Plan B

A/N: Thanks for the comments, all! Shran is Shrantastic. From here on out, the story won't match up exactly with the story, but it's mostly so Shran can stick around.

When Archer entered the Bridge, he had a lump in his throat and a feeling of dread writhing around his stomach. Settling down, uneasily, into his chair, he could feel T'Pol stare at the back of his neck. Turning ever so slightly, he nodded toward his Ready Room.

After they reached the small room, Archer loomed over her.

"We've gotta tell him," he said.

She seemed to know immediately who "he" was and what they needed to tell him.

"What happened?"

Ducking under beams as he paced, he found the words fumbling out. "Jhamel … sensed something from us that made Shran suspicious."

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow and looked toward the ground only for a moment.

"I was concerned this might happen," she said.

"Shran asked us to come to his quarters at 1500. I'll tell him everything …."

"Captain, the punishment for this is death."

Archer shrugged – he knew: a public disembowelment – kinda like something that might happen in the Dark Ages. That sounded like a particularly nasty way to go.

"Maybe Shran will show mercy," he said.

The Vulcan became more serious – if it was possible – and grabbed his wrist.

"I can't allow that to happen," she said.

He looked down and saw her grabbing his arm. Gently, without wrenching it away, he collected his arm back.

"I think we're out of options," he said.

She stared into space for a few moments and then turned slowly to him. "I could try and perform a mind meld."

Archer raised his eyebrows. Suddenly in a rush, as if a dream, he saw an ancient ritual, one that had been performed for thousands of years. Chanting men in long flowing robes placed their fingers along each other's faces and touched minds. The act was intimate, but lacked physicality that humans think of such a moment. More information sparked along his neuropaths and he realized the meld she was suggesting was quite deep: she wanted to plant false memories into his subconscious. With these melds all of his thoughts would be available to her. Everything would be available to her.

"You haven't done this before," he said. He didn't have to ask her to know it was true.

"Perhaps the knowledge you retained from Surak …?"

He thought she hadn't, in a way, believed it to be true. As if a voice spoke independently from his own, he answered. "Of course. It would be fascinating to assist."

She stared in response until he coughed politely into his hand.

"This mind meld would be deep. I would have to touch your subconscious, deposit memories, in order for you to believe everything we've agreed to. It's difficult, but the Kir'Shara says it's possible."

He nodded. "I know."

It wasn't dangerous for her; if it was he'd automatically dismiss the idea.

"Then you know this is our only option."

He remained quiet, as if he hadn't decided it was their only option.

"All my thoughts – all of them – would be available to you." That was something that concerned him much more than trusting her to supplant old memories.

"Jonathan?" she asked, prompting him to speak.

"How much time will we need?"

Relief crossed her features. "I don't know. I would suggest we start as soon as possible."

Archer noted the time – 0917 – and nodded.

"I'll need time to meditate and you should mentally get ready as well. Meet me in my quarters at 1200 and wear something comfortable. Chances are likely we will be sitting for some time."

"All right."


The atmosphere had to be peaceful, so she lit the candles in her room. After the last wick was set ablaze she reminded herself that she needed to be just as calm and serene. Changing into her Vulcan robes she sat down on her meditation mat and stared into the flame.

Logic. Logic is the beginning and the end.

It was a chant she'd learned as a child – something that put her mind at ease. As she slipped into a trance, she neatly tucked away her emotions – folding away doubt, setting fear in a drawer and stuffing away anxiety – feelings that threatened the success of the endeavor.

Hours, which felt like minutes, flew by. Just as her mind drifted from the trance to consciousness, her eyes flittered open at the door chime.

It was Jonathan. Following her instructions, he arrived at her quarters dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants. She knew there wasn't a lot of time, so she got down to business.

"Sit down on the mat."

Noticing the captain glancing around her quarters, she pointed to the blue pad in the middle of the floor. Cautiously, he headed toward it, folded himself in half, crossed his legs as he would've in Boy Scouts and gazed up at her.

Kneeling carefully across from him, she gathered her robe around her and stared into his eyes.

"Although I'll be able to see your most intimate thoughts, I'll focus on only the details of our marriage."

"Thank you," he said.

Lifting only a few fingers, she pressed them carefully to the psi points on his face (temple, cheek and the side of the nose) and said a few words. After only a minute, he urged her to relax.

"You won't hurt me," he said.

The damage done to her by Tolaris left her uncertain.

"I trust you," he whispered.

She proceeded as he closed his eyes.

"My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts."

His mind was open, reaching for a connection and hers lingered just beyond grasp for only a moment. Waiting, searching she reached for his thoughts – his presence –and pulled them to her.

"Our minds are one," she whispered.

Touching his thoughts, many ideas and memories flittered by. Ignoring them, she pressed deeper into his mind, burrowing down into the recesses of it – his subconscious … the part of his brain that held his deepest, most personal thoughts.

His cheek twitched in response and she understood why: he was a private individual, especially for a human.

Traveling deeper she sensed his innermost doubts: lack of self-confidence, jealousy, possessiveness and the need for companionship. Sordid, repressed recollections lurked there – like stranding innocent crewmen in the Expanse; cloning Trip to keep Enterprise running; throwing a rock to see if he could hit a bird and accidentally killing it when he was 7; and watching his father's eyes stare open, paralyzed, as he realized the man was dead.

By the way his eyes fluttered, she could tell he wanted to avoid remembering, but she kept her grip tight and continued to probe. Accepting she'd entered his mind far enough, she began to weave their tale, telling him the events they'd agreed upon as if they'd happened; she was introducing a new past.

"After Shran told you about Talas, you decided to reveal your feelings to me at dinner. Before you had that opportunity, our touched hands and I instead confessed I had divorced Koss for you, Jonathan. I told you I cherished you."

She saw a small smile play on his lips as if he was recalling the moment.

She continued. "You told me you'd cared for me ever since I was diagnosed with Pa'nar."

He corrected her. "No, I've loved you since we were trapped on that planet and Shran came to rescue us. It was the same day the Vulcans threatened to take you away for my actions on P'Jem."

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. He shouldn't be unable to resist the suggestion. With a little force, she reasserted what they'd already decided.

"No, you cared for me since I was diagnosed with Pa'nar."

He was silent and she straightened herself, satisfied with his capitulation.

"After we confessed our feelings to each other, you scooped me into your arms in the Mess Hall and we touched lips. Then, together, we walked to your quarters and there we became intimate. That night you insisted on marrying me and interrupted Dr. Phlox to conduct the ceremony."

His face was neutral.

"You agreed to a challenge to fight Shran to the death, but I wouldn't let you. I spoke to the Andorian behind your back because I didn't want you to die. I didn't want my husband to perish."

Quietly, she could feel him accepting the information.

"Since the moment of our marriage, we've treasured each other and lived in wedded bliss in your quarters."

She could feel his heart race and she added more information. "We spent our honeymoon cradled in each other's arms whispering to each other in the starlight as you talked about retiring on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean."

It was a flourish, but she decided using her imagination made the story more credible. Undoubtedly Shran would be thorough.

"Do you love me?" he asked.

The question brought her eyes suspiciously to his even though they were closed. "Of course, you are my husband. I have since you helped me with Menos."

"You will remember everything that has happened during the past four days as if we've been married. Shran has falsely accused us. He' believes we haven't been wed, breaking Andorian laws, and will question you later today. Everything you say and do will indicate we've been married for the past four days. Everything."

"When I first saw you, in Starfleet Medical, you were so beautiful," he said. The sound of his voice sounded hypnotized and she believed his subconscious was filling in the gaps of information she hadn't already covered.

His eyes opened and he whispered to her. "You're beautiful now."

She was silent, believing his mind was accepting the information readily. Good.

"Yes, you think I'm attractive," she decided to agree. "After all, I am your wife."

His eyes slipped shut.

"And you find me attractive?" he asked.

"Of course. You are my husband."

Giving a hint of a smile, he whispered to her. "I love nibbling on your ears, and I know you like it, too."

She caught her breath; he was right, she had. It was one of the things she found most pleasurable the time they pretended to have sexual relations.

"I'm sure there are many things we've both enjoyed since our marriage," she whispered.

"If you were in love with me for so long, then why did you have a relationship with Trip?" he asked.

At once, her hand retreated and he stared at her in a zombie-like state. Realizing she hadn't closed the meld, she touched his face again and tried to bring their minds together again in hopes of ending the link. Instead, of successfully concluding, his mind was completely out of grasp. A wall suddenly developed between them and his feelings stayed sequestered behind a perimeter that she couldn't sense or feel. She'd have to dig into his mind again, which she was loath to do. Instead, she tried to jostle his concentration to lower the barrier between them.

"Jonathan?" she whispered.

He suddenly jerked his eyes open. "Yes?"

Instead the meld was completely severed. Reeling a big, her trembling hand moved to her temple. After catching her breath and steadying her emotions, she glanced up and noticed his actions mimicked hers.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Running his hand along his face, he indicated his discomfort. "I feel strange."

That is not atypical for this type of meld.

"I'm so tired," he said.

"I need to ask you some questions."

Leaning back on the mat, he stared up at the ceiling. "What?" he asked hoarsely.

"When did you first realize you cared for me?" she asked.

Squinting his eyes into the dim lights of the cabin, he lay his head against the padded foam. "I can't remember."

"It was when I was diagnosed with Pa'nar."

"Let me rest … just for a second," he said.

No, we don't have time. The chronometer on the wall indicated that had only a little more than an hour.

"I don't believe the meld worked," she indicated. "We should try to touch minds again …."

"I want to shut my eyes, just for a minute …."

"Jonathan, we only have 63.2 minutes before we're scheduled to meet Shran," she said. "We don't have time."

As if his weary body couldn't fight the need to slumber, he immediately began snoring and ignored her repeated attempts – shaking, calling his name and shaking him again – to wake him.

Resigned, she stared at the floor. It should've worked.

Moving onto other solutions, she decided to put security on standby outside of Shran's quarters in case the Andorian was insistent on settling things immediately. At least that might spare the captain's life for the short term.


"Wake up," T'Pol whispered. It seemed like the twentieth time; she'd stopped counting after 10.

"Where am I?" Archer asked, looking around the room in a daze.

"In my room."

Darting his hand over his eyes, he squinted.

"Are you still fatigued?" she asked.

Taking a deep breath, he waved away her concern. "I'm all right."

With a careful eye, she watched him trying to recover and bent down to place her hand on his shoulder. "I have to ask you a few questions."

He nodded.

"When were we married?"

"Huh?" he asked.

"When were we married?"

Gazing up at her he answered. "Four days ago. Why?"

"And, why did you decide to do so?"

His smile grew more genuine and warm. "What can I say? After you told me how you felt and your divorce … it seemed like the logical thing to do."

Very good. He's recalled that information as if it's his memory.

"Can you stand?" she asked.

He nodded and with only a little help made it to his feet. Running his hand through his hair, he attempted to – what the humans would say – shake the cobwebs from his brain.

"Jonathan?"

Nodding he dismissed her concern. "I'm all right."

As the two walked out the door, she noticed he stumbled – shuffling his feet more than usual to Shran's door. Closing her eyes and denying the odds they faced to successfully pull this off, she depressed the chime.

A pair of beady eyes and two suspicious antennae greeted them. Swinging her eyes to the captain, she curled her fingers around his bicep.

"You asked us here?" she questioned.

Shran pointed into his room and to his bed. "Sit down!"

Jhamel sounded apologetic. "I apologize for the inconvenience I've caused."

When the door slid shut, T'Pol heard footsteps outside and knew the security guards were there and at the alert.

Archer spoke up as the two parked themselves on Shran's bunk. "It's okay, Jhamel. Not your fault."

Without skipping a beat or making small talk, Shran got straight to the point.

"You know why you're here. And I think you know the penalty if I find out you lied about your marriage, pink skin."

T'Pol spoke up for the captain. "You can sentence Jonathan to death."

Shran stalked closer to the two of them. "Yes. And it's an ugly way to go, Archer."

"I've heard," said the captain.

As T'Pol was about to speak, Archer puffed out his chest and smirked. "Let's get this over with."

Jhamel walked closer to Archer. "You will permit me to scan your mind?"

"Go ahead," he said. His eyes drifted over to T'Pol for support as his hand wrapped around hers – something that startled her. Rather than decline the touch, she intertwined her fingers with his as he smiled.

"You did marry – four days ago after Shran told you about Talas," the Aenar began.

T'Pol buried her surprise. It worked.

"That evening you had dinner with T'Pol. As you were about to tell her your feelings, your hands touched and unexpectedly you two shared thoughts. T'Pol told you of her divorce – because she cared for you. And immediately you confessed you loved her, too."

Shran narrowed his eyes and folded his arms stubbornly across his chest. "That doesn't sound like deceit."

T'Pol chimed in. "It's as we say."

Jhamel then frowned. "There's a wall there – something almost impossible to see through."

"Pink skin," Shran said, "let her see."

Archer sighed and relaxed, closing his eyes, as Jhamel gave a small start. "He's protecting something."

Her eyes darted one way and then the other as if prying deeper into his mind. Finally a smile worked across her lips. "He's … he's hiding intimate moments with her. The moment he knew he loved her – when they were on Coridan."

Shran laughed. "That's when I rescued your sorry hides."

T'Pol's eyes narrowed. That was not what we agreed to.

Jhamel continued, "He's remembering this morning when he awoke her face was on his bare chest. He spent almost twenty minutes staring at her, watching her sleep, as he caressed her hair."

T'Pol refrained from raising an eyebrow. He woke up on the floor this morning. I didn't plant that information during our meld. Perhaps his mind has created moments to fill in the gaps I've left?

"And after the moment he first confessed his love for you, he swept you into his arms and kissed you. As your lips touched, his stomach grew nervous with … butterflies? And his knees weakened."

The Vulcan continued to remain stoic.

Jhamel ducked her head against her shoulder shyly. "Shran, he loves her. I believe them to be married."

The Andorian was confused. "You said there were lies and deceit?"

"I don't sense that. I only sense how much he loves his wife."

As if admitting to the accusation, Archer's head turned to T'Pol. "Yes, I do."

The twinkle in his eyes seemed genuine and through the sensation of touching fingers with him, she sensed from his emotions that the statement was true.

"Then I presume this matter has ended?" T'Pol asked.

Shran gave a curt nod. "I suppose."

Without giving a sigh, T'Pol stood up and stared at the Andorian. Just when she was about to excuse herself, she felt Archer's hand snake around her waist and loosely hold her hip.

"No hard feelings?" Shran asked. His antennae drooped as to apologize.

Instead of shaking the Andorian's hand, he pulled the Vulcan closer to him and agreed. "No hard feelings. I'll ask the transporter team to stand-by any time you're ready to leave."

Shran spoke quietly. "If it's all the same to you, I want to see you make it for another three days. It's in paragraph …."

T'Pol raised a brow. "The Andorian week is only five days."

Shran shook his head. "We're not on Andoria, Vulcan."

Archer waved off the comment. "Fine. I think we can accommodate you that long. I haven't received any new assignments from Admiral Gardner."

"But, …," the Vulcan began.

"Good night," Archer said.

The two filed out of the room and walked down the corridor. When they were well out of range, she turned to him.

"Your arm is still around me," she said. "And I don't understand why you wish them to …."

"Come here," he said. Sneaking behind a bulkhead, well out of sight, he pushed her against the wall gently and then drew her into a passionate kiss.

When that embrace ended, she stared at him in disbelief. The mind meld was more powerful than I suspected. Her mouth opened and his index finger tapped her lips, silencing her.

"I know you don't like public displays of affection. I just couldn't help myself." He beamed. "I hope you won't hold it against me."

Her eyebrow perked up.

"You're on the Bridge until 1800. Right?"

"Yes. Jonathan …."

His lips danced along the slope of her ear and he whispered to her. "I'll see you then."

When his tongue flicked against the tip of her ear, she finally managed to blurt out a few words. "There's something wrong."

"I keep telling you I'm fine."

"No, it's not that. Our meld …."

"What about it?"

"You asked me to plant memories …." She glanced around. No one was around, but she felt the information was confidential, so she leaned in and said everything quietly. "I used the Shitau Vokaya so that we could deceive Jhamel."

He stared into her eyes, obviously confused. "What about?"

"I created memories so that you'd believe we were happily wedded."

Furrowing his brow, he shook his head. "You don't have to create them – we are."

As she was about to explain more, he interrupted her. "Listen, if you're mad at me, can we talk about it tonight? Trip asked to meet me in my cabin at 1630. I wanted to read his report about the telepressence beforehand."

For a moment the captain acted as if he recalled something, and then shook the thought away. It reminded her that the captain still hadn't discussed what happened last night with the commander – he hadn't had any time to.

"I think we need to discuss this," she said.

"Sweetheart, can it wait until tonight?" he asked.

Sweetheart? Baffled, she bobbed her head.

He winked and kissed her cheek. "Good, see you then."


Archer had just enough time to change back into his uniform and review the report. Nothing looked really out of the ordinary. It wasn't up to par with Trip's usual work, but it was not shoddy.

As he stared at the padd in his hand, the door chimed. Has to be Trip.

"Come in," he said. Confirming the young man's company, his eyes fell back on the padd.

"I'm in the middle of your report. I think you're being a little hard on yourself."

"There's no getting around it. I missed a ten degree variance in the telepressence emitter."

"I spoke to Phlox. He doesn't think it had anything to do with Jhamel's seizure."

"But, he can't be sure. Either way, I should'a caught it," Trip said.

Dismissing it, he smiled. "We were all under a lot of pressure."

Trip seemed to stand firm. "My mind wasn't on the job."

Something's bugging him. Maybe sitting together and talking as friends would help.

He got up to collect the whiskey he'd been saving up for a while and made a quip. "If that were true, you probably wouldn't be standing here now."

With a smile, he put the two glasses on the table and was in mid-pour when Trip spoke.

"Captain, I want a transfer."

What! He put down everything and stared at the wall not wanting to see Trip's face; the guy sounded serious.

"Where?"

"Columbia."

Columbia!

"They need experienced people," Trip continued.

"You've turned them down twice before, why now?" Archer asked. He tried to recall the events that happened last night and kept coming up with uncertainty. Finally, his brain landed on something – Trip had accidentally walked in on he and his wife having sex. They'd been married for a few days and Trip seemed okay with the information.

Didn't he?

"You've turned them down twice before. Why now?"

"I think I can do some good over there."

"I need you here, Trip," Archer said.

"They need me more."

What the hell is going on?

"What's this really about?" It made the man start pacing.

"I told you."

"I haven't heard one thing that explains this." When the captain's eyes met Trip's, the engineer immediately looked at the ground.

"I've said everything I want to."

"That's it." The remark was something between a question and a comment. Giving a sigh, he sat down at his desk – it made him feel more comfortable.

"I'm supposed to accept that?" Archer asked, playing commander instead of friend.

The man with the puppy dog eyes nodded.

"And if I refuse your transfer?"

"Cap'n, as a friend, I'm asking ya. Let me do this."

"It's your career, Trip. But as a friend, I'm asking you to stay."

Trip didn't think long; his mind seemed made up. "I can't."

So that's it then?

"All right," he said.

"Thank you."

"Dismissed," Archer said, slipping into the role of captain.

As Trip walked out, he couldn't help feeling more than a little betrayed.

Why would he leave?

More than ten years of friendship seemed to vanish in less than five minutes. The Trip he'd known would've stayed through anything or at least would've told him what had been bothering him. They'd been through too much – way too much – for him to leave like this, especially now.

But, he did.

This time, he'd take advantage of his captaincy, he'd wait until the actual paperwork crossed his computer and he'd worked out the details with Erika before ordering Enterprise to Earth. That bought him a little time. Trip often acted out of impulse; maybe a little time was all the guy needed.

Noticing the clock, he had a while before she got home and some work to do. Deciding it would cheer him up, he walked over to her quarters, gathered her candles, scattered them around his quarters and lit them preparing for when she got him. Ordering a few things from the Chef, he'd arranged for dinner in their quarters, ensuring the menu included items she liked.

After they were delivered, Archer got ready for bed and grabbed a book. Slipping under the sheets, he waited for T'Pol to get home.

Turning the 166th page to a novel that had apparently been on the Best Seller's list "Why We Were Attacked," a not very gripping tale explaining the importance of humanity in the universe, he saw his wife enter the door. She was significantly late.

Giving a broad smile and putting down the book, he leaned against the pillow.

"Hello. Trouble on the Bridge?"

"The repairs from the marauder ships took more time to repair than planned."

"Sorry."

Her eyes scanned the room. "You took the candles from my quarters."

"You don't really use your cabin any more. I didn't see any harm in it."

"We're having dinner here?" she asked.

"I thought you'd like it."

"You've removed your shirt."

"You've seen my chest before." He produced a lop-sided grin.

The Vulcan looked a little distracted, but sat on the edge of the bed.

"Jonathan, it's imperative we discuss something."

"I'm listening."

"Before we entered Shran's room, I melded with you and planted false memories in your mind. You believe we're 'happily' married, but that isn't the case."

He sat up with a concern and touched her cheek. "You're not happy?"

Before she could really answer that question, he reaffirmed how much she meant to him. "I am. You've made me deliriously happy."

She turned her head and presented him a near frown. "It's not that I'm ... unhappy."

Instead of leaving her alone, which he gathered she wanted, he decided to lure her out of her bad mood and pressed his lips to her throat.

"Then, what's wrong?" he whispered into her skin.

Her hand gently pressed against his chest, holding him at bay. "Jonathan …."

"You're angry that I let Shran stay, aren't you?" he asked. "Well, he may not be sticking around for much longer anyway. We'll be heading back to Earth sooner than expected."

"Why?"

"Trip asked for a transfer," he said.

The Vulcan's face turned green – greener than usual. "Transfer where? The Columbia?"

"Yeah. I'm waiting until it's official, then I'll confer with Erika and Admiral Gardner on timing. I'm hoping he reconsiders. He has to."

"Erika?" she asked. "You mean Captain Hernandez?"

Ooops.

"Yeah," he said nonchalantly. Although he'd never mentioned his brief relationship with the captain (the one that occurred only a few months ago), and didn't think T'Pol was the jealous wife type, he didn't exactly want to talk about it.

A little eyebrow peaked at him and he squirmed under the weight of it.

"Anyway," he said, "let's just enjoy tonight and worry about everything tomorrow."

Before she could object, his lips touched hers and he brought her closer to him. It took only a few minutes of convincing her before she somewhat relaxed into his caresses, but something must've still been bothering her – although her mouth accepted him she seemed tense.

She broke away. "Perhaps we shouldn't touch lips."

Oh, yeah. She's uptight. Maybe I can rectify that.

Suddenly, he worked his fingers and hands along her shoulders.

"That's not necessary," she whispered.

"Shhh," he said.

"Captain …."

"Captain?" he asked. All right. "Lay down, Commander." He used a playful tone.

She furrowed her brow.

"That's an order."

"What are you going to do?"

"Just trust me," he said.

Blinking several times over, he could tell she was considering her options. In the past four days, he'd never had to wheedle his wife to trust him. It nagged him as if there was something – a feeling or thought – just out of reach. Shaking it off, he decided to reassert his words.

"Trust me," he said.

She laid down and he gave her further instructions. "On your stomach."

"Why?"

"T'Pol?"

She obeyed him, her head facing away from him and toward the door, while he massaged and kneaded her back and shoulders. At first, when his hands wrapped around her shoulders, she stiffened. But it took only seconds for her to ease into it.

"That's pleasant," she remarked.

Without compunctions, he pushed away the covers and shifted positions to make it easier to access her shoulders. She was about to turn toward him, when he suggested she continue laying there.

"I'm just moving. You're so tight, I wanted to really get at those muscles."

She settled back and began breathing deeply. After several minutes of silence, hoping she'd wound down a little, he asked what was on her mind.

"What did you want to tell me?"

"I wanted to discuss our mind meld today," she said, sleepily - almost as if she'd forgotten about it.

As he rubbed his fingers into her neck for several minutes, he heard a tiny sigh escaped her mouth. Maybe not quite a sigh, maybe more like a little snort.

She's sleeping.

Slipping back under the covers – it was getting a bit chilly – he shook her gently, hoping to rouse her without much success. Whispering in her ear, he hoped to wake her up.

"T'Pol, why don't get some sleep."

The Vulcan's eyes barely opened. "All right."

Carefully, she pushed herself off the bed and crossed the room to retrieve her pajamas. When he saw her heading to the bathroom, he decided to say something.

"What are you doing?"

"Changing."

"Can't you change in here?"

She narrowed her eyes and continued to the small room much to his disappointment.

Man, she must really be mad at me.

When she emerged, her tired eyes could barely keep themselves open. It was unlike her to set clothes down in the middle of the floor, so when she discarded her uniform on the way to bed haphazardly, he knew she was exhausted.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. Before climbing into the covers, she swiveled toward the light and turned it off. Darkness settled into the room and she wiggled under the sheets, snuggling the covers around her.

"You sure?" he asked. He spooned his body loosely around her, placing his hand on her cool waist.

"Yes," she said as her body nudged his hand away.

As if unable to take no for an answer, his body pressed flush against hers and he whispered into her ear. "What's wrong?"

Shooting up like a rocked, she threw her hand threw on the light. "You're naked?"

Confused, he told her what she'd already known. "I always sleep this way."

TBC

Plant Memories