SR6: Love's Labor Lost

Part One

Two months. It'd been two months since he'd heard the news he was going to be a father. Father. The word had a magical ring to it and always brought a smile to the man's lips. Perhaps it was because he treasured the relationship he had with his own dad. Maybe it was how much he relished the idea of teaching someone – boy or girl, he didn't care which – stuff like how to fly a remote control starship. He knew Porthos would lavish attention on his son or daughter. And he was thrilled to think of T'Pol as a mother. The woman was beautiful, intelligent, loving, wise and patient … attributes that any child would benefit from … traits that he benefited from as a spouse, friend and co-worker.

He'd spent a lot of time thinking about his wife in lots of different ways. It was amazing to know that this sexy creature would be someone's mom. The two had spent a lot of time in the past three months discussing their own parents and how both would want to raise their child. Archer had been surprised how easily they agreed that their child should learn both human and Vulcan customs and cultures. He'd also been astounded at how easily they'd decided where their baby would live, how they would care for it and when they would tell the crew, Starfleet and any relatives. The sticking point had been the name.

Jon'd wanted to name his son – if it was a boy – Henry, for obvious reasons. T'Pol had seemed insistent on Sloven, which to the captain was a disaster. Humans would make fun of the name, especially since it sounded close to slovenly … despite it meaning "wonder" in Vulcan. The girl's name had been much easier; T'Pol had already picked out T'Larn and Archer picked out a middle name, which Vulcans didn't have – Miranda. He'd fallen in love with the name ever since reading The Tempest as a boy.

Archer'd also spent time pondering, 'Will he or she have pointed ears? Will she or he embrace emotion? Will he or she live a long life? If it's a girl, will she have a slight coppery-green tone to her skin like her mother? Or, will he have a ruddy complexion like his pop? Pilot? Scientist? Interested in reading books and poetry? Shakespeare?'

T'Pol had typically caught his musings through the bond and provided an admonishing eyebrow – she never participated in flights of fancy. But, she'd sent him her warmth and care, which he'd lapped up like a dog. A grin had been her reward.

But, things hadn't been easy.

The parents had decided against telling anyone except Phlox, especially since the chances of her giving birth were supposedly rare … very rare. They also hadn't been sure how to tell Starfleet or Vulcan High Command. Sure they'd have to mention it, but possibly when the two had worked out exactly what they wanted to do and when things were a little more inevitable. Archer knew the Bridge crew had been suspicious. Hoshi even commented on T'Pol leaving for the bathroom so many times a day. Luckily as she became nauseated, so did he, making him sprint toward a door and saving him from having to answer questions. Claiming they had been sharing a stomach ailment seemed to alleviate everyone's concerns – unfortunately it'd been a long stomach ailment.

That was another thing that wasn't easy – Archer through the bond had been feeling what T'Pol did, including moodiness. He had almost since her third month.

T'Pol had been under constant bombardment of emotions ... even more than usual … though she never expressed it or showed them. She was stoic. Sure, he'd been able to see an occasional flitter of emotion pass over her, but it was brief – mostly because she was passing those feelings onto him. Thus when she experienced it, he had felt more extremely … the emotions were overpowering. The most difficult was anger. One day T'Pol had noticed her scanners were significantly out of alignment, as if the instrument had not been calibrated in some time, despite having asked Ensign Perez to do so weeks ago. Rather than calmly realign them, she'd glared up at her husband with irritation. Archer, sitting in the command chair, had stopped reading his PADD and had met her eyes, instantly overwhelmed with fury. By poor coincidence, Reed had managed to drop his own PADD.

Archer'd spun around, barking, "Do your damned job, Lieutenant!"

Reed's eyes had shot open, as his mouth had released a guffaw ... just as Archer's anger fizzled. He'd placed his hands over his eyes and apologized to Malcolm. "Sorry. Lack of sleep." He'd walked over to the young man and clapped him on the back.

"Sorry, Malcolm. I don't know where that came from."

A confused Reed had accepted the apology, looking down at his station.

'I'm sorry, Jonathan.'

The worst had been the last movie night: he'd ended up hiding his face under a lame hand as he'd tried to nonchalantly wipe the tears from his eyes and clear his throat, enabling air and saliva to pass. Tearing-up during Steel Magnolias – Hoshi's pick – was the epitome of humiliation. He'd been even more mortified to hear as Mayweather passed, "Sir, there are some tissues in the back."

'I'm sorry, Jonathan,' T'Pol had thought, letting her fingers stroke his wet cheek.

Archer'd gotten used to the routine. He'd wake up hearing his wife spilling her guts in the bathroom, mostly because he would feel sick himself. She'd come back to bed, make another trip, and then he'd get up and take a shower. Just before they headed for breakfast, she'd throw up again … and sometimes he'd loose his breakfast, too. During their morning meal, she'd have to leave. They'd go to work and she'd put in an hour before making an escape. By the time lunch rolled around she was famished. After lunch she'd need to leave almost hourly. She'd get home, tired. They'd eat dinner, where she was famished and then she'd go to sleep early, usually while she was reading.

Archer noticed he'd already gained 3 kilograms eating with her, despite the fact he'd been purging his stomach almost as often. He tried to increase his exercise, but also felt exhausted by the end of the day.

Dr. Phlox had been concerned about the bouts of her nausea, but not overly concerned. He said if it continued into the sixth month, he'd be worried. However, the doctor had not been anxious about Archer's symptoms; in fact, he'd been the opposite – bemused. Everyone had determined although this pregnancy was rare and possibly dangerous, everything seemed fairly normal.

And, best of all -- the side effects of pregnancy had allowed the man to see his wife with a green glow to her skin and a smile in her weary eyes. He'd noticed her breasts had swelled by the tiniest fraction, although they were slightly darker than before, and her stomach had become only slightly larger. Though she'd been tired and nauseous, not only had her appetite increased for food, she was more voracious in … other matters. Archer had especially liked that part; he'd enjoyed it a lot. While eating lunch, sometimes the two would sneak away to their quarters to satisfy her craving.

In general, they'd been together nearly all the time – almost like the two couldn't get enough of each other. Archer'd typically showered first, and then would sneak into bed after doing so and awake his barely sleeping spouse with a few kisses. They'd spent nearly all day on the Bridge together. There'd been the aforementioned lunch rendezvous. And after dinner, they'd go home and read together. He'd attempt to figure out the nuances of Vulcan pregnancy, and she'd catch up on human pregnancy -- trying to determine what to expect. As she'd fall asleep reading, he'd hold her, whispering in her ear and stroking her hair until he was ready to fall asleep himself … which was usually not long afterward.

This particular night, T'Pol complained of more exhaustion than normal. She'd ended meditation early, snuggled under the covers with Jonathan, made love and fallen asleep, wrapping their arms around each other. Archer awoke to a wave of nausea, which came to a rapid halt, and a sharp pain shooting up his spine.

'Arthritis,' he noted to himself, urging his body back to sleep.

With his eyes barely taking in the darkness of the room, he peered at the clock and grumbled -- it was too early for their routine to start. He rolled onto his side and let his arm fall onto her side of the bed. Empty and … wet? As his arm hit the sheets, he noticed it felt cool and felt a trickle running down his arm. Startled, he punched the lights and stared at the green goo covering his hand and their bed.

It was T'Pol's blood … and there was a lot of it.

His foggy mind bolted into action. As if unable to comprehend, he kicked off the sheets to determine how much blood there was. The answer scared the hell out of him; the sheets were drenched in it. Panic-stricken, he shot out of bed.

"T'Pol?" he called out, frantically, wheeling around, trying to find his wife.

He heard muffled crying in the bathroom. He placed his hand nervously on the door, calling out to her mind.

'T'Pol?' he asked.

'No!' her mind screamed back at him.

"T'Pol?" he asked aloud, his voice quivering with fear.

"Do not open the door," she called out hoarsely from the other side.

"What's happening?" he asked, touching the door. His brain barely registered that his very Vulcan wife was crying.

"Do not come in," she said aloud. 'Do not come in,' she repeated in his mind.

'No,' he thought, overriding the locking mechanism.

'Do not come in!'

'I have to,' he feebly replied.

As the door slid open, he saw a trail of green blood on the bathroom tiles, leading up to a woman, his wife, slumped against the wall with her head buried in her hands.

He rushed over to her, "Sweetheart? Are you okay?"

Her only reply was to sob into her hands and keep them there to prevent from seeing her husband, and more importantly to keep from being seen.

He squatted down, stroked her hair and said, hoarsely, "I think we should call Dr. Phlox."

Unmoving, she continued to weep. Her shoulders shook with a fury he didn't think possible. Through their bond, he felt she was trying to regain her emotions, but felt them spilling out as if she was unable to stop them.

He let his voice break, "It's okay." He sat next to her and took her unwillingly in his arms, placing her into his lap and rocked her back and forth in his arms, hugging her helplessly to him. He put her head into the crook of his neck and let tears stream down his cheek, drifting onto her head.

After a few minutes, Archer managed to remove her hands from her face. Her eyes were hazel in the center and green around it, as if she'd broken a few blood vessels crying.

He whispered, "I'd like to call Dr. Phlox."

She shook her head - no.

His voice cracked as he croaked out, "I'm concerned about you right now. We can … we can …." He fought unsuccessfully to keep back another tear and looked at her. "I'd just like to know you're okay."

Archer could tell she found her outpouring of emotion embarrassing. She was afraid to let her husband see her like this – so bare. To allow their doctor to see this would be degrading.

She said in a whisper, "I cannot control my emotions."

He kissed her forehead, rocking her into him. "It's okay."

"It's not …." She cleared her throat. She said, "The cycle of life is logical. I knew the risks and probability of…." She found herself unable to finish the sentence as another crying fit shook loose.

Taking a deep breath, he attempted to control his emotions; he knew she needed to use his strength to regain her composure.

"I need you to let me call Dr. Phlox," he said softly, but urgently.

"No."

He set her back onto the tiled floor and walked over to the comm. He decided not to look back; he knew his wife was in utter despair, her mind begging him to leave her alone. Seeing her might convince him to continue to hold her, rather than seek the medical attention he was positive she needed.

He tapped his finger against the comm button. "Archer to Dr. Phlox."

"Phlox here," said the doctor, merrily. The man always seemed to be up and chipper.

"I'd … I'd like you to come to my quarters."

Phlox called back, "Everything okay?"

"No…." He couldn't manage to get anything else out.

"On my way," the Denobulan replied more seriously.

Archer looked back at T'Pol who had buried her head in her hands again. He drifted over and put his hand to her temple. She was in pain, and not just emotional turmoil. Trying to determine how badly she felt and how dire the situation was, his thoughts focused in on hers.

"Show me," he asked aloud.

As he fell into her mind, he saw himself in the middle of the ocean as a storm was rolling in. He couldn't see the shoreline; his arms and legs were extremely fatigued. Ducking under another wave, he was drenched with emotions … mainly sadness. He scanned the immediate vicinity trying to find his wife, and although he couldn't see her, he knew she was drowning. Another surge of water toppled over him, forcing him underwater. He struggled to break the surface, spitting up liquid.

"T'Pol!" he yelled, as rain and spray pelted him in the face.

A swell forced him under. Submerged again he paddled hard to free his head and gulp air. Regaining some of his strength, his arms and legs kicked, fighting the tide until he finally spotted her. She was drifting, listlessly – her body limp and lifeless. Archer used all his muscles and years of experience swimming to meet her … when water pummeled her, dragging her form under the toe. He panicked and thrashed his arms and legs against the sea with lightning speed. He dove underwater to reach her, but had trouble seeing – the ocean was full of silt and stung his eyes. He flung his arms out hoping to catch her, but instead caught only water. He breached the surface, lungs dying for air, and shouted, "T'Pol!"

Again he thrashed about, swimming one way and then another … and then finally, he saw her head bobbing along keeping time to the current. As he reached out to grab her, he felt not just loss, but significant pain. The sharpness of it made him want to recoil, but he held on, keeping her afloat. His arms and hands grasped her as if they could never let go and her eyes flashed open.

Blinding pain knocked the wind out of him.

He woozily glanced around the room and noticed he was back in the bathroom. Archer recognized the severity of hurt he took with him from their mind meld, wincing at the force in which it overcame him. Some of it was emotional, but the majority of it crawled around his belly making it difficult for him to breathe – his organs, he wasn't sure which, were on fire.

Just as Archer came to his senses, the doorbell chimed. He struggled to stand and get to the door.

As soon it opened, Phlox sensed what had happened. He jogged to the bathroom and crouched down, looking over the couple. T'Pol was covered in blood and Archer had streaks of it smeared on him. Both looked tired – both mentally and physically; T'Pol's eyes were bloodshot and she looked pale.

Archer could tell his wife was forcing her emotions down, embarrassed to let the doctor see them, even now.

'It's okay,' thought Archer with reassurance.

"It appears I had a miscarriage," she weakly explained.

Phlox whispered, "Are you in any pain?"

"No," she said.

Archer contradicted, "She's in a lot of pain."

The doctor waved a scanner in front of her and shot a worried glance at Jon. T'Pol stiffened her spine at the accusation, but allowed the statement to go uncorrected.

Phlox said, "I'd like to take you to Sickbay."

"I'd like to change first." She put a hand on either side of her slender form and tried to push herself up, with no success. Archer stood weakly beside her.

Phlox whispered, "T'Pol, I don't want to frighten you, but you've lost a lot of blood. I believe you've gone into shock. It's imperative we get you to the medical facility … quickly."

Without another thought, Archer gathered her in his arms.

T'Pol was devastated; undoubtedly people would see her and gossip. Jon was scared shitless at the look on Phlox's face – he looked as if T'Pol was in dire straits; the throbbing he felt in her mind was an indication of the severity of her pain. As he collected her into his arms, Phlox threw a blanket over her to keep her warm and hide some of the embarrassment – alpha shift began soon and some people went to the gym around this hour.

She curled into her husband, buried her face in his neck and fought to keep her emotions at bay. Occasionally, he could feel a few of her tears collect on his shirt as he thought, 'It's okay.'

'It's okay,' seemed to be his mantra. He chanted it in his mind as he walked briskly through the corridors. It's okay. His mind chewed on it for himself, as much as for her.

Phlox waddled to the nearest bio-bed as Jon laid her down gently. He realized with horror, he had green blood on his hands, forearms, chest and stomach. T'Pol's eyes slipped shut as he felt her mind grow quiet.

'T'Pol?' he asked.

"Doc!" called out Archer with alarm as the bio-bed control panel lit up and grew chaotic.

The doctor grabbed equipment, threw on his gray surgical suit and began to prep. Without further instruction, the physician flung the curtain between him and Archer closed.

'It's okay.'

Jon peered through the thin veil with frustration. After an hour of pacing and trying to see what was going on, Phlox emerged.

"She'll be fine, but I'd like her to rest here, where I can keep an eye on her."

Archer breathed a sigh of relief. He stepped through the curtain and saw her eyes were snapped shut and she looked drawn. Concern marred Jon's eyes as the doctor explained her condition.

"Her body rejected the …. And some of the lining of her uterus has been shed in the process, which is not typical for a Vulcan. She's also had some internal bleeding in the process. I'd like to do some follow-up work to see the nature of her …."

Phlox's voice melted away as Jon fixated on his mate's breathing – even, shallow breaths.

The doctor noted Archer's worry. "She's meditating to heal. Don't worry, she'll probably wake up in a few hours."

Archer's head barely nodded.

Phlox tried to capture the man's attention to deliver the bad news. "I'd like to run a few more tests about the viability of her womb in the future."

"I don't understand," Jon said.

"I'm not sure if she'll ever be able to have children. Vulcans don't shed their uterus lining on a regular basis like humans do. Once it's shed, it … I'd like to run more tests, but I'm not sure she'll ever be able to have children."

Archer blinked through the comments, letting tears come to his eyes, but not spill down his cheeks. The words themselves hovered and floated over him without his understanding or acknowledgment.

The doctor saw a few questions forming in the man's mind, so decided to reiterate it didn't just look bad, it looked hopeless. The tests he needed to conduct were really just to verify that prognosis.

"I'm sorry," Phlox whispered.

"I'd like to stay with her."

"All right." The doctor headed off to the other end of the room, giving them some privacy.

Duty. Wearily Archer crossed over to the comm. "Archer to Commander Tucker."

"Tucker here, sir," responded a groggy voice. It was only 0433.

"T'Pol and I are going to need a couple of days off …."

"Huh?" asked the engineer, trying to make sense of the words coming on the other end of the comm.

Archer couldn't prevent his voice from breaking. "Personal reasons," said the captain, letting his fingers slip away without formally ending the transmission.

He pulled up a chair and sat beside his sleeping wife. After realizing the exigency of the moment was gone and he could feel whatever he needed to, he picked up T'Pol's hand. His lips pressed against her knuckles and he wept.

It's not okay.