T'Pol raised her eyebrow at Ensign Ramirez, the transporter operator. The 22-year old man's tongue dripped out of his mouth – saliva in tow - and his eyes lurched forward to gawk at the woman who'd shimmered onto the transporter pad.

Navaar curled her finger around a strand of hair and smiled playfully, taunting and teasing the man. The Vulcan easily surmised the woman hadn't changed. Something, a niggle of a feeling, worked it's way into her mind; she felt a little … antsy and annoyed.

"May I help you?" Ramirez asked. Leaving the station he was assigned to, he walked up to escort her off the pad.

"I don't want to inconvenience you," Navaar said. By the time she'd finished the sentence the man was already at her side providing an arm.

Looping one arm in his, Navaar ran a finger from her free arm down the man's bicep, and he grinned at her and the attention.

"I'd be happy to escort you –" Ramirez began.

T'Pol decided to speak, putting an end to the display. "Ensign, that will be all. Report to Engineering."

"But, Commander, I was –"

"That will be all."

With a single nod and a wounded-puppy gaze, he turned to the Orion and then walked back to Engineering. T'Pol watched him walk around the corner; although it was a short distance she felt the confirm he'd left. The moment he was gone, Navaar's smile fell and with a little venom in her voice, she spoke to T'Pol.

"I see you're still here."

"Indeed."

"Where is he? I want to see him."

Him equaled Archer.

"Unavailable. You are here to determine the patronage of your child. Nothing more. When that task is complete, you will be returned to your ship."

Rubbing her extended belly, she followed behind T'Pol to Sickbay. "I would expect he'd want to see the mother of his child."

T'Pol ignored the comment. "Follow me."

The women strolled through the corridors, and to T'Pol's Vulcanly chagrin, the human males rolled out their tongues, panted and followed them through the halls. As each man approached, the Vulcan reminded him to return to his station, but a few continued to try and make small talk with Navaar despite orders to "desist immediately."

Thirty minutes later – twenty-five minutes longer than it should've taken, they reached Sickbay along with three stragglers. T'Pol, thankful they'd finally reached the medical facility, turned to them and leveraged additional threats – putting them on report, confining them to their quarters, and a few others that didn't seem quite logical. Eventually enough had been hurled that the men glumly went back to their stations.

Just as the first officer was about to address Dr. Phlox, she noticed he'd already wandered over to them and had been talking with the Orion – his entire face twisted into an enormous smile. She caught their conversation in progress, but could tell where it was going.

"Yes, it's been almost two years," Phlox said. "Far too long."

"I think so, too." Navaar batted her eyelashes and he puffed out his chest while widening his overly large grin.

This is going to be more difficult than I suspected, T'Pol thought.

"Would you mind sitting on the biobed?" he asked.

He held out his hand to help her up, and she took it eagerly. Demurely, despite her revealing clothing and rotund tummy, she gained enough momentum to sit on the bed. Phlox beamed like a proud parent or loving spouse. And, instead of letting go of the doctor's fingers, she stroked them.

"Doctor, your hands are so nimble. You must be an excellent physician."

T'Pol could see his ridges beginning to darken – a sign on Denobula that the male was interested in the young woman.

"Why, thank you," he said.

"Doctor?" T'Pol asked.

He continued his gaze, unfettered.

"Phlox?" the Vulcan asked again.

The Orion's lips tugged up and his ridges darkened further.

"Yes?" he asked, a breathy quality to his voice.

Navaar's fingers left his and instead ran along the ridges as he sucked in a deep breath. The gesture made her smile.

"I don't suppose you know anything about rose-petal baths?" he asked.

T'Pol couldn't prevent an obvious emotional reaction: rolling her eyes. And as soon as she did so, she drew her face in as if to swallow the feeling.

"Phlox, you're here to review her DNA," she said. When he didn't respond, she clarified her comment. "The offspring."

"Yes," he said. He didn't move.

"Doctor?" she asked again.

He finally broke his stare to look up at her bio-signs. Satisfied, he reached into his pocket, still smiling at the Orion, and ran his scanner over her. Looking at the results, he did a small double take.

"Your pheromone levels are higher than before," he said. "Significantly higher. I'm reading more than a 100 percent increase. That seems impossible."

T'Pol's eyebrow climbed. No wonder the inoculation he'd given to the crew wasn't working.

"It's because of my pregnancy," she said. Taking his fingers back she rubbed her cheek against the palm of his hand. "I guess I secrete more now. I wish I could prevent it."

Phlox's hair began to stand on end. As unethical as it was, he began rolling out his tongue and leaned over to touch his tongue to hers. The Orion looked like she wasn't going to stop him, so T'Pol had only one choice. Carefully she wrapped her hand around his shoulder and squeezed mightily, sending the Denobulan to the ground.

Sighing, another emotional response, she heard the doors open and close behind her. Crewmen Johnson and Ensign Steinberg entered the facility sniffing the air. When their eyes met Navaar's, they smiled.

Much worse than I suspected.

Grabbing Navaar's arm, she yanked her off the bed and brushed past both crewmen, heading straight for Decon. Dragging her through the corridors, she noticed a trail of men trailing behind. Picking up speed, she footed it to the room hoping to avoid them. Once there she took out her phase pistol, keeping it leveled at the dark-skinned skin vixen and punched the button at the comm.

"T'Pol to Commander Tucker."

"Tucker here. What can I do for ya?" His voice sounded a little lazier than usual … as if he was using the husky quality when they'd been intimate.

It made her brow shoot up.

"There are pheromones affecting our crewmen. We need to recycle the air quickly."

"Takes three days to recycle."

Navaar smiled.

"We can't move faster?"

Trip countered. "Not unless you wanted to put everyone in an EV suit."

"Thank you," she said about to punch the comm button again.

"Wait … uhm, they're playin' a movie tonight. I wanted to see –"

Navaar's lips tugged up more.

"I doubt I will have the time. T'Pol out."

The Orion grinned. "Hmmm, both the captain and the commander?"

T'Pol's lips worked themselves into a blatant frown. "Nothing has happened between the captain and I. We are merely friends."

"So, just the commander?"

Navaar's face was pure joy, which ticked the Vulcan off. For a minute, just one, she'd actually considered leveling the pistol and stunning the Orion. Basing her conclusion, in that one minute, on one formulated fact: because Navaar "deserved it."

Shaken by these thoughts and the emotion that had crumbled her Vulcan façade, she reckoned the best thing she could do was leave Decon. Backing up, she exited the facility and entered a security code to lock the Orion in – a non-standard entry, so that a crewmen who'd managed to take in her smell earlier couldn't release her.

Turning around, she determined her decision had been sound. Already three crewmen lined up behind her to stare at the Orion. A little disoriented, she walked to the bridge to communicate everything to Archer.

Sitting in his office, she noticed he was sweating – just as he had been the last time Navaar was onboard. It wasn't the pacing, which he'd already been doing for the past fifteen minutes while she explained everything. She'd noticed most of the men had begun sweating – even Reed and Mayweather.

Finally, after taking in all the details, he wiped his hand over his forehead, collecting the water that emanated there. T'Pol bit her lower lip.

"Three days to recycle the air?"

"Yes."

"When will Phlox wake up?"

"Another hour at most."

"We're obviously already affected," he said. "At least I am."

She hesitated. "Even I am affected."

He squinted and waited for more information, which she was reluctant to give. Taking a deep breath, she looked into his eyes.

"I am more emotional."

He stopped pacing.

Licking her lips, she took another breath. "Much more. I … cannot control my reactions. Although I have not had time to meditate, I … doubt that will be of assistance."

He frowned. "We need to get Dr. Phlox working on an antidote right away. I'm … having trouble thinking."

She nodded in agreement. About to dismiss her, she stood and held onto his forearm for a second to stop him. When he paused, she released her grip.

"We were unable to discern if the child is yours."

"I figured as much."

"When the air has recycled and the crew has been inoculated, we will resume."

"Agreed."

"I presume your memory of the … incident ... has not returned?"

Shifting his gaze to the ceiling, he shook his head. "It just seems the kind of thing I would remember, you know?"

"Yes." Without realizing it, she found herself nodding in definite agreement and thinking of her intimacy with Tucker. At her concurrence, he raised both eyebrows.

"I'll see if I can rouse the doctor and then assist Trip," she said, hoping to deflect the comment.

"If that doesn't work, I think we should return Navaar to the Orion ship."

The two agreed and stepped onto the bridge to assume their roles. Although it was barely audible, T'Pol could hear the captain mumble to himself.

"God, I hope Phlox finds something before three days. I don't know how much more I can take of this."

Silently, T'Pol agreed.

TBC