A/N: RomulanFox, it can always get worse (err, the writing and the conflict)! At least one of the questions is answered. Master Solo, you're funny. I can't give away your question away yet – what fun would that be! But, I hope you trust me. At least, you should.
Archer stared ahead at the Orion ship on the viewscreen, ignoring the urge – strong urge – to wander down to Decon and see Navaar, especially if he was the father of the child in her womb.
Father. The word and association, held deep meaning to him. His own father was a saint – kind and gentle. Care and affection abounded, and his dad wasn't the kind of guy who was above hugging his son at every opportunity … even as both grew older. There were many memories he'd cherished about Henry Archer, one in particular was their Sunday morning ritual.
After a large breakfast, waffles, Jonny scooted away from the table and mimicked his father's actions – rubbing his engorged tummy stuffed full of too much food. When his father settled in front of a monitor, just before the man was about to dose off for a spontaneous late morning nap, he struggled into his lap. Tucking his head into the crook of his dad's neck, he'd listen to his heart and take deep breaths to smell the coffee that emanated from him. Eventually both of them fell asleep in the position, only to be awakened by his mother.
Well, one thing was for sure, if this was his child – his son – he'd want to be there for him. He'd be there for him when he was sick or needed help. He'd be the one who'd take his little green hand, he guessed it would be green, when they crossed a street … together. Like his father, he'd be the one to make waffles … no matter the Orion dietary restrictions.
As Archer thought about the circumstances, he understood if the child returned to Orion, he would most likely be brought up in a world with piracy, slavery and things so decrepit and immoral, that the young man would turn out into a ruthless criminal, slave owner or bounty hunter. The planet was under constant change, and the upheaval had corrupted seemingly everyone.
Not my child.
If he was going to lay some claim, he'd have to start working toward a good relationship with the kid's mother … that is if she was pregnant with his son.
Navaar.
He'd need to see her to get some information on how to counteract the odor she was giving off that was driving him … and his crew … crazy. At least that's what he'd reasoned.
He rose from his chair and announced that Malcolm had the bridge. And with that, he headed for the turbolift for a heart-to-heart.
An extraordinarily sleepy Phlox worked on the data his scan had already captured while T'Pol attempted to assist. The doctor had reasoned, in between several yawns, that the Orion was giving off more pheromones because of her pregnancy. Although the amount and extent that an Orion typically gave off, he hadn't yet confirmed. Reviewing the information, he revealed aloud why he'd hypothesized the pheromone was stronger when the green women were with child.
"It ensures they have someone who will act as father," he said. "I presume it's difficult to assert paternity from time-to-time."
T'Pol attempted to keep from frowning as she delivered a statement that sounded as snarky as she'd intended, something she was usually able to mask.
"Undoubtedly – they're mating habits are irresponsible and haphazard at best."
The doctor eyed her briefly and then continued viewing the cells displayed on the monitor in front of them, coughing at her comment.
She didn't miss his response. "I apologize. My emotions –"
He nodded and then yawned again. "We're all affected in some way." Reaching over to his hypo, he shot himself in the neck. "I don't know if I want to fall asleep or …."
She nudged her eyebrow up only slightly. "If there's anything further I can do to help with the scans, let me know."
He nodded and she turned on her heel, heading toward Engineering. Men littered the hallways, all sweaty with their eyes glazed over. They were like vorgas who had a mayta cornered – fierce and hungry. Although they weren't eyeing her, she felt uncomfortable ... especially since the walkways smelled like sweat.
Slipping through the corridors, clearing up the occasional arguing match between crewmen, she eventually made it to her destination: Engineering. The men there were no different. As she made her way toward the engines a fight had already broken out when she entered: Franks and Ramirez.
"Knock it off!" Trip yelled from his perch near the engines.
Ignoring him, the shorter man - Franks - threw a fist, knocking Ramirez to the ground, so the chief engineer hustled down the ladder and intervened. Damp, blonde hair clung to his forehead and his face was beet red.
"I've had enough of both of you. If you can't cool down, I'm gonna toss ya in the brig!"
The crewmen barely bothered a nod and then skulked away, their eyes keenly trained on the other. It seemed to appease Trip, because he finally acknowledged her presence."T'Pol," he said, joining her.
"How many arguments have you had since Navaar's arrival?" she asked.
"Three. I'm tellin' ya, I'm gonna bust some heads. Ensigns Ramirez and Franks have tried to go at it once already. One more time, one more, and I'm sending 'em to the Brig."
A deep breath and a nod was her reply.
"You seem okay," he said. Looming over, looking her form over from head to toe, he was agitated that she escaped any noticeable symptoms.
Sucking in a deep breath, she corrected him. "On the contrary I … am … I am losing emotional control."
That pleased him. "Kinda makes you wish we had the bond back?" he quipped.
"No," she scoffed.
He shrugged and switched gears.
"I've been thinking since we last spoke," he said. The back of his hand wiped off a bead of perspiration from his temple. "We could try and filter out the pheromone … if we knew what we were looking for."
"That is a small possibility." It was a consideration, one she'd thought of, but the chances were remote. "The doctor should have it identified within the next few hours."
He nodded, his mouth tight drawn tightly together. "Doesn't give us any options in the meantime."
"If we do manage to locate the compound, how long would it take to filter?"
"A day … give or take a few hours."
T'Pol threw her eyes on the floor.
"If we don't filter the air, we'd have to recycle … and that takes three days. I don't know about the rest of 'em, but I don't think I can take feeling like this for that long."
He dabbed at his forehead with the back of his sleeve and then threw a pained gaze at T'Pol, one she wasn't sure she liked.
"Neither could I," she agreed.
Suddenly a couple of crewmen started to mouth off to each other, and Trip gave the Vulcan an exasperated look.
"We've gotta do something. We're all coming unglued."
The Vulcan straightened. "Perhaps I can glean information from Navaar."
Archer couldn't help but notice the closer he got to Decon, the stronger his reactions were. He was perspiring before, but now he dripped it – it cascaded down his face and onto his neck. In addition, he felt … edgy, like the kind he used to feel right before a big water polo match. That is, with one exception: his uniform was a little snugger in some areas. A little tighter, but unnoticeable.
Ordering crewmen back to work, he eventually found his way to Decon. As soon as he stepped in the chamber adjacent to the room, he saw her. Long dark curly hair, rich black lips that pouted and clothing that left very little to his imagination. Very little. Her top was more like a bra, barely covering her breasts, her midriff was bare, despite being large, and her long legs were in plain sight -- the material just skimmed over her body covering only the most private of parts.
Licking his lips, he noticed that even six months heavy with child – at least that's what he gathered by her belly – she was desirous.
"You finally stopped by," she noted. "You wanted to see your son."
He furrowed his brow at her and pointed at her belly. "That's not my child."
Twisting her hair around her finger, she disagreed. "Yes, it is."
"Navaar --"
She batted her lashes and for the first time a flash of a memory overtook him.
"Don't you remember?"
He glanced away, as she started to reveal events that had somehow escaped his memory.
"You were so eager, we didn't have time to make it to the bed," she said.
Navaar's cabin was dark – she was expecting Jonathan and wanted to show her gratitude. Every action she took and move she made focused on one thing: seducing him.
As he fell into her spell, T'Pol's voice rang out. Even though compelled to duty, he found himself being lulled into Navaar's trance … so much so that it was difficult for him to respond to T'Pol – even pressing the button that would respond to her hail. His mind chanted the woman's name, as if she were a narcotic, one that was dangerous and exhilarating. Struggling to answer the Vulcan's questions he watched as Navaar suckled his fingers – biting and licking them – and already unzipped his uniform by the time he could respond.
Having his libido perked to attention so quickly – he'd only entered her cabin ten minutes ago – startled him. Of course, not enough so that he stopped. In fact, when the discussion with his first officer was over, he took the green woman into his arms, bent her over the console and kissed her wildly.
Each embrace turned more heated until her tongue pushed into his mouth where they collided. Their hands grabbed at each other, her digits skimming his chest hair unzipping his coverall as he pressed his tongue deeper into her mouth.
She dug her nails into his back and the moment he came up for air, she whispered into his ear.
"Yes."
"I've been with many men, but none seemed to need me as badly as you did,"
Awakened from his thoughts, he was quiet.
"I wanted you to take me again, but you refused."
"You used me."
"You were an enemy of the Orion Syndicate," she said.
He frowned.
Biting one of her nails, coyly, she wandered around Decon. "I didn't know you then. I didn't know what you were like."
She leered at him. Instinctively, he knew she was feeding him a line, but his body appreciated the sentiment a little too much.
"Whatever you believe, I hope you will accept your son."
He grimaced. "How do you know this is my child?"
She planted her eyes on him. "A woman knows."
Trying not to sound too snide, he disagreed. "That's not good enough."
"If you put your hand on my stomach and feel his heart, you'll know it's yours." Her eyes glanced at the door as if she longed to be set free.
He shook his head.
Creeping closer to the window, she moved her lips slowly and seductively. "I can tell by the way you look at me that you still want me."
She was beautiful. Although he wanted to dispute it, he couldn't.
"I still want you, too," she said. Her blue eyes were watery, as if she were on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you. I didn't want to leave your side. I only wanted you to know of your son, to accept him."
His fingers touched the glass and she reached her hand to meet his, staring at him.
"If you release me, maybe we can … talk about him … about our future."
"I … came … to ahh …." His mind wandered to her mouth and how it would feel pressed against his.
Her tongue danced across her lips and he helplessly responded in kind.
"Jonathan, please."
He stared at her.
"We can work together," she pleaded. "I can assist you with what's happening to your crew."
"My crew--"
"And then, we can lay on your bed and take our time making love."
Cheeks flushed with embarrassment and excitement, his fingers nudged buttons to unlock the door. When he didn't hear the satisfying click of the bolt, he scowled at it.
"You won't be able to open it, Captain. Only I know the code," T'Pol said. Her arms were crossed and disappointment was slapped onto her face.
Whipping around he stared at her. "Open the door."
She raised her eyebrows. "No."
Towering over her, he instructed her again. "I'm giving you an order."
"And I'm refusing to follow it."
As he opened his mouth, Navaar spoke.
"She's jealous. She wants both you and Tucker to herself."
Tucker? he asked himself.
T'Pol threw the woman a glare and then gazed back at Archer. "We're both being affected. I know it's difficult for you to --"
"Why didn't you use the standard locking code?" he asked.
T'Pol said, "I suspected you, or someone else, might try and release her."
"She can help us, T'Pol."
"I sincerely doubt she wants to help us. She and her sisters attempted to capture you and destroy Enterprise when last we saw her … or have you forgotten that as well?"
He growled in response.
Navaar remarked. "You can tell by the way she shows emotion for you that she's green with envy."
The Vulcans eyes narrowed. "Ironic though your statement may be, it is – to be sure – wholly inaccurate."
As Archer was about speak his mind, loudly and unabated – mostly asking the ladies to pipe down – the comm chirped.
"Phlox to Archer."
With anger, the captain mashed his finger on the button. "What?"
"I believe I have the answers to a few questions," Phlox stated.
Archer glanced at T'Pol. "Go ahead."
"The Orion," he paused, "is producing more pheromones than usual." Before Archer could irritatedly ask what was "news" about that, the doctor continued. "They've been … manufactured."
"Manufactured?" Stunned, his eyes landed on the green-skinned woman in Decon.
"I've also had a chance to glance over the first scans I took. It has information about the child she is carrying. It is most definitely half-human."
Archer took a deep breath. "On my way."
"Jonathan, I would never –" Navaar started.
Without listening to the rest of the weak defiance, mostly because he was afraid he'd believe it, he left.
T'Pol shot Navaar a scolding stare and hurried behind him.
Dr. Phlox reached over and shot another hypo into his neck as the captain and first officer entered. He got down to business right away as his eyes sleepily fluttered.
"We are definitely responding to a chemical she's secreting, a manufactured one."
Archer wrinkled his brow. "For what purpose?"
"The Orion Syndicate. Perhaps this is a tactic to capture Enterprise again," T'Pol said.
Phlox shrugged. "I don't know. Whatever it is, only 10 percent are her own natural pheromones."
"How could 90 percent be manufactured?" Archer asked.
The doctor scratched his chin. "I don't know yet. However, I've isolated a compound in her blood stream."
"Can you give the compound to Trip so that he may filter it?" T'Pol asked.
"I'm not sure filtering it will help," he said. Waving the two near a monitor, he pointed at the display as he scanned Archer.
T'Pol's eyebrow poked up.
"Increased heart rate, increased adrenaline, you can see everything is off the charts …."
"Yes, his rise in testosterone is marked."
Archer frowned at the information. Then, Phlox waved the scanner over T'Pol. She looked equally surprised.
"It's affecting my neural pathways."
"You also have high levels of testosterone," Phlox said.
She frowned. The captain gave a mild interest in the statement. He knew enough about biology to know it's what sparked – at least humans, even women – to want sex. Inspecting her further, she gave a blatant frown.
"Filtering it is not enough," Phlox said, "We need to recycle the air. Without doing so, we'd continue to …."
He shot himself with another stimulant.
"Yes," she agreed. She should've known that, and perhaps under normal circumstances she would've.
Archer asked, "Could you inoculate us against the affects?"
"It's possible, but it may take a few days synthesize something."
"What about our EV suits?" Archer asked.
T'Pol shook her head. "Not enough for the entire crew."
The captain looked struck by an off the wall idea; they could plan an unscheduled vacation on the planet that neighbored the nebula – the same one they were planning on visiting three days from now.
Archer furrowed his brow. "We could head to M-19 for R&R. It's only a few days ahead of schedule. That way, we could leave a skeleton crew to work out the problems … with EV suits."
She mused on the idea.
He tried harder for the sale. "It'd reduce the violence."
"True," she agreed. All the same, he could tell something was bothering her about the situation, but he didn't back down.
"I'd like you to start organizing parties to head to the surface."
"Very well," she said. About to turn, she stopped when Archer hung on the balls of his feet, waiting to say something to Phlox.
"Captain?" the doctor asked.
"Did you …?" Archer asked. His hand nervously massaged the back of his neck. "Did you find out …?"
Phlox shook his head, guessing the question. "The child Navaar is carrying is definitely half-human, but I don't know who the father is yet. I'm … comparing the genome to those in the Enterprise database first."
The captain nodded, when T'Pol turned to him. "I presume you haven't yet remembered the incident yet?"
The captain's breath caught in his throat.
Without being able to feign her surprise, she pressed on. "I see. And?"
His eyes leveled at her. "I'd like the landing party list on my desk in an hour. I'll talk with Trip about recycling the air."
She opened her mouth for one last question, but he interrupted by spinning on his heel and marching out.
A slim eyebrow cocked itself at the door as it closed. The doctor summed up what she was thinking, tapping his chin.
"Hmmm …."
"Indeed."
TBC