on her face. "It seems to me we've spent the whole night so far concentrating on me. Me, me, me. Now, no offense - a girl likes to be the center of attention. But now I feel guilty, and there's nothing like guilt to really put the brakes on an otherwise fun and frisky evening." With a predatory purr, she began to lean towards him.
"Hoshi!" he exclaimed, backing up against the wall, eyes wide. "I think you need to see the doctor!"
"Why, because I want you?" She chuckled as she nibbled on his lower lip. "Newsflash, lieutenant. It doesn't always take a hormone imbalance on a macroscopic level to make a girl interested in you." She ran her tongue over his lips, and nuzzled his jaw.
"I… don't…"
"Don't understand? Let me put it simply for you." Sliding closer, she pressed up against him. The only barrier between them was the starched white cotton of his bed sheet.
"After last night's movie, I was going to ask you to dinner," she purred in his ear. "I was going to regale you with hilarious stories of my time in the Academy, and then I was going to ask you to escort me back to my quarters. And when we GOT to my quarters, I was going to artfully and tactfully maneuver you into my bed, Lieutenant." She nipped at his earlobe. "So really, everything that's happened has just been reality in fast forward." She sat back, smiling at him. "Happy now?"
He stared at her for a second, with something resembling disbelief on his face. "But… protocol…" he managed to croak out.
"Eh." She waved a dismissive hand. "Jon told me to go for it."
"The Captain?!" Malcolm's eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
"Well, we ARE old friends, after all. I figured I could talk to him about the whole affair. He seemed to understand."
"I could be court-martialed!"
"There, there, Malcolm," Hoshi soothed, patting his cheek gently. "I promise, you'll be fine. I'll make sure of it."
It was hopeless. Malcolm couldn't help feeling he was the victim in a very elaborate game; a pawn in some intergalactic game of chess played by lethargic gods who had nothing better to do. It was incredibly unfair.
But eh. Live in the moment - wasn't that what Trip was always telling him?
He grinned.
"Wait here," he said, pecking Hoshi gently on the lips before climbing out of bed.
"Where are you going?" she called after him, curling up against the wall and watching him walk. He could feel her eyes on his back.
Reaching the comm unit, he put one finger over his lips, signaling her to stay quiet, and keyed the panel. "Reed to the Mess Hall."
There was a pause. Then, "Mess Hall, Crewman Sanchez here. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"
"I was wondering if I could have some marmalade brought up to my quarters, Crewman," Malcolm said, giving Hoshi a wicked smile. "I've just had the sudden craving for it, but I'm afraid Doctor Phlox has restricted me to quarters for a little while. I'm sorry to bother you at such a late hour."
"Nothing else doing during the graveyard shift, Lieutenant. I'll have some brought to you immediately."
"Thank you, crewman. Reed out." He keyed off the comm and leaned against the wall, grinning at Hoshi and crossing his arms over his stomach.
"Naughty boy," she said, eyes twinkling.
"Actually, I think I've been quite good tonight," he responded. "Don't you?"
"Oh, the best."
"I think that deserves a little repayment, don't you?"
"Naughty AND greedy. Bad, bad boy."
"Would you like to punish me then?"
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure." She patted the bed beside her. "Come 'ere, Lieutenant. I intend to mess up this bunk a little before that marmalade arrives and does the job for us."
He all but vaulted for the bed.
To be concluded…