AN: Thanks to JadziaKathryn and Exploded Pen for reviewing Chapter 1! Here's the next chapter, please R&R!

Chapter 2

In the late afternoon of that day Jonathan Archer walked down the corridor towards Engineering, feeling strangely restless. Somehow he couldn't seem to concentrate on anything today, and least of all on that blasted introduction. It kept lurking in the back of his mind, no matter how often he tried to put it aside and catch up on some of his other work, for a change.

Three days ago Admiral Forrest had contacted him, sounding rather rueful as he asked him to write yet another foreword to yet another technical manual that was going to be published soon. Of course it was about warp technology, and of course everyone expected Jonathan Archer to come up with yet another witty, endearing, easy-to-read-yet-still-philosophical essay on how his father had made one of the greatest contributions to mankind's development by constructing a warp-five-engine.

All Archer had come up with yet, though, was a fairly wordy paragraph on how the Vulcan government had managed to delay the engine's completion for years, and as he read through it again, he winced at his choice of words more than once. Well, maybe he wasn't the best of essayists, but somehow Lieutenant Reed's constant sniffing and sneezing had made him nervous while he'd written that paragraph. And anyway, today seemed to be one of those days, and no one could expect you to come up with witty philosophical ideas on one of those days. Maybe Trip could help him. While philosophical witticism wasn't one of the engineer's strong sides either, sometimes the engineer's blunt way of voicing his opinion helped Archer to see things from a different point of view.

As he opened the door to Engineering, his eyes fell on the usual scene of buzzing activity. Several members of Trip's Engineering staff greeted him as he entered the room, but Tucker himself was nowhere to be seen.

Stepping closer to the stairs that led to the upper level, Archer saw Lieutenant Hess working at the main console where Trip was usually standing. She turned her head and smiled at him.

"Captain."

"Have you seen Commander Tucker, Lieutenant?"

Archer wasn't sure, but for a moment he'd had the impression Hess was biting back a grin as he'd mentioned Trip.

"Yes, Sir, he's taking care of one of the Jeffries tubes in the back."

"Thanks."

Bewildered, Archer made his way to the back of the room. Maintaining the Jeffries tubes was one of the dullest tasks in Engineering and very unpopular as well for you had to lie flat on your back for hours, tightening screws while a cramp was building in the back of your neck. Usually some hapless ensign got stuck with the job, and Archer remembered how Trip had told him once it was worth getting promoted just because nobody made you repair Jeffries tubes anymore.

Sure enough, though, as Archer had reached the back of the room he saw two blue-clad legs sticking out from one of the tubes. As he stepped closer, he heard a loud clang and Tucker's muffled voice.

"Damn son of a - "

Archer knocked on the side of the Jeffries tube. "Trip!"

There was another clang and the sound of a head bumping against metal.

"Shit!"

Nursing his forehead, Trip came crawling out of the Jeffries Tube. "Hell, Jon, d'ya have to startle me like that?"

"Sorry." Archer watched in confusion as Trip blinked several times, as if trying to clear his vision. "Everything alright with you?"

Trip grimaced. "Sure, I love to bang my head on the Jeffries tubes. Could do it all day long just for the fun of it."

Noticing Archer's frown, he sighed. "Sorry Jon. Guess there're days when it's better to stay in bed, ya know what I mean." He wiped off his hands on his uniform. "There somethin' I can do for ya?"

Archer was still not convinced. "You look awful, Trip. You sure everything's alright?"

Trip shrugged. "I'm fine," he said, sounding exactly like Lieutenant Reed. "Did ya check on Malcolm, by the way?"

Archer nodded. "I stopped by his quarters earlier to make sure he really stays in bed and doesn't sneak off to the Armoury when no one's looking. I don't think he's getting better, though. I sent down Liz Cutler to give him something for the headache." He shook his head. "I don't know what he was thinking, burying himself under all those blankets, no wonder he's got a headache. He was hardly able to breath."

But Trip didn't seem to have listened. He'd closed his eyes taking a deep breath and suddenly gave a sneeze. Sniffing, he looked back at Archer.

"'Scuse me, Jon, what did you say?"

Archer took a close look at his friend. Trip was paler than usual, his nose slightly swollen and red, his eyes glassy.

"Trip, I think you need to lie down as well. You look sick."

"I told you, I'm fine. I'm just - ACHOO!!"

Archer handed him a handkerchief and Trip sat down on one of the workbenches, blowing his nose.

"Oh boy, it feels like ma head's gonna burst any minute."

Archer reached out and put a hand to Trip's forehead. As he had expected, it felt hot.

"You're running a fever, Trip. Looks like Malcolm's given you his cold. You'd better go lie down in your quarters."

Trip got up. "No way. I still got work to do."

"Like repairing the Jeffries tubes?" Archer snorted in disbelief. "Come on, Trip, it's no use trying to get any work done when you're sick. Or do I have to call Security to take you to your quarters?"

Trip grinned weakly. "I just put Security to bed a few hours ago, so I don' think it would be much use callin' him."

"Trip-"

"Alright, alright, I'm goin'." He looked at Archer and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Did anyone ever tell you you're the worst motherhen ever to become a Starfleet Captain, Jon?"

Indeed, Archer had heard this particular accusation before, but felt his cheeks grow warm nonetheless. Trying to cover up his reaction, he made a shooing motion in Trip's direction, propelling him towards the door.

"Well, I do get the impression that at least two of my senior officers need a babysitter from time to time! Now go lie down, and I'll have Liz Cutler come by your quarters later to check if you need anything, okay?"

Trip turned to go, but not without a last smirk in Jon's direction. "Yes sir, Papa Archer."

"And don't call me that!!"

But Trip was already gone. Letting out a weary sigh, Jon looked down at the padd he was still holding. Seemed like he would have to find someone else to give him new ideas for his introduction. Well, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to ask T'Pol. She was a merciless beta-reader, but she had quite a talent of condensing things while he tended to get a little longwinded sometimes. And unlike Trip, she never failed to find every single spelling mistake.

Tucking the padd into his back pocket, Archer made his way back to the door and left Engineering. At the danger of being called an incorrigible motherhen (God, he hated that word), he couldn't deny that he still felt a little worried. Charles Tucker III hardly ever got sick at all, and in all the years Archer had known him, he'd never had a headcold. Being used to the damp foggy air of the Florida Everglades Trip's lungs were immune to any kind of respiratory tract disease there was. Archer wasn't so surprised about Lieutenant Reed, who was affectionately being called "Malcolm the Sneezer" by some of his Security underlings and Trip (not that they'd ever dare to say it in front of him, except for Trip who had only the faintest grasp of what "tactfulness" meant). But even Malcolm with his allergies could hardly have contracted a cold on a sterile starship where the air was constantly being filtered and recycled. He'd managed before, of course, but then the virus had come from inside some vacuum-sealed equipment box. And as far as Archer remembered, they hadn't gotten any new equipment - vacuum-sealed or not - during the last four month.

Could a virus survive, lurking somewhere in some far corner, for more than two years? But why should it suddenly begin to spread again after being inactive for so long, even if (and Archer seriously doubted that was the case) it actually could survive for such a long time? There had to be another explanation.

Briefly, Archer considered waking Dr. Phlox, but he dismissed the idea as he thought of how... disoriented the Denobulan doctor usually was when woken up from hibernation too early. And it was no urgent emergency either, so Archer decided rather to deal with two sick and grumpy officers himself than entrusting them to the care of one tired and grumpy physician. He recalled every planetfall they'd made during the last three month and realized there had been indeed many opportunities Malcolm and Trip could have caught that virus. Well, as long as the symptoms were more or less harmless there was no need to worry, Archer told himself. Raising his hand he massaged the back of his neck where a dull pain was throbbing. He hadn't had much time to go to the gym lately, and noticed with mild irritation that he was beginning to feel kind of sluggish. Time I get some exercise, he thought, making a mental note to pay a visit to the gym later. But first he had to get that introduction done.

He pressed the buzzer at the door to T'Pol's quarters and felt nervosity building in the pit of his stomach. Although he knew perfectly well he was being silly, he couldn't help the queasy feeling he always experienced when he let T'Pol read something he had written, even when it was as dull as these introductions. It was only with her that he felt like this. He didn't mind Trip making snide remarks in that drawling hillbilly way of his, nor did he mind Hoshi politely hiding a grin when she pointed out his occasional grammar mistakes. But every time T'Pol's eyebrow only so much as twitched when she read what he'd written he felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. Somehow it mattered a lot what she thought of the way he expressed his thoughts and feelings.

Archer never pondered on this feeling for long, nor did he try to think of where it might come from. He'd thought about it long enough to realize it would certainly complicate his life to pay too close attention to that subject, so he tried not to. Between planet explorations, first contacts and diplomatic missions his life was complicated enough already.

The bulkhead swished aside and T'Pol stood in the doorway, wearing a richly ornamented meditation robe. In comparison to the tight-fitting Vulcan uniform the robe was of loose cut, and somehow it made her features look even more delicate. Archer cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. Maybe it's better if I come back later..."

T'Pol stepped aside, making room for him to enter.

"You did not disturb me, Captain. I have just finished my meditations. Please, come in."

As he entered, a comfortable warmth embraced him, as it always did when he was in her quarters. The room temperature was kept slightly higher than it was in the rest of the ship; with the dim candlelight casting strange shadows on the walls and the strangely shaped ceremonial object decorating the wall above her bunk it felt like entering the entrance hall of a Vulcan monastery. A faint trace of incense was in the air and Archer's eyes fell on two candles burning in their holders on the floor. His head felt strangely woozy and he blinked to clear his vision.

"Well, I'm sorry for the intrusion, but I thought maybe you could take a look at this."

He retrieved the padd from his pocket and handed it to T'Pol. She switched it on and scanned through the text, raising an eyebrow.

"The introduction?"

"Yes. It's not finished yet," he added hastily. "It's just that I... I don't really know how to continue after that last paragraph and thought maybe you would come up with something."

T'Pol's eyebrow quivered slightly. Had she been human, a smile would have been tugging at the corner of her mouth. Being Vulcan, her lips were a perfect straight line, but there was no mistaking the amused glint in her eyes as she looked up at him.

"How much time did you spend on this, Captain?"

Archer shrugged, feeling a little stupid. "No idea. Some hours, I s'pose."

T'Pol folded her hands around the padd. "Captain, it is just an introduction to a technical manual, and I seem to recall Admiral Forrest advising you to keep it "short and sweet"."

She scanned through the text again.

"I do not think it was necessary to write sixteen pages."

Archer sighed. "I know! I tried to keep it short, but I can't say all this on three or four pages."

T'Pol's eyebrow twitched again. "I think Admiral Forrest had about one and a half page in mind when he asked you to write this."

"There's no way I can describe my father's life and work in one and a half page."

T'Pol put the padd down on her desk and eyed him intensely.

"Captain, are you feeling well?"

Of course she would ask this. "Last time I checked, we weren't passing any singularities. I'm not going crazy, T'Pol, I just want to get this finished."

She clasped her hinds behind her back.

"Captain, I was not referring to your... dedication to writing these introductions. While you do tend to exhaust yourself in your effort to produce a more or less perfect result, I do not think your mental health is in immediate danger at the moment."

Sometimes the greatest challenge in talking to T'Pol was sorting out all those sophisticated expressions and translating them into normal English. Still, Archer couldn't really tell whether he'd just been insulted or complimented. Somewhere in the back of his skull he felt a headache starting.

"What were you referring to, then?"

She gave him another one of her intense stares. "Captain, you look tired."

No surprises there; he hadn't slept very well that night and with every minute he spent in this warm room breathing the scented air he felt his sore eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

"Well," he heard himself saying, his voice a drawl that actually reminded him of Trip, "maybe I just need to get some rest. I've been feeling kinda weird all day."

"Maybe you want to sit down for a moment while I go through this..."

T'Pol's voice sounded a little worried, but Archer didn't really notice. He sat down on her bunk, leaning heavily against the wall. Closing he realized how tired he actually was. The pain in the back of his neck was slowly beginning to ease and he felt more relaxed than he had in days. But he couldn't very well fall asleep in his Science Officer's quarters... and besides he needed to finish that introduction. He would just let himself drift and think of nothing... only for a minute...

T'Pol looked up from her reading when she heard a strange sound coming from the direction of her bunk. A moment later she realized it was a snore. Captain Archer was fast asleep, his head resting on her pillow, his mouth half-open and a small trace of drool running down his chin. Allowing herself a small sigh, T'Pol got up and lifted Archer's legs onto the bed as well, getting him into a more comfortable position. She pulled off his boots, placed them in front of the bed and got a blanket from her cupboard to cover him with. As her eyes fell on his pale face, she noticed an unhealthy red glow on his cheekbones. He looked just like Lieutenant Reed had looked this morning before Archer had sent him to his quarters.

T'Pol frowned. She had noticed several crewmembers not working at peak performance today, their movements clumsier and their faces paler than usual. Then she had thought nothing of it; she knew humans sometimes experienced what they called a "bad day", due to lack of sleep or excessive partying. But having those "bad days" didn't usually include running a fever or showing all the symptoms of a really bad headcold. T'Pol stared down at her sleeping Captain and slowly raised an eyebrow. Something definitely strange was going on here.

"I don't think I felt that good since... a long time. It is quite a satisfaction to know they will suffer."

"But cousin... where's the profit in this? All we did was spending money, *lots* of money on this, and we don't even know whether it will work!"

"It will work, Krem, I assure you. After month and month of planning... if there is any justice to this universe, it will work. And they will pay for what they did to us."

"But... but there will be no permanent damage, will there, cousin?"

"O for the Great Celestial Safe's sake, Krem! Do you have to ask the same questions over and over again? I *told* you there won't! I'm not a cruel person, and it would have been to expensive, anyway. But we can't let them interfer with our business and get away unscathed! Don't you agree?"

"Of course I do..."

"And these hu-mans *are* exceptionally dim! I can't believe they fell for the same trick again! The artefact wasn't even that different from the one we used last time. It's like shooting vergh in a barrell."

"What if they put it into decontamination?"

"It doesn't matter. Dr. Leris assured me the virus will survive every known decontamination procedure without losing any of it's contagiosity. Believe me, I spent month on working this out. They will pay."