A/N: Myaxle, don't give up on them yet! This chapter changes everything. I've really been looking forward to writing this chapter. I hope it comes across okay.
---
Most of the halls of the Federation were dark, lights dimmed every night at 8 p.m., and other than the occasional security guard or janitor, were silent. The offices, except for the Terran, Andorian, Vulcan and Tellarite, were black. And the only activity in the large pyramid shaped building was in its core – the Council room chamber.
The Council room was always moderately dim, striking a balance for all species' lighting requirements; though the humans found it difficult to see, Tellarite found the room unusually bright. And the chamber was moderately empty except four tired individuals at a rectangular table, directly in front of a blue flag with a symbol of laurels on it.
Each of them showed signs of fatigue in one way or another, the time being near midnight.
Shran's antennae were droopy, as if they had gone to sleep, and his eyes had deep bags under them – a dark blue. The man was also more submissive, lacking some of the fire and bravado that seemed to be his hallmark.
Gral's hair was askew and he was cranky. He'd neglected his mid-evening meal in favor of attempting to wrap up the discussion and put the finishing touches on the declaration.
T'Pol had taken off her outer robe, draping the sand-colored fabric over a chair next to her and displayed a rich-red inner robe, one that flowed from her. It made her seem almost as if she was in her nightgown.
Archer had finally given in to unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, showing a patch of hair, having taken off his jacket and tie long ago and found himself leaning back in his chair - slouching.
When they'd reached the last step, signing their names, T'Pol spoke up. Pointing to the paper document in front of them, something that was used for formal occasions, she made a suggestion.
"The Excelsior was a human vessel. You should go first, Jonathan."
"Without Staron's information we wouldn't have anything. Besides, I think Gral should sign as president."
With a slightly hoarse voice, Shran flipped his hand apathetically in the air. "Someone just sign the fratog thing."
Archer drew a deep breath, picked up a pen and then slowly put his name on it. After him, Gral signed his, then Shran and finally T'Pol. She took the document in her hand and commented about it with solemnity.
"This is a monumental day, a catastrophic one."
"General Krag indicated he would have troops at the ready tonight," Shran said. "He's been in contact with Admiral Gardner."
Archer nodded.
Gral said, "I heard Tellar will deploy tomorrow as well."
"As will Vulcan," T'Pol said.
They all grew quiet, and Gral bent his head. "At times like these Tellarites say a prayer."
Archer nodded. "So do we."
The four bowed their heads and each thought a few words to themselves on behalf of the universe, their races and what they'd just done. T'Pol used the time to meditate and reflect over the seriousness of the occasion, hoping for the best – and swiftest – outcome. Shran hoped that his planet and family would survive; although Andorians were no strangers to war having fought more than a few species at one time, he hoped for the least number of casualties and for the alliance with his friends to continue. Gral, a more religious man, said a few words to the deity of war, asking for help and guidance … and to protect his people as well as those at his table. Archer's was simple.
God help us, he thought.
With that, the four divided to work out the finer details with their governments and answer questions about the declaration. War was minutes away.
Earth's leader was literally across the courtyard from where the Council was. Prime Minister Pelletier had decided to travel to meet with Admiral Gardner and the General Thompson, the man in charge of the entire military, to discuss a plan of action based on the declaration and agreement of shared troop deployment. General Krag's man, the Tellar's top military leader - Commandant Rog - and T'Pau's dispatch were all scheduled to arrive in the morning. It was bound to be a late night.
Archer walked the declaration and latest information about agreed upon troop deployment over to Gardner's office, handing it to his Pelletier. Starfleet was bustling with activity, more so than the day before Enterprise left for the Expanse. No doubt organizing search parties for the missing ambassadors is what kept everyone busy, not to mention impending war.
The Prime Minister put on his silver-framed glasses and looked over the document.
"It's going to take me a few minutes," he said. The document was more than 100 pages long.
"I can come back," Jon said.
The Prime Minister walked into a neighboring office that he was using as his makeshift one and sat down at a desk. Archer was about to leave, when he heard Matt.
"Doing a heck of a job."
Archer gave a sad smile. "Thanks."
Matt pointed to Jon's suit. "You wear one every day over there?"
"Yeah. Kinda my new uniform," Archer said, teasingly.
"Think I like the old one better." The admiral pointed to his splayed collar and continued. "Although this one looks like it breathes a little better."
"I miss the old one, too."
Matt asked, "Do you?"
"Of course. Temporary ambassador … I don't know if diplomacy is my strongest skill. I miss exploring. I miss space."
The admiral's eyes darkened. "I think you may get your chance to be back there."
Jon waited.
"I'm going to need someone to coordinate troops on the move. Someone who the Andorians, Tellarites and Vulcans will listen to … someone they respect."
Archer for some reason held back.
"I'd like you to there, Jon."
Silence.
"Don't tell me you've gone soft for politics?" Matt asked.
"No. Nothing like that. I just … it seems you're going to need someone right away."
"I'll need a man out there when we deploy a third of the troops."
"You'll need someone there in a few weeks."
"That seems likely, yes."
"I feel like I have unfinished business here," Archer said, reluctantly.
Matt frowned. "I've already talked with Pelletier about re-instating you. He agrees."
Archer didn't say anything.
"You knew your time as an ambassador was limited."
"I did. I … I just thought I'd have more time in the position."
"What's the unfinished business?" Matt asked.
Archer gave a sad smile. "It's personal, sir."
Matt nodded. "Well, seems like at least you have a few weeks."
Archer gave a slow nod and walked back to the Council room. By now, rumor had already spread and the line to get back into the Federation was longer. Ambassadors, like Sera, were piling into the building trying to figure out what happened.
When Jon finally got through, he went back to his office and shut the door.
---
T'Pol sent the data file to T'Pau and waited for a response. The time in the office was tense and as more people filed into the building, the commotion grew louder. As she stared at the terminal in front of her, she heard someone down the hall.
"T'Pol?" Sera asked.
The Vulcan perked and waited for the woman to sit down.
"This is truly unbelievable," the woman said.
"Is does seem that way," T'Pol said.
"Has T'Pau signed the declaration?" There was a pause, and then Sera clarified. "You don't have to tell me."
"She is in the process of signing it."
The Xindi ambassador gave a small frown. "I hope you understand why we needed proof about Xemax."
T'Pol flicked an eyebrow. "I understand."
"Though the primate and arboreal Xindi believe you and Archer, the other races need more. And the reptiles are the most suspicious of what you two say."
"I understand."
Sera heaved a sigh. "What do you do when you don't agree with your own government?"
"Usually obey their wishes." T'Pol leaned in. "We are representatives, not policy makers, sometimes at the whim of politics of our homeworld. Vulcan is no different. The Civil War your people endured, after fighting the humans … it is understandable why your people are hesitant."
"I suppose," she said. "It seems a shame we dishonor Degra's name."
"Degra was a good man," T'Pol said.
Sera smirked and nodded. "You'll let me know if there's anything I can do. In the meantime, I don't look forward to telling my people that the Vulcans, Andorians, Tellarites and Terrans have all agreed to war. I'm concerned they'll recall me, despite the fact we may've lost my aide. I doubt they'll go to war despite sending him on the Romulan peace mission."
"I think many ambassadors will face similar circumstances."
The Xindi nodded and then stood. "Thank you for your time. Good luck."
As she walked out, the Vulcan was touched, although she wouldn't use those words. The friendship she'd developed with Sera was one of mutual admiration as well as being two of the more outspoken women on the Council. Sera was wise and kind, and the Vulcan would find it regrettable if Xindi were to recall her.
I think they will.
The Xindi's five species were barely communicating and their own council had recently formed again. Without Guardians, as her people called them, there was momentarily chaos which eventually gave way after a long struggle to peace.
Before she could continue musing, her terminal beeped. It was T'Pau.
"I have read the document. My signature is being sent now."
"Thank you, minister."
"I know this grieves you, as it does me."
"Grief is an emotion," T'Pol said. "But, I feel it."
"We are Vulcans, not automatons. I feel it as well. We can at least rest assured we made a correct and logical decision."
T'Pol gravely nodded.
T'Pau continued. "There is nothing more you can do tonight. Perhaps you should sleep. Tomorrow will be cumbersome. Once the other ambassadors have communicated with their planets, additional negotiations will be needed."
"I met already with the Xindi ambassador. She believes her people will recall her."
"It is to be expected." T'Pau sat taller. "I have explained to Staron's relatives his situation."
"My thoughts are with his family."
"They know."
"Live long and prosper, Minister."
"Peace and long life."
When the screen faded, she felt herself almost frown. Her mind was weary, more tired than it had been in some time. Closing her eyes only for a moment, she thought back suddenly to what Archer said when they were alone in the Council room.
"Never, T'Pol?"
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Shran said.
"I wasn't asleep."
"Your eyes were closed," he said. Instead of the typical banter, he was making a comment; he too looked tired and worn.
"I was meditating on something."
He nodded and then slunk into her chair. "General Krag signed it."
"As did Minister T'Pau."
"Tyr apparently did as well. Right away. Gral's been in his office letting all the ambassadors know the situation."
She thought it was more than rumor that drove everyone out at this time.
"Prime Minister Pelletier?" she asked.
"I haven't heard from Archer yet," Shran said. "I'm sure he will. Pink skins want one last chance to read over documents they've already reviewed several times."
"Minister T'Pau read the document again. I believe they would think it's being thorough."
He waved his hand in the air as if to dismiss thoroughness. "At any rate … I was about to head home and wanted to see if you needed a ride."
T'Pol raised both brows. "That is a generous offer." Looking around, she realized she'd left her outer robe in the Council room. "Do you mind if I retrieve something?"
"No," he said, walking behind her.
The bustle in the corridors was louder than expected. Ambassadors scrambled to their offices to communicate to their governments all the latest and no doubt they were getting additional information on whether to strike a deal with the four races that made up a lax Council, or whether to retract their ambassador.
As they finally slipped into the core of the building, T'Pol picked up her things, looking briefly at the tie and jacket left in Archer's chair. For a moment, she thought about picking it up, leaning forward.
Just as she did a beeping noise caught her attention. Turning her head, tilting, she noticed the noise increased.
"Do you hear that?" T'Pol asked.
The Andorian shrugged. "Hear what?"
"A noise. A beep."
"Beep?"
"Yes." Cueing in on the sound, she pointed to the table. "It appears to be coming from there."
Shran poked his head underneath the table and then looked up, his face pale.
"Run!" he said.
Standing there, shocked, she felt his hand clamp around hers as he sprinted for the door and cleared the room.
As they made it into the corridor, Shran shouted the order again to anyone in hearing distance. "There's a bomb, run for the exits!"
As the beep reached a fevered pitch – at least to her Vulcan ears – she felt him grab her into an alcove and knock her to the ground, his body covering hers, just as a shock wave boomed through the building. Smoke filled the corridors immediately and beams began to buckle and crack. As T'Pol looked at the ceiling, peeking around Shran's arm that had encircled her waste as if to protect her, a steel garter creaked and moaned and then broke free heading for them.
And then everything went black.
---
Disrupting Archer's thoughts, inklings he had been reflecting on for nearly a week, a communication blipped on his terminal.
The Prime Minister wiped his glasses. "I've looked it over, Jon. As a symbol that we mean business, I'd like you to take the declaration to the other ambassadors and thank them for their assistance."
"Yes, sir."
When the screen went black, Jon made his way out the door, past people milling about in the hall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw T'Pol and Shran head back to the Council room. It was well past 1 a.m.
It's been a long night.
And they would get longer. The idea of serving Starfleet again was exciting, but not serving as a military commander. His stint providing that kind of leadership in the Expanse had taken its toll on him. There were some nights, even to this day, that he broke out into a cold sweat thinking he was back there and that he had to strand someone other ship, nearly defenseless, or torture some other prisoner to save his planet.
It wasn't just the wish to avoid playing a military man that he disliked. He was right when he told Gardner about closing personal business … not that he thought that particular business would ever be closed.
Making his way nearly to the Starfleet HQ, Archer's musings came to a halt as his body was thrown forward by the impact of an explosion. Landing face-first on the ground, barely catching himself on his palms, he heard shards of glass shatter and solid construction materials – like steel and concrete – groan. Twisting his body, he looked behind him.
The pyramid-shaped building, the Federation, was ablaze, making the night-time almost as bright as day. Smoke, pillars of it, filled the sky blanketing the area and blotting out the moon and stars. Screams of terror and chaos rang through the courtyard from the building and from those who'd witnessed the catastrophe. Ashes floated down to the ground around him like snowflakes and a dread came over him that, despite feeling a little pain in his back, made him push himself to his feet.
Oh my God!
A bomb had gone off in the building.
A man shouted behind him. "Someone get help!"
Running toward the inferno, Archer saw more clearly – despite the haze – survivors, covered in soot, began to pour out of the building panicked. Some were dazed, walking as if they had no place to go – confused - and some ran as if sprinting from the catastrophe. Some were crying and some were screaming. There were a few who looked like an inferno themselves.
It was horrible.
And yet he closed in on it, staring in trepidation and disbelief. Quickly his brain started to race on how he could find his friends … find T'Pol.
I could run into it.
He shook his head. Run into what? It's chaos? These people need help.
He and several other Samaritans gathered as close to the door as possible, Archer choosing the one nearest the Council room, helping the survivors until formal aid could arrive.
I'm bound to see them come through these doors, he thought. T'Pol, Gral and Shran.
Fire shuttles, one after another, arrived and men and women scrambled out of the vehicles dressed in respirators with axes in their hands. They vanished into the blaze to look for those who couldn't make it to the door or out of it. Water crafts dumped cargos of water onto the fire, sending plumes of blackness into the air.
Paramedics and doctors emerged on the scene and formed makeshift triage centers – small tents with equipment for burn victims, smoke inhalation and a communication station to see which nearby hospital to send victims to.
Starfleet security, headed up by Captain Reed, showed up and immediately started questioning those in the vicinity for the details. They asked for an account and calmly looked for those who were uninjured from inside the building to recall the details.
As controlled chaos took over, the Samaritans, including Archer disbanded. One man Jon knew – a janitor named Fred Rogers – started walking away from the crowd. Because of the commotion and dire situation, neither had spoken until the admiral approached him.
"Thanks for your help," Archer said.
The two shook hands and then Fred wiped the sweat off his elderly brow. The man was obviously inside when it happened, but managed to escape with few injuries. He was definitely shaken up; the tale Fred recounted sent a chill in Archer's spine – the halls were teaming with people and when the bomb went off pandemonium set in. The blast tore a hole through the one of the hall ways covering people in debris. When a few tried to help them free, a fire roared down the hallways and smoke made it nearly impossible to breathe. They left more people than he'd wanted to back there in the blaze, and he confided his conscious would never forgive him.
Immediately Jon thought of his friends, and wondered whether they were underneath the rubble and ashes. He thought about T'Pol.
Archer clasped his shoulder. "You stuck around to help. Doesn't sound like someone who should have a guilty conscience to me."
Fred seemed to take little consolation with that.
With that, the two parted, Archer heading back in the direction of the fire. When he was stopped from entering by police. The admiral tried to reason with them he had experience in fires, which he didn't, but they didn't budge. He thought about sneaking through the line and going in there, but decided to check the outside first.
Climbing what was once the grass around the building, now a rocky terrain littered with chunks of concrete and piles of half-recognizable office furniture, he made his way to the first triage center, the one he supposed was handling victims from those closest to the Council room. Making his way closer, doctors – some from nearly every species – sorted patients and shouted orders. A few were constantly using communications devices with the firefighters in the building or medical personnel in other locations.
Scanning a tent full of burned bodies, he called the names of his friends hoping for an answer. The patients groaned and cried, but none responded to him. When he'd called a second time, a Vulcan doctor perked his head up and pointed to an emergency shuttle where a little pig-like creature was being placed on a stretcher and loaded into the back. It was Gral, and he was covered in a dark brown substance – blood.
After the doors swung closed, Archer stopped the driver.
"How is he?" Jon asked.
The man shook his head as if there wasn't enough time. "We need to rush him."
As the man stepped into the vehicle, Archer asked, "Where?"
"St. John's."
Without further ado, the shuttle took off.
What about Shran and T'Pol?
Moving on he found himself milling about from triage center to triage center calling T'Pol and Shran's name. When the second hour passed, he found his heart beginning to sink and noticed his voice grow hoarse. As he cupped his hand around his mouth and called into the burning embers, he noticed Jhamel at his side.
"Have you heard anything?" she asked. Her voice trembled and her eyes, blind though they were, had tears brimming in them.
"No," he whispered. Silently he berated himself for not contacting her. "How'd you--?"
"I saw it on the news."
"I'm sorry, Jhamel." He put a hand through his hair, noticing it too was covered in ash and sweat. "I've been looking for them for a few hours. I didn't think --"
"It's all right." And then he saw her lip quiver and noticed her antennae were already drooping. "I'm not really sure what to do."
Instead of answering her, he drew the pregnant woman to his chest to hug her.
"You think they're dead," she said. Tears already cascaded down her cheeks.
"I don't know. Maybe Shran is arguing with a nurse in one of the centers right now."
Jhamel gave a smile, crying anyway. "You may be right."
"Is Tallah okay?" Archer asked, growing a little more solemn.
"She doesn't know. I didn't want to scare her." The woman paused. "I left her with Miranda."
"You want to walk with me? I was thinking about covering every medical station again." He pointed to a tent nearby that was filled with patients.
Jhamel looked down. "If we split up, maybe we'll find them sooner."
His eyes watched her, as if to ask whether she was up for that – especially as pregnant as she was, and she answered him.
"I … I want to find him, Jon."
Archer lips curled up in admiration. "Let's meet back here in an hour."
She nodded and took off in the opposite direction. Archer combed over the same area noticing the triage centers helped fewer people; instead they were now full of dead bodies, ones the firefighters had pulled from the building. Some of the bodies were charred beyond recognition.
Each center was the same, no response to the words he called and no one – doctors, firefighters or anyone else for that matter knew the whereabouts of T'Pol or Shran.
An hour passed and Jhamel and he met again. They decided to try once more, and then again, and then again. With each passing minute, Archer felt more panic, as if being a little destroyed with each tick of the clock. Before long, he and Jhamel had encircled the Federation building at least five times. Despite feeling exhausted, Archer – with a voice that could barely be heard – called out.
"T'Pol!"
Meeting Jhamel again at the main entrance, he was beginning to see defeat settle on her face. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, a sure indication that hope was about to be extinguished.
We've got to look one more time.
Jhamel sat weakly on the ground, staring at it. Her albino hands covered her face and her shoulders quivered.
She was crying.
His hand caressed over her white hair, almost like a father might to his child.
"Hey, we're not giving up," he said.
Grabbing at her belly, she cried harder.
Crouching down to her, he spoke softly to her. "One more time. Come on."
"All we've seen for the past hour are dead bodies." She blindly pointed toward the building, now blacked on the outside, cracked and with a few walls missing – at least that could be seen on the outside. "They couldn't have survived."
"Shran's survived worse," he said.
"They couldn't have survived. Someone would've found them by now."
"No. I'm sure--"
Jhamel spoke quietly to him. "Have you noticed that almost everyone has gone?"
The tents that once served as triage centers were mostly disassembled. There was one fire shuttle there, as if to finish paperwork and ensure the embers died out. A few paramedics hung around mostly tagging corpses. And the throngs of people watching, helping or looking for loved ones, thinned to only a handful of people, including them. The only people out in force was security.
"No," he said.
"I don't want it to be over, but it is," she said.
"No," he whispered again.
"It's over."
"No."
"It's over!" she said. "It's over. It's over."
Slumping to sit, clumsily falling against the grass, he stared at the building in front of him. Tucking Jhamel's head under his chin, he felt her tears against his shirt and her body shake.
And as he felt her tremble in his arms, he realized tears had trickled onto his own cheeks. Watchingthe pink hues of the night sky light up the darkness, he felt sorrow – a numbing kind.
Closing his eyes, he chided himself – for pride, for arrogance, for stubbornness and just plain stupidity. There'd been a window of opportunity, even if the feelings would never be reciprocated, that had passed for her to know exactly how important she was to him. Now, she would never know. It caused him to grab at Jhamel a little tighter.
In the moment of his deepest despair, a voice, a tiny one as if yards away, asked out into dawn.
"Jhamel?"
His ears perked up. Opening his teary eyes, he saw two figures – one slumped against the other – limping toward them. It made him stand immediately, bringing the Aenar up with him in slight protest.
"Jhamel?" the figure asked again.
It was Shran.
And in a sprint, both Jhamel and Archer tore up to the two shadows. Even on approach the scene was terrible and yet promising. They were alive.
Shran was covered in blue blood and dust from debris, his leather clothing stained with both. Although his antennae made it out okay, Archer could tell his friend used sheer determination and will to pull himself from everything. In the Andorian's grasp, as if he was dragging her along, was a stunned Vulcan. She was bruised, a gash above her left eyebrow that had loosed some blood down the side of her face and she covered with dust and green and blue blood.
"Medic!" Archer shouted with the voice he had left.
And then Jhamel's threw her arms around her husband, weeping and laughing with joy while Shran unraveled his grip around T'Pol.
"I'm too arrogant to let death take me," Shran said, his voice weak. "I told him to wait until after my son is born."
Jhamel laughed and kissed her husband.
The Vulcan swayed a little and Archer took her in his arms. Feeling her breathe against him made him want to shout, sing and laugh all at once. He wanted to twirl her in his arms and thank God she was all right. But, instead of doing any of that, without thinking, he kissed the top of her head. Warmth tickled him when he did it.
She's alive.
And then with pure glee, he kissed her temple, forehead, right cheek and then suddenly and gently her lips. He didn't know why he chose to do so, but placing his mouth on hers seemed like the right thing to do. She didn't return it, nor did she turn away from it.
Stroking the side of her face, he whispered to her.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," she said quietly. It was obvious she was dazed.
Pulling T'Pol to his chest, he held her stroking her hair while he told her how worried he was, how Jhamel and he were starting to give up hope and how glad he was that she was okay.
Shran sat, as if his body couldn't stand any longer and Jhamel sat by his side. The doctor – a man in his early thirties - arrived and began to look over both of them, taking their blood pressure, listening to their heart and shining a light in their eyes.
T'Pol, almost robotically – as if still confused – conveyed the events to Archer.
They heard a beep underneath the table and Shran had pulled her arm, forcing her out of the room and into an alcove, one that was reinforced with steel and concrete.
When the blast occurred, shaking the foundation and bringing some of the building down even despite the strength of the alcove, he covered her with his body, taking the brunt of the explosion. When she came to, she found it difficult to breathe. Both of them were covered in debris and she noticed Shran was bleeding heavily. Clawing at the rubble around her, she pushed through it and finally broke free. Shran awakened and she offered to help him out when he refused.
"An Andorian walks away from disaster," he said.
She was finding it difficult to hear and her balance was off, so Shran clutched her to him and the two walked to where they stood now.
The human doctor broke in. "We're going to need to take Ambassador Shran to the hospital."
Pointing to T'Pol, he said. "I'd like to see her tomorrow for follow up, but I think she should go home. She may've suffered some hearing loss, but other than some cuts and bruises, she's okay."
"She seems disoriented," Archer said. His hand worried over the hair near her temple.
"I think that's normal. Just keep her warm. Make an appointment with St. John's – that's where they're taking the victims."
Shran was about to grumble about the young man's medical advice, when Jhamel spoke up.
"Thank you, Doctor."
Archer exchanged a few words with Jhamel and promised to see Shran tomorrow and then turned to T'Pol.
"Let me take you home."
Jhamel and Shran boarded a shuttlecraft headed to the hospital and Archer wrapped his arm around T'Pol helping her to his craft.
---
T'Pol was a little dizzy and disoriented. Everything seemed surreal, even arriving at her apartment in the morning – with the sky turning from pink to a bright orange and then eventually to blue - with Archer tucked neatly to her side.
When they reached her apartment and he'd entered the code, he turned to her.
"Maybe you should get some sleep," he suggested.
Without either agreeing or declining, she felt him lead her there and he took off her shoes for her – or what was left of them.
"Do you want to change?" he asked.
She found herself nodding, and gave some instructions. "My night clothes are in the second drawer on the left."
He produced a pair of blue pajamas for her. "These okay?"
"Yes."
He was about to leave, when she heard herself call to him. "I will let you know when I have changed."
The moment he left the room and shut the door, she slipped out of her clothes and into the pajamas he'd gathered for her. Although she wanted to take a shower, she was too sleepy to actually do so.
"I have finished," she said. Crawling under the covers, she watched as he came back.
"You need water or anything to drink?" he asked.
"No."
"Good night," he said. As he was about to turn toward the door, she spoke to him.
"I would like you to stay here."
"I can do that." He was about to leave, returning to her living room.
"Jonathan?"
"Yeah?"
Smudged with ash, his white shirt was stained as was his cheek. His hair looked sweaty and she could see a day's growth of beard on his face. Dark circles hung under his eyes and his lip was slightly swollen. When he'd spoken to her, his voice was raspy barely able to whisper. The man, as he would say himself, looked like hell.
"Come here."
Almost mistrusting his own footing, he made his way slowly toward her and sat on the bed. Timidly, she told him something.
"Could you stay here? It would be comforting."
She was implying that she wanted him to stretch out next to her on her bed. Without asking for clarification, he lay down next to her, above the covers, and faced her.
"All right."
Blinking slowly, she watched his face. "Thank you."
With that, she felt a little more at ease and shut her eyes. A warm peaceful sleep came over her quickly and her thoughts faded into oblivion.
---
When she woke up, Archer was curled next to her reading a book. It looked like he'd washed his face, though his shirt was still dirty. His smell was mostly clean as if he'd taken a shower.
She stirred and immediately when she did, he put down the book.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Better," she said. Although there was still ringing in her ears, she felt less confused. She was still a little sleepy and her motions, including a small stretch and yawn mimicked that.
"Did you sleep?" she asked.
"For a while."
Closing her eyes again, she remembered the atrocity. Hearing people scream in agony asking for help. She'd blacked out before she could assist anyone, but their cries must've penetrated her unconscious mind. The moment she'd been able to open her eyes and claw at the debris, she thought about their pleas. She'd tried not to notice the charred bodies around her; the site was too gruesome for words. They piled near each other, looking for a way out of an inferno.
Distracting her thoughts, he whispered to her, his voice still hoarse. "You talked in your sleep."
"What did I say?"
"You called Shran's name, asking if he was okay."
"How is he?" she asked.
"I talked to Jhamel. He's doing fine. They found some internal bleeding, but think he should recover by the end of the week."
"He saved my life."
Archer gave her a lopsided smile.
"Gral?" she asked.
His face fell. "They have him in the ICU. He was badly injured."
With a tinge of emotion in her voice, she asked, "Will he live?"
"They don't know."
"Everyone else?"
Archer frowned. "Ambassador Sera was killed. The casualties have been reported at nearly 50 right now."
Sera. That is most unfortunate.
Closing her eyes again, to think about her friend, she asked a question. "Any idea who did it?"
"Not yet. But, I have my suspicions."
So did she. "The Romulans."
"It stands to reason."
"War has been declared?"
"At apparently 5 a.m. this morning. Pelletier addressed Parliament. And the media carried T'Pau's speech to the Vulcan assembly on Earth."
T'Pol nodded.
His voice hushed. "They've already sent the first troops to Romulus."
And so it begins.
She noticed his head nuzzle into the pillow and he gazed at her with concern. It was more than that; she'd seen that look before – it held hope, adoration and devotion.
Taking a finger, she glided it over his lips, particularly where his mouth was swollen. "You kissed me last night."
Moving his hand to intercept her fingers, he spoke. "I think we should have this conversation later when you're thinking more clearly."
"I want to have this conversation now." She contradicted. Looking at her hand in his, her eyes eventually met his to search them. "You kissed me."
"I was happy to see you," he said. "I was beginning to think you were dead."
She remembered tears on his cheeks and a grin over his face as he kissed her not just once, but many times over.
"Your mouth caressed my face.
"I--"
As if recalling, she told him almost with confusion. "My forehead, my temple and my cheek."
He blinked without agreeing or disagreeing.
"Your lips touched mine," she whispered.
"Yes." His breathing had grown a little erratic.
"You feel more than friendship for me."
"I think we should wait to finish this."
She disagreed. "Tell me."
Removing his hand from hers, his fingers brushed a lock of hair from her face. "I'm in love with you, T'Pol."
She closed her eyes to understand the information and think on its consequences. A week ago, she'd decided he must feel something deep, but never imagined hearing those words from his mouth. The two had been friends, close ones, for years. He wasn't, as Trip was, a man of great sentiment, which made the impact of his statement more devastating.
Without warning, he kissed her and she was startled by the embrace. Instead of a soft touch to her lips, it was more demanding and held more yearning. His hand reached behind her head, dragging her into the embrace and his lips pressed firmly to hers. Because she was stunned, she didn't immediately break free from his grasp. He obviously misunderstood the reaction, thinking he had permission for more, he kissed her again.
She turned her lips away from his.
He said, "I'm sorry. I thought--"
"You don't have to apologize."
The moment became awkward and when his eyes met hers, she saw something in her eleven years she had not witnessed from him. Ever. Even when the circumstances warranted it. Fear.
Because she cared about him, she held his hand to reassure him.
She asked, "Can we maintain a friendship without you wanting more?"
"I'll always want more." Staring down at their intertwined hands, he eventually looked her in the eye. "I think I've wanted more for a while."
"I don't want to lose you as a friend."
"You won't … it's just." Rolling onto his back and removing his hand from her grip he gave a sigh. He sat up. "I should probably go."
"You don't need to." She clarified. "I would like for you to stay."
"You seem like you're feeling better," he said.
"I am." She was still foggy headed, but her confusion had subsided considerably.
"Then I need to go."
This was precisely what she'd had concerns about. The pace of the past day had been excruciating and she preferred not to be alone. The person she wanted most to spend her time with was Jonathan.
"Stay," she said.
"I'm trying to make a graceful exit," he told her, quietly.
Actually, she'd already known that, but she didn't want him to exit at all. Sitting up, she watched him push himself from the bed and head for her bedroom door.
"Perhaps we can see Shran and Gral at the hospital and then have dinner together? It has been nearly a week since we have eaten at the Mandarin Cove."
He gave a slight frown. "I don't think so."
She almost gave a frown, too.
"When will I see you again?" she asked.
"Soon," he said. With that, he left.
The moment she heard the front door shut, she began weighing the situation. The great philosopher Stav indicated for every problem, there a multitude of solutions if you break the issue into small solvable chunks.
Issue: Archer wanted to possibly share a physical union and she wanted friendship.
Is having a physical union with him to keep his friendship the answer?
She wondered, quite logically, if it would satisfy everyone's needs: he would be involved in a relationship and she would be able to keep their friendship. It wouldn't be any great sacrifice. He was an attractive man, a friend, a good companion and being involved with him could satisfy Pon Farr when it arrived.
Her experience with human sexuality indicated that although humans needed to mate from time to time, it would not be the fierce animalistic kind Vulcans engaged in.
And, she was certain that her friend would be tender and sweet.
That would not satisfy him.
Their emotions were frail and fragile things, and the Terrans had difficulty with them, especially love. Jonathan never struck her as particularly vulnerable, and yet she knew that if he found out her concession, that he would be devastated. He would feel betrayed. She certainly didn't want that.
That would not satisfy me.
Jonathan deserved to have the care he gave to her returned by someone. Although human emotions were confusing, she understood love to be one of the greatest and most powerful of emotions. His demeanor, when he'd whispered those words to her, told her that he'd spoken them rarely to anyone.
And that hurt her a little, mostly because she knew it pained him. Her friend would suffer and brood for a period of time, and it bothered her to know she was the culprit. It's why she'd mentioned he should refrain from wanting romantic notions.
Humans cannot simply deny an emotion. They explore them until that emotion is exhausted.
She'd been foolish to think he could will away his feelings. It was difficult for Vulcans, it was impossible for humans.
Maybe the woman at the picnic would satisfy him?
The woman obviously was enamored and by the look in Archer's eyes, he at least thought she was attractive.
She would be better for him anyway.
Closing her eyes, she thought on the topic, searching for an answer. Maybe something would come to her later.
TBC
A/N: Fear not, intrepid reader.