After brunch, which was really cold breakfast by the time they ate it, T'Pol took Archer to one of her favorite museums in T'Lal. At 1100 hours, they had plenty of time to do a little sightseeing, something she knew Jonathan would enjoy.
T'Pol's other motive for taking him was to prep him on dinner tonight; there was a lot to understand about Vulcan meals and she wanted Jonathan to make a good impression. Although Rama's words indicated T'Pol was welcome to come for the evening meal, on Vulcan when one was invited to dinner, it was expected that he or she would attend. And T'Pol knew Vulcans always started promptly at 1500 – her extended family was no different, which meant she only had a few hours to depart the protocols and rituals he'd be expected to participate in.
Walking into the T'Lal Museum of Cultural History – a regal building, four stories high with ornamental spires that reached into the heavens. Archer marveled at the unique color of the structure: the color of what he imagined burning sand to be – orange and brown like fire. It was the color of age; he wondered just how old.
"This building was constructed 800 years after the time of Surak."
He smiled and asked, "Reading my thoughts?"
Shaking her head mildly, she said, "I've been unable to hear your thoughts all day. It seems when you take the sedative our connection is dampened significantly."
Thinking she was probably glad to have a little peace in quiet, he grinned. "Less mind chatter?"
"Definitely so."
As he gazed at the structure towering in front of him, he scanned the enormous runes that were carved into the stone of the front and wished he could read the symbols. While his mind was focused on that task, he felt a poke in his leg. He looked down to see a small Vulcan child – probably around four human years – staring up with wide-eyed wonder. A smile blazed across Archer's lips, wanting to say hello, as the little boy shrieked in terror.
His mother, a stern looking woman about T'Pol's age, quickly intervened grabbing her child's hand and yanking him into the museum while speaking in what seemed like -- for a Vulcan -- hushed anger.
Furrowing his brow, Jonathan looked at his girlfriend for an answer.
"Few Vulcans have ever seen humans, except in periodicals and textbooks. That child has not been through the Kolinahr."
This is how T'Pol must've felt on Earth. As Archer glanced around, he noticed the stares.
"Jonathan, … the description of your species isn't entirely … flattering."
"I'm not surprised," he said. "But, how do they know I'm human … other than the ears?"
She raised her eyebrow and with stoicism said, "It's obvious."
Leaving Archer blinking in bewilderment, she strode into the museum without paying any money (apparently it was free to all). After watching her disappear into the building, he shook his head and marched in. As soon as he entered he noticed a rainbow pattern reflected on the wall; a giant crystal IDIC filled the entire center space reaching to the ceiling and shone light in all directions like a prism. The beams danced against the white walls and forced him to squint and think about fishing into his pocket for his shades.
A deep, rumbling voice overhead said something in Vulcan that echoed as all the passersby for a moment bowed their heads almost in reverence.
T'Pol leaned over and whispered, "It is a dramatic reading from the works of Surak. He had a saying that museums fill the mind with knowledge so that we may expand our horizons and see, with greater clarity, the future and the past."
"Does it say anything about flash photography?" he added as a joke.
With confusion she poked her eyebrow up, ignoring him grinning at her.
As they enjoyed the history of Vulcan, most of which surprised Jonathan – the volcanoes that erupted making canyons and valleys in the desert, the wars, the peace that Surak brought, the challenge to rebuild (which Vulcans still considered they were attempting, even after thousands of years) – she began to prepare him for what the family dinner would entail and the rituals and protocols he'd should follow. Going over everything in detail, she covered how to address her family, how to act, how to eat, what to say … and more importantly what not to say.
After hearing some of the rules – speak when spoken to, but not before; quiet his voice and still his mind; refrain from touching anyone or anything – he gathered this was going to be worse than when he met Rebecca's folks (his last serious girlfriend). To put it into perspective, he recalled a dinner conversation filled with "interesting" facts about the sanitation industry – Beck's father's profession – and some rather unpleasant needling from her mother about when she was going to settle down … something that made him incredibly uncomfortable. Luckily that dinner had only lasted three hours; this one was slated to last about five.
Glancing down at his chronometer, he asked, "Maybe we should think about leaving. We've got about two hours."
"Indeed," she said, turning to head back to the shuttle. As her feet tapped against the stone floor, she decided to see if he could recall some of the information she's shared with him the past few hours.
"When you greet them, will you give them the traditional Vulcan greeting or bow?" she asked, hoping he'd know the basics.
"I bow to your aunt, but provide a greeting to your cousins."
"Good. We need to do one thing before returning to the house. I hope you're agreeable to it."
With a worried glance, he caught her eye – it looked oddly vulnerable as if she was almost afraid to ask for this favor.
"Okay?" he asked.
"I'd like you to wear Vulcan robes when meeting my family."
His brow furrowed as he continued to walk behind her. "What difference do the clothes that I wear make?"
Stopping as they reached the outside and touching his arm only for a second, she said, "You don't have to, but … I believe the dinner will be easier if you do so."
It was hard to tell her no. Giving a brief nod, he followed her into the shuttle and gave a slight frown – Beck never asked him to wear a suit to meet her folks. Actually, he would've rebelled if she had. Catching T'Pol out of the corner of his eye, he laid his head back against the passenger seat. Then again, he hadn't loved her with the same intensity or passion … not even a fraction of what he felt for the woman behind the helm of this shuttle.
"Okay."
"Thank you," she said, rubbing his thigh.
The two reached a market, reminding Archer somewhat of an upscale Marakesh – it had an old world mystique and charm – red tents scattered along the desert and a strange looking lyre being strummed and plucked. Stoically, logically, Vulcans padded their sandals and viewed the merchandise laid out in carts. Unlike Earth, no one called out their wares, instead they only answered questions – letting the merchandise speak for itself. Tapestries, fruits and vegetables, instruments – the variety of things available to buy astounded him.
T'Pol motioned to one vendor and the two slipped inside a tan tent. A tall man with fine gray hair turned toward them and immediately shot an eyebrow up at the human.
"What can I do for you?" he asked in Vulcan.
After a brief head nod, encouraging Archer to step all the way in the tent, she began to rattle off items needed in Vulcan. Catching every third or fourth word, he pieced together she was asking for a bunch of items for her … colleague. She'd used that word before for him, but this time it sounded particularly cool as if he was merely her friend.
At that particular point, the Vulcan merchant folded his arms and pointed two fingers under his chin, giving Archer the once over. It wasn't difficult to figure out the man scarcely believed the two were only friends and began to refer to him as something Archer'd never heard before, but the way it was said made it seem like he was saying "pet." And the amusement showing in T'Pol's eyes led him to believe it wasn't derogatory, which was enough to convince him to actually stay put – even if he was confused and feeling especially dumb.
The man whisked out a few silk-like fabrics – gold, red and brown -- and held them almost against his chest, making sure not to touch him.
"I would say brown is his color," said the merchant in Vulcan.
"What about that green," mentioned T'Pol spying a dazzling fabric from across the room. It was a spectacular color with flecks of gold, copper and bronze metallic, and runes hidden in only slightly lighter shades.
The merchant crossed over to the fabric and again held centimeters away from Archer.
"Yes, this seems to the one for him – matches his eyes," he said in Vulcan. "You have a good taste."
Pulling out a matching pair of coffee-colored Nehru-look jacket and pants, as well as yanking out a pair of large sandals (for his size 10 and a half feet), he stuffed them into Archer's hands, said a few words and then finally pointed to a small changing room. Although Vulcans weren't as embarrassed of their bodies as humans, trying on garments in private was a luxury, and this merchant was pleased to provide the small amenities to differentiate himself.
When Archer walked out (which seemed like forever since he had no idea how to put everything on), T'Pol's breath caught in her throat. Rubbing the material between her fingers, it felt like tat'tho: a fabric like velvet except smoother and finer.
The merchant seemed content as he fussed with the material that Archer obviously put on incorrectly and noted with a gleam in his eye that he had again guessed the right sizes for his customer.
"You look handsome," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Very handsome."
A wave of heat, hot enough to make his head spin, overcame him and he instinctively reached out to steady himself on T'Pol's shoulder.
The merchant glanced between the two and then said a few more words, as Archer watched his girl's lip fall as if she'd been teased. With some minor tweaks, the storeowner finished and collected a small amount of money from T'Pol. As the two left, Archer rubbed at his temples and swore to himself about the Vulcan suns and the warm robes.
When they made it back into the shuttle, Archer stretched out in the passenger's seat.
"Are you all right?" asked T'Pol.
No, his skin was on fire … like in his dreams … and he began to feel itchy.
"Yeah," he lied. They had one hour to get home and get ready for dinner. It didn't make sense to worry her.
After she'd climbed into her seat, instead of beginning the sequence to lift off, she leaned over and hungrily kissed his lips – something she would never normally risk in public.
"I am anxious to get back home," she whispered.
He furrowed his brow and blinked a few times. The sedative he'd taken was supposed to last until roughly 1900 hours; maybe his body was working up a tolerance to it.
Quietly against her lips, he said, "Your family is expecting us soon. I don't think we have time." She didn't retreat, so he continued.
Shaking her head, as if to clear it, the Vulcan started the controls and began to fly back home. Immediately after lifting off, Archer noticed a tiny bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face as she brushed it carelessly away. He reached over for at the environmental controls and turned up the air conditioner a little, thankful that finally she wouldn't complain about getting cold.
While staring out the window, he was finding it difficult to concentrate. Instead of looking at the view and chit chatting with her, he imagined his lips dancing down her neck. As he was trying to push those thoughts down, T'Pol began rubbing his thigh again, inching her hand up slowly.
Whispers from her voice could be heard as their mind link came into focus. By her words and actions, it sounded like she wouldn't be against his advances.
"T'Pol," he whispered. The thoughts plaguing his brain made him still her hand, which he decided was lingering too close to areas that would only make him force her to land and paw off her clothes.
Biting her lip, she agreed and removed her hand. He blew out a short breath and wondered if he shouldn't just give himself another sedative; he could reduce the dosage significantly to keep from acting dopey at dinner and he wouldn't be as … edgy. He was hoping at the very least to not to come off like some hormone-driven hedonist that little Vulcan children had been warned about in textbooks.
When they reached the house, each showered, separately, despite a small suggestion from T'Pol that would speed up the process and got ready. Checking over his shaven visage in the mirror, he swallowed and gave himself less than a tenth of the dosage he took at bedtime and in the morning. Immediately, he felt better.
Five minutes later, T'Pol entered the bathroom. "Are you all right?" she asked.
"Yeah …."
"Your mind is quiet."
He smiled. No need to worry her. "I took a small dosage of the sedative."
"You indicated Dr. Phlox said to follow the instructions carefully."
"Don't worry," he smiled. "I'm sure everything will be fine."
Placing a nervous hand against her forehead, T'Pol recalled everything that happened at the banquet and gave into her doubts. With a tremor in her voice she said, "This is important."
His eyes narrowed. "I know, sweetheart."
A little exasperated, she said, "I just want everything to go perfectly." Her hand clenched into a ball and then fell against her thigh with a thud, emphasizing the point.
With a furrowed brow, he scrutinized her movements. "T'Pol?"
Taking a deep breath, she released it quietly and languidly. "I apologize. I'm not looking forward to seeing my father's sister again. My father's family are some of the strictest Vulcans – they have little tolerance for outsiders and other cultures; I can imagine their prejudice against humans will be extraordinarily difficult to deal with."
Hearing her adjust her voice and watching her manners turn serene gave him a little reassurance. With a sigh, he raised his palm as if to swear.
"I'll be on my very best behavior."
Before leaving, T'Pol inspected Archer – he looked almost Vulcan, except for the lopsided smile plastered on his face and rounded ears. Fixing the hood so it fell perfectly about his neck, the two took off for Rama's mother's house. The entire way there, Archer felt the anxiousness in his favorite Vulcan – not through their mind link, but by her nervous fidgeting (thumbing controls without depressing them and shifting with sighs in her chair) something she rarely did.
As they stepped out of the shuttle, the entire house seemed to come alive – even for people with no emotion. Archer gathered they'd already been warned T'Pol's "boyfriend."
A young man who looked 16 in human years, opened the door and waited as the two approached the house. As instructed, Archer's hands intertwined calmly together in front of him as his head bowed only slightly.
"You the human?" the young man asked to Jonathan as he righted himself again.
"Sparin," non-emotionally scolded Rama.
Giving a slight glance over his shoulder he shrugged off the warning. "I've been interested in meeting you."
"Jonathan Archer," he said.
"Sparin," said the young man.
T'Pol walked toward the boy who seemed to light up on seeing his cousin. "T'Pol."
"Greetings," she said.
"It is agreeable to see you again. I've heard a lot about your adventures. Rama and I scour for data about everything that happens aboard the Enterprise."
With a mild eyebrow she shot a glance to Rama who suddenly seemed interested in the ground.
"Jonathan is the captain," T'Pol mentioned, nodding over to him as he tried not to look bemused.
"Is that so?" he asked. Without a smile, but looking like he might break into laughter, he said, "In that case, I've heard a lot about you."
Rama walked out and stood near her brother, almost as if she were going to put her arm around him.
"Our guests should enter, Sparin."
Archer lifted his hands and began to boy, when Rama said, "No need for a formal greeting. I've seen a lot of you." Her eyebrow perked – it was pretty clear she meant physically.
He tried to remain neutral and said, "Right."
A slight woman entered the room seeming to cause her children to stand up straighter and turn their faces flatter – their mother. Seeming 63 in human years, her eyes were cold and her hair was still black and shiny. Thin and muscular, she gave a single wave to the two who wandered a little farther in. Jonathan and T'Pol bowed to her.
T'Pol bowed deeply. "Valara, it has been years. The welcome into your home is appreciated."
"Appreciation is not the Vulcan way." Curling up her lip by only centimeters, she said, "T'Pol, bring your guest and sit over at the table."
With a slight turn of her head, she walked millimeters in front of Jonathan and led him to a small Japanese-style table that required everyone to sit. Rama and Sparin sat first, followed by T'Pol and Jonathan.
"I've never met a human before," said Sparin, staring at Archer's features. His eyes wandered over his ears and facial hair with particular interest. "Why are you in Vulcan garments?"
Without tipping T'Pol's hand, he said, "I thought it would make a better impression." And then without really intending to, he gave a small smile.
"Vahar-aren," Sparin said quietly to himself, without much inflection to the words.
Archer glanced at T'Pol hoping to get more information, but through the sedative had trouble heading the words she was saying. Reading his confusion, T'Pol explained.
"Sparin used an idiom. It means – to excel in surprise."
Archer mused to himself whether it meant something like "cool."
"Do you do that a lot?" the young man asked. "Smile?"
Rama almost rolled her eyes and then explained, "Sparin is in his first year at the Vulcan Science academy. His primary study is Universal Culture."
"T'Far said that there is a presence … a unity … that binds all species together," said Sparin, quoting a lecture he'd heard recently. "I think that study would be fascinating."
Archer asked, "T'Far?"
"A Vulcan archeologist and psychologist. You might think of her along the lines of Jung," mentioned T'Pol.
Sparin continued, "She researched 126 galactic cultures and found many similarities, especially in their stories and myths."
Archer pushed up the sleeves of his robe and said, "I can believe that – Surak reminds me of various Earth leaders … Jesus, Buddha, Gandhi, Martin Luther King …."
"I have heard of them. Curious." Sparin leaned in and continued chatting quietly with the captain about all the Earth customs he'd read about (shaking hands, eating meat, choosing marriage partners and more).
Rama used that opportunity to talk with her cousin in Vulcan. "Have you told mother why you are here? It will look strange bringing a human to not only our planet, but this home."
T'Pol almost sighed, "It is inevitable that she find out. I couldn't leave Jonathan at home while I pay my respects."
Rama nodded silently.
In an instant Valara appeared with some dishes and put them on the table. On her entry the room became quiet and each person bowed their heads and began eating. Jonathan had been counseled not to look up, but to keep his eyes on his plate until he finished everything. Just like the banquet a couple of nights ago, the food on the table was sparse; there was nothing of real substance to eat. And just like the banquet, T'Pol encouraged him to eat a very small portion – smaller than Sparin's. It was considered polite.
Taking each bland bite into his mouth, he attempted to change the pace of his eating to accommodate the longer meal of Vulcans. Although he slowed down quite a bit (T'Pol had informed him sometimes he wolfed down his food), he was still finished before the others. Trying to wait patiently, he afforded himself a quick glance out of his right eye and caught Sparin watching him. As if to prompt the human on what to do, he nodded his head toward a bowl and then mimicked his fingers dipping in it.
Archer'd forgotten that part and carefully reach over, which was difficult on the small table, and followed Sparin's advice. After another ten minutes when everyone was done, they stood silently, Valara poured tea into small ceramic cups, Rama lit the candles scattered through out the room, Sparin took everyone's robes, and then they all sat cross-legged on the pillows in the living room.
"I see T'Pol has prepared you for our customs, Archer," Valara said in broken English.
Why did all the Vulcans have to call me by my last name? "She did," he said, while keep his voice soothing, which he'd also been advised to do.
"For what purpose did you bring this guest home?" the matron asked T'Pol.
Taking the smallest breath, she said, "I want him to take Th'lor challenge," She expected a Vulcan uproar and wasn't disappointed.
Sparin's jaw fell open by centimeters as Valara seemed to nearly choke on the spiced tea she'd just swallowed. Putting down the cup, she spoke in Vulcan.
"He is your mate?" she asked. Archer couldn't help but notice she raised her voice quite a bit without breaking into a yell. He didn't quite get all the words down, but had a pretty good idea what was going down.
Playing with the thumb of her right hand, T'Pol responded in Vulcan. "He is."
Archer felt everyone swinging his or her eyes to him.
"I chose him," T'Pol said.
"A human?" Valara asked.
"Yes."
"Illogical."
"His voice speaks to me. We have a bond."
Rama's eyebrows perched onto her head, hearing the new piece of information.
Almost gasping the older woman clutched her cup as if she would break it. "Does Sovok know?" Valara asked, but was pretty sure she knew the answer.
"No. Not yet."
In English, Valara said, "As the head of this family, it is his decision whether to conduct this challenge."
"It's not his decision; he must," T'Pol countered in English.
Valara leaned over with eyes that looked as if they wanted to slap the Vulcan. "You will not confer with him, but demand this rite?"
A rebellious eyebrow met her comment. "Yes, if I have to."
"Your father would be disappointed in you. You bring shame to your family."
"Disappointment is not the Vulcan way, Valara."
Beginning to sense a megaton bomb of tension building, Archer decided to break the rule about not speaking unless spoken to.
"Valara, we don't wish to break Vulcan tradition. I can … hear T'Pol's thoughts in my mind. T'Pol is my soulmate and on Earth that kind of relationship is rare."
The older woman scrutinized him and raised an annoyed eyebrow. "If you could hear T'Pol's thoughts, you would know I was not speaking to you, Earthling. And as for your customs, we are not on your world."
Rama decided to speak up. "It's ultimately between Sovok and T'Pol. Wouldn't you agree, Mother?"
Valara gave a slight tilt of her head in affirmation. Instead of continuing that line of conversation, she peppered T'Pol with questions about humans in Vulcans, ensuring she didn't say anything else to Archer.
After an hour of being bored out of his mind, Archer finally made his way toward the bathroom hoping to get a small breather. As he was about to shut the door, T'Pol appeared from out of nowhere.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"Yeah," he whispered. It was grueling and he had a headache, but lying seemed in everyone's best interest.
"Have I mentioned how handsome you look?"
He frowned and narrowed his eyes, worried that she seemed fixated on the idea. Her hand caressed the side of his face and she leaned her body against him.
"Aren't they going to miss you in there?"
"Perhaps." As she was about to turn around, her teeth nipped at his throat. "Aisha, I am anxious to get home."
He blinked rather quickly and noticed a bead of sweat at her brow. Instead of letting her retreat, he grabbed her arm.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes. It's warm in here," she replied.
'Can't argue with that,' he thought, feeling sweat gather at his lower back.
Before he could say anything else, she disappeared back into the other room.
Four hours and fifty-nine minutes. Archer gave final bow and entering the shuttle – counting every second. When Vulcans said "about" or "approximately" when referring to time, what they really meant is give or take thirty seconds. T'Pol was always punctual; he thought it was a nice trait (especially having girlfriends who were always thirty minutes late), but didn't realize the entire species was always on time.
As soon as he climbed in, T'Pol freed his knee of the green garments that folded over it and began to massage it.
"I hope it was not intolerable for you," she said.
"Uhm, it was fine. Sounds like tomorrow night we're spending dinner with Sovok?"
"Yes. Tomorrow morning, we meet V'Lin at the base of Mt. Selaya for your first challenge."
Feeling her hand crawl up his inner thigh by a few decimeters, he shifted a bit. "I didn't realize you'd spoken with her."
"Back in Shi'Kar."
"Am I climbing the mountain tomorrow?" he asked.
"I am unaware of the challenges, but … I believe so, yes." Her fingers traced swirling patters inching slowly upward. With a light cough, he held her hand and grumbled internally about the short notice.
"It'd be nice to get a little warning," he said with irritation.
Withdrawing her hand from his, she asked, "How would knowing sooner have helped?"
"What time do I have to get up?"
Placing her hand back on the inside of his thigh and kneaded the fabric of his pants, she remarked, "0600."
Stilling her hand, he asked, "What the heck has gotten into you?"
"What do you mean?"
Removing her fingers from his leg, he intertwined them with his. "I like the attention, but ... this is …."
"If you like it, why did you remove me hand?" she asked with a glimmer in her eye.
Freeing his hand again, he brushed his fingertips through her hair. "We've been very physical lately."
"Is there something wrong with that?"
Giving a lop-sided smile, he shook his head. "Not really. But, we haven't been this … active … since we first started going out."
"That's true," she said, landing the shuttle. "You sound as if it's a problem?"
Sighing, he unbuckled his seatbelt and hopped out. Scratching his head he opened the house door for her, stepped in and was about to speak when her mouth crashed against his. Before he could do anything, she'd worked off his robe and her fingers fought with the buttons on his tunic.
Taking her hands in his he backed away.
"I want you," she whispered, taking her own robe off.
"T'Pol …."
Snagging his hand she began to leading him into her bedroom. "I've wanted you all evening."
He reluctantly followed, dragging his heels. When they reached her bedroom, her mouth feverishly moved against his – her tongue entered his mouth and she groaned into his throat.
Breaking the kiss, he stepped back and produced a slight frown. In the history of their relationship, he'd been turned down various times when he tried to initiate something intimate, but he had yet to turn her down … until now. It was bound to happen; it'd happened with all his previous girlfriends in some form or another.
Taking his thumb to her cheekbone and stroking lightly, noticing her panting at the feel, he whispered, "I'm not really in the mood. And, you said earlier today Mt. Seleya is two hours, which means we have to get up at 0300 hours."
Nodding slightly, she kissed at the hand that touched her cheek.
"T'Pol, I just wanna hit the hay."
Unfastening her own tunic, she decided that cajoling him was in order – it always worked … actually, he usually needed very little convincing. Slinking over to him, she attacked his mouth with her lips.
"What's gotten into you?"
Quivering her lips, her eyes fell to the floor. "I would've thought you'd want to."
Wrapping his arms around her in a hug, he kissed the side of her temple. "You are by far the sexiest woman I've ever met. We just have a long day tomorrow – that's all."
Taking her chin, he kissed her sweetly and as his lips left hers she seemed to whimper. After squinting at her for a few seconds, he wondered whether he should just concentrate on her needs. As he was about his mouth opened to let her know, she straightened herself and grew more … Vulcan.
"I apologize," she whispered, stepping away from him. Her hands grabbed at her tunic, righting it despite that it was splayed open.
"Are you okay?" he whispered.
"Of course," she said. It was the most Vulcan she'd sounded almost all day.
Staring suspiciously into her eyes, he raised his brows waiting for her to explain more.
"I'm fine," she insisted.
"What was all that about?" he asked.
Her fingers carelessly traced his lips. "Jonathan, even Vulcans feel want. Didn't you learn anything from the story I told you about T'Pana and Surak?"
Quietly he studied her and she whispered, "It's want that brought me to you in the first place."
His nose teased hers momentarily and his lips took hers quickly. "Expect me to call on that … want … sometime soon."
After embracing once more, Archer walked to his bedroom, brushed his teeth, washed his face, took the rest of the sedative from earlier (he was about due anyway), set an alarm and changed into his night garb. Turning off the light, he snuggled into the sheets and closed his eyes.
Jonathan felt a hand snake around his waist.
"Tushah aitlu tu," he heard in his ear. It sounded like T'Pol's voice – but huskier. Groggily he turned on his back and fluttered his eyes open, peering into the darkness. When he didn't see anything, he snuggled back into his pillow and closed his eyes, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him.
Immediately he felt an onslaught of kisses to his face and neck and then teeth tugging gingerly on his lower lip.
"T'Pol?" he asked sleepily. It was too dark for him to make sure, but it smelled like her – myrrh, cinnamon and other spices; as her mouth caught his again he noted it felt like hers – large, moist, tender lips.
Smoothing her hands over his chest, she kneaded the material and through the fabric – his flesh. Hoarsely, his voice hummed as if he enjoyed it and as soon as the noise left his lungs, she easily straddled him. Reaching up, he noticed she was naked.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Hungrily, her mouth caught his and her tongue pressed between his lips with ease. Without responding, he ended the kiss.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Tushah nem-tor," she said, her nails dancing against the skin and hair under his shirt – they combed the hair on his chest.
As her embraces increased in intensity and seduction, he knitted his brows. This wasn't a dream, but it didn't seem like reality. This didn't seem like T'Pol …. Something was definitely wrong.
"What's going on?"
Silently, her knee parted his legs open and with expertise, she concentrated her efforts where she thought it would excite him most. It got his attention and he blinked rapidly at her.
"T'Pol?" he asked again.
"I can't hear your mind," she said. Her mouth covered his earlobe and she suckled it and the spot directly behind it that she inevitably knew pleased him. She was right; it did.
"Huh?" he asked with confusion.
"I can't hear your mind. I want to. I … need to."
Her lips took his again and then moved down to his neck. Shifting his legs, he felt her hips slowly move against his clothing, teasing his body, and although drowsy – thanks to the sedative – he was quickly beginning to succumb and react.
"What's happened to you?" he asked, trying to maintain focus.
She said again, her breath on his lips. "I need to feel your mind … I need you."
Suddenly he felt her fingers dance across his temple and her mouth take his. Changing the position of her forefinger and thumb, letting them wander along his jaw, he heard her sigh almost with frustration.
"Jonathan, tushah boylau olau tu."
"I don't know … what you're saying," he whispered.
The pressure of her fingertips increased as he felt the creature on top of him attempted to enter his mind.
"T'Pol?"
"Olau tu." With more force her fingers clamped against his face – it was enough the felt his skin prickle.
"Ha," the Vulcan said in her native tongue, pushing her digits against his cheekbone and temple. He knew this word it meant yes and in an instant she overcame his mind.
With a blinding light, a sandstorm swept through his mind –- tumbling and roaring. He heard the sounds even from the depths of the ocean and he felt her presence. It loomed larger than he anticipated.
"T'Pol?!"
The dunes blew fiercely carried by the wind … scattering dirt and debris into the seas and turning the sky a fiery red. Sand whipped chaotically spreading in every direction and violated the calmness of the deep.
He gasped as she probed deeper into his mind, holding his jaw still.
"Olau tu."
And then the fingers of her right hand stiffened against his face and she forced her way through his drowsy mind, controlling it.
The breeze became twister-like, kicking up sand and dumping it by the tons … creating sandbars … and landmasses of what seemed like epic proportions. The water around him began to evaporate.
The heat. It'd been driving him crazy -- swelling up within him every day he was on Vulcan and it was back now. The burning blazed along his jaw, traveled to his brain and sparked behind his eyes.
Panting, her teeth tore with more ferocity at his neck, as her mind probed deeper still.
Lightning sparked from the dusty-twilight haze that crept closer, and shot through the remaining waters – jolting his body and sparking it to life. Freeing himself of the tumultuous waters, the ones she'd made murky and treacherous, he swam to the beach and crawled onto it, staring up as the earth shook and fumed around him.
His skin shivered – pelted with tiny particles and heat – and his hand defensively fell in front of his eyes to protect them.
All of it was too much. His body … his mind … the onslaught was too much.
"T'Pol?"
Sand collected in his mouth when it opened and then aimed for his nose, eyes, hair and skin; it choked him and he tried to clear his throat spitting onto the shore.
Straining to see into the miasma, he caught sight of a woman descending the dunes surrounded by swirling khaki clouds. It was T'Pol, and she was naked, swaying toward him.
On seeing her, images bombarded his mind -- encounters they'd had and hadn't – things she wanted him to do to her and things he wanted her to do to him.
"I need to hear your thoughts, but it's difficult," she said with exasperation. "What have you done?"
"I took a sedative," he said feeling her body undulating against his, which caused a small huff to escape his lips. "Please, this is too much."
Her fingers wrapped possessively around his jaw and near irritation spurted from her mouth. "Stop taking it."
Before he could respond to her request, she growled the same words – a demand. "Stop taking it."
He itched like sand was creeping into the crevices of clothes and hanging in locations he couldn't scratch. His skin was hot and he could feel his cheeks flush. Even his insides felt warm – baking like clay under the an oppressive sun.
"I need to hear you … your voice." Nipping at his lips, she said, "I want you."
"What's wrong with you?" he managed to ground out.
Whispering into his ear and sending him mental images, she promised satisfying his desires, the ones they'd never acted upon but she knew he lusted for.
"Oh, God," he whispered as if under a spell.
Shivering and sweaty, but cold to the touch, she licked her lips and then pressed them to his. She pinned him against the mattress and without further explanation, began to tear off his shirt. Ripping at the fabric of his garment, she took tiny bits of his flesh along with it as her nails shredding his skin. Twisting underneath her, confused by the onslaught of images and her actions, he wanted to surrender to her. The anticipation was already becoming unbearable. He knew that taking her in his arms would somehow cool his body and mind. The only thing that flittered in the back of his mind, nagging him, was that this woman didn't seem like the Vulcan he'd known for four years. He'd seen T'Pol heavy with desire, but never like this – it was a little frightening as well as erotic.
"Tell me you'll stop taking it," she demanded. Canines sank a little too deeply into his bottom lip and he moaned at the mix of pain and pleasure.
"Something's wrong with you," he said, as if to explain her actions to himself.
"You're enjoying it," she responded.
Touring his body again, she drank at his throat – sucking the tiny beads of sweat that formed there as she slid her body against his. With him pinned, his mind was free for her exploration. Sharpening her focus, her fingers gripped the side of his face and his back arched.
Her skin was the color of sun-warmed copper and her hair was auburn … like the Vulcan sky as the suns sank on the horizon and the moons began their ascent. The color of wet sand filled her eyes; the irises also displayed something of fire – the greens and yellows that emit from a match or a gas burner with hot intensity. Regally, her lithe naked body stalked toward him as waves of heat radiated toward him. Pressing his palms against the shore, he struggled to his knees.
Trying to shift marginally under her and take her body to his, he felt at once her re-assert herself. As his neck craned toward her mouth for a kiss, he could hear a slight growl catch at the back of her throat and lay his head back down.
"Ri dvun." (Don't move.)
Her lips and hand goaded him and he huffed against her mouth.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Staggering, as if battered and torn, he walked toward her and touched her face. His fingers burned and he wanted to recoil, but her mouth took his and her tongue wagged against his. It was ripe and full – almost juicy.
And suddenly with unabashed lust, he wanted her – all of her in his mouth, surrounding him. He wanted to swallow her and welcome the fire to brush against his body and bubble up underneath his flesh. The instinct to mate was uncontrollable, and he knew it would dowse the flames.
Hungrily, his lips attempted to meet hers, but she avoided the contact and vulnerably, he felt his toes flex and curl into the covers.
"I want you," he whispered.
"Will you take the sedative again?" she asked. Closing his eyes, his body was reveling in her.
"No," he said too easily, slipping his eyes shut in ecstasy as she moved against him again.
When she stopped, his eyes flashed opened and he re-iterated the words with more conviction.
"No. Please, T'Pol …."
Satisfied, her body let up only marginally, freeing his hands. Wanting to take her in his arms, he reached out to pull her toward him and felt an easy block – she was quicker and stronger. Darting to his waist, she worked his remaining clothes off and fell into his embrace.
As their movements intensified and quickened, she unleashed the emotions that she'd been controlling … hiding … for almost all her life. He understood something that her mind could not: she'd been calling to him … she had been for maybe as long as two weeks. Tonight, she'd needed him – begged and pleaded with him to come to her, but he never arrived. By the time she'd worked up the courage to come to him, she'd waited too long and these were consequences.
"Pon Farr?" Archer heard his hoarse voice ask at the almost unrecognizable woman in bed with him.
At 0300 his alarm went off. With excruciating effort, he raised his head and smacked the buzzer off with his hand. Staring into the darkness, he felt for a smooth, warm body beside him and was disappointed when his hand caressed the sheets rather than her skin. In fact, the covers weren't even warm.
Overcoming his mind and controlling his body, she'd unleashed her passion and his. At the time, it was glorious and wild – she'd growled at him, decorated him with love bites, tore at his skin and ripped at his hair.
Groggily, he stood up and reached down to the floor and stepped into his pajamas (avoiding the strips of shirt that lay waste in his room). He stretched his limbs, noticing with a grimace how sore and worn he felt, and ran his fingers aimlessly through his hair.
Something was absolutely and definitely wrong with her.
Recalling everything that happened between the two, in the light of early day, he thought their encounter wasn't glorious … it was frightening. T'Pol had lost all control. He'd witnessed only a few times he'd seen her veneer ripped away, like on the Selaya and possibly when he'd returned from Xindi aquatic ship. Last night reminded him disturbingly of those times. Her yells, the way she stormed through his mind and desperateness of her fingers against his skin … it was unlike her.
As he walked, bare-chested, into the living room he noticed T'Pol was ready awake and staring into the darkness.
"We need to leave soon," she said, sipping her tea as if nothing had happened last night.
"T'Pol …."
She turned on the overhead light for him – she knew his visual limitations – and was stunned at the sight. As her eyes roamed over him, she noticed, tiny scratches and a few bruises along his arms, neck and hips. His lip was fat, as if smacked and he had rings around his eyes like he hadn't slept all night.
"Jonathan?" she asked.
Watching her stare at him with confusion made him frown.
"What happened to you?" she asked, noticing his concern.
"What?" he asked. When her expression remained neutral, he stared at her.
She knitted her brow. "I asked what happened."
Giving her a furrowed brow, he said. "T'Pol …."
Seeing she was still waiting for his answer, he finally gave in. "You did this … last night. Don't you remember?"
"Me?" with surprise and disbelief.
Beginning to believe her reaction was genuine, he folded his arms across his chest. "There is something seriously wrong with you."
Showing the slightest degree of shock, she shook her head only slightly. "I would never do that to you. I was asleep all night in my bedroom."
"T'Pol, I know it was you."
Concern cross her features and her head bowed as if to search her memory. When Jonathan had indicated he was uninterested in being with her last night, she accepted the information with more than a little disappointment and headed to bed. Although her sleep was filled with erotic dreams that played over and over in her mind, it was mostly peaceful. In fact, she noted when she awoke in her bed that it was the best sleep she'd had in a couple of weeks.
"I think I would've remembered," she said, sincerely. Her face alight with explanation she added, "You have been taking more than the usual amount of sedatives."
He could tell where this was going and clenched his teeth.
"More than what Dr. Phlox recommended," she said.
"You think I did this to myself?" he asked.
Raising her eyebrows, she seemed to indicate that was exactly what she was thinking. The side effects for overmedication apparently include hallucinations.
That was simply and utterly impossible, he thought.
"Last night, you came into my room and …," he didn't want to say the remaining words but could tell based on her hesitation she needed to know. "And … you were … begging me to …."
She raised one eyebrow, gathering what he was about to say. "Perhaps someone else?" she asked.
"No."
"Jonathan, I'm saying it's impossible. I asleep all night."
"Are you in … the mating cycle?" he asked, reluctantly.
She almost frowned. "No. I'm not scheduled to until I'm 67." Her answer seemed definitive. It was easily another 7 months before she reached that age.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Vulcan females who do not have Vulcan mates all enter the cycle at that time."
"Something is definitely wrong with you," he said.
"I don't feel as if anything is wrong."
Archer huffed. "You've been more eager lately … like at your aunt's house."
"I indicated even Vulcans feel desire."
"Yes, but you've been more aggressive."
"I thought you wanted that."
He shook his head. "You're telling me you're perfectly fine and you haven't been acting odd?" His hands landed on his hips. "I find that hard to believe."
She blew out a small breath. "I have been … anxious … about seeing my family. But other than that, I'm fine."
"I disagree."
Glancing at the chronometer on the wall, she flattened her lips together. "Jonathan, if … you … were to take the challenge, we should leave very soon."
"After the challenge will you see a doctor?"
She eyed the floor. "Yes."
He glanced at the clock. Nodding, he turned on his heel and stepped into the bathroom. Confused and a little pissed off, he stripped out of his clothes. A flash … an image filled his mind that made him almost reel. He envisioned T'Pol was in the shower waiting for him. Wiping at his eyes, he tried to shake the picture loose, but reminded himself he hadn't taken a sedative.
He'd promised T'Pol last night he wouldn't.
"I don't understand what's happening," he said to himself with more than a little concern.
TBC