I know this is so late as to be inexcusable, but the holidays/end-of-year caught up to me with a vengeance, I hopped a jetplane for a couple of weeks of absolutely nothing and now, hopefully, I can get things back on track. Thanks to everyone who takes the time and consideration to review, it makes my projects worth writing.
Chapter Nineteen
T'Pol had happy hands.
This was something Jonathan had noticed over the course of the past few weeks. It was difficult not to notice, especially since every time she did touch him a skitter of telepathic feeling went up his spine. It wasn't much; it just left him feeling a little off kilter.
It wasn't until they began spending almost every minute working together that he noticed. Riding herd of a group aliens that were about to kill each other wasn't a picnic. Most of them couldn't talk to each other without some kind of mediator. She was Vulcan, he was human, and the combination of the two was a surprisingly effective mixture of diplomacy and empathy. The carrot and the stick. It was interesting; working closely with T'Pol had sensitized certain portions of his anatomy to her 'explorations'.
He wasn't expecting it. Not from a Vulcan. But the gentle taps and strokes had been going on for a few weeks now, but he'd never really had anything to call her on. He sure as hell did now. He was surprised that in the midst of tense and dangerous negotiations she was feeling him up in the conference room, it was subtle, boy oh boy was it subtle, but it sent jitters up Jon's spine every time he thought of it.
The Andorians were belligerent and un-cooperative. The Kretassians were uncommunicative and stubborn. Thank god the Rigellians were relatively nice, but still… Ambassador V'Lar was a surprising source of wisdom and advice. She let T'Pol and Jon have the lion's share of the 'busy' work: the socializing, the refereeing, she saved her moments for the quiet, but final word. Well, that and the near constant bickering with the Andorians.
Something needed to be done, and soon, the Orions had been running unfettered though the Betazed sector for far too long, it was beyond the confines of Vulcan space, or even the regular areas of Vulcan patrol. The Betazeds weren't able to defend themselves over such a large expanse, it bordered on the territory of several species, not all of them friendly, with themselves or anyone else.
A coalition. They needed a coalition, something that covered sectors of space cohesively, a group of people that could work together.
Just not these people.
Sadly these were the people that he was stuck with, so as his mother was wont to say, "If life gives you lemons….make lemonade." His mother, however, didn't have to deal with Ambassador Soval, Ambassador Trennek, from Andoria Prime, The entire Kretassian 'foreign committee', and a half dozen members of the various Noble families of Betazed. Not to mention the gracious condescension of the Vulcan crew, those who'd seen his little 'oopsie' in the low oxygen environment. They'd adjusted the gravity and the oxygen content to a more comfortable level now, the Vulcan ships were the only ones with the facilities to hold all of the various species.
This meant he was also stuck in the same room as Skon for long periods of time. It was not peculiar for him, not liking a Vulcan, but the reason was eerie. He had a rival. Skon was a friend of T'Pol's family, of her colleagues and classmates; they'd known each other for longer than he'd probably been alive. He was jealous. Not of Skon, but of what Skon could offer her: a place among her people. It was something he could never give. An obstacle he had to overcome.
"Captain?"
"Uh…" he shook himself out of a slight reverie, reaching for the comm. "Yeah, I'm here"
"Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I've got Ambassador V'Lar on sub-space. She wanted a word."
"Uh, sure, route it to here" he turned in his chair and made sure his collar was straight and his shirt was tucked. It never hurt, "What can I do for you Ambassador? "
"Captain Archer" she bowed her head in the peculiar little Vulcan gesture, "I hope I'm not disturbing you?"
"No, not at all," he smiled, "Is there a problem?"
"Hardly," she gave him the half expression that usually indicated satisfaction, "I was just wondering if you and the Sub-Commander would accept an invitation to my private mess for this evening? To mark the completion of the first round of negotiations."
"I'd be honoured, I can't answer for T'Pol but I'm sure she'd be… delighted"
"Speaking of the Sub-Commander," a slight chill of foreboding trickled down his spine, "I would have expected her to be a little more eager to mingle with the crew of the Sha'Ran. There are several people here that came on this mission that she's not met in a long time. Is she feeling alright?"
"As far as I know," he responded, almost happy that she wasn't eager to mix with the Vulcan crew, "We've been very busy here, she might just be tired."
"I suppose so" the Ambassador looked, if not happy, and then satisfied with the explanation. "Seventeen hundred Captain?"
"I'll be there"
And he was, with T'Pol in tow. She insisted on 'inspecting' his attire to make sure it was formal enough for an evening with the Ambassador, evidencing that her 'hero-worship' wasn't dead yet. Apparently his black collared shirt and slacks passed well enough for her, he'd received a neat stroke down the back just as they crossed the threshold of the Vulcan ship.
"This way, sir, ma'am"
They were escorted to a private dining room, like Jon's own Captain's mess, Skon was there too, Jon's teeth ground together as he bowed only to T'Pol and motioned for her to sit in the chair next to him. Jon precluded that by pulling out the seat across from the Ambassador and directly next to the 'guest chair'.
Seemingly oblivious to the power play in front of her the Ambassador welcomed them both warmly, "I must say Captain your hand at the negotiating table is quite firm for one so young. I think Enterprise handled today's event rather well, don't you agree?"
"I thought it went rather well," he was actually pleased at the Ambassador's compliment. It wasn't often one got that from a Vulcan, especially from one in her position. Skon made the barest of acknowledgements and might have glared over the rim of his water goblet, or it could have been a passing shadow.
"We have had remarkable experience with First Contact and with soothing violent responses from many species." T'Pol was as neutral as she'd ever been, trying for the purest bland she could produce.
"Tell me Captain Archer, how do first contacts between you and another species usually go?" V'Lar sounded genuinely interested, but Jon's response was cut off, almost rudely by Skon.
"Considering much of the violent response that humanity gathers is by it's ignorance of interstellar diplomacy, I don't know if Captain Archer's experience is very representative" It was either just Jon, but he thought that Skon's voice had defiantly dropped a little and gotten hostile.
The conversation went on like this for some time, V'Lar making some kind of remark enquiring about his command or his abilities, T'Pol commenting neutrally and letting Skon scrap at him. If he doubted, for a moment, V'Lar's knowledge of the pissing war between him and Skon, he doubted it no longer. She knew, and Skon was playing to it. The only problem was Jon couldn't tell if he was winning or losing.
Dinner was bland. Vulcan food. Jon noticed that T'Pol tucked in to it though, putting away much more than she usually did. It made him twist a little inside, the things she was sacrificing to be on his vessel.
For example: there was no extraneous noise on a Vulcan ship. It ran as silent as a submarine in enemy water. On Enterprise Jon could always hear the hum and bustle; it calmed him, knowing everything was running. To the Vulcan ears it must be a loud unceasing hum of noise.
Sitting next to her, he could feel the tension running off of T'Pol like water. She was back in a Vulcan environment, it was homelike, no noise, no humidity, no voices raised in anger or joy. Just calm, collected, quiet. Familiar food, prepared by someone who knew what they were doing.
The presence of the Ambassador, did not however, preclude the appearance of the happy hands. Jon was right handed; therefore he reached for things with his right hand. Now he didn't know if Vulcans had silly little distinctions like 'right' or 'left' handedness, but he did know that her fingers bumped into his far more than would ordinarily occur. That her ankle hooked around his calf for most of the conversation was purely incidental, he was sure.
The meal ended uneventfully, the Ambassador was a surprisingly congenial dinner companion, when she wasn't being 'official'. He and Skon had settled into sniping at each other in a decidedly Vulcan fashion. It was T'Pol who now seemed a little off kilter, as V'Lar began to wish them a pleasant evening; she stood and said something firmly in Vulcan.
Skon looked a little taken aback, but V'Lar raised a conciliatory hand. She motioned for him and Skon to leave. Apparently this was a private conversation. The young Vulcan escorted him to the airlock with the evident attitude that he'd rather there wasn't a ship on the other side.
Jon wondered a little, it had been a very odd meal. It seemed as though V'Lar had been giving him some kind of test. She'd been very polite, even by human standards, but all of her questions were pointed. What was your diplomatic training? You were, I believe a test pilot before your Captaincy? Where were you trained? Who were your colleagues?
She'd practically asked for a biography. Except his personal life, she didn't even mention that the renowned Henry Archer was his father, let alone where he was born or did he have any siblings. He'd never witnessed Vulcan behaviour like that before.
He undressed and set down to some paperwork, but even that was running low. They'd been tracking Orion's and in Orion held space for quite some time now, the backlog of work was nearly exhausted. He'd be glad when they'd finally get out doing some more exploring instead of all this diplomatic crud.
He must have been much more engrossed in the data reports than usual because he was startled at the chime of the door. He was barefoot, but otherwise presentable, and called out for the person to enter.
"T'Pol" he was surprised, she rarely used the door chime anymore, usually only when she was being 'official'.
"Jonathan" her body language was alarmingly closed, she was stiff and almost formal, despite the familiar use of his first name.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked softly, standing, but not crossing over to touch her, it was hard to gauge when she'd accept a caress or other contact or when she simply didn't want to be touched.
"In a manner of speaking," T'Pol sat and Porthos, who had been watching her with eagle beagle eyes, hopped onto her lap. She didn't seem to notice the intrusion, but stroked his fur gently.
"You care to elaborate?"
"I suppose I must" she crossed her legs under the beagle, and fiddled with his ears, "Vulcans do not 'marry' as is human custom, we 'bond'."
"There's a difference?"
"Indeed"
"Alright…." He sat on the bed, folding his legs up under him, and then switched to stretching them out in front of him. He wasn't nearly as limber as she, his feet fell asleep when he crossed them.
"The bond is telepathic; we are joined into one mind at the ceremony."
"Literally?"
"Quite"
"Wow"
"Indeed" the eyebrow marched upwards and he felt a little reassured, she wasn't condescending, just being Vulcan.
"Once bonded, one of the more unusual side effects is the ability to sense the same bond in others."
"Some kind of telepathic wedding ring?"
"An interesting analogy, and somewhat accurate." T'Pol this time, failed to meet his eyes, "Ambassador V'Lar has survived her bondmate for nearly twenty years, however she still has this… sensitivity"
"So?"
"During this morning's round of negotiations, you were seated together, in that time she sensed something between you and I. A bond. A close bond. A very close bond."
"A marriage bond" he said with soft finality.
"How did you…?"
"You're not the only one who researches," he made a general motion towards the computer banks; "I've been reading. The Collected Works of Surak, T'Plana'hath, a couple of others. When you touch me I can feel your thoughts, if I get upset you know about it, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that something's gone on."
"V'Lar was trying to ascertain if you would be a proper bondmate tonight," T'Pol folded her arms across her chest, she looked embarrassed, no not embarrassed, unsure, "It's not truly her place, but… well, it's more her place now than my mothers."
"I'm sorry," she'd told him before of her mother's 'displeasure' with T'Pol's abandoning of the family occupation.
"It's not your responsibility" T'Pol's voice kept getting softer, "The Ambassador confronted me with her knowledge of our… link. She was surprisingly supportive."
"So that means I have her blessing?" Jon asked.
"Blessing?"
"It's traditional for the man to ask permission of the family before he asks a woman to marry him." Jon grinned, in his nightstand, waiting for the right moment were the two bands he'd purchased on Betazed. When he snapped the small velvet box open her eyes went as wide as dinner plates.
"I…" for the first time in a long time, she was somewhat speechless. Jon pulled her unresistingly into an embrace. He rubbed circles on her back, she was so small in his arms, it was almost surprising, she didn't seem this small while she was talking. Five foot flat of pure, raw spunk.
"By Vulcan custom I think we're pretty much married already, but… I don't know; it just feels more official like this." He took her chin softly and tilted her head up.
Let's just say it was a while before they came up for air.