A/N: I'm so sorry it's been so long since I've updated. Not only has life been a bit busier than normal, thanks to the holidays which lasted past January for me, but I had a little trouble writing this chapter.
--
Many events happened during the next 17 days.
The Terrans became more nervous as Starfleet ships left one after another, deployed to fight the Romulans or sent to guard Earth and its colonies. More humans left planets not contained within the Sol system to head to Mars, the moon or Earth where they decided protection would be greatest. Even the humans on Titan, one of Jupiter's moons, were nervous despite the small base of Starfleet personnel and the ships that patrolled the perimeter.
Humans on the planet hadn't fared much better. It was too soon after the Xindi attack, one that killed seven million of its inhabitants. False alarms at shuttle stations, in shopping centers and near complexes where aliens dwelled were reported on a daily basis.
Earth's vessels were amassing, waiting for final instructions before delivering the first offensive. And the humans held their collective breaths to see exactly what an alien, one completely unknown to them, had in store for their race, planet and colonies.
The blue warrior race, the Andorians, on the other hand was used to war. Their planet ramped up with efficiency and ease. Although the Andorian people were nervous about joining forces with both the Vulcans and the Tellarites, they thought of the glory of the Andorian people once they remained victorious, and they believed they would be.
Until Tahor, one of Andorian's colonies - an outer one - was attacked. Orion ships amassed around the planet, like an armada, to destroy the outpost and the more than 300 Andorians on it. It was an execution. As soon as General Krag, the Andorians leader heard the news, he sent Andorian ships – outside of the declaration (the agreement) they'd signed with Vulcan, Tellar and Earth – to strike back by leading a major military effort against Orion. Taking troops away from the front, Andoria re-assigned them to engage the Orions at a location on the edge of the Andromeda galaxy, near Sol.
The move caused Earth, Tellar and Vulcan to protest loudly, pointedly and with reason that the races needed to work together, else they would crumble at the Romulan's defeat. Although Andoria's General Krag apologized in quiet, his words and tone to his people were far from it. Shran, a smart and reasonable man … a friend to T'Pol, defended his leader's position staunchly. As was common for those of his race who approved of war, he took a blade to his hand and cut the skin so that blue drops fell heavily onto the ground. And then with a yellow bandage, he wrapped it, wearing it like a badge of honor.
Vulcan wasn't immune to unrest. Minister T'Pau uncovered five other Romulan agents who appeared as Vulcans relaying military secrets and trying to undermine the Vulcan High Command. Of course, she didn't share that information with many; however, she did share it with T'Pol. The two women, though neither would say so, were nervous.
In addition, many of T'Pau's people were dismayed, if an emotion was assigned, at the seemingly aggressive nature of the Vulcans, arguing that the Kir'Shara preached peace even at the expense of being killed. Although it wasn't T'Pau's interpretation (nor T'Pol's), the movement was gaining momentum.
There were also those who were simply dismayed, they decided logically so, that Vulcan had allied with an age-old enemy, the Andorians, and wondered why they would befriend strange barbarians from a planet with mostly water, the Terrans. They also pondered the reason behind supporting the most annoying species they'd encountered – Tellarites. It wasn't Surak's way to hold prejudice, but Vulcan had to remain pure to a certain extent to keep the planet from reverting back to the dark days before logic.
And then there were some that questioned why an emotional Vulcan attached to Earth, one that had already served with them, was allowed to negotiate for the entire planet. T'Pol was beginning to develop a reputation with her people. Behind her back they called her: V'Tosh Ka'Tur. A noun, one that meaning she was the Vulcan without logic. A few attempted to voice their concerns to T'Pau, but the minister stayed steadfast in her choice.
Tellar had problems, too. Tyr, the leader of his people, was the greatest debater on his planet and yet he was caught in a debate with the Parliament of "why being involved in the war was a good idea." Government affairs came to a standstill as the debate dragged on. Tellarites waited, almost with baited breath, questioning who would finally win and yet paralyzed until there was a decided victor. It caused their people to debate each other on the same issue, hoping for some resolution.
Gral hadn't recovered yet. He was still in ICU with tubes and instruments swirling out, in and around his body. Phlox, assigned to the case, was optimistic, but cautiously so. He'd indicated the man would take months before fully recovering. Much like Vulcans, Tellars induced a light coma to heal; Phlox associated it to hibernating, saving vital functions while repairing the body and reserving strength. There were no guarantees about when Gral would awake and no one – not even a Tellar – could predict that date.
Shran, Jhamel, Archer and T'Pol attended many funerals, as did many of the top brass of Starfleet. The services of Sera, Kator, ambassadors, janitors and interns from the devastating bombing of the Federation building all had varying customs – wailing, eternal celebrations of life and remembrances.
Sera's was a testament to her – held at her house (one that her husband still occupied). Friends and family were invited to say a few words and share stories about the ambassador and finally as the sunset everyone departed. During the service, which Jonathan called "beautiful," T'Pol held two fingers down at her side – out of anyone's vision – with her former captain. Through their touch, she gathered strength and sadness, feeling more forlorn than if she hadn't rubbed fingers with him at all. And yet, their connection felt comforting, as if she wasn't experiencing grief and pain alone.
Kator's funeral had wailers, women crying at the top of their lungs, to grieve the dead man. Some of these women were family members – distantly so – and some were paid to grieve, a concept that seemed most illogical to T'Pol. As they held his body – what remained of it – aloft, wrapped in a shroud, they made their way in a procession to a pyre. Hoisting the body onto the flaming pit, the wailers pulled at their hair, danced wildly and cried again as the fire engulfed the body. This time through the touches between her and Jonathan, she could feel his heart pounding; the service was strange and tribal to him. There was sadness, but there was also fear and curiosity. Her first inclination was to remove her fingers and retract from his emotion, but instead, she held steadfast and shared her own thoughts: wonder and confusion.
There were a few things that hadn't changed. Starfleet security was still investigating the bombing and trying to determine a culprit. Because of the damage done to the area of the blast, no fingerprints or DNA could be retrieved. Security cameras, ones that had already been cataloged showed nothing out of the ordinary. It was a quandary, and even Malcolm Reed – a man great tenacity – was stumped. And to the Vulcan, she began to suspect they'd never determine a culprit, and the crime would remain a mystery.
There was another unknown that hadn't been solved, and it was much worse. The aides on the Excelsior hadn't been heard from and hadn't been spotted, despite many sweeps by Starfleet vessels of nearby planets. There was talk supposing they'd been captured or killed. Either way, it was an unfortunate and realistic conclusion. At some point they'd have to declare these people lost or dead.
The only thing that had remained constant, a welcome relief and surprise, was T'Pol's relationship with Jonathan. Although the two had developed a physical relationship, he didn't demand more of her time, insist on touching her (fingers or lips) when others were present and he seemed mindful of her need to meditate and be alone. In fact, he'd acted exactly as he had before, precisely the exact opposite of how she anticipated he would behave. It amazed her that he took their relationship for exactly what it was without questioning her constantly or asking her to clarify it. And oddly, their physical relationship hadn't hampered their friendship, on the contrary, their intimacy made them closer friends.
Most likely this closeness was the reason she began melding with him more often.
Reaching into his mind and sharing his thoughts was satisfying in a way she hadn't hypothesized it would be. He was a man of great passions, fiercely so, which had astonished her. She knew he was emotional in the sense that all humans are, but she hadn't expected him to have such power and intensity to his feelings. Love, anger, frustration – they raged inside him like a fire that had been stoked - and yet the embers of that heat rarely made it to the surface. She also hadn't known it would be so easy to share his thoughts and that he would be so willing. The idea of what was secluded and clandestine to him running through her mind intrigued her. When she melded with him, he let her turn over information and examine it.
One other thing surprised her, and made her somewhat uncomfortable; he'd cared about her for a long time … even before she and Trip had shared their bodies, he'd cared for her in some fashion. As if the feeling wasn't allowed to exist, he'd purged it from his mind and left it in solitude until she arrived on Earth … when suddenly the idea germinated they could have more. He'd fought it, deeply, hoping to be only satisfied with friendship; but once she'd questioned his feelings, he couldn't remove the notion from his mind. And when he'd seen her emerge charred and rumpled after the explosion, with streaks of dust on her face and clothes, his heart had sung with triumph: "T'Pol is alive!" In desperation he'd kissed her, and doing so only made him want more. The electricity he felt had been unlike any he could remember. She could see in his mind's eye that even his knees had weakened at the caress of their lips.
There was something else yet to be anticipated. As the weeks rolled by she felt emotions she hadn't experienced in some time: the idea of Archer leaving disrupted her serenity. There were other feelings that surfaced, some of them were unknown to her.
When she'd entered the relationship, kissing him, it had been impulsive – a reaction to confounding emotions. By taking up with him, she realized something she had not understood before: she was attached to him. Coming back to Earth, accepting a role as ambassador on his planet … she'd partly done these things to be near him, because it had always been safe and comfortable even when he was merely her friend.
All of these thoughts and feelings made her wonder.
---
Archer felt like the next 17 days were a blur, one day warping into the next, maybe because there was so much to do. Besides the funerals, he had to pack everything he needed for the next few months … or years … crammed into a smaller than small space on the Potomac. He also spent a great deal of time reading over the battle plans and strategies that had been created.
It reminded him that the data they knew about the Romulans was limited, severely so, which meant it was impossible to determine if the plans of attack would succeed. It was all guesswork.
He also ran errands, things that needed to be done before he left – paying bills, scheduling dates to turn off electricity and contacting a lawyer to update his will. His last will and testament hadn't been updated since before he left for Enterprise more than ten years ago. In fact, before it was updated, he'd had A.G.'s name … and Trip's. The fact that he'd have to update his will at all sent a chill over him. Maybe it was his older age, but he felt the uncertainty – not that he'd ever voice it – that this time he wouldn't make it out.
During the time preparing for war, he'd also been invited to nearly everyone's house he knew – Malcolm, Shran, Hoshi, Gardner's …. T'Pol tagged along at most events, watching with what he imagined disapproval and a little dismay at his leaving. And at each event, he held himself at bay, struggling not to put his arm around her or snuggle her into him. Instead, he saved those moments of romanticism for when they were home and his movements would be welcome. Besides, he figured, it would be easier for her – without getting questions that were really nobody's business. It may also enable her to move on.
Moving on ….
The two had veered away from discussing what happened next and in many ways he could tell she wanted to leave it nebulous – allowing for whatever happened to just happen. And yet, he knew this woman; she was loyal to a fault. When he left, he envisioned her watching out her living room window every night and staring up at the heavens to think about him.
There'd be many moments where the Potomac would need to travel in communication silence, and he'd be unable to contact her for long periods of time.
Hardly a relationship.
Not the kind she deserves.
Breaking up with girlfriends wasn't any new skill for Jon Archer. He'd ended most of the relationships he'd begun. There'd been a few he hadn't, although he'd given uncaring vibes which prompted girlfriends to put the kibosh on it. For example, Caroline had a job offer in New Berlin. Instead of talking her out of it, he'd assumed she would turn it down (there'd been other offers before), so he treated the news as if she'd decline by spending just as much time in the lab working on the NX ship.
Big mistake. It took her less than one week to accept the offer.
And looking back, he wasn't sure why he was surprised she left. Doesn't mean he didn't feel sorry for himself the day she did, or even a few days after.
Yeah, he was good at ending relationships and he'd had a lot of practice, but T'Pol was different. Unlike Caroline, he actually cared about the Vulcan enough to question the duty that Starfleet asked him to perform. He spent less time committed to reviewing plans and strategies, refusing to let himself become overly focused. That was unlike him.
There were other signs. A large part of Jon wanted the woman to remain loyal to him, to give up her life waiting for him to return. And yet, he loved her enough he didn't want her to suffer so. It was a confusing mix of emotions.
It was love.
If she can promise me she'll continue on with her life, maybe we can leave it nebulous.
Of course, in leaving it nebulous, he'd think about only her. In his cabin, when he was alone, he'd dream of being in her arms again and sharing his thoughts with her.
He'd miss that.
Jon never thought of T'Pol as austere, even if she sometimes seemed at times a little cold. While they melded, she'd show that her thoughts were much softer and warmer than he could've imagined. Her logical mask was just that – a mask – and the feelings that bubbled beneath the surface had yearning, as if they'd longed to break free. She'd show private moments, completely unexpected, like losing her mother and daughter. Those events still bothered her, prickling her skin and threatening to sting her eyes, so he held her and cooed into her ear as she reflected on those moments.
He'd loved few women, truly, over his long lifespan, but he was certain he loved her with a pain that made their departure much more difficult than he'd expected, and he'd anticipated it would suck. A lot.
He'd miss her.
The two had planned for him to spend his last evening at her apartment and then the next morning she would accompany him to the Potomac. It appealed to him – to stay in her bed and savor the taste and smell of her before leaving for battle. In a way, he believed it would carry him until he saw her again, if he ever did.
---
Three hours. It took three hours for the shuttle to fly from Sausalito to space dock, slip 17. T'Pol accompanied Archer the entire way, her fingers mingling with his, the sensation of it tickling with the same intensity as a small electric charge – the kind she received when she traveled back in time to Detroit and placed her finger too near a light socket.
Now, rather than surreptitiously allow their hands to make contact, she flaunted it by allowing their touches to be viewed, which she could tell bemused and astonished Jonathan.
Not half as much as the amazement he apparently felt last night, she thought
She'd greeted him at the door naked.
There was a particular meditation that Vulcans sometimes resorted to, one that would ease their minds and katras, where the participant would disrobe to feel the inter-connectedness of the universe and absorb logic. Pure logic. T'Pol began such an encounter by disrobing and looking into the flame pot located in her living room.
After a few hours, Jonathan, scheduled to arrive at her abode at seven, turned up early. He'd been relieved from a meeting, the last one before his voyage, earlier than he'd thought and had chimed the door. When she noted who was on the other side, she let him in without bothering to clothe herself.
He'd seen it before.
The moment he slipped into her apartment, he'd thrown her a smile.
"This is a nice surprise," he said.
With a slight creep of her eyebrow, she recalled it was sometime later before the two consumed dinner. The thought made her slide her index finger along his.
But last night wasn't just about physical comfort.
The two had talked about everything that they could shove into one night, staying up quite late, lying next to each other in bed in the dark. The whisperings included when he thought he might be able to contact her again, where his updated will was located and how lucky he was to have this final moment with her before he left.
During the discussion, they came to a strange agreement. He asked her, to use his words, "To continue living her life." She hardly imagined herself waiting – unable to act – until he returned, but she understood his connotation.
He said, "You're too loyal. If a man comes into your life …."
The idea was ludicrous. She mimicked his words, certain how he would react. "If a woman comes into yours …."
Even in the dark, she could see him furrow his brow. It's why she leaned over and let her lips fall on his. The man had no intention of seeing other women. And when he threatened to speak again, to clarify and talk about her future, she shut him up with further embraces.
Some things were best left undefined, and he eventually saw her side of he argument after some cajoling.
As they settled into the quiet, Porthos hopped on her bed, which didn't bother her as much as she would've supposed it would. Jonathan dislodged his dog only slightly to snuggle T'Pol into his arms. As she fell asleep she thought about this may be the last moment they have together as a couple.
Quickly she took her fingers from his.
"You okay?" he asked. A frown worked on his face, as if he could almost sense her emotions.
"Of course."
Risking a glance to the pilot, he pressed his lips against her temple and then whispered in her ear.
"Ashal-veh."
The word was Vulcan, and he'd picked it up in the second week of their courtship as if to prove he could say at least one thing in her native language. It had secretly amused her, mostly because Vulcans hardly ever spoke to each other so. She flattened her lips as she saw a smile creep across his; she also knew he used this word to challenge her.
"I will feel your absence," she whispered. "I regret that our minds won't merge for some time."
"I'll miss you, too," he said.
Occasionally time seemed to stand still, typically at important ventures. Vulcans of course dismissed the information as illogical, but she felt the seconds creep by as she looked into his face again and he turned his dark eyes to her. A connection had been made between the two, perhaps not bondmates (as she'd discovered through the series of mind melds the two had, almost with disappointment), but one that she'd deemed profound.
It wasn't every day that one could acknowledge having a best friend, lover and mind-mate, if the word existed, all wrapped up in one man. On Vulcan, such arrangements were rare and highly sought after. T'hy'la.
If only we had more time, we could've bonded.
A large silver ship encased by an enormous metal structure floating around Jupiter appeared in the window and immediately her mate stood and placed his hand against the wall of the shuttle.
"It almost looks like Enterprise," he said.
With wide eyes, she joined her companion and then watched his face.
It's not Enterprise, though. And I won't be at your side.
---
Archer leaned his head against the window, remembering seeing Enterprise for the first time. His old ship, and he thought of it as his, had the colors just right, as if he'd painted every centimeter himself. As captain of the vessel, he shouldn't have had any say (or care) what color it was, after all it belonged to someone else, but he'd wormed his way into voicing his opinion in the matter. He'd even pulled a few strings to get the gun metal silver just right.
Glancing at T'Pol, who looked almost as disappointed as he was, he reminded himself of one vital fact.
But, this isn't my ship.
The Potomac was someone else's vessel; it belonged to Chris Richards.
It wasn't just that, it didn't have the same meaty feel of Enterprise. The Potomac was sleeker, with a larger bridge located higher on the vessel and the nacelles were elongated for increased warp capacity. It also held more crewmen: more than 100. Being the fourth in the series of NX-class, it could travel to warp 7, provide a better phaser yield and even had shields – thanks to the Andorians – limited though they were.
When the ship docked, Archer steeled himself, holding the leash for Porthos tighter than most likely was necessary. The pomp and circumstance of welcoming a commanding officer would be tiresome, and though he'd wanted to slink back into his quarters and put away his things, while spending a few moments alone with T'Pol, he knew it wouldn't be good for morale. Before war, the men demanded a senior officer to smile as if the mission would succeed and lives wouldn't be lost.
It was a hard lesson, one he'd learned during the Expanse.
Taking a giant step toward the door that separated the shuttle and the Potomac, he noticed T'Pol stood at his side so he held two fingers up for her. It was, to the two of them, a clear sign they were a couple. Secretly, to him, it meant he didn't give a damn who knew about their affair.
The moment the door slid open and a pipe welcomed him on board, he took on his hawk-like expression, one that served to inspire fear in the Expanse, and pretended to examine the men, leaving T'Pol's side and letting the Beagles leash fall to the floor. Captain Richards, a man about 5'9" with dark brown hair and brown eyes stared back at the admiral. Archer stuck out his hand.
"Welcome aboard, sir," Chris Richards said. His hand grasped back, and the younger man pumped it with a beaming smile.
"Thank you."
"Ambassador T'Pol," Chris said, "It's a real honor to meet you."
He was wise enough to keep his hands to his side, but T'Pol raised an eyebrow and offered hers, which he accepted.
"The honor is returned."
Chris jabbed his thumb to an eager black man that hung slightly behind, beaming. "Lt. Mayweather has been waiting for this moment."
Archer's smile grew and threw his hand out, while clasping his back. "It's good to see you again, Travis."
"Likewise, sir." He then turned his outrageous smile to T'Pol. "Nice to see you, too, Ma'am."
Jon gave a purring laugh as T'Pol pointed an eyebrow to him.
Archer was introduced to the bridge crew. Ensign Xavier Mathers, a communications whiz – had a specialty in electronics and hacking, at least that's what Jon had read in the bio. He was a mere kid, about 24-years of age with jet black hair, beady blue eyes and glasses. He'd earned a bit of a reputation at Starfleet Academy. Apparently, he tampered with, hacked, communication devices, receiving a two-week suspension. When the sharpest technology and communications folks couldn't fix it, he was asked to come back (before his suspension was up) and restore it. It also earned him a nickname of X. Jon decided not to tip his hand on this knowledge. The kid deserved a little mystery.
The security officer was a woman – Commander Rita Hayes – with long red hair and deep brown eyes, Archer wondered if she was named after the actress from the 20th century. He'd read she served on the Columbia until two years ago, one of the ones he'd recommended to Erika years ago. Coming aboard Potomac was a promotion, and it turned out in the end, a life saver.
The engineer was a familiar face.
"Commander Kelby?" Archer asked.
Although the young man wasn't so young and had gained a little weight, there was a maturity about him that he hadn't achieved back on Enterprise. Sometimes Jon regretted promoting the guy; he wasn't sure why Trip had recommended him for the position. Then again, Starfleet promotions were sometimes given to people who didn't merit them.
"Pleased to see you again, sir," Kelby said.
"Same here."
"Nice to see you," he said awkwardly to T'Pol.
She returned the sentiment.
And last but not least, a 60-year old doctor who'd crossed his arms, as if he hated ceremonies, waited to be introduced. The man had a full head of wild, white hair, almost like pictures of Albert Einstein, and gray eyes.
The reports on him were wide and varied. People loved him or they hated him. During the triage people loved him. When he was transferred aboard the Lexington, people hated him. Here he seemed to be doing all right.
"Chief Medical Officer Ralph Higgins. People call me Higs."
Archer stuffed his hand in Ralph's. "Read that you served in a triage center in Brazil after the Xindi attack."
The man stared him in the eye. "Damned scary times. The wounded there …." He paused, as if wishing to forget. "Since we're the saltiest dogs on this ship, I should let you know I got a case of whiskey with me. I like to have a snort off hours."
"So do I."
"Nice to meet you, Ambassador." He nodded to the Vulcan.
She nodded, as well as said a few pleasantries.
Captain Richards turned to Travis. "Want to show the admiral to his room, Lieutenant Mayweather?"
Travis grinned. "You bet."
"We'll see you at the party at 1700," the captain said.
Archer nodded and the two parted ways as he slung the bags over his shoulder – after fighting off Mayweather for them- as T'Pol walking at his side, holding Porthos' leash. The dog trotted along as if he belonged on the vessel.
He gave them a small tour, showing Archer where the Mess Hall was for the festivities, and continued to his room.
"I know it's none of my business ….," Travis started.
Archer gave T'Pol a quick glance. "T'Pol and I have a relationship, Travis."
The words delivered were meant as a period, to end a conversation.
Mayweather stopped, looked back at both of them, and continued forward as if too stunned to speak. After a few moment passed, he clarified his intentions.
"Sir, I was going to say it was none of my business about you accepting such a small room."
The admiral coughed. "I see. Well, I know Chris … err Captain Richards is running short on space and I didn't want to be a bother."
Travis nodded awkwardly.
There was silence until Travis stopped at the door he'd been aiming for and entered a code. Archer strode in, put his things down and then felt like there was more he had to say.
"T'Pol isn't staying with me in here … if that's what you were wondering."
"I was kinda wondering there for a minute," Travis said.
T'Pol watched the two humans become silent, and then she said a few things. "Does this concern you, Travis?"
"Kinda." Without staying to talk about it, he left the room and Archer's shoulders sagged.
"I'll see you at the reception tonight."
The man nodded and uneasily backed away from the room. "Sounds good, sir."
When the door slid shut, Archer turned to the Vulcan. "I think we succeeded in freaking him out."
"It appears it doesn't take much."
He laughed and then wrapped her into his arms. "The shuttle is scheduled to leave in less than thirty minutes."
T'Pol nodded, her chin then resting against her chest. "Yes."
An earnest smile overtook his face and she found herself reaching to his temples to meld with him one last time. It was brief, but enough to see how much they meant to each other and how deep the absence would be felt to each.
When they eventually broke apart, he patted Porthos on the head and walked her back to the shuttle. As they stood in front of it, he kissed her, briefly, goodbye. The last gesture between them was her fingers to his as she whispered to him.
"Live long and prosper."
"Peace and long life. I look forward to seeing you again."
She punched the door closed, before she'd needed to, hoping to stifle an emotional outburst from either of them. When the door closed, she sighed deep and low until the shuttle pilot cleared his throat and asked if she was ready to disembark. A single nod was her answer, and she flew back to Earth without bothering to look back at the Potomac. It pained her too deeply.
Meanwhile on the other side, Archer put his hand to the cold, steel framework that separated them and had the most peculiar thought overcome him.
"Ashau."
Maybe he'd heard T'Pol mention the word before; it sounded Vulcan.
Shaking the cobwebs from his mind, he scratched his head and decided he'd have to look that word up later, after the party. Rounding bend after bend, tying to remember exactly where the party was, he came upon Travis. The man didn't look his congenial self. He had a decided frown on his face and nursed an alcoholic beverage.
"T'Pol?" he asked.
Archer answered his friend head on. "Is our relationship that unusual?"
"No." The helmsman shook his head. "What bothers me, sir, is she's not on this mission. Seeing the two of you together seemed like old times."
His chocolate eyes lit up as he continued. "A bunch of us on Enterprise used to think she was good luck. With her around, we always managed to get out of the hard scrapes."
Archer softened. "We did at that."
"We could use a little luck this time. I hear we're headed straight into Romulan territory."
Archer nodded.
"Then we could use a hell of a lot of luck."
Higs rounded the corner holding a bottle of whiskey. "Admiral! I decided to bring you a welcome to Potomac present. Mind you, being your doctor, I think you should take it easy on this."
"Then you'll have to give me a hand with it," Archer said, smiling.
"Hoped you'd say that. Travis said you used to carry some 30-year old Scotch with you."
Jon gave a grudging smile. "I did."
"Not do?" Higs asked.
Archer laughed. "No."
Higs shrugged. "Well, you better get in the Mess Hall, you got a heap of people waiting to greet you."
As the doctor headed forward, toward the room, Archer took Travis' arm.
"Everything will be okay … even without T'Pol."
"Yes, sir."
He nodded, as if to convince himself those words were true.
--
A/N:
For those who miss Shran and Gral, no fear! More of them next chapter.
For those who want more action with the Romulans (finally), no fear! More of that next chapter.
For those who think, "God, no more romance!" We'll take a break after this chapter. Seems like that plot point deserved to be wrapped up.
For those who think, "Oh no! No more romance!" We're taking a break. They'll be more later. Just not the kind you expect.
If I've missed anyone, let me know.