A/N: ArafelSedai, hadn't seen on the site that Romulans were both. I thought it was like the Klingons (until Coto) where in the past (despite Trials and Tribblations), they had foreheads.
I liked it better when Romulans and Vulcans looked exactly alike, it was harder to tell the good guys from the bad … part of what made Balance of Terror so good! At any rate, thanks for your notes about that. I've been trying to match canon.
Also, glad you liked the line about playing games. I think both Trip and T'Pol enjoyed it … to a certain extent.
Dennis, nope, not getting a mood from any other author. Why? Does it seem that way? Any thoughts on whose mood? I can guarantee, this is something I've been cooking up since this fiction began. I knew this would be a major plot point.
---
War.
It was everywhere – on the terminal, on the lips of the Earthlings T'Pol passed on the street, whispered in coffee shops, argued at restaurants, explained by teachers and planned out by military men across Earth, Tellar, Vulcan and Andoria.
The feeling, the sensation of impending doom hung in the air like the fog over San Francisco, seeping into cracks and places yet unseen, impenetrable and thick.
War.
The last time the humans went to war, they'd sent a single ship into an unknown region of space fully expecting that it wouldn't succeed and that their planet would be destroyed, annihilated by a weapon that had already killed more than 7 million people. Although Enterprise, the ship that protected the third planet in the Sol system, succeeded, there was still fear. Despite the Prime Minister's speech, asking his fellow Terrans to remain calm, the humans panicked.
War.
Indeed, T'Pol decided it was a human reaction. The creatures she'd served with aboard Enterprise didn't always look at logic, weighing it carefully and deciding on the next rational step. And the people she worked with were, she'd decided, the best of humanity. Terrans when faced with the prospect, the very real one, they could be attacked acted with violence and terror. They defied reason.
War.
They cleaned out local stores, buying rations – food, water, generators and emergency kits. Delegates from Terran colonies traveled immediately to Earth, up in arms, demanding protection during the conflict. Reports indicated already many colonies had already sent children families back to Earth in haste, leaving homes abandoned and some of the colony's governments in chaos.
War.
Angry people passing by, who clearly didn't understand what was at stake, complained about the government, loudly and belligerently. Some of the people even thought Terra Prime was being falsely accused. Those who didn't suspected the organization was accused, they committed treason, but for the right reasons.
War.
It wasn't just the Terrans, T'Pol had seen a change in the ambassadors, those who'd made it out alive from the recent bombing. Many of them had already boarded ships to go back to their homeworlds.
T'Pol had never felt like an outsider on Earth before, not one so strange and regarded so suspiciously, before now. She'd never believed the planet to become so anxiously dangerous and barbaric until now.
She needed a friend, never more so than now. And yet now, she didn't have one available.
---
Within two days of the bombing, T'Pol visited the doctor, who'd given her a clean bill of health while asking she refrain from working for another week.
While in the hospital, she stopped in on Shran who'd undergone a day and a half ago. As T'Pol pushed the door open, she smiled internally – not outwardly – at the sight. Jhamel was nestled by her husband's side talking quietly with him, and Tallah was holding a doll and an ice pick. When T'Pol took a step forward into the room, the first to notice was Jhamel.
"T'Pol?" she asked, blindly.
Each member of the family ducked their head, as if expecting someone else behind T'Pol who hadn't produced himself.
Jonathan, she thought.
When the expectation died, mostly because no one showed behind her and the door swung behind her, the conversation began.
"I'm glad you came. How are you?" Shran asked.
"I am well, all because of you."
Shran shrugged. "Don't let it get to your head, Vulcan."
"How are you?" she asked, ignoring his good-natured insult.
"I don't know why they insist on keeping me here. On Andoria, a wound like this is considered superficial."
Jhamel hid a smile as T'Pol shook her head. "Of course. I brought you a gift," she said. "I think you could use it here."
Her finger felt at the pouch tied to a belt that hung around her middle and she produced a crystal. Setting it by his bed, she fingered a few buttons near it and noticed the room grow colder as shadows, like icicles, danced on the walls.
The man looked genuinely touched as Tallah marveled at the device.
"A tylarah," the child said in awe.
The crystals were rare outside of Andoria, and it had taken some significant bargaining to get the owner of the store to part with it.
"It has been many years since I've seen one of these," he said. "Thank you."
"Of course." She paused. "It appears I am in your debt."
A smile crept over his lips. "You owe me a favor now."
"Oh?"
"Uh-huh. I'll get back to you," he said.
Her eyebrows shot up at the prospect.
"I heard Pelletier declared war. I also saw that the Earthlings protested it. Something it seems we risked our lives for," Shran said. "Fratog!"
Jhamel hushed her husband. "The doctor asked you to rest and relax."
"You said to me that every planet has dissenters, including Andoria," T'Pol said.
Shran frowned.
"The humans are … frightened," T'Pol said.
"Scared? They don't know the half of it. I've heard tales that the Romulans are fierce warriors, with extraordinary cunning," Shran said.
"Yes. I have heard the same," offered T'Pol.
Jhamel's blind eyes went to her child and then toward the Vulcan. "Andoria is closer to Romulan space. If we were there …."
Shran's face fell. "Andoria will be all right. General Krag is already drafting military to serve as protection for the planet. What about Vulcan?"
"We have several ships protecting the planet and our colonies. The service is voluntary, but I believe my people understand the consequences."
"And Tellar?" he asked, quietly.
"Minister T'Pau indicated they too were reinforcing their perimeter. It might be in the best interests of our people, since our planets are close, to help each other."
Shran nodded. "General Krag already gave me permission to provide any intelligence to you."
"Thank you. We of course have pledged the same."
The two former enemies regarded each other as Jhamel broke the silence.
"Have you seen Gral, T'Pol?" the Aenar asked.
"No. I came straight here."
"He looks so frail," she said.
T'Pol said, "Have the doctors changed his status?"
"No."
Shran's antennae hung down. "Seems like the Council is more fractured than ever."
T'Pol thought about her rift with Archer and bowed her head as well. She's called him for personal reasons, mostly to ensure he was well or to ask if now was "soon" enough, but he had yet to contact her back.
"Indeed," the Vulcan said.
---
She talked a few more hours, ignoring Shran's request for ale, and then headed to the burned out hull of a building that used to represent the Federation. Starfleet security was crawling – almost literally – all over the grounds looking for clues. When she arrived, she saw Captain Reed leading the investigation with the same precision and skill he'd given while on Enterprise.
No one is more efficient than Malcolm.
It gave her solace that he was the man in charge. And the moment she showed, he stopped what he was doing to see her.
"I can't tell you how happy Hoshi and I are that you're okay," he said.
"I appreciated your 'get well' flowers. They were unnecessary."
Malcolm smiled. "Hoshi and I thought you might determine they were illogical, but …. Well, we were thinking about you."
"The sentiment was … touching."
His smile broadened.
"It's hard to believe isn't it?" he said, nodding toward the building.
"It is."
"I don't want to press you, but we're interviewing people for their account. If you have time tomorrow morning …?"
"I will assist in any way possible."
"Thanks. Come by at 0800, and maybe I can take you to breakfast."
"Breakfast? That sounds agreeable."
As the two looked back at the building, Malcolm's voice lowered.
"Have you seen Shran or Gral?" he asked.
"I just came from the hospital. Shran is recuperating and should leave tomorrow. Gral on the other hand …. His condition is not favorable."
"Good news about Shran. I'm sorry to hear about Gral."
"As am I. However, I believe the man has great stamina. I believe he will … rally."
Malcolm laughed. "Rally? You've been hanging around humans too long."
"I believe you are correct," she said.
As he was about to come back with something, he heard his name shouted in the background by one of the guards.
"Captain Reed!"
Turning his head, looking at the man waving a piece of evidence, Malcolm turned to his friend. "Duty calls."
With that Reed walked away. T'Pol, without disrupting the areas quarantined by security, took one more step toward the building and hung her head.
Sera.
Her funeral was tomorrow. In fact, funerals began in earnest in tomorrow – giving just enough time to plan them and for the families' wishes to become known. Some would be celebrations of life – complete with a festive party, some would be solemn occasions to grieve the loss of a soul. Whatever the particular way to honor the dead, T'Pol wasn't looking forward to them. And she was least looking forward to Sera's.
Her eyes scanned the debris that littered the ground and the men that tagged evidence. Closing them, she relived the moment Shran heard Jhamel's voice.
Clawing her way to fresh air, she saw smoke and debris all around her, making it difficult to breathe. Grabbing Shran with one hand and raising him into the air and onto secure land, her eyes darted for the exit.
Although badly injured, Shran pushed away from the Vulcan.
"Andorians walk," he muttered.
With purpose, he marched – pained though he was – to the nearest exit as he grabbed T'Pol's confused hand. Her balance had been compromised and the ringing in her ears deafened almost all other sounds, save one.
As they made their way through smoke and out of the ashes of a crumbled building, T'Pol thought she heard Jonathan protest that she was still alive. Mumbling, she told Shran the direction and the two headed there, limping. Finally, she knew she was right as Shran yelled the name of his wife.
"Jhamel!"
Pushed aside so he could take his wife in his arms, T'Pol felt herself about to stumble when Jonathan caught her. He was warm, much more so than she, and his face appeared wet … and yet, a smile spread from ear to ear.
Before she could do anything, he'd kissed her head, face and lips, and then he crushed her to his chest as he stroked her hair. For a moment, it was comforting – not just the feeling of her head being petted, but the feeling of his arms around her. It brought great security and peace of mind, mostly because she knew that he was okay, too.
There was another reason to feel comfort: closeness. It was something she'd missed.
For the past eleven years, the man had touched her forearm, bicep or shoulder (sometimes both shoulders) to communicate to her. Almost daily. Somehow the non-verbal communication managed to get through even when she disagreed with the message. She'd always considered it their special way of talking. Just like she'd always known when he wanted her to accompany him to another area of the ship, into his Ready Room, in a shuttle or into the transporter.
She hadn't made any physical contact with him for a week, and being in his arms meant not just that she'd survived and that he did, it indicated the closeness they'd lost had suddenly been recaptured.
If he's my friend and I find him attractive, perhaps I should consider something more permanent with him.
The idea had sparked into her brain before, but she'd dismissed it. Vulcans, at least in her estimation, couldn't love the same way humans could. She could hold a great affection for him, share the fires of Pon Farr with him if and when they came or sacrifice her life for him, but the essence of love – the mystical emotion she'd never understood – couldn't be attained.
Pondering war, life, death and love, she made her way back home where she found a message waiting from her – one from Admiral Gardner asking her to meet him tomorrow afternoon.
---
After breakfast, where she and Malcolm discussed mostly personal business, and a morning's interview, where she answered detailed questions about exactly how she found the bomb, Malcolm asked her out for lunch.
Her first inclination was to decline, he'd already showed great hospitality, but because she had a meeting with Gardner at one o'clock, she decided to lunch with him in Starfleet's cafeteria. He looked as though he needed to, and as they sat down with full trays, he apologized for "grilling her." She expected him to be thorough, and reassured him with her Vulcanly stead voice, that she had not been barbequed in any way.
They moved onto the topic of her new apartment, when T'Pol expressed she would like to have Hoshi and Malcolm over and then talked about their upcoming wedding plans. After they'd spent an hour together, Reed offered to take both their trays and the two departed so that T'Pol could meet Admiral Gardner by 1300 hours.
The Vulcan strolled down hallways, traipsing on blue carpet, pausing only momentarily before Archer's old office door before rounding the corner to Gardner's. She was greeted by an assistant – a man in his early thirties, who indicated she'd have to wait a few minutes. Peeking through the barely open door in the office, she saw Matt pacing in front of a terminal and then shut it off. The second he did, his assistant carefully poked his head in.
"Your one o'clock is here, sir. Should I send T'Pol in?"
"Please do."
The assistant smiled and opened the door for her. When she entered, she noticed the office was in more disarray than the last time she'd visited him. Stacks of papers were piled on top of each other and he had a dress uniform hanging on the coat rack. To her it meant he wasn't getting much sleep.
"You're a sight for sore eyes. How ya feeling?" he asked. The man crossed his room and then stood awkwardly beside her, determining whether to shake her hand or just stand at a distance.
To make him feel at ease, she offered her hand and he accepted it eagerly, pumping it.
"Well, thank you."
"In all seriousness, I'm glad to see you. I understand you nearly didn't make it out the other day."
"I was … fortunate, sir."
"Sir? Don't need to call me that any more," he said, smiling. Growing a little serious, he continued. "Captain Reed already spoke to you I take it?"
"Yes."
"The investigation on the bombing has to be thorough … and frankly it's slow going. We have a lot of people to appease. I --"
"It's understandable. You haven't inconvenienced me and seeing Malcolm is always pleasant."
"Good. Have a seat," he said.
She folded herself in two in a nearby seat as Matt crossed his arms, standing directly in front of her.
"Prime Minister Pelletier asked me to speak with you."
Raising her eyebrows, she waited.
He said, "We want you to try and get the Council back together, especially now that you're the only one at the Council. It makes sense for--"
"Ambassador Shran is leaving the hospital today and there is your own ambassador – Jonathan."
"Well, I'm glad to hear about Shran, but … we already relieved Jon of his title."
"Oh?"
"I asked him to serve in the front a couple of days ago."
Her face must've conveyed surprise, because the admiral knitted his brow. "I'm sorry, I assumed he would've told you. I understood you two to be friends."
"As did I," she said, bowing her head. "What is his assignment?"
"Maybe you should talk with him."
"What is his assignment?" she asked again, more pointedly.
Matt scratched his head and then turned to the Vulcan. "I've asked him to help coordinate the fleet and engage the Romulans. The Andorians, Tellarites and Vulcans all trust him, it seemed like the best use of his skills."
"I see."
"If you two are friends, you may want to know he'll be joining the front in less than three weeks."
"In three weeks?" she asked, standing. Although Vulcans were difficult to stun, she was shocked.
Matt frowned, backing up. "That's right. He leaves in less than three weeks on the Potomac."
"I see," she said. Staring at the floor, she accepted the information. Three weeks. Why didn't he tell me?
"Do you need a minute?"
Why didn't he tell me? With confusion, she stared up at Matt. "Of course not. Although the news is unexpected, I am Vulcan. I find it regretful that an ambassador such as Archer would be called away to battle."
Nodding, he went on with his initial request. "We need the Council to get back together. I'm asking Vulcan to take the lead on this effort. With Gral in the hospital and his situation uncertain, I …. Let's put it this way, T'Pol: we need you more than ever. It'll be difficult to defeat the Romulans."
She agreed. "It will."
"We need everyone we can get."
"I see. And you would like me to bring this request to T'Pau?"
"I would."
She gave a firm nod. "I can tell you T'Pau agrees with your assessment."
"Good. That means you'll do it?"
"Yes."
He smiled. "I'm glad to hear it."
As she turned to walk about the door, his voice caught her ear. "Thank you, T'Pol. I have to say, the day you left Starfleet was a sad one. You would've been an excellent captain."
"Thank you," she whispered.
With that, she left. The first step after the door closed behind seemed the most difficult, and as she tried to regain emotional control she felt her footing slip for just a moment. When the assistant rushed to her side, she assured him she was well and continued – without further discussion – out the door.
Why didn't he tell me?
Battle with the Romulans was bound to be arduous and long, more difficult than the humans could imagine. The species, from what she experienced on Enterprise, had technology far superior to the humans. In fact, their advances were superior to those of the Vulcans as well. The reports from T'Pau about her ancient brethren were that they were fierce killers with no morals.
Jonathan will be at the front. He will be in Starfleet's flagship to oversee operations – a target for the Romulans.
Hailing a shuttle, making her way back home, her brain wouldn't let go of that thought.
In less than three weeks Jonathan will be fighting the Romulans. And his chances of making it back to Earth would be small. Minute. Infinitesimal.
When she heard Enterprise would enter the Expanse, she had great difficulty thinking about her comrades and friends giving their lives without her. She had no love for Vulcan High Command, despite a healthy respect for Soval, so her choice seemed clear: stay with the humans.
This time?
Serving Vulcan was her mission. And yet more than anything she wished to stand next to Archer even as he entered battle. Even if it meant her very life.
Why am I pondering my role? He is assigned to be Earth's ambassador, he should stay.
It was clear. Earth, if he stepped down, had no clear leader and although the Federation was in shambles, it would eventually reconvene and need his services and expertise. Although pigheaded, he'd proved to be invaluable.
And then a thought crossed her mind, one that made her stomach tighten and her teeth clench.
He must have volunteered.
Jonathan had always been an egotistical man, she reckoned, a man who believed he controlled the future. Tweaking the nose of danger seemed to give the man pleasure. This time taunting it would no doubt leave him wounded or worse.
He could die.
Her brain then jumped back to her original thought and she focused in on it like a laser.
He kept this information from me.
How dare he keep this information from me? We have been friends too long for him to accept this assignment in secret.
Stepping out the shuttle, her feet carried her farther than she'd intended to go and soon she realized she'd passed her apartment and had already begun walking to the building Archer lived in. Gliding into the skyscraper, mostly because a kindly older couple recognized her, she punched the button that lead to Archer's apartment. As the elevator shot toward his floor, she found herself uncharacteristically angry, even folding her arms across her chest and trying to steady her breath.
When the elevator stopped, she got out and rung the door chime, jabbing her thumb against the button more than once. The door slid open to show Archer dressed in sweats with bare feet, as if enjoying a day off. Surprised, he stared at her.
"Hey, I didn't think --" he said.
Slipping past him, she entered his living room and stared, barely noticing the door shutting behind before interrupting, her voice clipped as if holding back a fury.
"You're leaving for the front in less than three weeks," she said. "And you neglected to tell me."
"Who--?"
"Why?"
"What?"
"Why did you keep this information clandestine?"
"I just …." He stared at her and then looked down at his bare feet. "I was planning on telling you, but --"
"It's a foolish mission," she said. "You should decline. Earth needs you as its ambassador."
As if ending the disagreement she dared him reply. Unfortunately, he did.
"Earth needs a commander, a leader. And my prime minister and admiral have asked me … ordered me to go. I didn't have much of a choice, not that I would decline their request."
"I disagree with your assessment."
"I'm going."
Glancing around his apartment she noticed small things were gone – pictures, things that were important and could be packed early and easily.
She said, "It's illogical. You're making a mistake."
He voice tried to calm her. "I'm in Starfleet as an admiral; my assignment as ambassador was temporary. Besides, I still have a few weeks and--"
"You board the Potomac in less than three weeks."
"That's right."
"Jonathan, surely you realize you could perish in the front." She'd intended the tone of her voice to sound logical, but realized the emotion behind it that threatened to betray her. Indeed her lip quivered at the notion, something she controlled the moment it trembled, but not before he noticed.
"I'll be back."
"I don't believe you should leave."
"It's not up to you."
"I … I don't want you to leave."
He shook his head and closed in on her. As she watched him, she noticed a lump was developing in her throat – a purely illogical and highly emotional one. The confusion on his face was understandable and apparent, and he tried to explain himself.
"T'Pol, I'm not leaving because of what happened between us …. This is the right thing to do."
"I am concerned that a friend of mine is giving his life needlessly."
"You know it's not needless," he whispered, getting a little closer. A hand reached up and gripped her shoulder while a soft smile spread across his face. "You'll be fine without me, in fact--"
She cut him off in mid-sentence by placing her mouth on his as her hand came to cradle the side of his face. Pushing her gently away, he stared in disbelief.
"T'Pol?"
Ignoring his question and confoundedness, she kissed him again this time with more defiance, ignoring his silent plea to stop, until he gingerly broke free.
He said, "You said just a few days ago …."
"Perhaps I have been too hasty."
He furrowed his brow slightly. "Let's talk."
Taking her hand in his, he led her to his sofa. After the two sat down, he began the discussion.
"This is the reason I didn't tell you." Softening, he cupped the side of her face. "I knew you'd be upset. I didn't want this to affect your feelings."
"It is impossible for this information not to impact my feelings. I care about you."
Her lips sought his out again, and she noticed he kissed back for a few moments, with passion – his mouth opening, before retreating.
"A relationship is more than just …." He gazed into her eyes searching for the right word.
"More than our lips touching? I know." Two fingers caressed his and she could tell he enjoyed it, despite ending their connection.
"I was going to say, 'A relationship is more than just caring.'"
"What do you want?" she asked.
"It's not about what I want. The other day, I got the impression you not only didn't feel the same way, you couldn't."
Her eyes averted his.
He said, "I guess what I want is … I want to know this isn't just about me leaving."
She couldn't say for sure and remained quiet.
"That's what I thought," he said.
Sliding her fingertips along his cheek, she knitted her brow. "Jonathan, do you know when next we will see each other?"
"You mean after I go?"
She nodded.
His face fell. "I'll be back."
Letting her fingers caress his skin, she didn't agree or disagree – even though she feared he wouldn't return. With each caress, she felt his breathing become more labored.
"I feel for you. I consider you my closest friend. I cherish our time together, even look forward to it – which is rare for a Vulcan," she whispered. "Is that not enough?"
He let out a sigh. "What about for the next three weeks, not just today?"
"You're concerned I will feel differently?"
"Yes," he said.
"I won't."
"What about if I return?"
"You have told me: there are no guarantees in life. Perhaps we should be concerned about that when the time approaches."
To sway him, she spread her fingers into the Vulcan greeting and glided her index and middle fingers along his jaw, running her ring and pinky finger along his throat.
"Let me show you, in human terms, how I feel."
His breath stuttered, and for a moment he looked conflicted. Winding her fingers along his throat to neck of his sweatshirt, she tried to convince him.
"You said you feel love for me?" she asked, her voice quiet.
"Yes," he said, in a low voice. His brow furrowed and his eyes held the same fear when he'd whispered it to her the other day.
"Tell me," she said.
He mimicked her motions, swerving his fingers along her jaw, and answered her in a hushed voice.
"I can't stop thinking about you … about being with you, listening to you, enjoying your company."
Smiling, he continued. "I think about the amusing things you say, your intelligence and wisdom. I think about time we've spent together on Enterprise and how there were many times I couldn't have gone on without you. I think about the last few weeks with you …."
Her fingers darted over his lips and he closed his eyes as he whispered through them.
"I can't stop thinking about holding you in my arms and kissing you. I can't stop thinking about taking you to my bed."
He opened his eyes.
"Show me," she whispered.
Unexpectedly, his tongue darted out to flick at her fingers as if he knew a Vulcan mating practice, one that was used during Pon Farr to stoke the fires that burned; it was a signal between partners that the blood fever needed to be extinguished. Startled, she drew her hand away and before she could respond, he pressed his mouth against hers. The kiss was deep and long, and before she could catch her breath, she felt his lips and tongue on her neck and ears.
The caresses became more intense over the next hour, as if he were aflame, until she pushed his sweatshirt from his chest. Reeling back, she watched his cheeks flush as he stood, tugging at her hand to join him.
"Yes," she said at the unasked question.
And with that, he scooped her into his arms and wandered into the bedroom shutting the door before Porthos could trot in after them.
---
A chime at the door brought Archer to consciousness.
Opening his eyes slowly, he saw T'Pol wound in his sheets curled up next to him dead to the world. Her shoulder-length hair was draped over his pillow – fanned out – and her lips were barely parted.
With a sigh, he gazed at her – only for a second – before carefully climbing out of bed and putting his clothes on. Running the last bit before the door could chime again and wake T'Pol, he opened it without looking at who his visitor was. With a smile on both faces, Archer saw his friend.
"Shran!" he said.
Before Archer could say anything else, the blue man pushed past him and entered his apartment. Taking a look at his open bedroom door, Jon thought about heading straight over there to close it, when the Andorian sniffed at the air.
"I heard that humans weren't tidy, but …. Your house smells like animals have mated."
Jon furrowed his brow and made his way nonchalantly to his bedroom to close the door. When his hand was on the knob and before he could stop his blue friend, the Andorian made his way to the living room to sit down. Holding up a sweatshirt, one that had been pushed off his shoulders last night, his antennae whirled.
"You need a woman to clean up after you! Human cleanliness is worse than I've heard."
Just as Archer had nearly closed his door, feeling he was scot-free, a voice managed to break through the brief silence.
"Jonathan?" T'Pol asked.
The Andorian stood up. "What was that?"
Archer poked his head around the door. T'Pol was sitting up, the sheet around her with a confused expression on her face, and Archer smiled.
"Shran stopped by. He's in the living room."
"Oh."
"Want me to fix you something? Tea?"
"Yes," she said. "May I use your shower?"
"Yeah. There are clean towels under the sink," he said. He produced a gentle smile. "I … uh … I'll talk with you soon."
There was more he wanted to say, but it would have to wait. Closing the door behind him, he turned to the Andorian who beamed from ear-to-ear, almost directly behind him.
"So I did smell the mating of animals!" he said.
Archer frowned, going to his kitchen to make tea, Shran traveling directly behind him.
Jon said, "You can give me a hard time, but leave her alone."
The man's antennae drooped. "All right." And with mischief, he prodded his friend. "How was it?"
A grin sheepishly worked onto Jon's face, one that he attempted in vain to hide.
"Great," he said.
Shran gave a deep laugh as Archer refrained from giving a chuckle, one that he could feel tickle his stomach.
"I knew it was only a matter of time!" Shran said.
"You want some tea, too?"
Wincing he shuddered. "Do you have ale?"
"It's eight in the morning."
"So?"
"You just got out of the hospital."
"Nothing brings an Andorian back to health more than ale."
"How about some coffee?"
The Andorian frowned. "Fine."
Archer went about making the substance as the Andorian gloated behind him. "I knew the two of you would end up in bed together. Although I have to admit I thought it would happen sooner. The way you two were in bed together after your injury sustained from the disruptor, I thought you two would be tyla-tora in no time."
The human shook his head, ignoring the jibes. Although he wasn't sure what tyla-tora meant, he decided he understood the connotation.
"Still glad to be here for this occasion," Shran said.
"Why are you here?"
"I heard that you were leaving for the front from General Krag. Is that true?"
"News gets around." The blue man looked serious, waiting for a response. "Yeah, it's true."
"I was afraid so."
"Who will replace you on the Council?"
"If you haven't noticed there isn't a Council."
"There's me, you and your mate," Shran said.
Growing a little serious, Archer poured coffee for the two and sat down at the table next to Shran. "She's not really my mate."
"You two--?"
"We did. But, it's not really that simple."
"I thought it was Earth tradition?"
Perplexed, Archer shook his head. "No."
"You people are confusing. Why not?"
"It just isn't."
"You had me looking forward to pointy-eared Pink Skins for a moment." He leaned in. "You mated with her without feeling love?" Suddenly the man's antennae poked forward threateningly. "I would hope you would treat T'Pol better than that."
Easing his hands in front of him, he tried to explain. "I do love her, it's just --" interrupted by T'Pol entering the room.
"You have tea?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said. He got up and poured a cup, watching the Andorian beam. "You're up late, Vulcan. I wanted to ask you something."
"Shran," Archer warned.
T'Pol peaked her brow as the blue man backed off. "What?"
"We had an agreement."
"I didn't say anything!" Shran said.
"Keep it that way."
Shran frowned. "Well, I was going to say if the Council does reconvene, I'm ready." As if to make a point, he thudded his coffee mug onto the table and gave a nasty look to Jon.
"Thanks for the coffee," Shran said.
Archer nodded and the blue man walked out, looking back over his shoulder once and then sighing. When the door shut, T'Pol noted quietly.
"Shran seems to have impeccable timing."
He chucked under his breath. "A sixth sense."
Sliding in to sit across from her, he gave her a lopsided smile. He put down his mug and leaned forward to touch hands as she accepted them.
"You're not sorry, are you?" he asked.
"No." Gazing at him with confusion, she stated again. "No."
"The melding last night--" he whispered.
"I wanted to see into your mind."
"It was …."
"More intimate than our physical union?"
"Yes."
"You do not regret that decision, do you?"
"No." He hesitated for a moment, thinking back to last night.
After the most intimate of acts, they both lay on their side watching each other – satisfied and awestruck (at least him). Stroking his temple, she whispered so quietly he wasn't sure he heard her correctly.
"I would like to do something."
A few playful thoughts came to his brain, but he shooed them away; she seemed serious.
"What?" he asked.
"I would like to engage in a practice that allows me to share my thoughts with you."
"A mind meld?"
"Yes."
A smile worked its way to his mouth. Although he shouldn't have known this, he knew Vulcans were selective about who they shared their minds with. It made the honor more important.
"All right," he said. It hadn't taken him long to make the decision and he guessed that she was surprised by it.
Leaning in for another kiss, he felt her fingers touch his temple, the side of his nose and jaw. The moment he scooted toward her to let his bare legs touch hers, he felt her mind open up to him – one that was highly ordered and organized, as if multiple processors churned on various bits of data at the same time. Like a sea of white, her inner thoughts were calming and serene with the occasional bobble of emotion; even those were smoothed out by utter calm.
Few things seemed to move her other than beauty, sacrifice and loyalty. Seeing into her mind, he knew that he moved her. Instances in their past had proved sacrifice and loyalty. She believed there was always an essence of beauty in him, but never would've fathomed its depth had he not confessed his love for her.
As the meld continued and she searched his thoughts about her, he showed her what she meant to him – years of friendship that little by little grew to more until it evolved into longing; it gave her pause, and the intensity of the moment made her retract her fingers ending their link.
They kissed again, both the human style and Vulcan, and then she turned over, curling into his stomach ready to accept sleep as he spooned around her. Although she was still in his arms, he could feel she was restless.
"You shouldn't worry you don't feel the same, T'Pol," he whispered. "You're Vulcan."
He could see her nuzzling the pillow, even in the dark. "I never performed a mind meld with Trip," she said. "Humans …."
"I think I understand a little better," he told her. He snuggled her into him.
"As do I," she said, with a troubled voice.
With that, the two fell asleep.
"Do you regret melding?" he asked.
The Vulcan shivered slightly as if remembering as well. "No."
Leaving his chair, he sat in the one directly next to her.
T'Pol said, "When I melded with Hoshi, the experience was almost as if she whispered the events of Phlox's kidnapping to me and yet I could see it with my mind's eye. Exchanging thoughts with you was different."
"You and Hoshi weren't sharing emotion."
"No, we were not." She shook her head and her gaze fell to her lap. "That's not exactly what I have been concerned about."
"What is it?"
"There is a Vulcan ritual, where two minds become intertwined."
Scanning his memory, he couldn't decipher the concept. It seemed he didn't remember everything from Surak's katra.
"It is called a bond," she said.
He waited.
"It is difficult to explain in human terms, but … imagine two beings latched to each other exchanging thoughts and ideas simply by using their minds."
"Telepathy?"
"Precisely. There is another connotation though. Sharing this telepath link means the two of us would be …."
"Married?" he asked, a little astonished.
"No," she said. "I don't believe you have a word for it. We would be … linked."
He asked, "How does a bond happen?"
"I am wholly uncertain. I know I developed one with Trip more than a year after we were intimate. The cause is mysterious." She paused as if trying to recall memories. "Perhaps it was caused by Elizabeth. When Phlox indicated I had a daughter, I could somehow sense her as if perhaps she was the reason for the bond. And when she died, the bond with Trip was broken."
She became silent at the mention of her late child. Jerking his head back, he asked her a question as his hands instinctively knew to comfort her – folding over hers.
"And you think because we were intimate that we will develop one?" he asked.
"Although at the moment our two species are incapable of offspring, I wonder if there could be other triggers." Pausing and searching his face, she spoke. "It is one of the reasons I wanted to meld. I wanted to determine if a connection had been sparked."
"I see."
Running two fingers along his, she reassured him. "Sharing our thoughts was my primary reason. This was a convenient way to also establish if there was more between us."
"I didn't doubt that." He smiled softly. "So, did you … sense anything?"
"No." She sounded neither disappointed nor happy; her tone was flat.
"What if you were telepathically linked with me?"
"Having the connection presents challenges. Trip's thoughts were sometimes distracting."
He gave a lopsided grin.
"And he indicated sometimes while I meditated, he daydreamed."
"Sounds like your thoughts were distracting as well."
"Perhaps." An eyebrow rose at the comment.
"Maybe we can cross that bridge if it happens. You said even your bond with Trip faded."
"It did … when Elizabeth perished."
He hands smoothed over hers, and he spoke softly to her. "So even if one develops there's no guarantee my thoughts will … distract you."
A twinkle formed in her eye.
"I think it's worth the risk," he said.
He'd intended just to stroke her cheek, but was elated that she leaned over to press her mouth to his. When she backed away, a twinkle formed in her eye.
"Jonathan, you asked if I regretted my decision." Holding his chin in her fingers she rubbed her nose along his. "Nothing could be further from the truth."
He kissed her again.
"Are you doing anything today?" he asked. In his mind he'd planned out a lazy day of spending time together, he didn't really care what they were doing.
"There is Sera's funeral."
"That's right." In the excitement, he'd momentarily forgotten about the sage lady who had graced the Council for more than six years. He nodded with a frown. "I'm sorry. I know you liked her, so did I."
"It is unfortunate." She set her tea down and held his hand in hers. "I researched the customs around funerals for many species including the Xindi."
Brushing a hair away from her face, he asked. "What do the Xindi do?"
"They celebrate life."
"Like some humans." He gave a sad smile. "I think Sera would've liked that."
"Indeed."
"How do they celebrate?"
"I can show you." Whispering into his ear, she tugged at his hand. "Come with me to bed."
TBC
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A/N: I tried to get this out before the holidays. I apologize for typos and information that seems incomplete.