A.N
-cringes- You're just going to have to bear with me on this chapter, it's like one big boring link into the action. Well I didn't like it anyway, but I'm not exactly up to rewriting the whole damn thing.
Still don't think I have to up the rating, but let me know if I should.
And one last note – argh! January. Now surely I'm not the only one here who thinks that's a fair bit away yet, but that's when they're airing, at the earliest, season three over here in Scotland! And you guy get to see the premier of season four in October! Now tell me where the justice is in that.
Huffily onto the chapter now I think.
……………
They dove out of his way as he passed. Some moved to talk to him but others quickly stopped them from committing such an insane act. For now he was unapproachable and it was very likely the Vulcans would be informing their Ambassador of this as he went.
Archer found his emotional frame of mind in as much a state as his body had once been when he had unwittingly gotten himself trapped in the basement of a bar on an alien planet for a week with his vital signs cloaked by a strange defence shield and his communicator broken by his fall down the stairs. And just as then, now he felt himself haplessly trapped.
His quarters were now actually a hallway down from the bridge, for some unknown design reason, and so with the ship in Warp and still no sign of the enemy for yet another hour he decided with a fierce nod that he would retreat into his room to have just half an hour to himself to think in solitude. He should have known before he had even stepped off the bridge that this would be impossible.
The corridors were lined with blue and red doors, blue signalling a single person dorm, the whites a double. They were even numbered at the sides. Archer thought with spite that they had probably spent more time designing the new interior quips that the actual technology (which was far from the truth but his mood was bitter and it reflected in his thoughts).
He made his way to the blue door that acted as a beacon at the very end of the bridge corridor for his room, sitting just were the junction was to turn off either to a turbo lift or more quarters on the right. Apart from Porthos his room was unpacked, and he knew subconsciously he was refusing to unpack and settle on this ship. What T'Pol would say about this he did not know, but he so desperately wished he could hear her chiding words of logic over the matter now.
Working on a new ship was far from what he had expected. He had been somewhat guiltily exited about travelling on Columbia, just around Jupiter, even without T'Pol there with them. He had been looking forward to experiencing the new technology in action, and watching another Starfleet Captain take his seat on the bridge. But now he knew the horrible truth: that his loyalties bound him to Enterprise, and would until his dying day.
His hand rose miserably to the panel lock as he thought over this. A Crewman passed behind him, his pace seeming to quicken as he walked past his Captain and towards the turbo lift. On Enterprise he would have said a warm 'hello' to Crewman Mandors, as he would to any crewmember passing by, but now he just let him go in silence.
There was a scarping noise coming from inside. It was then that Archer realised the time and also realised he had abandoned the duty of feeding his dog, something he should have done half an hour ago. Porthos was often not a patient dog when it came to his food and this reckless forgetfulness brought forth upon the Captain a drowning wave of guilt. He opened the door quickly.
"Sorry boy, I—"
The beagle was gone. As the door rose to open the old but still agile little body of Porthos darted past Archer's ankles like a wild dog unleashed and made a galloping dash down the corridor, barking madly as he ran through the row of quarters mainly belonging to the senior and upper crew. He stopped at one blue door and carried on his mad howling with more purpose now as he begged for the door to be opened. His voice did not go unnoticed. Dorms began to open up and crewmembers dared to feed their curiosity by filling their eyes with the source of the sound and the angry Captain who stood behind him.
"Porthos! Get away from there, that's Hoshi's quarters and she's not in."
He grabbed him around his chubby little belly when he did not listen and forced the dog's chocolaty brown eyes to look at his own dark, overcast frown. Porthos twisted his neck and continued on barking.
Needless to say the bridge too was alerted to the abrupt racket and Travis and Hoshi, after warily sticking their heads out into the air of the outside corridor, walked down the hallway that led to the rows of quarters. Hoshi immediately ran to her door and there was a sudden knowing look in Travis's eyes. Porthos calmed as the linguist stepped in front of him.
"Sorry Sir, I meant to ask you this earlier, but…" she paused, aware of the small crowd around them, aware of her Captain's mood and aware of the abstractness of her upcoming question, "Is Porthos good with other dogs?"
Archer's hazel scowl flattened as the question stumped him into confusion. He looked down at his beloved pet then back at his linguist then at the door that hid the mysterious source behind the prompt for Porthos's unexplained behaviour.
"He wont attack another one, if that's what you mean."
Relief seemed to flood Hoshi as her deep, wonderfully brown-orbed eyes turned to the panel lock where she placed in the code and opened her dorm up. Clarity rushed in quickly and the confusion was soon sorted.
A small bundle of wavy black fur trotted out on four short legs calmly, pawing at Hoshi's ankle before she reached down and took the animal around the waist. Porthos looked on eagerly, his tail thundering back and forth and Archer laid his eyes on a jet-black English Cocker Spaniel. It pointed its nose in interest at the Captain but ignored the other dog.
"I would have introduced you earlier but… you were preoccupied."
Archer blinked and the dog's pink tongue began to loll, the mouth stretching in a smile-like manner as it did with Porthos when he panted.
"The Admiral let me bring her aboard Sir. Her name's Angel, she's about four years old and she's an English Cocker Spaniel, but apart from that the sanctuary didn't really know anything else about her, just that she'd been left to roam the San Francisco streets. I went with Travis and picked her out a couple of days ago at some kennels. I don't think she bites other dogs and she's been really friendly to other people so far."
Archer knew dogs. It was very unlikely that this lump, which was quickly beginning to close its eyes in Hoshi's warm arms, was much capable of an attack or any general acts of violence on another creature. If anything she seemed just that bit lazier than Porthos.
"I suppose it would be pointless now to ask if she can stay?"
Archer sighed but he was fighting off an affectionate smile and Hoshi could just about see it. She knew she was lucky that Archer was an utter dog man, but she also found it hard to see how he or anybody else could not fall for her dog in some way.
"It's probably about time Porthos got himself a companion anyway. He needs more and more of a reason to get out of his bed every day, don't you boy?"
He scratched fondly under the white chin of his dog and Porthos lapped up the attention. Around them Archer could see others itching to stroke and coo over the dogs, he even saw a rare smile pass through the wary eyes of some of them. It seemed he had just found the boost for staff moral.
Putting Porthos down he nodded for Hoshi to do the same with Angel and they watched as the dogs said hello to each other as dogs did and then, instantly one loosing interest of the other, trot into the crowd to look for gentle hands to stroke them and perhaps even offer them food.
"Would you mind Ensign, if this willing group took our dogs down to the lounge on C-Deck for a little R&R?"
It took seconds for her to cotton on and she allowed herself a smile.
"Of course not, just as long as I get mines back in one piece, or just back even."
With the fondness in their eyes, and the arguments that were bound to erupt on who got custody and for how long, Archer laughed at her half warning and shook his head.
"Don't count on it Hoshi."
He then nodded to the small crowd of only four; Crewmembers Kelly Warren, Matthew Rise and Jackson Young, along with Ensign Jack Pocke, four of his crew if he remembered correctly who had been entirely willing to follow him into the Expanse, and now in his mission. He smiled proudly at them, suddenly feeling the warm compassion that he often felt when knowing in all modesty that he was an inspiring Captain with an eager crew. Despite having a new ship he had most of his old, loyal crew and he then felt again a surge of guilt as he realised he had lost sight of this.
"But yes, it would be nice if you brought them back, and relatively close to the condition they're in now. Just no cheese for Porthos, trust me. Crew dismissed."
Their smiles grew to beams and the dogs' tails swung madly as they realised they were not being confined back to their quarters but were instead being given the freedom to walk with the other humans around the ship. They quickly forgot their doting owners and left with the new crowd.
Behind them Travis watched on both curiously and doubtingly.
"That was an interesting tact Sir, but are you sure it was that wise?"
Archer sighed but managed to keep hold of his smile. "No, but be careful Travis, you're beginning to sound like a substitute for my Sub Commander and I already told Soval I don't want a new one."
As they watched the crowd beckon and coax the dogs on into the turbo lift, not something they needed much encouragement to do anyway, Archer wondered just exactly what T'Pol would have to say. He got the impression of great scepticism rising in her gaze, and great tones of doubt marring her voice, which perhaps would try desperately to sound 'open minded'.
He wondered, then pained then fought off the realism that was beginning to sink in about just how simply dire her situation and his Catch-22 were. He didn't want to do it, but he forced himself to wonder what it would mean to him if he never saw her again. Quite simply it meant devastation and utter loss.
……………
Unsure of how she did it, she did it anyway. Sitting in the warmth of a condemned cell on a ship hunting down her Captain, mostly likely, despite their promises, to kill him as well, as Andorian's passed by the small barred window only to poke their blue faces in and sneer and cuss, she sat cross legged on the bench with her hands perched comfortably on her lap and meditated. The hours went by far faster than they did in a broken sleep or when sitting calculating impossible equations or musing over what at all to do next. Her mind was not at a complete empty clarity as it should have been in such a deep meditate, one that bordered on a temporary comma, but it brought her what she desperately needed – emotionless calm.
As she sat strangely still with a strict straight back and legs curled far into themselves she felt a liquid tranquillity like cool space air purged her of her recent bouts with frustration and panic. Her skin was no longer wracked with goose pimples and her muscles sat easy in her carefully posed body. She could feel the deep breathes escaping slowly from her lungs again, no longer in a rush to exhale. Her fingers did not tremble and her lips did not quaver. The epicentre of her serene, logical Vulcan nature had returned once again in her spirit. As was to be expected though, it would not last.
For the fifth time in approximately twenty minutes a set of heavy moving footsteps walked down through the blue corridor that lay just beyond the steel barrier that kept her freedom robbed from her. Again she took no heed of them and kept her eyes closed, her lids flickering slightly to show that she was not quite asleep, only in deep mediation.
It angered the Andorians who passed to discover that verbal cursing and banging against the door with their weapons would not disturb her, but merely make her shift slightly to relieve sleeping muscles. She expected this next set of footsteps to do no less, stop and try an attempt at teasing the prisoner. Indeed he did stop, but he did not speak.
T'Pol's concentration began to slip and she knew her mind was more intent on focusing now on the present and the Andorian she could sense at the door than finding and holding on to a centre of calm. She felt tempted to open her eyes but kept them firmly shut.
The familiar sound of the whirling mechanics on the door's hinges echoed throughout the cell and she could feel the very slight vibrations they sent through the walls as her body fell completely still. A few seconds later a shuffling of feet scuffed the floor and the door began to close slowly over again. Finally she opened her intense brown eyes and looked sharply upon an Andorian guard bearing a plate of food in one hand that she only just now caught the putrid meaty scent of.
"I cannot be expected to eat that."
Her words were clear and biting and it seemed to surprise and annoy the guard that a prisoner in such a position as she was in would speak to him in such a tone, especially considering it was his hip the rifle sat on. Unfortunately T'Pol wad chancing herself and had decided to push her captors.
"Well my orders are to stand here until you have."
He placed the chipped plate on the bench at her side and then stood back a pace, crossing his arms over to prove his word as he stood there patiently.
"Go on, all of it."
She looked up again at him with a cocked brow, as if to say she did not entirely appreciate being spoken to like a child who refused to finish his last morsels of a meal.
"My digestive system is not entirely capable of handling meat substances. It is highly unlikely that this… meal," she looked with highlighted distaste at the serving of thick, fatty red meat then turned her nose away to it again, "would serve its purpose at all."
The guard sneered. "And the Captain said you were a smart one who we were to watch out for. This meal is not for the purpose of feeding you, Vulcan, it's meant as a prompt to get you to talk, to show you this is just the 'tip of the iceberg' if you don't start spreading to the boss the information he wants to hear."
Her distasteful but calm look was beginning to find direction at the guard now, and not just at the food. So she closed her eyes before she dared to say something reckless and pointless and tried to slip back into a state of meditation. This did not impress her companion.
"Eat it now before I'm forced to do something I won't regret."
T'Pol continued to forces her mind to dwell on past memories of distant times aboard the Enterprise, of calmer days serving there, specifically of times where she had taught others of the crew to mediate. She remembered one time with Jonathan—
The nose of a rifle poked carelessly into her shoulder, hurting the sensitive skin under her beige jumpsuit.
"Oh no, no mediating allowed in here, I can assure you of that."
Again her eyes opened slowly and without tilting her head up she looked up at him, the serene brown irises rolling gradually to the top of her sockets. It gave her the look of menace and irritation. Despite the poisoning glare and tremble in her lips she said nothing and once more closed her eyes over. She knew she was 'pushing her luck', as Jonathan had said to her once when she had defined his orders to obey her own ethics, but she did not know how far she had pushed until he showed her.
The gun was swung back and then rushed forward again for the hard metal side to collide with the side of her face. Shock defying her balance she found herself flattened along the bench as a searing bruise of pain shot through her jaw line and soft left cheek. Bursts of white light shrouded her vision as she blinked rapidly and felt the palms of her hands press down hard, trembling into the warm steel of the bench as she tried to leaver herself back up.
Her tattered ear tips twitched and she heard the tearing of the air as the gun was brought back again, further this time. It was the guard's one mistake, his yearn to throw a harder hit with the success of the last one, and she was given enough time now to react as he volleyed his weapon forward. She threw herself against the wall and the nose of the gun swept only just past her forehead. She finally opened her eyes properly and let vision flood her mind again.
He had lost his bearings slightly with the surprise that he had missed her and with the weight of the gun forcing him to twist on his heels he then lost his balance and fell. It was all she needed and she was thankful for it as she quickly stood up despite the disorientation and moved behind him, just as he twisted to follow her abrupt movements. Her thumb and first two fingers clamped down on the part of the shoulder closest to the base of his blue neck. She pinched perhaps a little too hard but it was hardly a concern of hers as she watched him fall quietly defeated to the floor.
She allowed herself no time for praise. Her head still spun and she still blinked fiercely, trying hard to gain back fractions more of her sparking sight. In mere minutes a deep green bruise began to creep along her jaw line and up just below her eye. She ignored the sensational pain and stepped over to the door.
Realisation struck then that there was no lock on the inside. No panel and no comm. The guard didn't even seem to have a set of keys on him, just his weapon and that meal. This conjured only one conclusion; that in what could be mere minutes assistance would be up to allow him back out of the condemning prison.
She looked back at the heap on the floor. His gun had scattered to a corner. She ducked over and grabbed it. A small plasma rifle; it was nothing elaborate for such an elaborate set-up. She remembered the archaic human saying that Phlox had once told her after Hoshi had once told him – 'beggars could not be choosers'. She understood it better now, now that it had been put in unfortunate context. The gun was easy to handle though, and surely easy to fire.
She tried to out way the bad with the good, to give her some sense of hope, a feeling that had repeatedly kept dying as the caper went on. It barely worked and she held the gun pessimistically, or realistically, as Malcolm would say, loosely in her left hand.
It was then she realised it. Something so simple that had escaped her attention amidst the horror of her situation. Her ring was gone, along with the photographs.
She sat back down on the bench. She should have known the second she laid sights on those crazed crimson eyes that the sentimental items would be stolen from her. However, it left her feeling no less… empty.
Footsteps again. She felt her blood freeze over and her stomach churn as it had been already with the dead scent of the uncooked meat. It was that strange sick sensation she was feeling again and she eventually recognised it as heavy apprehension.
Tall lanky shadows began to bounce across the blue wall just beyond the door, antennae flickering and guns waving. There were three of them, perhaps a forth as the reflections walked forward in one indistinguishable grey clump. As the shadows walked away from her line of sight she knew they were a meagre few strides away now.
She was right, and when four of them peered into the cell seconds later they were far from impressed by the mess she had made.
She stood up quickly and aimed the gun through the barred window, ignoring that her pounding head begged her to sit back down again.
"You can inform your boss that if he wishes to learn anything in this week then he will have to treat his Vulcan prisoner somewhat civilly."
The Andorians still gazed on stumped at their fallen brethren. That bewilderment however soon changed to anger and clear-cut outrage.
"How dare you, especially in your position!"
The door began to unlock as one spoke up.
"There is no negotiation here. If you do not tell his what he wants to know then he will just find another hapless victim to torture it out of."
They pushed their way in before the door was even finished opening.
"And you'll learn some respect before your time is up."
She felt a quiver shoot down her spine but she firmly held her ground before the bench, her gun still aimed.
"Put it down and we wont tear you apart right now."
The last had spoken and it was clear none of them had any intention of keeping to that promise.
She pulled the trigger and was knocked back by the force of the fire, her aim shooting into the roof and doing no more harm than showing the four with harmless orange sparks. A few inches to the left and she would have hit the bar of light, perhaps being able to cause some amount of injury through that.
"Klingon hand-pistols," one laughed triumphantly as T'Pol silently cursed the pain in her wrist, "they may make them small, but there is never anything subtle about Klingon weaponry."
Hardly deterred she lifted her steady left arm again. Just as quickly thereafter the gun was shot out from her hold and a light scorch mark curled across the top of her pale hand.
"It takes years to master the yielding of one, but well worth that labour. Now stand back up."
Her part of the fight now over she obeyed grudgingly, remaining ever silent. For behaving though she got nothing. For defending herself against a near rampant guard she got four more near-rampant guards.
They began with the face and worked their way down.
……………
Archer rubbed his greying temples. It was like a fleeting migraine bouncing across the circumference of his skull. But just as quickly as it came it went again and he slowly released his clamped massaging fingers from the sides of his face.
Now almost a full twenty-four hours after leaving space dock he sat slumped in his chair and felt cramp at the base of his back beginning to settle in. He was with the successors of his senior crew now, Ensign Park on the comm., Lieutenant Keating at weaponry and EnsignMontgomery at the helm. He had not moved from his own position since taking an hour out in his quarters to think long and hard no more than twenty-two hours ago. He was numb with thought.
The Phae's crew were dead. He estimated at least twenty had to have been aboard. One was still alive for insurance. It had to be T'Pol, her bounty had to still have held with his even after all these years.
Even for Hoshi it would be a challenge to negotiate. Even with Sulak it would be hard to track them, and even with he as Captain it would be difficult to pull through triumphant. There was still that one reason why he would though – the fuel that ignited his edge, his missing First Officer, the Vulcan he believed he loved.
Such realisation of this, and realisation above that that he had now loved and lost was what rendered him numb. It wasn't the tension of waiting for an invisible enemy, or imagining the prisoners now dead simply because they did not slip in line with the laws of the Vulcans, it was that he was so narrow minded and blind before that he hadn't realise his own feelings until the one who had prompted them in him had been taken away.
His face was hot when he dragged his palms down it. He imagined he looked pale with hostile eyes so he did not bother removing the deep frown which had settle across his white brow. He kept it there to scowled himself as his heart thundered on with irreversible repent.
The bridge door slid open but the Captain did not turn, his flipping thoughts making his deaf. Then there was a Southern accent at his ear.
"Sir, as your First Officer ah sincerely advise you take a break before you fuse your ass to that seat."
With bleary eyes he suddenly turned, half expecting it to be T'Pol at his back, chiding him in her own subtle way. Of course though it was Trip and he seemed to sag with disappointment, even though he smiled weakly.
"It's not like I'm exhausting myself with work up here Trip."
The Southern sympathised with him by offering up a golden smile
"No, just worry. It's meant to be one in the mornin', an' you've sat from the Alpha shift through to the Epsilon, and in a few hours it'll be time for the Alpha shift again. Either let me sit in the Big Chair for a shift, or come down with me to the mess hall to talk about things, 'cause ah sure as hell know T'Pol wouldn't let y' stay up here like this."
Archer's eyes suddenly geared with anger. Trip saw he had hit a nerve. Like taking the Lord's name in vain in front of a priest simply to emphasise a point, Archer was not impressed with Trip's use of bait to arouse him from his guilt. Just as quickly though the adrenalin that shot though Archer's cold blood defused again and he felt the tension flicker from his eyes.
"Sorry…"
Trip shook his head, smiling cautiously again. He was not a grudge-bearer.
"Y' comin' then?"
Archer looked around at his bridge staff, all content in their work or more specifically talking amongst themselves through the eerily quiet hum of Columbia in steady Warp Four. Without needing to remind them he knew they would call him if just one flicker of the enemy appeared before of them in some form or another.
"Since you put it that way Commander, I suppose I'll have to."
……………
Trip was exactly the person Archer needed to talk to. He needed to know what it was like to love a Vulcan, and he needed to know if he was going insane over her or if Trip too had experienced this most complex emotional turmoil with her.
It was hardly easy to come forward with the questions that tore at his confused curiosity though. He looked on at the Engineer with a tilted glance, hoping his expression would prompt Trip to ask him what was wrong. There was where the ideal staring point lay.
"So what's on your mind, apart from the obvious?"
He almost kissed him, but in the end refrained.
"I honestly don't know Trip. I'm beginning to wonder now though if inviting T'Pol to stay at my apartment for a few days was the best idea of my life, or the stupidest move in history."
Trip leaned back with his beer. So it wasn't exactly the Andorians and the Klingons he wanted to talk about but he let him continue despite the slight randomness of the conversation. It made sense anyway.
"Four years ago, when I found out… you two…"
Trip knew exactly what about four years ago he was trying to get at. Four years ago was when he had found himself half way across the mess hall because it had finally leaked out to the Captain what had happened between he and T'Pol not a year before that.
"I was more out of line than I could ever have comprehended back then Trip. And now I understand, I think, how hard it must have been for you when she… when she—"
Trip nodded, cutting Archer short with a sad, withering smile. "Told me she wasn't interested in anymore. It's not easy to get a Vulcan to love you back Jon, even when you'd tear your own heart out just to make her feel the same way you do. And by Gawd was she scared by love. But she's not anymore, and ah might have helped her understand a little how the feelin' works, but you're the accelerant now, not me. Ah gotta get off the stage and let you have the moment, 'cause it's not me she wants anymore, an' with you, this time, the feelin's are mutual."
How quickly Trip could shave off his forward, brutally honest and straightforward nature to one of utter understanding and compassion for others was at times unbelievable and frightening. More often than that though it was welcomed by desperate minds and appreciated to the fullest.
This night was so like that one mere hours before they had entered the Expanse. Sitting in the mess hall in the middle of the night, a bottle of bourbon between them and sombre brown shadows bathing them. But despite the drab surroundings and circumstance they had had each other and a total understanding to share, a painful clarity it could be called by how pure and obvious it was.
Back then Trip had understood why Archer was letting go such a valuable member of his crew, his First Officer no less, without even a hapless fight as she went unwillingly back to her people. He could not have a distracted Sub Commander with divided loyalties in his crew; his reason was as simple as that. The year which follow alone showed she did not have this schism of allegiances anymore.
Now he had to fight with as much a show as this to get her back, and again Trip understood his reasoning. Dragging Columbia out on a mission before her time (her christening even lasting only a few hurried minutes), hastily agreeing with Soval and thus bringing aboard almost a quarter crew of Vulcans, arming themselves to the teeth; apart from the fact that it was the essential thing to do, saving lives and bringing down a growing enemy before it peaked (although it seemed now it had) it was also the thing to do because he loved her. And he hadn't directly said it yet, but he knew his best friend's feelings as well as he knew T'Pol's own. Even looking at his distant hazel gaze now Trip could see it, and it left a ripple of bittersweet envy in his soul.
"She loves ya Jon, she just doesn't realise it yet."
Archer's gaze focused and Trip offered him a gentle smile.
"But she will, when you let her know you do too."
Archer frowned feeling in the few seconds he had phased out had missed something, a crucial part of dialogue perhaps. Trip only nodded knowingly.
"So swallow that damn pride of yours and tell her when we find her, promise me that, okay?"
Archer remained silent, so Trip prompted him with a truth he had first hand experienced.
"Tell her or she'll never know it an' she'll never figure it out for herself, an' you'll be eatin' yourself from the inside out for the rest of yer natural life. You've got yourself the livin' proof right before y' that that's exactly what'll happen if y' don't."
Trip's words might have grown biting, harder to make him heed his message, but they were just as understanding as before. Finally Archer found his voice, although it was husky and almost whispered.
"And if we don't. Find her I mean."
Trip shook his head, ending the conversation for the night on a definitive note.
"You will Jon, you always do."
……………
She was cold. However it was the least of her problems. Sitting up was naturally a struggle, but she had to. Common, logical sense demanded of her hours of meditation to hone her body's healing factor, hopefully speed up the healing time of some of her less… major injuries. Cuts, bruises, her bloody nose and bitten tongue; if she closed her eyes and sat patiently enough then not long after the broken skin should start to seal, her blood clot and the bruises fade away slightly.
The larger wounds, what was broken, what had been torn apart, where she bled out most, she would have to be patient until the cavalry to arrive, instead of willing on a speedier healing factor for them.
She had last eaten at Jonathan's house, plomeek soup she remembered. It had tasted surprisingly close to as it should have, and later during the meal Jonathan had told her he had 'worked his ass off' making it whilst she packed. He had also stated, when she said beans would have sufficed, that it was 'no bother'. Remembering the details she discovered, whilst musing over such trivial things, helped ease her torn, trembling muscles and twitching eyelids.
Over the hours she had been left in this state she had desperately tried to think as well as mediate. She was trying to conjure up believable lies and fables to tell Yulae about this 'Federation'. Taking an educated guess (something she grudgingly did) she thought perhaps it could be some sort of weapon, thus the reason for why Yulae was so desperate about receiving the details on the cryptic files. It was understandable to think he would think any mass weapon being made was meant for his people, his renegades.
However she could not reason with why the humans would be constructing a super-weapon, and certainly one as high profile and secretive as this one appeared to be. She doubted it was for the Andorians, she doubted there even was a weapon. Naïve and headstrong the humans may be, but she knew they had left behind their war days a long time ago.
But it was all she had and in her head she was now constructing the details of her bluff.
She later on became aware of her shivering. She was literally clawing forth her concentration and any shields that would block the pain now, but it was an almost impossible task. She had her story, and now she could let go.
She sagged. Her eyes opened and she looked down at the ground with an empty, watery gaze. The floor had gone from clean to dirty and stained. Puddles and drops of green blood littered the place, as well as scatterings of stale, raw red meat.
She was starving. It was part of why she had remembered her last meal before now so fondly. It was part of the reason why she looked at the meat to keenly.
Suddenly she turned her eyes away and scolded herself. If she were to die before Jonathan found her then it would not be whilst she was humouring these barbaric monsters.
Again she scowled herself, this time for her Vulcan pride. Survival over pride – that was how it should be. Sadly she could not accept this and continued to ignore the scattered meal.
Her body tensed as she moved, but soon relaxed when it realised she was only trying to lie down. She eased herself onto her best side, her right-hand side, down onto the shoulder that had not been shot.
She was unsure of how they expected her to survive the week, or pull from her the information they so badly wanted. She saw they were being irrational, spending their only token far too quickly. To the best of her knowledge she was their only lead, and they were slowly killing her. Irrational it was, and for some reason this thought warmed her. They may have had technology and powerful allies, but they were still blunt and hasty and primitive.
She felt her Vulcan pride surfacing again, and this time let it be.
Twenty-two hours it had been, since she was brought aboard from the Phae. Not the best twenty-two hours of her life, and she tried but failed to think of worse times, but she would not allow pity to dwell down upon her. Her pride had already risen victorious. That was enough for one day.
She did pine for one thing though. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be back in Jonathan's apartment.
The door opened. She opened her reddened eyes and looked on hatefully. She was joined again by Andorian company – Yulae.
"T'Pol. T'Pol, T'Pol, T'Pol."
Her name in his mouth, she wanted to break every tooth in his insanely smiling jaw. She could feel her emotions surfacing, the strength of them almost frightening as if she were one of her primitive ancestors. Yulae knew this. He loved it.
As much as she yearned to, T'Pol could not bring herself to sit up. She had to watch Yulae cross the room over to her helplessly as she lay looking like a sick animal ready for the slaughter. A crude description she summoned of herself, but it was cruelly apt.
Towering above her, his nose pointing down at her with flared nostrils as she moved only her eyes to follow him, he sighed and shook his head in mock pity.
"The Vulcan Nerve Pinch. I don't want to see that again, that was a cruel trick to play on my solider. It's something we haven't quite learnt to do yet, it's not a little unfair, don't you think, when only you can perform it and we haven't a chance against it."
She said nothing. His knees gave way and suddenly his eyes were level with hers as he bent down at her side.
She flattened her palm onto the bench, willing herself to sit up but his large bony hand clamped gently but firmly around her burnt wrist and he insisted she stayed where she was. He was inches from her face, and his breath crept over her battered cheeks.
"Do you know where your Captain is right now?"
She blinked slowly and felt her throat catch, but painfully willed herself not to cough.
"He can't be anymore than, oh… half a light-year in front of us. In fact in less than one human hour he'll be aboard here with us. But he's got Dulac to contend with, you will still have my full attention dear, don't you worry."
The broken ribs that touched ever so lightly on her organs were making her stomach churn and she almost smiled at the thought of vomiting in the Andorian's eerie crimson gaze. She contained herself however and swallowed back the small trickled of thick, salty saliva that crawled up her dry throat. With an empty stomach she wouldn't be able to do it anyway.
"I would not advise killing one of the most important and well known human beings on Earth. You will make yourself a more formidable enemy than even my people give them credit for."
Her voice was unnatural strong for her current state and it seemed not to impress Yulae too much, as if he saw this as a marker to showed his men had not done a good enough job with her. He put some pressure on his grasp around her burnt wrist but she hardly flickered.
"If I want your man dead, dear, then I'll have him killed. Consequences are nothing if you win a triumph and a stake of fear."
T'Pol frowned. "You will not scare his people, you will infuriate them."
Inching closer still on the toes of his feet Yulae brought his nose almost to touch his victim's, but not quite. As his blue lips curled into a smile though she could see every chip and stain on his yellowed teeth, and every fine line across the skin of his amused face. His breath was sweet and sickening, much like the air in her cell.
"T'Pol, love, I don't care."
Finally he pulled away, giving her a hearty pat on the shoulder as he rose to his full height again. She didn't wince, even though his palm did slam down on a fresh, tender bruise. Instead she sat up, ignoring the painful protest of her body and the sickly delight in Yulae's eyes.
"Hungry?"
He watched her clutch her stomach with her best hand and saw her nose continually wither at the scent of the now drying meat, which she assumed meant it was going bad.
"Well we did try to feed you."
He waved her off with a blasé flicker of his wrist as a guard standing patiently outside opened the door for him.
"Another time T'Pol, perhaps when you're ready to talk."
With that smiling remark he was gone and she was left in bitter, cold solitude once again.
Something shimmered in the orange light as she moved her weight back and forth, forcing herself to settle comfortably even though every movement echoed painfully in her stiff muscles. The silvery shimmer came from beside her, on the bench. She twisted her raw red neck to the side and looked down slowly.
Suddenly she sat up and flung her hand forward, snatching what was there greedily, like a maddened dog on discovering a bone.
The ring, the one Jonathan had bought her, sat now in the folds of her palm. Carefully she fanned her hand out again and looked down at the beloved object. It was bent and scratched as bad as she was, but it still held the general shape of a ring. She tried it on the finger she first wore it upon but a dent just where the writing was made it too small to go past the knuckle. So she slipped it on her left pinkie and there was were it sat, digging into her skin and bruising the bone, but she wore it regardless.
She noticed the photographs a few seconds later, after admiring the sight of the sentimental jewellery on her scabbed finger. Crumpled and dirtied they were nonetheless in one piece as she carefully picked them up with trembling fingers and chipped nails.
The one with herself, Trip and Jonathan made her cock her head to the side fondly. The one with herself and Jonathan made her heart leap then ache and her fingers tremble harder.
She thought she heard herself whisper his name. But it was pointless, he could not hear her and there was every chance that Yulae was bluffing about the Captain being only half a light-year away. There was every chance that he was still on Earth whilst she flew into Andorian space. Even more of a chance still that they were on Earth and Yulae's ship was off into Klingon space, or some remote, uninhabited region of space at least, hardly detectable and very unlikely to be searched by whoever was looking for her.
She leant forward in lost hope. She began to reason with her older, more controlled self who would not have despaired if she knew she was inevitably going to die. She forced herself to remember that it was illogical to feel anything over something that could not be changed; a death, an extinction, uncalled-for abusive actions on others.
She remembered the very first away mission she had had on Enterprise, paired with Commander Tucker for part of it. His eyes had pined to see what horror was happening behind that door in that alleyway on Rigal X. He knew as well as she did someone was unjustly being hurt, but she had stopped him from interfering, knowing there was little either could do about it. She had felt nothing then but he had suffered a pang of guilt.
Now she suffered anguish and fear knowing that she did not want to die, even if it was almost inevitable. She could not revert back to that detached frame of mind; she had been around humans too long to be able to do that. It even pained her that she could not, but she did not waste any more of her exhausted mind thinking about why that was. She just accepted that it was another annoying human characteristic she had unwittingly picked up on over the last seven years.
As she lay down again, photographs cuddled into her chest and her ring on tight she found sleep creeping up on her disturbingly fast. The cell and surrounding corridor were hauntingly quiet but she did not allow herself to be afraid of this, at least.
Her mind wondered in thought before drifted off to a rocky sleep. It did not wonder far. She wondered about one thing, and it was a simple thing really. She just wondered where Jonathan was right now, and if he was at all worried about where she was.
She thought she heard herself whisper his name again, but she was asleep before she could consider it.
……………
On the bridge, where his usual senior crew were present and silent around him, Archer batted the top of his right ear slightly. He thought he heard his name but the four other bodies that surrounded him were either too deep in work or too deep in thought to be concerned with calling him.
Then, suddenly, a shooting pain pierced through his temples. They all jumped as he doubled over and grabbed his greying hairs, grunting viciously as he fought off the urge to cry out at the fleeting agony. As quickly as it crippled him though it was gone again and he found himself staring sheepishly between his knees. He could feel the bated breathes around him.
"Sir?"
Malcolm was on his feet just behind the Captain as he slowly straightened himself in his chair again then looked around slightly dazed.
"Sir, are you alright?"
If the pain had lingered Archer might have snapped at him, chiding him for such a patronising question as it should have been obvious that he wasn't. But he was absolutely fine, physically.
"Yeah, Malcolm, sorry… for that."
The Lieutenant was naturally not convinced.
"Sir, perhaps you should go see Phlox."
Archer was just as unconvinced of this idea and he gave his Tactical Officer a weak smile.
"Malcolm, I'm—"
He was anything but the end of that remark however as he dug his nails into his temples with yet another fleeting jab of pain, this one lasting no more than five or six seconds. Malcolm was bent down with him this time to assure proper eye contact.
"Sir, I think you should go see Phlox."
He could sense a mutual agreement pass through the other three, even Sulak, who Archer often gazed at with a half smile, taken by how striking the sibling similarity really was.
"Malcolm…" he looked upon the weather-beaten blue of the Lieutenant's eyes and sighed, dropping his unspoken argument, "You have the bridge."
……………
Sickbay stood in stark contrast to the rest of the ship. Archer often, in the seven years he had walked in and out these doors, marvelled at the eternal optimism that seemed to dwell here, dying off only in the most dire of times. Archer would have thought this was one of these most dire times. Apparently it was not.
Perhaps it was the bright blue lights, or white gleam of the place that emphasised the cheer, but it was nothing like the grey gloom of the bridge, of shadowy brood of his quarters. It was as fresh and airy as always, and accompanied by the keen chatter of two Denobulans in the background.
Phlox raised his head from the unmarked steel box he and his son were peering down excitedly at. His blue eyes lit up when he saw his Captain walk in with a slow step and unshaven chin. His worn sight hardly affected the doctor's smile as he greeted Archer with his characteristic smile.
"Captain, I was wondering when you would make an appearance down here in my, ah… humble dwellings."
Phlox's grin and upbeat tone were annoyingly infectious and Archer smiled slightly.
"You've met my son, right? Aldon."
The younger looking and smaller of the two aliens stepped forward promptly, the resemblance frightening between father and son when they simultaneously smiled. Archer nodded briefly then extended his hand. These two did not deserve his blunt mood, so he kept it at bay on his tongue.
"Yes, briefly. Good to see you again Aldon."
The young Denobulan shook his hand eagerly, almost as if it were an honour.
"I've been hoping you would come down soon Sir, to see the Captain my father speaks so highly of."
Archer laughed quietly. "Your father probably exaggerates."
A look passed between the Captain and his doctor, a look shared by old friends as they spoke silent praise about the enthusiastic youth.
"I came down to see if you had anything for migraines actually, Phlox."
With a nod from his father Aldon took off, looking quickly for the cure to the complaint in various cupboards and shelves. Phlox took the task of questioning the patient.
"Stress related headaches?"
Archer nodded slowly, liking that logic.
"Probably. We've been out here for just over a day and yet nothing. The hours gets to you after a while."
Phlox nodded sympathetically. "Of course, of course. You must be anxious for T'Pol's well-being."
A grave understatement it was to say he was just 'anxious', but Archer nodded again in agreement.
Aldon returned with the prescription in a hypospray and handed it to Phlox. Phlox refused it though and spread his hand to Archer.
"You don't mind, do you? He's quite well practiced."
Archer looked sceptically at the son then wiped the look as he saw the dismissal of hope in his young amazing blue eyes. Archer was better at being blunt than he gave himself credit for sometimes.
"No, no it's okay."
The hope was quick to return as Aldon held the hypospray properly, morphing himself into full-concentration mode. For a process that took no more than five seconds to execute it was a funny sight to behold, the slight edge of his tongue that stuck out between his lips and the sharp focus in his eyes, especially after watching Phlox do it a hundred times before without hardly looking. But Archer said nothing and gratefully thanked the young physician who looked delighted with his work.
"Congratulations son, you've just treated your first fellow crewman. Now sterilise the hypospray and could you feed the Pyrithian bats after?"
Like asking a child to eat his way through a sweet shop he complied with a beaming smile.
"He's been working to join the Interspecies Medical Exchange for many years now. I couldn't express to you how proud I am of him."
For a second Archer thought he would be given the rare sight of his doctor in tears but he only got a modest smile and then a content sigh.
"So tell me, Captain, what's really the cause of your complaint?"
Archer's brow dipped but the doctor prompted him with a nod. Archer initially shrugged.
"I don't know where they come from but it's like migraines shooting through my head, only for a few seconds at a time. There's no specific time between them, but they're getting worse, more painful."
Worry began to creep through Phlox's expression as a puzzled frown graced his forehead. He jutted his lip out in thought but could think of no suitable conclusion other than one.
"It must me the stress. When did you last sleep?"
Archer knew the answer would sound awful, and so he hesitated. Phlox prompted him once again with a nod.
"Two days ago."
Phlox smiled wryly. "Then perhaps the best cure here would be some simple bed rest Captain. In fact, I insist you give Commander Tucker command for now and at least have four hours of sleep. I can give you something to help if you'd like?"
Archer shook his head thoroughly.
"I can't sleep right now. The Andorians are on our tail, they have to be, and they could hail for me at any time. I'm not keen on the idea of telling Trip to let them know I'm in my quarters taking forty winks to pass the time."
Phlox shook his own head. "Nonsense! Commander Tucker knows how to bluff. I've seen him spin some very convincing stories to avoid extra recovery time in sickbay. If the need arises he will be more than capable of stalling for you. Now Captain, I insist you go to bed. I'm sure Sub Comm—"
"Alright, Phlox. I get the—"
"Sir!"
The comm. broke out in static and filled the bay with Hoshi's urgent and trembling voice. Archer darted to the door and opened up the link.
"Hoshi?"
"Sir, weapons have been locked on Ent— Columbia. We have an audio-only hail coming through, it's the Andorians this time Sir."
Archer looked quickly to Phlox before he fired back at Hoshi.
"I'll be there in just a second. Stall for me."
"Eye Sir."
Archer then gave Phlox a hasty pat on the shoulder. "Sorry, Phlox, but duty calls."
Phlox moved to say something but the Captain was gone in a flurry of speed through the double doors and down the long corridor. Aldon poked his head through a hanging of green drapes.
"So, you were right about the Captain and his Sub Commander."
Phlox nodded sagely. "I knew six years ago."
……………
Archer looked on furiously as he shouted back at the invisible caller.
"I want her back here now!"
The voice grew a smirk in its tone. "If you board with me you might well get her alive at least. I urge you to take up that offer Captain, considering I was going to return her in pieces originally."
Archer threw his fist into a wall. Then there was silence. His temper, as per usual, was doing no good. He couldn't help but flush red with anger though and around him his crew were terrifyingly silent.
"How do I know you wont just send me to the Klingons. Hand me over to Dulac to complete his revenge for his brother."
His eyes were raised to the ceiling, as if he were addressing a cruel and spiteful god.
"We need information, information your Vulcan friend will not give us. However she did let me know killing you would be a foolish idea, that I would create a mass enemy not to be underestimated. That is not what I need right now, so I will lay that down as my promise that I will not kill you."
Archer quickly ran his hands through his hair, thinking fast and smartly.
"And how to I know T'Pol is still alive."
He had never asked a more difficult question. Its answer almost crippled him.
A little white light on Hoshi's console lit up, flashing urgently. Archer saw it and nodded hesitantly. The screen before them came alive with a new image.
"Captain, I can assure you, she is still alive."
He held her up by the collar of her jumpsuit. She looked on with narrow, hateful eyes as she carried herself on her tiptoes, struggling not to be hung and strangled. He took a few shaken steps forward, his stomach knotting and his heart racing at what he saw.
She did not initially gaze upon him however, with her bruised sockets, but instead her unfocused gaze slipped behind him, to her brother who slowly stood on trembling legs.
"Sulak?"
He leant heavily on his console, but said nothing. Archer looked back at him quickly before whipping his furious expression back onto the Andorian who he was still yet to learn the name of.
He let T'Pol go and she stood quickly away from him, finally looking quietly on at Jonathan.
"So wont you come aboard with us?"
There was insanity in his happy voice and a cold shiver shot through Archer's spine in hearing it, knowing finally that this was who T'Pol's captor was, of all the Andorians.
"Okay. But if we don't both leave alive," he tried his best to ignore the horror growing in T'Pol's reddened gaze, "there'll be more than hell to pay from both our people, you understand?"
It was evident in the Andorian's wicked smile that he did, and enjoyed the prospect. Archer nodded then signalled to Hoshi to kill the link. With a disturbed nod she did.
He immediately spun on his heel and headed for the comm. to order Trip to the bridge. He was stopped by his Science Officer before though.
"Let me come with you."
Archer looked at him, truly surprised at first, but then spitefully.
"I thought you didn't recognize her as your sister anymore, your way of telling me you didn't care what happened to her."
Clarity struck the three watching as they finally cleared what was bugging them about the Vulcan officer. His plain brown gaze was undeniably identical to T'Pol's.
"I am not as heartless as it seems you have be pinned as. I would not like to see the death of T'Pol happen knowing I could have assisted in helping in some way."
Finally slight sympathy leaked into the Captain's stern gaze.
"I can't allow it, you heard his demands. Me, alone, that's all he wants. If not he'll kill whoever comes with me. I wont risk that no matter how well you think you can defend yourself. Trip."
He suddenly leaned into the comm. at the door.
"Yeah?"
"Report to the bridge. You have command of the ship."
He did not have the time for questions. He looked to Malcolm.
"Fill him in for me, and don't try to stop me, that's an order Lieutenant."
He was not up for arguments either, and was grateful for Reed's small accepting nod.
"Bring her down to Impulse Mr Mayweather, and see if you can't pin them yet Sulak on the sensors."
Both nodded.
"Hoshi…" she looked at him painfully and he smiled awkwardly, "look after the dogs."
With hardly any strength in her lips at all she smiled shakily and he opened the bridge door.
"Whether these Andorians like it or not, we're both coming back alive."