A/N: Dennis, I've been making historical references. I'll try to give you a recap of what we've had so far.
There's a lot of information from Journey to Babel, TOS. In the episode, the crew learns an Andorian aide is a spy. There are key races in Journey to Babel who seem like they founded the Federation: the Andorians, Tellarites, Vulcans and humans. And some of the other races in the background are the basis for some of the characters.
In keeping with Balance of Terror, TOS, a few Vulcans know the secret that Romulans and Vulcans are related, but none of them know what they look like. They believe the Romulans who have infiltrated Vulcan have been surgically altered. (And it stands to reason, most of the other spies are altered.) T'Pau indicated there were subtle differences between Vulcans and Romulans – something that Crusher noted in TNG.
Soong, in prison, was next to Tamor, and everyone thought he was insane because he talked about making androids who looked human. Hopefully that's a nice tie in to Data's creator.
The Council has broken up so that it truly becomes the Federation. Romulans (hint, hint) use disruptors; you've already seen one. It's also been suggested that the Romulans brought the war to Earth, putting them with Terra Prime seem like it might solve that problem.
Dilithium crystals. We don't see them in Enterprise, but we do in TOS. Tying the gem to what Shran stole in TATV seems like a better death for Trip and also explains where the technology came from.
There will be other things in the future. Look for a Captain Stiles (who we know plays a part) and other "historic" characters in future chapters – like an important Vulcan. It would be disappointing if I mentioned him; it'd be more fun to see him pop up.
Is there something you're expecting to see that's not covered or something you wish you could see?
All, thanks for your reviews.
----
It was late before Archer awoke. As he stretched out, he felt like someone slipped him a mickey; his bones were weary, his muscles hurt and his head was pounding. Groggy, he lay with his eyes open wondering what day it was, what time it was and where he was.
Things clarified slowly as if the haze took some time to wade through.
Staring at the ceiling of a darkened room, he started remembering everything – being electrocuted by some sort of weapon, staying in T'Pol's bed and speaking with her about Terra Prime and the child created through stolen DNA belonging to her and Trip ….
Wading through the recollections, a voice become clear – he realized T'Pol was talking quietly to a terminal.
"They received that information today," she said. "Gral sent it."
"Good." The other voice was definitely T'Pau – Vulcan, regal, and young.
"I heard from Staron. He indicated everything was going as expected."
"Have you heard more?"
"No."
"Prime Minister Pelletier contacted me to thank Vulcan for our assistance in revealing a member of Terra Prime."
T'Pol was silent.
"I understand Archer was with you?" T'Pau asked.
"Yes."
"That is not what we agreed to."
"I know. However, it seemed logical to include him. Without the admiral's assistance, the member wouldn't have been captured."
The women were silent and Archer leaned up just enough to see them stare at each other, waiting for one to break. Eventually T'Pau spoke.
"I see. Although you have apparently cleared your name, I want you to be cautious of how you spend your time with him."
"Yes, minister."
"Live long and prosper."
"Peace and long life."
T'Pol turned off the terminal in front of her and let her shoulders sag.
"Can't be all bad," Archer said.
It startled the Vulcan and she whipped her head over to him.
"You're awake," she said. "How much did you overhear?"
"A little about Gral giving the ambassadors I presume Stan's confession, information about Staron and a warning to keep away from me."
T'Pol nodded and sat on the edge of her bed.
"Shran stopped by. Do you remember?" she asked.
He winced, barely recalling the Andorian asking to see his arm and suckerfish. "Yeah."
"He and Gral would like to meet with us tomorrow, if you feel up for it."
He nodded. "I think it's a valiant effort to continue to conduct business as if there's a Council."
"Agreed. If war should be declared it seems several race – Federation or no - should agree together. The Romulans are a … powerful race."
His brain tingled for a second and he recalled a thought, one that flashed through his mind only a couple of days ago.
"Vulcans and Romulans are connected," he said.
"What?"
"Vulcans and Romulans. They have some sort of connection, don't they?"
"How so?"
He sighed. "I know you won't believe me, but I know that Vulcans and Romulans have a connection, I just …. I can't …. It's like I can't remember what it is."
"Information from Surak's katra?" she asked, almost sarcastically.
"I guess." Staring at her, he noticed her eyes averted his. "Do you know something?"
"About a connection?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"No."
Her gaze slowly met his and for an instant he knew she was lying.
Why would she lie?
And yet the look, a defiant gaze that crumbled a little under inspection, told him straightaway she was fibbing. Dismissing the thought, he stretched out.
"Would you like anything to drink or eat?" she asked.
"No," he said. His hand inadvertently went to rub his temples.
"I had tea when I awakened. It seemed to help my headache."
"Well, then if it's not any trouble …."
She walked off and Archer followed slowly behind her, noticing his legs were stiff and his shoulder smarted. When they got to her kitchen, he pulled a cup from her cupboard – knowing exactly where the mugs were located - and then sat down at the table.
"You slept well?" she asked.
"Too well," he replied. "What time is it?"
"Near midnight."
Nodding, he accepted the tea as T'Pol slipped into the seat across from him. Silence broke out as T'Pol stared into her tea, as if thinking.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Jonathan, I wanted to talk with you about something," T'Pol said.
"Oh?"
"Yes. I think we should pick up from our earlier conversation."
"Which one?"
"Perhaps we should start with a question I asked at Shran's house."
He shrugged, still clueless. "All right."
"How do you feel about me?"
The question surprised him. "I thought I answered you."
"Did you?"
"Yes."
"Then, tell me again."
He furrowed his brow. "I feel friendship."
"Friendship only?"
"Yes."
"I believe you feel more."
"More? Have you been talking with Shran?" he asked. Chuckling, he noticed the serious expression on her face and the smile slid from his face immediately.
"I have, but this doesn't have anything to do with him," she said.
"You're a friend," he said. When she didn't respond, he reiterated the statement. "Come on, you're a friend."
"Last night, you indicated you had something to tell me, and it seemed--," she said.
"I don't remember."
"Jonathan, you caressed my cheek."
"So?" With her eyebrow suspended in midair, he answered her. "I care about you, T'Pol."
"Care?"
"As a friend." Ducking his head to meet her gaze, he shook his head. "What's with you?"
"When you touched my cheek …. I felt your emotions."
"And …?"
Lowering her voice she continued, leaning in as if to soften the blow. "I could feel your longing."
"Longing?" He guffawed.
"Yes."
"No." When he could see she was serious, he said it again with more conviction. "No."
"Your friendship is important to me."
"Me, too." Confused, he sipped at his tea thinking the discussion was over.
She narrowed her eyes which held a tinge of sadness to them. "Perhaps we should see each other less frequently."
"You got it all wrong."
"Unfortunately, I know that is not the case."
Becoming less amused and more irate, he addressed her comment. "What's your problem? I told you I feel only friendship for you."
"You said that." Softly, she added something. "But, I know that's not true."
He got a little defensive. "You're one to talk about the truth."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"Romulans and Vulcans …."
"You're changing the subject."
"Because you know I'm right," he said.
"I believe I stated my thoughts on that matter."
"Yes you did, but it's not true."
"And you know because you have factual evidence?"
"Surak's katra may be more factual than your ability to … sense my feelings," he replied.
He could tell she didn't agree.
T'Pol said, "I believe your defensive posturing only reaffirms what I felt last night." She leaned over almost as if to hold his hand, but restrained from reaching her grip the extra few centimeters.
He shook his head, terribly perplexed.
"I bring this up because I do not want to jeopardize our friendship."
He frowned. "You're jeopardizing our friendship now." Rubbing his temples again – soothing his headache and hoping to calm down, he spoke again. "Look, we're both probably tired and--"
"I mean what I say. Limiting our time together, at least for a few days or weeks, may help you work through your feelings so that our friendship can continue without romantic notions hindering it."
"There's nothing to work through!"
"Why are you being so stubborn?"
"Why are you!"
She watched him coolly.
"T'Pol, last night I wanted to comfort a friend. I didn't feel longing. I felt a little sad and worried. I know how you must've felt and wonder if this whole charade isn't because you've had time to think about Elizabeth and Trip."
The ghost-like frown crawled across her face and her eyes turned black. "That is not true."
Something made him push out of his chair and begin to pace. "Well, then explain to me why you're suddenly brow beating me--"
"I'm not brow beating."
"—about my feelings. Ones I don't have!"
"I am concerned you will become hurt and disappointed."
"Well, you're just pissing me off now."
She didn't have anything to add.
"So, that's it?"
"I have stated everything I want to on this matter, yes."
"I haven't. I think this is absurd."
"You've made that clear. I disagree."
"What's the use. You haven't even listened to what I've said."
"On the contrary, I have listened to everything you've said, including the intention behind it." She spoke over his non-verbal protest. "The remnants of Surak's katra should tell you that Vulcans are touch telepaths; we can occasionally identify strong emotions from those we touch. I know what I felt from you; I've encountered that particular emotion before."
Archer scratched his head and grumbled under his breath. As he was about to leave she caught his arm.
T'Pol whispered, "Because I care for you, I wanted you to know my thoughts. I will never be able to feel more than friendship toward you."
Breaking her grip, he said, "I've never asked for anything more."
"I am concerned you will."
"You're penalizing me for a feeling you claim I have that I don't feel and for something you think may manifest itself to possibly harm our friendship."
She didn't respond.
"I don't see the logic in that." He leaned into her. "I think whatever happened between you and Trip left you confused, maybe more than him."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, maybe while we're not seeing each other, you'll have a little time to figure that out."
"You continue to raise your voice," she said.
"I'm frustrated, mad and hurt. I don't understand where this came from or why you keep insisting how I feel! My head hurts. I feel a little sore. And … oh, forget it."
He stalked off to the bedroom as she followed behind him.
"Not to mention what?" When he didn't answer her, she asked again. "What?"
"Trip may've liked playing games with you, but I don't."
That raised her ire. "I am not playing a game with you. I was hoping discussion would prevent an argument."
"Oh, it's a game all right." Buttoning his shirt, he spoke with a little venom. "Let's be clear – you're punishing me for whatever happened between you and Trip. I don't like it. And I sure as hell dislike being told I have feelings for you … when I don't!"
"You have always been stubborn."
"Yeah, well so have you," he said through gnashed teeth.
He slipped on his shoes and grabbed his tux shirt, blazer and tie. With the pile in his hands he made a beeline for the door. Stepping across the threshold, he slammed the door behind him as a picture nearby trembled threatening to fall. Angry, fists balled and face red, he headed back to his home a block away while carrying his tuxedo jacket, shirt and tie.
It gave him a chance to vent, at least in his head. Stomping as he made his way home.
Stubborn!
Occasionally Archer was angered past the point of being able to talk. It was that kind of fury that existed now, welling within him like a barroom brawl. If he'd stayed, perhaps the battle between he and T'Pol would've worsened; he'd almost brought up how she was able to put her trellium addiction behind her, but not whatever happened between her and Trip.
It seemed unfair, mightily so, that in a way he was banned from seeing her. The very idea made him angry, as if she was assigning feelings and emotions that didn't exist. And yet, out of pure spite he was determined not to see her or care about it. In fact, there was a small part of him that wanted her to suffer.
Friendship? What a crock.
As he punched the codes to his home and opened the door, he saw a figure in the middle of his darkened living room.
"Who's there?" he asked. A light snapped on and Gral was near Porthos' bowls.
"Sorry, it's me," Gral said. "I'm feeding your hog."
"Dog."
"Shran said you probably wouldn't be back until the morning."
"It's already late. Why are you here?" His voice sounded a little tense, and he had trouble covering it up.
"Tellarites need only three hours of sleep at night. We like to take naps. You didn't answer my question – why are you back early?"
Putting his things down, with a little grumble to his voice, he answered the question. "I cut my stay short."
"Oh. Feeling better then?" the Tellarite said with a grunt.
"Something that like."
"Your dog's been well cared for. Fed and watered. By the way, have you tasted his food? It's quite tasty."
"What?"
"Your dog's food. It's tasty."
That deflected some of the anger. "You ate it?"
"I wanted to see what it was like. Your dog seemed to enjoy it – such a succulent creature – I decided I would try."
Archer's eyes narrowed. "Thanks for watching him."
"They have an animal on my planet that looks like him – soft and meaty. It's a delicacy called taagar. The animals you eat – chickens, cows and," he gulped "pigs don't taste like they have vigor or life."
"We breed animals to eat," Archer said.
He dropped the dog food in his hand. "Heartless! No wonder your food is bland. Eating a creature, one that has lived a full life, makes it more delectable."
"You capture all your food?"
"Of course! The taagar is a tiny beast that roams the forests of Tellar. Every spring Tellarites leave their mudholes to search for it. After every man captures one, he heads back to his home and his wives cut off the velvety ears for--"
Archer looked at his Beagle and frowned. "I think maybe you can save that story for another time."
He grunted. "We're meeting tomorrow afternoon. You'll be able to be there, yes?"
Archer nodded. "Yes."
"How is Skinny?" Gral asked.
"T'Pol's fine," he said with a clipped tone.
The pig stroked his beard. "You have a disagreement with her?"
"Why do you ask?"
He gave a small squeal of satisfaction. "My wife and I. I remember our first argument. She was all of 23 years and her snout hadn't even turned up. I knew from the moment I saw her it was meant to be, but I didn't have a sufficient argument for her. To provoke her, I argued why men were better than women."
Archer raised his brows.
Gral continued. "We argued for hours. After both of us were too hoarse to continue, she took me back to her mudhole and we snuggled next to each other until the sun rose and our voices had returned."
"Sounds … romantic?"
"Ah, we like to relive that argument. It brings out the passion in us."
Now it was starting to head in a path Archer didn't really want to think about.
"We sometimes do so while enjoying a long, steamy mud bath."
"Okay," Archer said, waving his hands in front of him.
"You have that kind of argument with her?" Gral asked.
"No."
Gral settled onto Archer's couch, without invitation, and encouraged him to continue. "Skinny is a Vulcan, but she's got a fire in her belly."
"We hardly ever disagree," he said mostly to himself.
"I'm sorry to hear that." Gral kicked his feet, which couldn't quite reach the floor. "If it's any consolation, I think she cares for you anyway, just as you care for her."
Archer rubbed his temples, which still throbbed. Instead of following Gral to the sofa, he looked in his refrigerator and pulled out a beer. When he heard a cough across the room, he decided to offer the little man one.
"I would like one, yes," Gral said.
Making his way back to the living room, Archer folded himself on the sofa, provided Gral a bottle and then drank.
"Tell me your problems, human."
"I don't--"
"Oh, stop being so stubborn, Archer."
Jon frowned. He didn't like being called it twice in one day, not to mention twice in one hour.
"I'm not," he said, a little agitation in his voice.
"You know how you feel about her. Why not just admit it to her?"
He swallowed more of his beer. "I don't feel anything except friendship."
"What? Is it complicated for Earthlings to admit feelings?"
Archer shook his head; his headache was worsening.
"The blond man? Your engineer?" Gral asked.
"He has nothing to do with it."
"I see. I think she's over him." The little man brought up something. "Sometimes in a particularly passionate argument, opponents will use Fargot's Method of Attack."
Archer jerked his head back "Huh?"
"Fargot was one of Tellars best debaters. He had a method, a strategy, to throw an opponent off guard: to use unrelated personal history against the opponent. It got the opponent off track. He also used absurdity to get the other to capitulate."
"Shouldn't the objective be to present the most compelling argument instead of sling personal attacks or throw out non sequiturs?"
"In debate?"
Archer nodded.
"That is a peculiar notion. Every argument is compelling. It's those who can argue the longest that win."
Jon didn't respond.
Chugging in one gulp, Gral managed to finish his beer. "Well, whatever you decide about what to do with Skinny, I hope it works out."
Archer stared on, shocked at how he swigged his beer. Patting his rotund tummy, Gral grunted.
"I should probably head home. Martog is fixing dinner."
"It's past midnight."
"Yes. We eat at 1 a.m. every night."
Archer's eyes went wide.
"You don't eat five meals a day?"
The admiral smiled. "Three if I'm lucky."
"Humans don't know how to live." Waving his long fingers, he exited the door. When the Tellarite left, Archer thought the company was a nice distraction. Sitting in front of the television he decided to check the scores of some of his sporting teams.
"Up, Porthos."
The dog obeyed his command and leaped into his lap as Archer stewed on the information.
---
The next day, Shran arrived at the building of the Federation early. He had a few things to catch up on before Gral, T'Pol and Archer arrived. The moment he logged into his terminal he heard a sudden sound.
"Blue!"
Shran looked around.
"Over here!"
Shran turned his head over his shoulder and saw the Tellarite.
"What?" he asked.
"Didn't think you'd be here early."
Shran shrugged. "Jhamel took Tallah to school early – something called a: field trip."
Gral snorted.
"What are you doing here?" Shran asked.
"My wife has decided to take up something called aerobics. The caterwauling she does during it is enough to …. It is difficult to withstand."
Shran's antennae poked up. "Aerobics?"
"It involves moving about to obnoxious music. If you want my advice you won't introduce Jhamel to the practice."
"Believe me, we're having a hard enough time figuring out what to do with the toiletries here. Are Earthmen so hairy they need to shave every day?"
"Seen Archer's chest?"
Andorian flinched. "They're like that all over?"
The Tellarite nodded. "Look up pictures of apes. They apparently descended from those animals."
The two continued to talk until Shran realized it was already eleven and that they had some actual work to do until then. As they were about to break up and go their separate ways, Shran caught T'Pol saw down the corridor.
The Andorian pointed his blue hand in her direction, hoping to draw attention to her, and Gral eventually intercepted.
"Skinny?" Gral asked,
She stopped. "Yes?"
"You're here early," Gral said.
"I wanted to review various documents before we meet."
"Did you get a chance to contact the Xindi ambassador?" Shran asked, walking to the door.
"I did, but she indicated she'd prefer to wait for the evidence on Xemax. Perhaps Ambassador Archer would have more sway with her."
Ambassador Archer? Shran thought. As the blue man's mouth was about to open, Gral narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly, indicating he shouldn't question her further. The Andorian obliged, but reluctantly.
"See you later?" Shran asked.
"Of course."
After she strolled away, Shran raised both eyebrows and antennae. "Grendal. Does the Pink Skin know what he's in for?"
"I meant to tell you, I talked with Archer last night. He came home while I was feeding his delicious looking animal."
"Wait … Phlox said he'd be at her place until this morning."
"They had a fight," Gral said. "He went home early."
"A fight? The Pink Skin should never engage a Vulcan! The woman has twice his strength and could kick his--"
"No, an argument. Though I would think it was a positive sign."
Shran shook his head. "Humans like to avoid conflict and … don't even ask about Vulcans."
Gral stroked his beard. "I would think the Vulcans enjoyed a good argument. I think the best interspecies debate I've ever seen was between Skorak and Denig." He chuckled. "Denig outlasted the Vulcan in the end. Went on for five days."
Shran's antennae leaned forward. "Gral, there aren't enough people on the Council for the Vulcan and Pink Skin to be in a personal argument. We can't allow this to effect what's left."
Gral nodded. "I doubt Skinny would allow it to become personal, although it's hard to tell with Archer."
Shran said, "Oh, he'll be as agitated as a yarpog on a fle-met."
"I hope not."
---
Shran and Gral got to the Council room early and waited, almost with baited breath for the other two in their once cozy foursome to enter. T'Pol, being a Vulcan, was early and seated herself with a brief greeting. Professional and dignified, she waited patiently without remark, looking over a PADD as if she were checking her notes.
As they all sat in absolute silence and watched the hands of the clock tick away, closer to the 1 p.m. mark, only two notches – two seconds – away, Archer walked through the door.
Sitting across from T'Pol, his usual place, he scooted in. "Good afternoon."
Shran and Gral both scanned from left to right, glancing at the two, and then looked at their laps. Somewhat timidly, more so than ever before, the Tellarite spoke up.
"Is it just us?"
"I contacted a few ambassadors; they indicated they were waiting for the results on Xemax," Archer said.
"Demvar wouldn't come," Shran said. "And I thought I had sway with Coridan – obviously not as much as I once did."
T'Pol said, "Sera refrained from contacting me, and I believed the two of us to have a good relationship. Perhaps it is their governments …."
"The Xindi ambassador wouldn't talk with me either," Archer said. "I think maybe T'Pol is right."
Gral sighed. "Well at least there are four of us," he said.
The little pig's eyes inadvertently went from Archer to T'Pol, both seemed to be the very model of decorum, so he decided to continue.
"Earth, Andoria and Denobula have all been compromised. Skinny said she heard from her aide."
T'Pol said, "I have. Staron indicated all was well, but that was a few days ago. Have any of you heard from yours?"
Shran and Gral were quiet when Archer spoke up.
"Prime Minister Pelletier indicated Neville contacted him this yesterday evening. The note was short."
"Well?" Shran asked.
The admiral pulled out a PADD and read it. "Two days away. Duvall is antsy. Everyone on edge. Under communication silence."
Archer looked up at Shran. "The message was sent two days ago. It took two to arrive; Neville used subspace communications."
Shran sucked in a sharp breath as the Tellarites eyes went wide.
"Then, they must be there," T'Pol said.
Archer agreed. "Yes."
Gral said, "We should hear from them any day about their success."
"Or failure," Shran added.
Gral grunted. "Has Captain Reed provided any more information about the Arali we helped capture?"
Shran was on point for this. "Nothing, other than threatening our peace negotiations."
"What about Stan?" Archer asked.
"He's not budging on information about Terra Prime, and Reed thinks they've gone underground again."
"Neville selected Stan, didn't he?" Gral asked.
Archer said, "Aides are assigned for the most part. And … I don't think he has anything to do with it."
"Nathan and Stan have one thing in common," T'Pol said, quietly.
The human straightened. "I don't think that's it."
The two used some strange method of non-verbal communication: her eyebrows flicked and eventually gave a slow nod.
T'Pol spoke up. "May I trust this information will be kept from your governments?"
Gral said, "What is it first?"
Archer said, "It's embarrassing to Earth and could ruin the reputation of a previous political candidate … one that is important to this Council."
The Andorian's antennae wiggled. "What do we care about Earth politics?"
Archer sighed. "Nathan Samuels was a member of Terra Prime."
Both Shran and Gral dropped their jaws as T'Pol flattened her lips.
"I can see why you'd want to keep this a secret," Shran said. "It's not everyday you hear the man who helped set up a council of aliens was a xenophobe."
Archer said, "He joined in his youth. Samuels has changed since then."
"Is Malcolm contacting Mr. Samuels?" T'Pol asked.
Shran shook his head. "I don't know. He may've and not told me about this."
"I'll ask him later," Archer said.
"Any word on Xemax?" Gral asked.
Shran said, "Reed is still questioning her, and like the other Arali, she's not talking."
"It seems there's little for us to do," T'Pol said.
Shran disagreed. "We have one thing we should settle on before the end of this week. Discuss war."
The four got down to business and began working on it, should something happen to the Excelsior … or any of the governments move forward. They also began to work on something if everything succeeded.
---
A few days went by, and the four plotted and planned, writing down words and ultimatums as well as concessions. Among the negotiations, the Andorian, Tellarites, Vulcans and Terrans agreed to join war together – if one was attacked, they would all provide various military forces, weaponry, etc. for an undisclosed period of time.
The only one who felt uncomfortable discussing war was T'Pol. Although T'Pau agreed to allow her delegate speak of war, she was less convinced it was the only alternative. As Vulcans, they wanted to honor Surak's philosophy of peace; in a way it seemed premature to even discuss repercussions to the Orions, Arali and Romulans … even despite everything that happened. And yet, though her people were pacifists, they weren't fools, and the evidence mounted enough that the idea of war at least warranted some thought.
She was surprised by something else: despite arguing with Archer, he acted with professionalism. There were times, though, during their meetings when he held a lingering glance as if he wished to patch things up between them. But, he never said a word at least not to her before or after they adjourned from the Council … as if to purposefully distance himself from her. It disappointed her; she missed his friendship.
Archer, with the blessing of Prime Minister Pelletier, continued to meet with the Council. During every meeting he spent almost the entire day pacing as he listened to his friends speak and offered his opinion; the thought of sitting while planning for what he knew would be a long-fought battle unnerved him. Striding from one end of the room to the other, despite Shran's annoyance, actually settled his nervous energy and – he reasoned – helped his thinking process.
Each day before the three met, Archer intended to talk to T'Pol, but the day disappeared and he made his way back to his apartment. It made him a little sad; he missed her.
Gral scribed everything for the first day, but took his time arguing almost every point – something that by the end of the week drove Shran to take over the role of capturing the committee's thoughts.
The Tellarite's approach to the meeting was resolute. As if the Romulans had already committed the last atrocity he'd worked through his views and laid them out on the table: full scale war. He knew he'd have to sell it to the leader of his people, Tyr, but knew the man would eventually see the move as sage.
The little pig enjoyed coming into work and discussing the future of the Council. It also pleased him to continue to play the part of President, making final decisions and giving a counterpoint – despite Shran and Archer's irritation – to each argument.
Shran was less concerned about whether his government would agree, he'd already received full authority to communicate information from the General – the leader of his planet. He could've had that authority because he and the General were friends.
What was more tenuous was interacting with his friends.
For the Pink Skin and Vulcans part, the two exchanged frequent glances, communicated nonverbally, finished each other's sentences and the admiral even used a softer tone when speaking to her. They were professional and courteous to each other in the Council room, but said nothing to each other outside of it. The Andorian tried to reason with the Pink Skin, but the human grew cranky almost right away and told him to "butt out."
The other breaking point was Gral's insistence they debate every item, even the ones the pig agreed with. Politely, T'Pol would usually interrupt – just as Archer was about to tell the thing to pipe down and directly after Shran had barked at him to shut his snout.
---
Another two days passed when tensions rose to an all-time high between the four, putting them at odds with each other.
No one had yet to hear from any of the aides or any of the crew of the Excelsior. Xemax wasn't talking, the information about her had yet to be verified by the ambassadors, Stan kept silent and Reed was facing one dead end after another. Each of them waited on needles and pins to get any information - any; the suspense even perturbed T'Pol.
That wasn't the only thing she was annoyed at, although the Vulcan would never call it that. She knew Archer had pride, but he'd let the disagreement carry on for far too long. Although she'd hoped to approach him, he seemed hesitant and closed.
Not only that, his accusation about Trip had merit.
After long spells of meditation, she found herself coming back to his point. Although she hadn't reached any conclusions, she knew it was a subject that required more thorough investigation.
Archer convinced himself to stop the dispute he had with T'Pol from continuing to fester.
Shran was growing irritated at everyone: Gral's incessant arguing, Archer's pacing and T'Pol's logic. Although these people were his friends, being stuck in a room with them for nearly ten hours every day was driving him insane. In his mind, a former member of the Imperial Guard shouldn't have to continue to make concessions. Occasionally, he wanted to have his way.
The only one who was happy, enjoying the conflict, was Gral. Arguing every day, all day with his friends, made the job particularly enjoyable.
Tempers flared as the final details were discussed and debated to such finite minutia, that T'Pol had to raise her voice to suggest they take a break. When they left the room, Jhamel was waiting in the corridor – apparently no one realized it was already past noon.
With her were Tallah and a woman with dark red hair and blue eyes.
"I have your lunch," Jhamel said. Holding out what looked like a picnic basket, she smiled as Shran put an arm around her.
"I'm a lucky man," he smiled and told his friends.
Jhamel said, "I'd like you to meet Miranda. She's a teacher at Tallah's school."
It was the woman in the picture that Shran forced into Jon's hand while they were smoking cigars at the Andorian's house. Shran wondered if this wouldn't be the best way for them to talk and Archer immediately understood he'd be asked to go to lunch. Hoping to make a quick exit, he said a few parting words.
"Didn't have any trouble getting through security?" Shran asked.
Usually the process was tedious – running a scanner over each person until they were cleared. Although the lack of ambassadors made the hallways quiet, there were always cleaning people, associate staff members, receptionists and more who were around.
"No," Jhamel said, smiling.
"I have some work to do. It was nice meeting you," Archer said.
"Indeed. Enjoy your lunch," T'Pol said, turning to go back to her office.
Gral smiled, giving a snort.
The Tellarite, Vulcan and Earthling turned to leave when Archer heard his name called.
"Jon, I was hoping you could join us for lunch." Jhamel asked.
"Uhm, I was planning to go back to my office to--" Archer said.
"He's coming," Shran announced.
"Good," Jhamel said. The girls walked ahead and the Andorian caught his arm, pointing to the redhead in front of him.
"That is a lovely woman." The Andorian pointed to the butt of the woman which swung from side to side. "She's already interested in you. It wouldn't kill you to have lunch with her. If there's no spark, then there's no spark. But, if there is …."
Archer sighed and in a moment of weakness allowed Shran to laugh triumphantly and pull his arm toward the women. When the men joined up with the rest of the party, everyone moved outside for the picnic despite the chilly fall day.
---
T'Pol watched them from her office below – which had an excellent view of the courtyard. The trees were beginning to lose their yellow, red and brown leaves as the wind shook them to the ground. Earthlings snuggling their coats to them, hurried in and out of buildings, hoping to keep from becoming cold. As a woman with a red jacket streamed across the yard, she spied something surprisingly: Shran, Jhamel, Tallah, Jonathan and Miranda all laying down a blanket on what she supposed was soggy ground to eat raw fish.
The sight made her turn from her window immediately.
Andorians and humans are illogical creatures.
Sitting at her desk, she stared at her computer and began opening files she'd sorted through before to see if there was any business she could conduct since she wasn't hungry. Besides, she thought, Gral would ask for a mid-afternoon meal anyway.
Her fingers tapped a few buttons and inadvertently, the message titled "Something you want" – the one that threatened to harm Archer – displayed. Glancing over the pictures, she looked over them with dispassionate interest, her eyes lingering on each.
Shran's words that it was unfortunate she could not return what she presumed were Archer's feelings were true. And looking on each one made her miss her friendship with the man. Seeing him drop food into his lap at the Chinese restaurant, hearing his purring laugh and discussing the day's events comforting.
She and Jonathan had been friends more than eleven years, and good friends for ten. They'd risked their lives for each other at every opportunity, even when it wasn't called for.
On Vulcan, friends were more treasured than Pon Farr mates; those who shared their bodies were often forgotten about. Some friends, she's learned through the Kir'Shara, melded to show closeness – to impart thoughts and memories. It left traces of a bond without feeling like the ever-present tingle of a bondmate.
A bondmate, the most hallowed of relationships on Vulcan, were between friends who'd shared their bodies for joining outside or during Pon Farr. A Vulcan's katra would cling to one who completed him and keep the tenuous relationship until a lifebond was struck, usually with the help of a Vulcan priest.
Thinking back to Trip, she hadn't taken that final step with him and eventually their bond faded over time into nothingness. It was a sad way to end that relationship, and pride – the one that prevented either she or Archer from talking now – kept each other from creating a lifebond or even re-initiating a bond at all. The two went back to friendship, one that they both found confounding and yet satisfying.
A yell snapped her attention away from her terminal and musings. Leaning back to merely glance out the window, she noticed Archer throwing Tallah into the air as she screamed with delight. From the scene below, Jhamel seemed a little nervous, but Shran sat back talking to Miranda.
It seemed like a family. Getting up from her desk, she stared out the window watching Shran's lips move.
T'Pol imagined the blue man to ask, with a smile, "The Pink Skin is a natural with children. Don't you think so, Miranda?"
Deciding to wait for everyone in the Council room, where she would be undisturbed, she made her way back through the halls. Just as she was about to enter the room, Gral touched her arm.
"Skinny, are you as excited to continue as I am? It's a pity we're almost finished."
An eyebrow perked.
The two entered the room and T'Pol realized it was too late to bow out and find a quieter spot.
"Shouldn't you be eating?" she asked.
"You forget Tellarites eat quickly. To let food get cold is a disgrace."
"Did you find anything from your aide?" she asked.
"No. The more time goes by the more concerned I grow."
"As do I."
"Not much we can do until then."
"We can always wait."
"That's something Vulcans are especially good at. Maybe they're too good. Sometimes action is necessary."
She looked over the Tellarites features and understood there was more meaning there. Without taking the bait, she merely accepted the information. Until the men returned, she would review information on her PADD.
Ignoring the Tellarites soft grunts, as he murmured information – almost practicing his debate – she read what was there. After an hour and a half, a blip crossed her screen; it was an urgent note demanding attention.
Tapping her fingers to access it, the words displayed were in the same ancient Vulcan she'd seen before. It was a message from Staron and the subject was grim: "All is lost."
"We were approaching Romulus when we encountered one large ship, a dark green vessel like the ones ancient Vulcans used, to escort us.
As part of the protocols already arranged, we lowered our weapons as the Romulan ship had done. The moment we did, other Romulan ships appeared from nowhere – ships that did not register on scans. After firing on us, removing our ability to defend ourselves (weapons were taken offline), damaging various systems (the entire communications system, Sickbay equipment, transporters, nacelles) and already forfeiting many lives, they threatened to board the Excelsior and claim it for the Romulan Empire.
Admiral Duvall was determined not to let them obtain Starfleet technology. While Commander Stiles helped us board various escape pods, the captain of the vessel as well as the admiral acted on their plan. The admiral overloaded the ship's engine as the captain steered Excelsior toward two Romulan ships, destroying all three vessels.
I am in an escape pod now.
Many of the ambassadors, some of the crew and Stiles are heading to a planet nearby, a name I am unfamiliar with that should sustain us.
The Romulans are already firing on many of the pods. I am concerned we will not make it.
I am using priority channels to ensure it reaches you as quickly as possible.
Peace and long life.
Almost dropping the device from her hand, she stared up at Gral and her voice betrayed her anxiety, quivering. "I have news!"
"What is it?"
"The Excelsior has been destroyed."
"What?"
She repeated the words, not believing them herself. "The Excelsior was destroyed."
Gral pounded his fist on the table. "Get Shran and Archer. I'll alert Prime Minister Pelletier and Admiral Gardner."
T'Pol, holding the display in her hand, ran through corridors and past security until she reached the outside. Jhamel was already gathering the blankets and the participants collected the dishes and food. When Archer saw her, he immediately stopped and walked over to her.
"What's wrong?"
"The Excelsior," she whispered to him. "It was destroyed."
Archer stepped back a little at the force of the statement.
She said, "The Romulans attempted to capture the vessel and Duvall overloaded the engines."
"Is anyone left?" he asked, a little hoarse.
"Staron indicated the ambassadors and some crewmen were able to escape. But, it appears they don't have much time …. He said the Romulans have been firing on the pods."
Shran broke in on the moment. "It seems we have some immediate work to do."
Shran walked back to his family, rubbing antennae with his wife and daughter as Miranda waited. T'Pol noticed that Archer, about to head in, stopped and turned to the visitor. Straining her Vulcan hearing, she tried to discern what was being said.
"I'm sorry. I have to go."
She smiled. "I understand. Maybe we could get together some time?"
"Sure," he said, without committing to where or when.
The Vulcan noticed he extended a hand and she shook it before he walked away. The woman stared after him, a smile on her lips.
T'Pol ducked into her office and immediately contacted T'Pau. The Vulcan minister was brief and firm.
"Finish your work and allow me to read the declaration of war before we approve it. I want it completed tonight."
"Of course," T'Pol said.
"It is a dark day that Vulcan enters war. It against our people's way of life."
"Surak believed in self-defense."
"He did. Continue to report to me every three hours. I will convene the Vulcan High Command."
"I will. Live love and prosper."
"It is my hope we both do," T'Pau said before ending the transmission.
T'Pol watched the screen fade to black and noticed closed her eyes. The end of peace. When she opened her eyes, she noticed a figure hanging in the doorway of her office.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yes. You?"
"I'm all right. Gardner is coming here tonight after he and the other admirals decide on a plan. Pelletier is ready to declare war."
"As is Vulcan."
He swallowed deeply. "I'm heading to the Council room."
She nodded and walked with him. As they passed through the hallways and into the room, they realized they were the only ones there. After a brief moment of silence, the admiral leaned on the desk. It signaled to T'Pol the man was finally ready to talk.
"I was unfair -- what I said about you and Trip," he said.
Glancing down she said, "Much of what you said was correct." Gazing up at him, she made a comment. "You seemed to have enjoyed yourself at lunch."
He shrugged. "It was all right."
Giving a quick look to the door and seeing it was still clear, Archer spoke carefully. "I've been thinking about what you said."
"You have?"
"Yeah. I … haven't wanted to talk with you because …. Emotions are kinda confusing sometimes."
She agreed silently.
"Never, T'Pol?" he asked.
"What?" she asked in return.
The moment she did, Shran entered the room. "Andoria is ready to declare war. It's a strange day when my planet accepts Vulcan intelligence. Shows you just how dire things are."
Gral returned, hearing the latest statement. "Tellar is ready as well."
As all four of them sat down, she noticed Archer's eyes stayed on her for a moment before shifting to the task at hand. There were things unsaid and she pondered his question to her until Shran sat at a terminal, typing the document.
"After we finish this, there's no turning back," the blue man said.
"Let's get started," Gral said.
A/N: Thanks for hanging in there this time. It's a long one, but it didn't make sense to break before. You'll see what I mean next chapter. If this one left you with less action than you'd like – my apologies. The next chapter will be action-packed! In fact, the next chapter is the reason I started this little fic. Needless to say the next chapter begins the war, and by the end of it, we'll enter into the next act.