Two Things Are Certain - Part 6
Sweet and mysterious spices … like nutmeg, myrrh and ginger … wafted through the room and clung to her. T'Pol's hair was wet, as was her skin, glistening from the glow of her flame pot that reflected light against every curve of her body. Flushed with excitement, her cheeks, lips and throat had deepened to a forest green. Her pupils had expanded beyond the limits – no trace of hazel or brown remained. And with dark, foreboding and wanton eyes, she held his gaze with a stare.
They were in bed together, draped in red silks that gave off a metallic sheen, and they were naked.
A bead of sweat trickled down her abdomen into her navel and his lips eagerly nibbled at it to cull the water and salt out. As his tongue slid into the tiny hole, he felt her shiver beneath him.
"Katelau k'tusha," she whispered.
Without understanding all of the words, he knew the intent; it caused his body to shiver and his mind to buzz and hum. Like a man listening to a siren's song, he fell into the lull of her voice.
"Yes," he said, as if obeying a command.
"Nem-tor wani'i…," she mouthed. And before she could finish speaking, his lips captured hers. Her mouth tasted like honey and his tongue scooped against hers to collect as much of the flavor as he could.
Submissively, she opened her mouth and legs to him … and he smiled with satisfaction. The grin broadened as he realized she was his – her skin, her hair, the points of her ears, the rapid flutter of her heart – she belonged to him.
It would be his job to protect her and fight for her. He would kill men who came between them … even those who looked at her … with his bare hands if he had to.
"You're mine," he said, aggressively.
"Yes," she whispered.
As his eyes cracked open, he gasped at the heat and the intensity of the vision. This was the third dream he'd had that night … the third one that involved being in bed with T'Pol; his mind seemed fixated on the idea and yet every time he felt himself get closer to his goal, the vision ended. And he was left sweating and huffing into darkness, aroused and unable to get back to sleep easily. His legs shifted, rustling against the sheets and his hand rubbed over his eyes.
Swallowing deeply, he could vividly remember everything -- her smell so fragrant and enticing it made his heart pound in his chest, her body gleaming with sweat and squirming under him, her taste ….
It took every speck of willpower he had to keep from running out of his room and barging into hers. Licking his lips he tried to calm his mind. She was probably asleep and didn't want some sex-crazed maniac to wake her up, even if he did want her … and the feeling of her lips against his, her legs wrapped around his waist and ….
Having already tossed his covers off much earlier in the night, he stripped out of his clothes in an effort to cool down. As he stared into the darkness at the ceiling, folding his hands behind his head, he debated whether he should open the windows further to let the stagnant breeze float in. Unfortunately there was no wind – just heat. Frowning, he wiped his hand against his slick forehead, already perspiring – like the rest of him -- heavily.
His skin was ablaze nothing would extinguish it.
Then he envisioned T'Pol's mouth puckered over him, releasing long bursts of cool air over his chest and stomach; goose bumps ran up and down his arms just imagining it – her lips pursed together ... flushed to a dark coppery green and begging to be kissed. Eying the door, he thought about leaving his room to see her … to touch her.
That was it. This had gone on long enough … too long. It was time to call his physician.
Reluctantly he pulled out his communicator and looked at it for several minutes before deciding to open it.
Drawing a deep breath, he spoke with hushed tones (for a reason he didn't know, but felt was necessary) into the metal box, "Archer to Dr. Phlox."
The Denobulan who was infamous for only sleeping about one week a year answered with the same jubilant voice he always did.
"Ah! Captain Archer!"
He almost smiled at the reception, but felt like the circumstances prohibited him from being exuberant back.
"Doc, I think I need some medical advice," he said, trying to get to the heart of the matter … mostly because he'd already worked up the nerve and beating around the bush would make him more nervous.
"I'd be happy to assist, Captain."
He took another deep breath and then said quickly and quietly said, "I think I have a problem."
"Oh? What seems to be the issue?"
"I've been feeling … anxious … lately."
"Anxious?"
"Yeah – tense."
Confusion hung in the physician's voice. "Well, you are in a new place …."
Refraining from pacing, Archer said, "No … I mean another kind of anxious …."
"Sexually anxious?" asked Phlox, his voice taking a peculiar delight in the information.
The captain had never talked about his relationship with T'Pol openly or privately. As far as he was concerned, the only person who knew about his relationship was Trip, and because of the circumstances the engineer was unlikely to talk about it … not that he was ordered, asked, or counseled to. Archer guessed the doctor's fascination had more to do with the dream he had years ago rather than any new information. That and the physician seemed to have a strange fixation on human mating practices and sexuality.
As Jonathan opened his mouth to answer, Phlox's voice seemed to brighten. "Feeling worked up easily and for no reason?"
Suspiciously, Archer eyed the communicator. "Yes."
"Ppppth! Don't worry, Captain."
Archer's eyes narrowed.
"The Tri-ox compound is the culprit." With silence ringing through the connection the Denobulan explained, "To compensate for the lack of oxygen and the high gravity, your heart is pumping more blood. That means there's more blood to flow through out your body – your whole body. All of your systems are benefiting from that increased blood flow, including for example your pituitary gland."
Archer was silent again.
"The pituitary is responsible for sexual responses … and since your body is pumping more blood to every … every … major organ …."
Archer winced and before he could interrupt, the Denobulan described more.
"What I'm trying to say, Captain, is that with this additional blood flow your pituitary is releasing sexual desires and your pen—"
"I understand," Archer said, cutting the doctor off, who sounded just a little too gleeful to describe the information.
"So, it's all perfectly normal." As if to explain himself, the doctor said, "I was certain I went over the side effects with you."
"No," corrected Archer. "No, I would've remembered that one."
"I'm positive I mentioned the increased blood flow. Perhaps I didn't cover the effect to your pituitary gland and pen --"
The captain frowned and spoke quickly, "Can I take anything to make me less …."
"Sexually aggressive?" asked Phlox, getting to the meat of things.
The captain winced again. "Yes," he quietly agreed.
"You can take a mild sedative. It should ease the tension. Just be careful of the dosage."
The captain hung on the balls of his feet waiting for the drawbacks.
"Okay?" he said, without hearing any side effects.
"I'll transport it down to you at once as long as you send your coordinates."
Archer, already typing in the data, managed to transmit it over almost immediately after the Denobulan had requested it. Phlox's voice cheered and he said quietly, "I'll send it to you as quickly as possible. It sounds like you need it."
Furrowing his brow, he glared at the communicator. "How …?"
"I know it's 0250 hours on Vulcan. Although I know you … keep late hours, I suspected it was … something else."
Archer nodded and said, "Having a mild sedative tonight would help."
"Let me know if you need anything else," the doctor said, with whimsy.
"Thanks, Doc."
Within a few minutes the drugs he'd requested were beamed down and like a junkie he sprinted to them, tore open the packing, stuffed the ingredients into a hypospray and shot it into his neck. Instantly he felt his mind numb like a tranquilized animal and his body begin to cool. Putting the paraphernalia and medication away, he climbed over to his bed, stuffed himself under the covers and shut his eyes. Right away he fell into a blissful, thoughtless sleep.
When he woke up again, T'Pol was stroking his hair aimlessly. As he focused on her eyes and mind, he suddenly felt the Vulcan temperature – hot. It made him wonder why he bothered to throw himself back under the covers.
"You were asleep for a long time," she said. "Your mind was … quiet."
Groggily he perched on his elbows and glanced around the room.
"What time …?"
"0900 hours," she explained. Quickly, she shot his neck with the Tri-ox compound and watched his sleepy eyes begin to gather focus.
Lying back down and running a hand through his sweaty hair, he took a deep breath. Cloudy, his mind attempted to defog as T'Pol ran through the day, covering their activities down to the minute: shower, eat at a dining establishment in downtown Shi'Kar and make the long journey to T'Lal. Archer felt like an anal host back on Earth – where he'd worked out schedules on his PADD and made reservations in advance, but listening to T'Pol's precise itinerary shoved all doubt in his mind about who was the more anal of the two. Her calculations were precise, including hypothesizing breakfast would be over at 10:32 because she'd estimated that Archer would take 20 minutes to complete his meal and she would take 32 minutes. It made him give her a lopsided smile, sit up, snuggle the covers around his waist and muse to himself what would happen if breakfast ended at 10:33.
Instead of receiving the cold shoulder, as he'd expected, she tentatively placed her hand to his cheek. "You're naked."
"It was hot last night," he said, remembering snippets of his dream. A wave of heat flowed over his skin and his heart stuttered. 'The Tri-ox compound,' he thought.
"The Tri-ox compound?"
Guiltily, Archer's eyes swung toward his feet. "I had … trouble sleeping last night. I was …."
"Hungry?" she asked, her lips suddenly stalking his.
Rubbing his nose against hers, he whispered, "You could feel it?"
Panting a little, she said, "Yes. Your dreams …."
Finally giving into her lips, he kissed her as his fingers found hers and danced along them lightly. A tingling sensation ran up his arm and along his spine as he heard her mind confirm how exquisite it felt.
His mouth hovered over her right ear, nibbling on it, as he whispered, "Dr. Phlox indicated it was a side effect of the Tri-ox."
Moving slightly out of his grasp and staring in wide-eyed wonder, her fingers left his. "These are your symptoms," she stated as if realizing it for the first time.
"I know you've been uncomfortable," he said, thinking about her reaction to their impassioned lovemaking and the way she'd bolted out of his room last night as he looked at her as if he might want to try that again.
Relief crossed her features as a sigh worked itself from her lips. "Our mind link has projected your thoughts … and amplified them. I was concerned these thoughts were mine."
His index finger and middle fingers wandered over her throat and he watched them caress the veins there. "Maybe you should give me the sedative."
As she stood, her mind ran over the details. Yesterday and last night, she had wondered whether she'd entered or was about to enter Pon Farr – the time of mating. It would be inconvenient and … out of cycle; she wasn't scheduled for that ordeal for another six months. Six months. It was well known to Vulcan females that each woman encountered the throws of her first Pon Farr, unless her mate spawned the blood fever before, at age 67.
Vulcan biologists had reasoned that as a last ditch effort to procreate, nature made female bodies eventually give in and yearn to be impregnated, or at least long for the act of impregnation, near middle age. Although Vulcan females could have children into their 80s or 90s, it was more strenuous on their bodies. Thus the cycle occurred near 70 – at the peak of physical health.
It wasn't that T'Pol didn't like sex (she enjoyed it a great deal with her current partner), it was the pent up drive to do nothing but mate for hours and days at a time, and violently, as well as the complete loss of emotional control that she found frightening … or at least until yesterday. Or … was it before?
That's what scared her most; she enjoyed it. Giving into desire and other emotions so utterly felt amazing, especially the frenzied and ferocious embrace yesterday. The way he'd passionately thrown her to the bed after wrenching out of her hold was thrilling.
With a raised brow, she considered she, as well as other Vulcan women, knew precious little about Pon Farr. She'd heard when Vulcan women entered it without a mate, it sparked unbonded men around to illogically recognize the scent, like an animal catching the odor of another in heat. This scent alone could drive them into the mating frenzy. It was why Vulcan women tried to bond before that age and why Vulcan society highly encouraged it.
Pausing next to the hypospray and getting further directions on the sedative, she loaded the chamber.
Hearing it was his symptoms – his mind reflecting wanton thoughts into hers – made her relax. As if to confirm the diagnosis, she reflected that his thoughts had invaded hers ever since yesterday morning and she was still growing accustomed to them and how to respond to them. It was logical that these were his thoughts … the thoughts of a human; the species was typically more voracious. Not only that, but she still felt logical, there were only moments when around him when she didn't … when the urge to mate took hold.
'Obviously, it's not Pon Farr,' she assured herself.
Sauntering back to the bed, she watched as his eyes darkened – his pupils expanding to almost the edges of his irises. It made her want to climb into his bed and caress him … and it also made her want to provide the sedative as quickly as possible. As the shot hissed against his neck, she felt him his libido wane and noticed his mind chatter quieted as if dampened or hindered.
Sighing, he rolled his head around his neck and smiled. "Thanks."
"Of course."
Taking a deep breath, he said, "Sorry."
Stroking his cheek, her eyes seemed to smile. "Don't worry."
His eyes twinkled back at her. With a raised brow she said, "You're tired."
"I didn't get a lot of sleep last night," he said. "But, I had plenty of rest yesterday. I'll be okay."
"You wish to shower?" she asked.
Smirking, he wondered if it'd bother her to see him walk around naked.
"I've seen you nude many times before."
Deciding that was her way of saying it wouldn't bother her, he slipped out of bed and stretched, slightly amused at the way she was inspecting him.
"It's only logical to appreciate what's aesthetically pleasing."
Giving her a peck on the cheek and a wink to reward her statement, he got ready for the day.
T'Pol was snuggled behind the helm of the brightly colored and small shuttle, almost happy to be the driver. In almost all her expeditions with Jonathan, he always flew. It wasn't that he didn't trust her or that he was over-controlling and needed to pilot, he liked to and thought it was the chivalrous thing to do. But, Archer didn't know Vulcan and certainly didn't know where her house was located. T'Lal wasn't a major city or town.
Archer sat in the passenger seat, smiling at the adventure awaiting him. Unlike when he was touring T'Pol around, by giving a brief history of the places they were about to visit and hoping to depart some interesting facts, she was mostly quiet, as was her mind.
Thirty minutes into their trip, he asked for a little history. T'Pol, with an arched eyebrow, told one of her favorite stories (one which was based on myth and legend more than fact): the story of T'Lal and T'Pana.
In the early days, before Surak's message had spread, the father of Vulcan logic crossed the deserts to meet the leader of the Th'nar tribes. He'd heard that the leader of the people, Kol, was a decent and fair-minded man or at least more so than his counterparts from the other seventeen regions.
When Surak arrived, as predicted, Kol greeted him warmly. Surak vowed to work as a teacher for the children of the tribe in payment for his greeting – something that sparked an immediate friendship between the two.
Before long, Surak was a regularly invited guest at the table of Kol where the two discussed the dismissal of all emotion. One night in particular, a canvas tent filled with relatives and friends who ate on a fine rug that kept the sand from their cloaks and robes. Red silks, fiery like the suns beginning their slumber, decorated the intimate small dining area. Candles shone and sparkled, making the atmosphere cozy as the illumination cast wondrous shadows on the canvas flaps. And laughter could be heard throughout, bellowing … mostly from Kol.
As Surak straightened his tunic, he reasserted as he did almost every night, "Vulcans can achieve peace."
Kol banged his fist on the table, insisting it couldn't be done. "Emotions are impossible to control," the tribesman argued.
"Not impossible. Difficult, yes. But we would benefit if we were no longer slaves to our own emotions. We should be the masters. Think of what Vulcans could accomplish if we were no longer at war."
"Impossible. Passion is what makes us Vulcans – it burns within us," Kol reasoned smiling.
Surak rose his eyebrow almost warily at that statement. With a bit of humor, but without smiling, he said, "Vulcans are many things. But, now … now is the time to define ourselves or else our race will vanish into extinction."
"You forget these passions … and our women … will help make generations to come. How can we take our wives to bed without this?"
Surak, with the same mild humor reported, "There is always the Pon Farr. We would mate every seven years regardless."
The tribesman gave a hearty laugh. After topping off the philosopher's wine, he clapped him on the back. "I can tell you're not married."
A smile lit in Surak's eyes as he raised a fork to his mouth, letting the comment go unchallenged.
"But you should be, Philosopher. And to show you my thanks and to burn your fires, I want you to marry one of my daughters."
It was well-known these two unmarried women were nearing the age of Pon Farr, in fact T'Pana was thought to have less than a year. At least that was the town gossip, though Surak didn't pay much attention to it. He also knew that Kol wanted to welcome him into his tribe as his son … into the family. Although he found the thought of offering up children unsettling, it was common to reward friendship with marriage.
Surak knew both women, having lived in the village for almost one year, but allowed his eyes to trace over them both. Logic would dictate the correct action.
"T'Pana is wise and will breed many fine children. T'Lal is beautiful and her children will be fair," said their father, signaling both women to stand. T'Lal rose with confidence, staring her suitor in the eyes.
Surak had to admit she was exquisite. Her skin was a light green – fair, as if untouched by the sun. Sleek, but not overly so, her frame stood confidently dressed in the richest silks of amber, contrasted by her dark green eyes. Proudly, with her shoulders back and squared, she twirled a few black strands between her long, slender fingers. With a smile, she lit up the tent, radiating brilliance. Indeed, glancing over her features, he had to admit she would make a handsome wife.
With humiliation T'Pana stood and eyed the ground. Her long raven braids covered tanned skin, as if she'd worked under the sun all her life. Her stature was tall like a warrior, and like her father she had broad shoulders and a sturdy build. The golden fabric that covered her was smudged with sand and tattered as if uncared for. She was also at least three years older than he.
Having had enough, T'Pana spoke up. "Father, would you give us so willingly to a man who they say has no heart?"
Raising an eyebrow, Surak mused this point. T'Pana was one of the harder workers in the village. She never accepted her birthright – to allow others to do her work for her – seeking comfort in the land. Ever practical, the woman didn't buy fineries or give into frivolous things; dirt was almost always under her fingernails and her hair was brushed as if in haste. T'Lal enjoyed being in the upper echelon. Her hair was always combed, oiled and knotted in the latest fashions, and her robes were bought from the most expensive markets. Men clamored over her and several suitors were already making their interest known. It was ponderous that Kol would deny these men and give her to him.
"I have a heart," said Surak. "It beats with the same fire as yours. However, I can tame it and my emotions."
Kol laughed.
Surak shook his head. "Your offer is generous, but I can't accept it." Out of the corner of his eye, he noted T'Lal's confusion and T'Pana's relief.
Frowning, Kol insisted. "If you don't choose, I'll choose for you!"
Surak, noting that he'd offended his friend, turned warm without smiling. "Because you are my friend, I know you will choose wisely for me."
Honored, Kol stared at his daughters for a few minutes and then said, "T'Pana."
Horror struck her face and the young philosopher shot her an apologetic look.
"She is wise and may give you the fire you need to convince the other leaders of 'logic.'"
"Very well," he said. Walking over with the grace he always showed, he offered her two fingers. "You father thinks we will be well-matched."
With reluctance, she placed them against his fingers and frowned.
Smiling the leader lifted his cup and drank to the union as dancers filled the room. And with that acknowledgement – which was all that was needed at that time – the two were married.
The concept of sleeping together the night of the marriage was foreign to Vulcans, but it was not uncommon to visit after the ceremony. Surak was troubled that T'Pana, his wife, didn't care much for him and hoped to set things right with her. So, that night, he stopped by her room, knocking gently on the door. The woman brushed her matted hair and rebraided it, ignoring the intruder. Quietly he opened the door as T'Pana frowned, glaring at his visage in the mirror. Her face and hair were washed, free from dirt and grime and the robes she had on shone like her eyes – golden brown. Silently he thought she was just as beautiful as her sister, but sparkled with inner beauty as well as outer … and seemed more comfortable concealing her aesthetics in the soil of the desert.
"I did not give you permission to enter," she said.
Surak held out his hand to ease her. "I know your father wed us against your wishes."
Annoyed, she crossed her arms, staring at him in the mirror of her dressing table.
"Your father is a good and kind man who I want to honor. But, in doing so, I do not wish to dishonor you. I release you from any vows you took for me."
About to withdraw he heard her voice stumble. "Why?"
"I thought I had explained it sufficiently."
"I know you wanted T'Lal," she said.
"You know me well enough to know I do not … want."
"You don't think much of a woman who enjoys the desert."
"Untrue. Work keeps the mind nimble. And I find intelligence admirable."
Drawing his robes around him, he left her to her thoughts.
Each day that passed, T'Pana had taken the trouble to go out of her way to talk with Surak, mostly to find out why he had refused her without renouncing his marriage, and within a few weeks she had to admit they had struck up a friendship. Although he didn't smile, he had a wry sense of humor and though he claimed to have no passion, he spoke with it as he talked of peace and the future of Vulcans. After only three months of visiting him for tea every day, she had to admit to herself that she'd fallen in love with him – the man with no heart.
He was humble, even though is lineage was something to be proud of, kind and giving. Unlike she'd suspected, he asked for nothing from her father or from anyone, yet shared his knowledge with anyone who asked, freely and with sincerity. His hair was as black as a starless, moonless night and his eyes were just as dark – holding a fire … an intensity … within.
One night, she decided to pass by his room and as her feet planted themselves on his doorstep, she rapped on the door. When he didn't answer the door, and she realized no one was home, she let herself in. She wasn't sure whether it was the fires of Pon Farr or simply lust, but something told her to disrobe and lie in his bed under the covers – as if she would be sleeping with him. Only just snuggling in the warmth, rolling in his scent, she was surprised to hear his footsteps outside.
"T'Pana?" he asked, walking through the portal and staring at what lay in his bed.
Shivering, her mouth opened, hoping to explain the invasion of his privacy, something she knew that was important to him.
Surak's nose twitched in the air and he said in a whisper, "Pon Farr."
With a troubled brow, she frowned. "I know you do not want me."
He remained quiet, weighing in his mind the appropriate response.
"You do not … want."
His eyebrow shot up.
"I think about you, Surak," she whispered into the night air.
It was his duty as her mate and husband to assist her through this time. And though they were married, they had not bonded; her thoughts didn't roam in his mind and nag his attention, but he could smell her burning and it began to stir him as well.
Crouching down to sit on the bed, he drew a deep breath. "It is the mating fever."
T'Pol stopped telling the story to Archer, who was already riveted and immediately began to protest. Quieting him, she reached out two fingers, which he took at once with his own, and worked in her mind what version to tell him.
The father of Vulcan logic was above all things – logical. The story was that night they bonded, most rationally, so that he could save her life. It also started the tradition that parents decide whom their children should marry; it was thought to honor the choices of elders – people who many times knew better than their children.
But, even as a youngster, T'Pol imagined the two admitted their love to each other and fell helplessly into each other's arms. Other Vulcans would've dismissed those thoughts as romantic and silly notions, but she wasn't with them, so she continued the story, indicating that this part was mostly myth, but was her belief.
Crouching down to sit on the bed, he drew a deep breath. "It is the mating fever."
To confirm his suspicions, he traced his finger along her sweat-covered neck. Her scent was intoxicating and he knew at once his touch had caused her to smolder with more desire.
"It is not just the mating fever, Surak. I wanted you even before."
The stoic Vulcan watched her as she ran her fingers up his arm and trembled at the feeling. Although logical, how he felt about her was unscientific. With something akin to pride, he'd noted dirt and grime were hardly ever found on her and yet, she had not stopped her walks in the desert or her work. Her hair was shiny and straight and her robes reflected the woman she was on the inside. Months ago, when they had married, he was intrigued by her outspokenness and then when he had visited her room, surprised by her beauty. Since then, he found perhaps what Kol was driving at, the passion of the heart was difficult to tame.
"I was mistaken. I have want now," he said. With reluctance, he whispered, "I felt want for you the night of our wedding."
Weeks later at dinner, Kol remarked on how happy his daughter, T'Pana, seemed (it was before the days where she too chose non-emotion) and explained why he chose her for Surak. The philosopher clasped his hands behind his back, interested in the logic his friend used.
"T'Pana would be content to be a philosopher's wife. She's quick, even if she's stubborn, but has a will that's her own. When I was sick, she was always at my side. She is special, and I knew if anyone could find that out, it'd be you."
Surak wanted to smile, but resisted the urge. Instead, he bowed his head. "I'm grateful. She is more than a wife to me; she is my companion."
Kol grinned. "I also knew that T'Lal would be jealous of the attention and would finally settle down."
Surak gave a wary brow as his friend continued. "T'Lal is set to marry the son of the V'nok Tribe. Perhaps you will spread your words of peace there one day."
"T'Lal is an idiom for … a choice that at one point looked promising, but on further reflection was not," T'Pol said, looking straight ahead.
Archer settled against the chair. "I thought you said your hometown was beautiful and plush for Vulcan."
"Yes," she said. "Did you understand nothing of the story?"
Teasing, he said, "I understand that Vulcans are a lot more romantic than I give them credit for, and they have beautiful women."
She knotted her brow as he continued, "On the inside and out."
"Indeed."
Her mouth twitched as he looked out of his window at the tiny lake that lay directly below. It was apparently why so much grew in T'Lal.
"What happened to T'Lal – T'Pana's sister?" he asked.
"She eventually followed the way of Surak and was murdered, stabbed 220 times, by her husband who claimed she disobeyed his orders." Wanting to frown more, she said, "Many of Surak's followers gave their lives for their beliefs. The tribesmen thought 'logic' was dangerous."
When T'Pol set the shuttle down, they exited in front of a very meager adobe-like structure that reminded Archer of buildings in New Mexico. She stood in front of it as his eyes scanned the area, looking at the large gong in front of her house, the relatively small garden in the front and then went to the back of the shuttle to grab the bags. Watching her, he felt in his mind she was nervous about seeing her old house again. The last time she was there was for her mother's burial – when her body entered a mausoleum with other dead relatives. The memory of her mother's untimely death was unhappy; it was why T'Pol accepted the position at VHC on Earth in the first place. She needed to escape.
Wanting to put his arm around her and comfort her, but not wanting to bother her, he gently said, "Do you want to go inside?"
Nodding, she walked ahead of him and opened the stone door (Vulcans never locked their homes) and felt her sandals pad against the terracotta-looking flooring. Light shined in from all directions – Vulcan appreciated their suns – and reflected against the sand-colored walls and ceiling. Modest furnishings surrounded the home, which reminded Archer of Japan – no couches or chairs only metallic-colored throw pillows littered the ground and a table that was only two feet high (requiring everyone to eat sitting on the floor). Archer put his luggage down and tried to take in every detail: the sculptures of Surak and other Vulcan philosophers, the paintings -- all abstract geometric patters, and the tapestries and the silks draped along passageways.
"Would you like a tour?" she asked.
"Sure," he said, smiling.
It was a three-bedroom home and each room was small … only big enough for a bed, a dresser and a closet. The tones in the house were all desert colors -- rusts, reds and golds; blue didn't seem to be in the Vulcan color palette. All the beds were low to the ground, as if the people wouldn't have actually minded sleeping on the floor and their mattresses seemed to lean toward firm rather than comfortable. The only luxury the beds were afforded were dozes of pillows decorating each one. All in all, though spartan, her abode was lovely.
After she finished the tour, she remarked calmly, "If guests arrive, I don't want them to misunderstand our relationship. I'd like you to sleep in a guest room." He knew which one that was – it was the next to largest one that shimmered in crimson.
Actually, having him sleep in her room wouldn't be a misunderstanding, but to a certain extent he could sympathize.
"That's okay," he said, not really understanding, but trying to be flexible.
Looking at the clock, it was already getting late. After she meditated and they snacked on what her father's sister's daughter, Rama, had placed in the refrigeration unit, the two were ready to call it a night. Awkwardly, Archer shuffled off to his room after giving T'Pol the briefest of finger kisses. Touching fingertips made his skin tingle, it always did, but the thought of pushing her onto the pillows scattered on the floor sounded appealing.
Quietly he affirmed he should probably take a sedative.
Surprisingly refreshed, Archer woke up the next morning and decided to cook a little breakfast by following the instructions located in his PADD for one of T'Pol's favorite dishes (after checking to ensure all the ingredients were there). Luckily, he also brought coffee grounds and devised a method to have fresh, hot coffee every morning. Stretching his legs out on the living room floor, he sipped his mug and called up the local newspaper on his PADD, reading the translated version, as T'Pol strolled up wearing a green flowing nightgown.
"Hey," Archer said cheerily.
"I didn't realize it was so late," she whispered. Although she looked gorgeous, her eyes were surrounded by puffy copper circles … liked she'd missed out on some sleep.
"Didn't sleep well?"
"No," she replied, sitting next to him.
His hand caressed her hair as he looked on with concern. "Anything wrong?"
For a moment, he felt the heat of Vulcan … giant suns beating down on him and attempting to break his will. Like a feline, she moved stealthily over planting her knees next to his – straddling his lap – and faced him. Suddenly he realized it wasn't like two suns searing his flesh, it was like two suns going supernova were shoved down his throat and scorching the pit of his stomach.
"I should probably take a sedative," he whispered, already revealing his body really enjoyed this.
"Don't," she whispered back. And then without warning, her lips nabbed his. As if the two hadn't kissed in weeks, they furiously connected mouths, moaned into each other's throat and only broke apart to pant with desire. Within minutes, her fingers had worked to splay open his now unbuttoned shirt and his hands roamed over her body. Taking initiative, T'Pol's teeth gently tugged at the flesh of his chest.
"Oh, God," he whispered, closing his eyes. He wanted to rip her nightgown off, and for an instant he thought in his mind he heard her encouragement.
Running her hands along the insides of his thighs, he felt his heart race. Moving his mouth to the point of her ear, he said in a hushed voice, "Let's take this into my room."
Staring into his eyes, she shook her head. "Tusha kropaya."
He got the feeling she knew this was a fantasy of his and wanted to stay … and that thought wildly excited him as well as hearing her speak in Vulcan.
Starting to grab the material of her gown to hike it up further, he felt her hips beginning to rock against him – teasing him. Helplessly, he groaned against mouth. As his hands reached for the neckline of her gown to rip it open, a voice spoke up.
"T'Pol?"
A woman about 57 Vulcan years old with large brown eyes and slightly wavy black hair stared down at the two.
T'Pol stood quickly, uneasily brushing a lock of hair and said in a nearly surprised voice, "Rama."
The slender young woman's eyes turned to T'Pol, and Archer took the distraction as an opportunity to button his shirt.
"I didn't expect you in until later today," said the younger Vulcan. With a mild eyebrow, she watched over Archer as he hurriedly fussed over his buttons.
"We came early," replied T'Pol.
"So, I see," said Rama.
T'Pol aware that her cousin was already eying the alien in the living room finally looked over her shoulder, relieved he'd buttoned his shirt and that the only thing that indicated there was something going on was his hair which was ruffled.
"Rama this is Jonathan Archer," she said.
Standing up, glad his shirttail was out and dipped to his thigh, he gave the Vulcan greeting.
"You are human," she said matter-of-factly. It's why she'd chosen to use English while communicating.
"Yes," he replied.
Her eyes passed over to T'Pol again. "A human?"
Having known the woman so long, T'Pol already knew exactly what Rama was driving at – she was involved with a human.
"Yes," T'Pol answered.
"Archer tene isachya." (Archer has a lot of hair.)
T'Pol glanced over at her boyfriend who was scowling. "He does."
Seeing the two next to each other, Archer was struck by how similar they looked. T'Pol was a little taller with more red in her hair, but other than that the lips, tiny frame … everything else looked similar.
"You two are cousins?" Archer asked, trying to fill the awkward silence.
Rama and T'Pol blinked their eyes nearly at the same speed. "Yes," said Rama as if it was obvious the two were related.
"My father's sister's daughter," T'Pol clarified.
"We were friends growing up," Rama said. "When T'Pol left to go to … Earth, she asked me to look after this house."
"The house has been well cared for," T'Pol said, surveying the room.
A timer sounded and Archer gestured toward the kitchen, looking for his cue to leave. "Uhm, I'm cooking breakfast. Rama would you like to stay?"
The woman looked at T'Pol's nightgown and said, "I have other business to attend to."
As Archer made his way back, Rama folded her arms in her robes and gave the slightest of frowns. She picked up the rest of the conversation in Vulcan.
"Your father would be unhappy with these circumstances."
T'Pol watched her feet. "Father is dead."
"You were always rebellious … always fascinated with other cultures, but … a human? I hear they are barbaric, flesh-eating animals."
"You've met one, do you believe he's a barbaric animal?"
"By the … events … that were happening at my arrival, perhaps."
T'Pol turned from her cousin. Maybe her mother's death wasn't the only thing that drove her from Vulcan. Her father's family was judgmental in a way that many Vulcans were – sticking to their haughty ideals and looking down their noses at others' beliefs. Her mother's family was more accepting believing and accepting the axiom, "infinite diversity in infinite combinations."
Rama asked, quietly, "I take it you have … mated with that creature?"
"It's none of your concern," she said flatly.
"Your communiqué indicated you wanted him to take the Th'lor Challenge?" Rama said, indicating he wouldn't be taking the unity challenge unless they were intimate.
"Yes."
The darker haired Vulcan turned her eyes to the floor. "If you think my reaction is strong, Sovok will be more severe. He will not be … pleased by the union."
Sovok was her father's brother, younger, but had the same conservative values. His children's names were all traditional – named after the philosopher's who followed the teachings of Surak. They made pilgrimages to Mt. Selaya yearly and never under any circumstances let alcohol touch their lips.
As the patriarch on her father's side, he would be conducting some of the test. Luckily she fared better on her mother's side. V'Lin was her mother's sister – a woman regal and warm … for a Vulcan. The oldest one alive at a meager 167, the kind, gray haired woman would lead Jonathan through other tests. Jonathan would undoubtedly like her. Even her father would grumble, for a Vulcan, that her mother's family had … spunk.
Rama asked, "Does Sovok know?"
T'Pol's eyes widened. "Not yet. Will you tell him?"
"It's not my place."
The two caught each other's eyes and T'Pol seemed to thank her with them as the other Vulcan decided not to become too sentimental.
"Try not to judge Jonathan so quickly. He has many fine qualities, even many that a Vulcan would appreciate."
The other woman gave a half-hearted nod. "You are of course invited to dinner tonight."
"Will your family be there?" T'Pol asked.
"My brother Sparin and my mother, yes."
"Kar?" she asked.
"No." And with that, she strolled out the door.
Archer, having listened to the very end of their conversation, paused and leaned against the archway in between the living room and kitchen. Although he didn't understand much Vulcan, he could hear the thoughts in T'Pol's head and got the gist of the discussion. Turning her head she noticed his concern.
"Everything all right?" he asked, huskily.
"I've heard that Kar had married against his parents wishes, denying the betrothal his parents arranged.
He frowned, guessing that's why he wouldn't be showing up for dinner and … probably not at Kar's request.
"Will you be shunned?" he asked.
"Perhaps. Although, because they are not my immediate family, they will be less inclined to deny me welcome. I am not disobeying their wishes as Kar had done."
Walking over to her, he drew her into a hug and kissed her forehead. Listening to her thoughts, Rama was the least conservative of the family, and yet her reaction had been rather extreme. Vulcans, although being able to tolerate other species, didn't welcome them openly. Humans had a reputation for being not just illogical, but were thought to be hedonistic.
"We should be more careful," he said quietly into her hair. By the compromising position they'd been caught in, he'd guessed Rama was only more convinced that humans led their lives solely based on their passions.
"Yes." Looking into his eyes, she asked. "Although … I know you were disappointed in the interruption." A furrow collected along his brow and she whispered, "I was also … disappointed."
Blushing, he was warmer than he'd been since his arrival on Vulcan. His body reacted to those words faster than his mind could process it. Pressing his lips tenderly against hers, he gave a low moan as his hand reached under her hair and his mouth devoured hers with more urgency. His tongue slid between her lips, tasting her mouth … savoring it … as if he was kissing her for the first time. Gently breaking his grasp, the Vulcan raised her eyebrow at him and stroked the side of his face.
"I can't believe the compound is making me so …."
Silently, she studied his half-lidded eyes; they stared at her like he wanted to eat her.
"I crave you," he whispered.
"Yes," she said, reading it in his mind. It made her body hot as if a fire burned deep within her belly. It tickled her skin and made it slick with sweat … and anticipation. As she licked her lips, she pondered that the thoughts … the craving … felt like hers. Her eyes fell to his mouth, hoping it would take hers again.
Before she could object, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to his bedroom.