Best First Contact Ever Chapter 5: Best First Contact Ever 5, a startrek: enterprise fanfic

Best First Contact Ever - Chapter Five

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T'Pol went back to her quarters to change outfits feeling somewhat bewildered. She wasn't quite sure why she went back to Sickbay. Perhaps in her mind she was resolved that if Larana's only remedy to Archer's illness was copulation, then so be it.

It was against her upbringing to give herself in this fashion. It was against Vulcan tradition. But, the captain needed her and she wished to help him. It was logical, in the end.

She stripped out of her blood-stained purple outfit and put on her blue cat suit, wishing she had time to bathe. She clasped her hands behind her back and headed off to the Bridge. Her nose twitched at the air, as she smelled Captain Archer on her. She swallowed deeply and rounded the corner, walking into the turbolift. As the doors opened to the Bridge, T'Pol looked in Malcolm's direction.

"Lt. Reed, I would like you to accompany Larana back to her planet with a small well-armed party as soon as possible. I will provide you information on where the shuttle is so that you can pilot it back to Enterprise."

He nodded and stood up. She requested, "Before you do so, request a security guard take the councilwoman to Sickbay. I am certain our guest would want to see Captain Archer again."

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders. "Of course, ma'am."

She nodded and sat regally in the captain's chair, looking dead ahead at the screen.

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Archer stared at the ceiling thinking about T'Pol. He couldn't resist a grin as he replayed how she'd squeezed his hand. His right fingers still tingled from her touch. 'But, why do I have to wait so long to see her again?' he asked himself. His grin began to fade quickly … he hadn't seen her in nearly thirty minutes.

The Sickbay doors opened, as Councilwoman Larana entered with a security guard. She stopped and looked over Archer's visage. His chest was bare, save for a complicated-looking shoulder sling. She walked carefully to his bedside.

Archer scowled, "What do you want?"

"The sub-commander said I could see you before heading back to the planet if I wanted to," she claimed. She was glad that T'Pol extended that courtesy. Larana wanted to ensure the captain was okay. She also felt the need to explain her behavior.

"Well, you saw me," he said, glowering.

"Captain, I'm sorry about how things worked out."

"How could you give them the database I gave to you?!" he growled.

Dr. Phlox stopped working and looked up with distraction.

"There were many reasons."

Archer huffed.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to hurt your people. I only provided cultural information," she offered.

"Giving them any information … any … is dangerous." He thought about whether the Xindi would be able to travel back through time and stop Leonardo da Vinci, the Wright Brothers, Edison … the great minds of Earth … and change history. Or maybe their alterations would be small, but noticeable. What if Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman was never written? What if the Mona Lisa was never painted? What if Beethoven's Ninth Symphony hadn't been composed. More than that, he thought about the knowledge that art, literature and music provided about a people. Earth's psyche was open and vulnerable.

"I did not intend to harm you, Captain," she explained. "The Xindi are gathering troops. I want to be in their good favor. I had to do what was right for my people."

"By selling someone else out? How is that good for your people?"

She ignored his comment. "I'm also sorry things didn't work out between us."

He scoffed, "I'm not."

She hung her head down briefly. She pulled out a small vial and gave it to him. "I think you know what this is."

Archer grabbed it in his right hand. "No, what is it? A cure?"

"No, it's another dosage of what you were given. There is only one cure for you. You will need," she glanced at the security guard and then back to Archer, "to give this to her to induce similar symptoms. I doubt she would otherwise be willing to help you."

Archer shook his head. "No." Was she suggesting what he thought she was?

"Think about it," she said, wrapping his fingers around the vial. Before Archer could object again, she turned to the security guard. "I'm ready to return to Benovula."

The security guard nodded and escorted her out of Sickbay. Larana said before the door closed, "Good luck. I know you do not believe me, but my people are a friend to you."

She walked through them and the doors slid closed behind her.

Archer frowned. Phlox walked up and asked, "I didn't mean to eavesdrop …."

Archer gave him a sideways glance.

Phlox continued, "But, this vial you were given … did she say it would elicit the same enamored responses from someone?"

"Yes."

"This could be very valuable, Captain. I might be able to concoct a remedy using this."

Archer perked up a little. He handed him the ingredients and said, "By all means."

Phlox grinned at the liquid and waddled over to his lab section.

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At 1700 hours, T'Pol turned the Bridge over to Ensign Mayweather. As she climbed out of the captain's chair she said, "Ensign, please inform me when the away team has safely delivered the councilwoman."

Travis nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

With that, she entered the turbolift and headed back to her cabin. She was displeased she'd been subjected to the smell of Archer's blood for most of the day as her nasal inhibitors were wearing off. And yet, she felt something akin to comfort at its lingering scent. She knew if she was going to agree to help him, she'd have to get used to his scent.

She took a shower, meditated and changed by 2200 hours. Her mind felt refreshed; the emotions that had risen to the surface were neatly placed in the closet of her mind. She reapplied her nasal inhibitor. Everything about her felt cleansed and renewed.

She walked to the Mess Hall and began gathering two trays of food – a vegetarian meal for herself and food she believed Archer would enjoy, including meat.

Trip walked over. "I haven't seen the captain since your visit, but heard he was in Sickbay. He alright?" he asked, taking a large plate of pie.

"Yes. He is recuperating," she said.

The engineer nodded, "Good. I was kinda worried." He noted T'Pol seemed less talkative than usual. "About that problem we discussed in the shuttle bay … everything work out?"

T'Pol stopped gathering food for a moment and responded, "Not quite."

"Did you get something that will help him?"

"No, not exactly," she replied.

He considered his next question. "Is there anything that will help him?"

"Yes."

Trip raised his eyebrows, expecting an answer.

"I do not wish to discuss it."

Trip decided it best to continue gathering food. "Listen, I'm sorry about earlier."

She averted her eyes. "It is somewhat understandable."

"No. It's not," he offered. "I hope you can forgive me. Sometimes all I can think about is revenge. I know you wouldn't intentionally betray Enterprise or our mission."

She eyed him. "I am pleased you recognize that."

"I was hoping tomorrow I could come over for a neuropressure treatment around 1700 hours. I'd like to hit the hay a little early … if it's alright with you. Engineering repairs. We want to take some systems offline when fewer people will be awake using them."

She continued gathering food, stacking up the tray. "I apologize. I will not be available for neuropressure treatments tomorrow evening," she noted.

Trip kidded, "Got a hot date?"

T'Pol distractedly answered, "Perhaps."

Trip who began chuckling, realized T'Pol was serious. He raised his eyebrows, deciding whether to ask who the lucky human was. He nodded toward her tray. "Gonna see Captain Archer?"

"Yes."

Trip offered, "I know how much you hate meat and watching us eat it. Why don't I take it to him?"

"That is not necessary. I wish to bring it to him."

Trip nodded. "Tell him I said 'hi.'" He sauntered over to a table and put his things down, musing about T'Pol's hot date.

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T'Pol took a deep cleansing breath and walked into Sickbay. Archer was asleep when she entered, but upon her arrival, woke up immediately. She noticed Dr. Phlox was out of hearing range, over in his lab and hadn't noticed her arrival. She placed the trays beside him. Archer' sat up with some difficulty, as she propped the pillows behind his back.

He looked over at her with large, adoring eyes. "Thank you."

"Of course." She brought his tray and unveiled the contents – chicken marsala, one of his favorites. She also laid a PADD on his bed and said, "You may want to use this."

"Thanks again." He picked up a fork and set it down. "I'm surprised you let Larana drop by today. Why?"

T'Pol put her fingers around a warm mug of tea and said, "I assumed she wanted to apologize, and I thought you deserved to hear it from her."

He drank his iced tea pensively.

T'Pol asked, "Did Larana tell you the cure for your ailment?"

Archer shifted uncomfortably. "She hinted …." he said letting his voice trail off.

"Perhaps we can discuss this in more detail tomorrow night. I understand that Dr. Phlox believes you will be out from under his care by that time?"

"So far, so good," he commented. "I'm not sure what there is to discuss, though." He wasn't sure he wanted to be alone with her again. Last time was nearly his undoing.

She raised her eyebrow. "I would do so here, but I thought in private might be the best course of action," she lied.

"Okay." He poked at his meal as he asked, "We back on course to the sphere?"

She agreed, "Yes. I should be hearing soon from Lt. Reed and his party. They escorted Councilwoman Larana back to the planet."

"Anything else to report?" he asked, trying to focus on work.

"No. All systems appear to be functioning normally."

"Good." He couldn't really eat; he was too nervously excited. He watched her nibble at her food like a rabbit. As she looked up, she noticed he was staring at her. Her eyes locked with his, and he held a tentative hand to her cheek. Rather than turn away, she allowed him to touch her. Archer was shocked, but completely thrilled. He stroked her cheek, softly.

She kept her eyes on his. "Perhaps you should discontinue your movements in case someone enters. It might look inappropriate."

"I'm sorry." He clenched his right hand and brought it down to his side. He chided himself and mumbled, "For a moment I thought you were enjoying it."

"I was," she replied. "I do not wish to put you in an awkward situation."

Archer was puzzled, feeling the room become incredibly warm. Before he could stammer out anything, T'Pol asked, "Jonathan, what did you learn about Vulcans in school?"

He swallowed deeply, trying to wipe the shock from his face. "I guess the usual – your species was the first to contact my people, how you have rid yourself of emotion …."

"We do have emotion," she commented.

"I know that now, having been onboard with you for the past 2 and a half years," he explained.

'What else?"

"Your capital is Shi'Kar. Logic is like a religion to you. Surak is the father of logic …." He paused. "Are you looking for something in particular?"

"Have you known any Vulcans beside myself?" she asked.

He thought this line of questioning was strange. "I've known Ambassador Soval since I was a child. There were various others on his team I was aware of – Tovak, Starin, T'Flal and a number of others.

"Vulcan children?" she asked.

"Are you sure you're not getting at something, T'Pol?" he asked. He pushed a piece of her hair behind her ear.

"No. Vulcan children?" she asserted again.

"Maybe a couple," he said. "I wasn't really allowed to interact with them – Vulcans' choice. But, when I was a kid, I attended a ceremony of some kind. I remember talking to a Vulcan child. My father brought me along."

"What was the ceremony?" she asked.

"It's been so long," he stated. "Maybe a Vulcan celebration … seemed kinda stuffy," he said grinning.

"I do not wish to offend you, but there is much you do not know about Vulcans. Perhaps it is best you go through the database at your earliest convenience for more information … in case we meet other Vulcans in the Expanse."

"Sure," he said. He stroked her cheek again.

She turned her face into his touch. "I would like to gather more information about humans. I am interested in your customs," she explained.

He flushed that she responded to his physical contact. He marveled at her eyes, her bone structure and her hair. "Like what? Maybe I can answer a few questions."

She peaked her eyebrow at him. "General information."

His eyes shone brilliantly at her, as a smile continued to gain altitude on his lips.

She put down her utensils and asked. "Would you like to learn a Vulcan greeting of sorts?"

"Sure," he whispered.

She took the hand that had caressed her cheek and formed two fingers. She held her hand out and touched her two fingers with his, stroking his lightly. As she did so, his breathing began to become a little erratic, nearing a pant. He was finding it incredibly hard to think.

"What greeting is this?" he asked distractedly, looking at her mouth.

She peered into his eyes. "It is a greeting between friends, such as ourselves."

His mouth became watery. He desperately wanted to kiss her. The touching of their fingers seemed so intimate. He was having more and more difficulty crushing his feelings for her.

She stopped her movements, and returned her hands to her lap. "Perhaps you can look that gesture up in the database."

Her voice seemed almost seductive. He was certain he was imagining things. He gazed deeply into her eyes, remaining silent, wondering what it would be like to make love to her. As soon as the thought crept its way out into the open, he sat back horrified that he'd even allowed it to escape.

T'Pol gathered her tray and stood up. "I hope you are able to eat the food I brought you," she said. "It is rare that a Vulcan woman brings food."

He looked confused. "I didn't mean to be rude. I'm not that hungry."

"Perhaps that is a custom you will investigate in the Vulcan database."

He nodded slowly. She touched his cheek in much the same manner he had stroked hers just moments ago. "Until tomorrow. Come to my quarters at 1800. We can discuss this and Larana's suggestion in more detail."

His face nuzzled into her hand before it dropped to her side. With stoicism she straightened her spine and walked out of Sickbay, as Archer's brows dug into his forehead in captivated bewilderment.

Archer reached for his PADD and began looking into the gesture, the bringing of food and other Vulcan customs.

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Archer was released at 1700 hours the next day. He had just enough time to shower and shave before meeting T'Pol in her quarters. His shoulder was incredibly sore, but the doctor indicated the sling wasn't required. He had trouble lifting his arm without shooting pains. He gave himself a hypospray of pain medication and put on some clothes.

He let the information he'd looked up roll around in his mind. He was unsure what the gesture T'Pol had taught him was, but he was almost certain it was intimate. He did find that Vulcan females only provided food to males they were interested in, and a plethora of other information, including physiology. He trembled at the thought of her coming onto him. 'There must be some logical explanation,' he told himself, though he wished the explanation was that she was interested in him romantically.

He noticed it was nearly 1800 hours and took a deep breath. He blew it out slowly and began to walk down the hall to her quarters.

He cleared his throat and pressed his finger against the door chime. The door swished open to reveal her quarters looking much like they would if she had prepared for a neuropressure session. Her meditation candles were lit, soft music played in the background and spicy incense was wafting through the room, spilling into his nostrils. He sucked up the aroma.

"Come in," said T'Pol. As the door swished closed, he noticed she was wearing a Vulcan robe that clung tightly to her curves.

He swiped his hand over his face. "Uhm, T'Pol …."

She poured him a glass of wine and put it into his right hand. "How is your shoulder?" she inquired.

He looked at the red wine and eyed it suspiciously. "I didn't think you drank."

"I do on rare occasions. But, this drink is for you. I thought you would like it. Chef allowed me to have this bottle from the galley."

He knew he was in trouble now. "I'm not sure I can converse about business in this setting, T'Pol," he said holding up his glass.

She offered him a seat. "May I call you Jonathan?"

He nodded slowly and sat down on the floor. He, against his better judgment, brought the wine to his lips and took a sip.

"Larana did have a suggestion about how to cure you," she began. She sat next to him on the ground and offered two fingers in the air.

Archer moved a pained arm to join her greeting. He whispered, "What was it?"

T'Pol broke contact and caressed his face with her two fingers, running them down his cheek and neck. She hesitated, waiting to put the information about humans she had researched recently into practice. She brought her mouth slowly to his. As her lips pursed against his, she felt a heat emanating from him – a warmth almost as hot as the Vulcan deserts. Emotions ticked her, prickling her skin. She could tell Jonathan was surprised, pleased and wary.

His mouth moved against hers, parting her lips gingerly with his tongue. As he did so, he gasped into her mouth. His body became acutely aware of how good this felt. Her lips were cool like the Pacific Ocean near San Francisco – not what he imagined. His mouth met hers again more eagerly and greedily. As their lips parted, he dove for them again, more aggressively. And again. Each kiss became more and more passionate. He placed his wine glass on the ground without looking, and grabbed both hands around her, bringing her mouth hard against his.

His pulse quickened and beating loudly in his throat, amongst other places. He backed off suddenly, his eyes wide with fear. She leaned forward and nipped at his lips softly. He fell into her trance, returning a softer embrace and then backed away again. "Why are you doing this?"

T'Pol smoothed her hand against Archer's chest. "Jonathan, Councilwoman Larana's only remedy was copulation between us." She placed her finger on his lips and traced them. He closed his eyes and kissed at them.

He absently said, kissing at her fingertips, "Phlox believes that he can create a cure." He took her palm to his mouth and pressed his lips against it, "Larana gave me something today that Phlox could use."

T'Pol withdrew her hand from Archer's lips. "Did the doctor indicate if and when he could have the remedy?"

His mouth enveloped the tip of her ear, as he whispered, "He didn't say."

"What did she provide to you?" she asked.

His suckled her earlobe, "Another dose of what she gave to me." He retreated and looked into her eyes.

"Why?" asked T'Pol.

He murmured, "She hinted this might be the only way to help me, and thought I should use it on you."

He searched her face, trying to ascertain what she was thinking. The one emotion he could gather from her eyes was resignation.

She raised an eyebrow. "I do not wish for you to suffer further." She slipped her hand underneath his shirt and whispered, "I have studied various human mating rituals."

"Oh?" he asked, distractedly. His mouth sought hers.

She stroked his chest as he began panting again. His hands darted through her hair; his lips lowering to her neck, devouring it.

"I take it you enjoy this?" she asked.

"You could say that," he replied, huskily.

As she began to push his shirt up, he reached for her hand. Huffing he said, "I don't want you to do this."

She kissed his neck in return and whispered, "I thought you indicated it was pleasurable."

"That's not it. I .. this just doesn't feel right."

"Would the bed be more appropriate?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said dopily. He caught himself as T'Pol was beginning to stand. He grabbed her hand and dragged her gently back to the floor. "No, it's just that …. I don't want to take advantage of you."

She met his lips tenderly and said softly, "I am giving my consent."

He kissed her again with more passion. "Why are you giving your consent?"

"To assist you," she responded as his mouth met hers.

His head was completely filled with her. He intently watched her every breath, every word … judging whether she was willingly giving her consent. But, something in the back of his mind rang this action between them was wrong. He had millions of questions to ask, including what would happen after tonight.

T'Pol whispered, "Do not worry about later. Worry about now."

He unleashed a little more passion, still reigning in the majority of it in. His embraces again became more fiery. He was moaning into her throat at the meeting of their mouths. His movements were faster, more wanton.

She could tell he was holding back, still. She kissed at his neck. "Let go of your control."

He leaned over her, pushing her to ground. He barely noticed the aching pain in his shoulder, as he propped himself up over her. His mouth feverishly ravished hers. But, again, he was holding some of himself back, still wondering why this felt so strange.

She pushed his shirt off of him and said, "Let go of your control."

Thrice seemed to be all she needed to ask. As if a class four hurricane had come to shore, Archer's emotions raged against hers. A torrent of feelings blew suddenly and unabashedly. His desire overcame her mental shields as his hands began to tear at her clothing. He was attentive, but desperate in his passion.

She thought briefly, 'What have I done?'

His lust whipped at her, flailing her mental and emotional control until she too became reckless with desire.

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Archer woke up wincing at the pain in his shoulder. He looked up and noticed his arm was curled around T'Pol's midsection. He grinned sheepishly and snuggled into her. Although his shoulder was bothering him, he felt completely and absolutely sated. In fact, he noticed he couldn't stop grinning with satisfaction and something sillier – love. He peeked at his lover sleeping peacefully and decided to risk getting up to bring her something for breakfast.

As he moved his arm, T'Pol stirred.

He pressed his lips lovingly to her ear. "Good morning."

She slowly opened her eyes and raised a cautious eyebrow at him. "Hello."

"I was just about to get breakfast. Can I get you tea and some fruit?" he asked.

She lay back on the bed and pulled the covers up to her neck. "I am due on the Bridge in an hour …."

Jon smiled and kissed her temple. "I took the liberty of contacting Lt. Reed last night while you were in the bathroom. I asked him to call Ensign Mendoza to cover your shift."

"Why did you do that without consulting me?" she asked, sharply.

Archer backed off a little. "I was trying to be considerate. Are you upset?"

She squashed the emotions rising up in her. "I merely wish to be consulted regarding my work."

He brushed some hair away from her face. "I'm sorry. I won't do that again." He was trying to read her, but found it difficult to get a handle on what she was feeling.

She asked, "I take it your ailment has … dissipated?"

"Yes. But, I still think I'm looking at the most beautiful woman I know."

Unamused, she stared up at the ceiling. "I wish to take a shower."

"Want me to get your robe?"

"That is not necessary."

"There something wrong, T'Pol?" he asked.

"No."

The vibes he was reading were more like –- get the hell out. "Well, you probably want some privacy."

She agreed, "I would."

"Can I meet you for lunch or dinner today?"

"I apologize. I am uncertain I will be able to attend either."

"Maybe tomorrow?" he asked.

"Perhaps. If my schedule permits."

With embarrassment, he cleared his throat. He scooted to the edge of the bed and began gathering his clothes, putting them on.

After he was completely dressed he walked over to her bathroom and picked up her robe, laying it on the bed for her. He sat near the edge next to her. "I thought last night was wonderful, T'Pol."

Archer looked at her waiting for some kind of agreement or disagreement. She remained quiet, looking at him briefly.

He stroked her cheek. "Do you feel okay?"

"Yes," she replied.

He was completely flummoxed on what to do. He felt they had a lot to talk about, and he personally needed to hold her and tell her how much she meant to him, but it seemed she'd rather be alone. He began turning over in his mind wondering if he'd hurt her or done something to anger her. He realized his passion may have been out of control, but he did everything he knew to please her.

He formed two fingers and held them out for her. She looked at him with confusion and touched his fingers for a few seconds.

He said, "Let me know if you need anything."

"I will," she commented.

He nodded and kissed her lips gently. He gave an awkward smirk and headed out the door. As he left he'd wondered what the hell happened.

T'Pol was underneath the bed sheets, clenching them to her. After he left, she pushed her hair from her face and put her robe on. She shakily walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the hot water began to steam up the room, she stepped in and put her head underneath the nozzle, welcoming the feeling of being clean.

She thought about the night before. She had not expected that. She wasn't sure what she'd anticipated, but it certainly wasn't that. Every centimeter of her body was kissed and touched, not necessarily something that would meet Vulcan acceptance. She'd cried out his name, more than once; Vulcans never cry out. The frenzy of their passion was frightening, looking back on it. He watched her every motion, listened to every noise she made so intently that it was as if he could read her thoughts. And, that is possibly what scared her the most.

He choreographed every movement perfectly.

Her emotional control was ripped away by this man. And, she'd enjoyed it. So much, that rather than satisfy the requirements of his ailment, they were joined together almost all night, much more than he needed. He'd uttered tokens of love and desire repeatedly, eagerly. Gentle and forceful, he'd managed to breakdown her will. No. She reveled in his presence, his odor, his touch and smile.

She furrowed her brows in contemplation.

********************************************************************

Archer began rebuking himself as he walked toward his room. He should've known she was doing this as a favor; he should've stopped himself. He was drunk on her, unable to get enough. He wondered if she would be okay.

With human women, he could tell when they wanted to talk about something, no matter how much they insisted everything was okay. With T'Pol, he got the feeling he was the last person she wanted to talk to, but felt there was something on her mind.

Guilt also began knocking at his door. He entered his quarters wondering how this would affect their working relationship. Would he be able to ask her to scan something, without remembering her writhing underneath him, whispering his name?

He put his hand to his forehead and considered it. He wanted to talk with her again soon, but knew she needed a little space. He crawled underneath his covers, having gotten only a few hours of sleep, and went to bed.

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