A/N: I occasionally read other authors who have their works accidentally deleted and always think, "Awwww, that's awful." After having fifteen pages erased, I can now say: I'm sorry for not being more sympathetic. It's really irritating.
Anyway, here's my second attempt.
Night's Darkness, I love Shran, too and I'm glad you're enjoying his interactions with T'Pol. I had planned on having a moment with Shran and Tares, but your enthusiasm made me devote more time to it. Thanks for the feedback.
ArafelSedai, as always, thank you. And, I loved Babylon 5 as well.
----
Before hitting the Situation Room, Archer stood on the Bridge looking at two more green vessels shimmering onto the view screen as Richards staggered. These ships were like hawks – giant wings spread out as if to sweep up prey, and a bulb at the head of the vessel that resembled a head of a bird. Painted on their undercarriage were wings and talons, making the vessels seem even more ferocious and alien.
Science Officer Donaldson pointed. "Where do they keep coming from?"
Rita's replacement at tactical said, "I don't know, but we got five vessels in total."
Archer took a deep breath. Five of their ships against five of ours-- the Thames, Toltek, Ar'ala, Potomac and Tuk. Still doesn't seem like a fair fight. "Donaldson, use the warp signature from the Romulan vessels and search in the vicinity at all times. We could use fewer surprises."
Behind him almost simultaneously, he heard Captain Richards give an order. "Mathers, jam their signal! We don't want them contacting backup or giving away our position."
And then a bolt of light flashed across the screen as the Tuk came under fire. Jon crossed the Bridge and leaned against the comm. "All ships, this is the Admiral, use attack pattern Zulu-Echo-Zulu."
Fanning out, each vessel began to engage – swarming around their lead ship – as the Potomac rocked against a barrage of armament.
"Now, they're focusing on our vessel," said the person at tactical.
"We must look like the flagship," said Richards.
"If this keeps up, we won't make it," said the man at tactical again.
A part of Archer nagged to stay on the Bridge, but he knew that wasn't his place and with some reluctance headed to the Situation Room. When the door opened Ensign Arthur Westing, anticipating his orders, spoke up.
"Sir, I have the battle on-screen."
Cameras from the Potomac showed the Thames trying to draw fire away from the Tuk, the Tuk maneuvering to show its less vulnerable side to the Romulans as the Toltek hung near the Potomac. Only the Ar'ala, a red ring-ship, looked successful, firing on the ship ahead of it.
Archer said, "Good. Could you--?"
"I have Commander Moog on alert, in case you need the fleet to rejoin us."
He would've smiled, if the situation hadn't been so dire; Westing was beginning to anticipate every order.
Damned convenient.
Nodding, he punched in some information as reports came to the two of them on coordinates of the allies and the enemies. Green and red discs popped up on the console below them, one of the green ones, the allies, flashing under a heavy barrage.
"It's the Potomac," said Westing.
Archer jabbed his thumb against the button. "Chris, I'd like the Potomac to withdraw to coordinates--"
The ship rocked again and Archer hung on, trying to speak through the interruption. "I'd like to withdraw to coordinates 25.12.10."
"Yes, sir," said Richards.
As soon as the ship retreated slightly, Westing pointed at the screen in front of them.
"Sir!"
Every bird-like vessel made a beeline for the Potomac, circling like vultures, and the shuddering and shimmying worsened. Despite Archer's firm grip on the console, he found himself sprawled on the floor. Rebounding to his feet quickly, he notified Moog, leader of the Narg.
"Looks like we're going to need your help. I'd like you to leave the Romulan border and --"
Moog interrupted him. "Sir, there's an Orion armada here. We can't afford to break off now."
Archer narrowed his eyes and wondered if the Romulans knew their whereabouts and decided to keep two fronts occupied.
"How's the situation?" asked Jon.
Moog grunted. "We are barely holding our own."
Calling up the information about the Orions, he looked at their best speed and grimaced. The ships under Moog's control couldn't withdraw without being chased. And while the top speed for the allies was warp 9, the best speed for the Orion vessels was warp 10.
"Keep me posted," he said.
Another volley rocked the Potomac again, and Westing pointed to the flashing dot below: Potomac was still being hit hard. Nodding, Jon nudged the intercom.
"Chris, we need to fall further back--"
An explosion resounded, a cacophony of sound – metal shards, creaking steel and faint human cries emanated from the Bridge; Jon could hear it even behind the bulkheads. The ships' axis tilted as if the vessel was beginning to list, and suddenly his feet left the plating below as if the gravity plating was damaged. His hand flailed to grab the console and managed to barely grasp it.
"Captain Richards--" said Archer.
Wrapping his fingers more securely around the computer below him, he struggled to keep at least close to the board. With a few curses, Westing floated helplessly toward the ceiling and bounced against it gently.
"Captain Richards?" he asked again.
Static cracked over the line, and then Ensign Mathers voice came over the comm.
"Captain Richards is in Sickbay."
His breath stole for a second as he remembered the most senior officer on the Bridge.
"Mayweather in command?" asked Archer.
"Yes, sir," said Mayweather, cutting in.
"Status?" asked Archer.
"The Bridge has been compromised. We lost grav-plating and life support here. We're planning to evacuate and transfer control to Engineering."
"Any other part of the ship loose gravity?"
"No, sir."
"Then, belay that order, Lieutenant." His thumb slipped off the comm button and he flexed his biceps trying to get closer to the console as his feet dangled above his head. "Commander Kelby, full stop."
"Sir?" the chief engineer asked.
"Full stop. Go to emergency lighting only and drop life support in all areas."
"The Bridge only has two hours of air."
"You heard me, Commander. Let us drift."
There was quiet on the other end until a small voice answered back. "Yes, sir."
The Situation Room went black except for a red shaft of light falling over his features, the red and green discs on the computer below and the soft illumination of the screen. Westing, kicking his legs and using the breaststroke with his arms, swam back to his station, appearing at Archer's side.
Jon said, "Communicate to Vega, T'Nara, Tog and Ranol that we're adrift and confirm to call off the attack. Don't use an encrypted channel."
"What?" asked Westing.
When Archer turned to him, glaring, the ensign began relaying the orders. Within moments the volley of fire ended and there was quiet. Eyes on the screen, he noted all the Romulan ships hung suspended in air, as if waiting for further instruction.
"You mind telling me what's going on … sir?" asked Travis.
Archer could tell he sounded angry, and Jon couldn't blame him one bit – he'd usurped his command, but he didn't have time.
"Wait a minute," he said to Travis. It was his only answer.
Looking at the view screen, Archer saw the lead Romulan ship, the one that had taken the most damage, break off as if to investigate. It's hull looked dented and dinged, and the ship leaked coolant – a blue vapor spreading behind it. It meant that its engines had taken the brunt of the damage. Smiling, he saw the Thames just slightly off-port to those failing engines.
Nudging his thumb against the comm, he spoke quietly into it, ensuring he was using a secure channel.
"Melanie, ask your tactical to fire at the Romulan ship at coordinates--"
"I see it, sir."
"Good, on my mark."
And then Westing shook his head. "Sir, there's a lot of chatter on the channel. Our allies sound upset."
"Put it on speaker," said Archer.
"This is Commander Tog!" said the Tellarite. "What the blazes is happening?"
Westing's head turned, wondering whether he should answer and Archer shook his head.
"Admiral Archer, this is Commander T'Nara." Her voice though tranquil sounded icy. "Explain why we have called off the attack."
"I was on the line first, Vulcan," said Tog. "He will answer my question first!"
Ranol broke in. "Admiral, I hope you're not indicating we should surrender? I'd rather blow up my ship than give it to one those Romulans."
"Surrender may be the most logical decision. Although, I am not certain Romulans take prisoners --"
"Andorians will never be taken as prisoners!"
"You are then, more foolish than I would have supposed," said T'Nara.
"Fools? At least we're not cowards like you!"
"Oh, stop getting your antennae in a swirl," said Tog.
Archer lost track of the debate, turning his eyes back to the screen. The lead Romulan vessel crept just a little closer. Glancing at Westing, he relayed an order.
"Tell Potomac's tactical officer to put its weapons on the lead ship, firing at the big, gaping hole on its engines. On my mark."
"Yes, sir."
Archer pressed this thumb against the comm, releasing it to a non-secure channel, and finally broke in. "Sorry, we're having problems with communications."
"I thought you--" said Tog.
Archer continued, speaking over the Tellarite. "Yeah, you thought. Well, if you followed my orders, we wouldn't be in this mess! We're listing in space and--"
Tog took that particular comment with a great amount of anger. "You've got some nerve!" Grunting, he hurled a few curses into the intercom.
"I was warned by Stek you were illogical, Admiral," said T'Nara. "This entire operation has been doomed almost from the beginning. If you had--"
"Grendal! We've had enough of your Vulcan arrogance!" said Ranol. "He said his communications was down. And he's right about the Tellarites; they've bickered and argued at every order."
"Well, at least we follow them!" yelled Tog.
The squabble began again and Archer's knuckles turned white as he clenched them, staring at the screen. Finally when the lead ship had broken far enough away from the rest of the fleet, the other four ships further away - putting each of the Romulan ships in a precarious situation, Archer broke through.
"Mark!"
Potomac sputtered to life and sent a few shots to the engines of the lead Romulan ship as the Thames also fired, almost instantly destroying the vessel. Metal debris spilled out in all directions. Quickly, the Vulcan ring-ship turned on a nearby vessel to attack, and the battle resumed again with the advantage going to the allies.
"Westing, tell Kelby to restore life support. Mayweather," said Archer still floating over the comm, "thanks for your trust. You have command."
"Yes, sir."
Archer noted another Romulan ship was destroyed, thanks to the Ar'ala, and watched as the Andorians and Tellarites worked together to bombard a craft nearby that had its sights trained on the Vulcans.
Westing said, "Sir, Kelby's having difficulty restoring life support."
"Has he communicated it to Mayweather?"
"Yes, sir."
As if on cue, Mayweather's voice hovered overhead. "Sir, I understand we only have about an hour and forty minutes of air left up here."
"Are you going to evacuate?"
"We'll do so when we hit thirty minutes of air left. Kelby says we can transfer command in that time. What about you?"
There was a back-up bridge on the Potomac in Engineering, but there wasn't a back-up Situation Room.
"Westing, can you work with one of Kelby's men on seeing what they have in Engineering that may help?"
"Aye," he said.
Watching another Romulan vessel break apart, Archer sighed. If he wanted to, now might be the time to provide the surrender protocol; though, he knew the Romulans well enough to know they didn't surrender. Just as he was about to order the fleet back, the Potomac was blown back, knocking Archer and Westing against one wall and then another, floating. Struggling to get to an intercom, pushing off walls to get back to the console, he found himself yelling at no one in particular before he could get the order out.
"Get back!"
Luckily he heard a voice cut through. "This is Commander T'Nara, all vessels pull back."
Watching the screen, he saw the Vulcan vessel fly in between the Romulan ship and the Potomac, as if willing to take the bulk of the damage; the commander too must've known that it could mean the death of the Earth ship. Within seconds the Romulan vessel burst, throwing its hull and people into space and into the Ar'ala, which tore a gash along its side. The Vulcan ring ship scattered debris and bodies, causing the admiral to bow his head.
"Commander T'Nara?" he asked.
A voice shaken, with the slightest twinge of emotion answered. "We are gathering damage reports now."
"You saved the Potomac."
"It is only logical to protect the lead vessel."
Just as casualty information streamed in, Archer fell hard to the ground, wincing at the pain in his back and shoulder. He also noted on the way down, he cut his cheek as a drop of blood fell to the floor.
"Grav plating is online," said Kelby. "Life support is back as well."
"A little warning might help next time, Commander."
"Sorry, sir."
Grumbling he got to his feet and had Westing read out the numbers lost in this most recent battle, as well as damage to the ships. Ar'ala was dead in the water along with the Potomac. Tuk, Toltek and Thames took some damage, but were in the best condition.
Then Westing's jaw dropped and he trembled for a moment, his face white with horror.
"What is it?" When the young man took a deep breath, Archer found himself drawing closer. "Arthur?"
"Admiral, Captain Richards is dead."
-----
The call was placed in the middle of the night, what was afternoon on Andoria, and Shran groused as he left his bed, put on his clothes and made his way to pick up his new aide: Tares.
When he got to the shuttle bay at Starfleet, one located outside, he waited with his face tilted up to the cool rain; the drops felt good and it was nice to feel a hearty dampness. Looking up, he marveled at the thick clouds that threatened to hide the moon', blocking it occasionally from sight and preventing any stars to be seen.
In the dead of night, there were no shuttles to be seen – other than those that were grounded for the night - and he found himself tapping his foot, thinking he might ask one of the meandering humans when Tares might arrive.
Stuffing his hands across his chest impatiently, hoping to spot a pink skin that looked intelligent enough to help, he heard a soft voice behind him.
"Thy'lek?"
Turning he saw a tall, beautiful, snow-haired Andorian with medium blue skin and black eyes. Her antennae were standing at attention, stiff – just as his were – a sign of mutual attraction. Like Talas, she was fit and slender, as if born from a family of noble warriors. And yet, as lean and muscular as she was, Shran smiled that she was also curvy and that she wore dark blue lipstick as women on his planet did.
"Yes?" he asked.
A grin spread across her face and then just as suddenly Shran's antennae drooped.
"Tares?" he asked.
The Andorian nodded and as was expected of their culture when seeing a long-long friend, her antennae rubbed his. With a lopsided frown, he noticed his appendages stiffened again.
"When did you arrive?" he asked.
"An hour ago."
"I thought you were coming in twenty minutes?"
"We were early. I didn't mind waiting." Then accessing his appearance she pointed down at him. "I have missed you, my friend," she said. "You haven't changed a bit."
Wish I could say the same!
Picking up her bags, which wasn't customary, he slung them over his shoulder and pointed to his vehicle.
"I'm parked over there."
Unzipping her alabaster coat, she stared at the sky. "Only one moon. And warm …"
"And this is winter!" He shrugged as he'd seen Archer do so many times. "You'll get used to it. But, I doubt you'll need that coat."
She slipped out of it to reveal black leather stuck to her body and Shran's chin dropped. Yes, curvier than I thought!
The two made their way to transportation and while they walked, continued to chat.
"Who would've thought, hmm?" she asked.
You're telling me. "No."
"Me … serving as your aide."
"I certainly wouldn't have."
"I was hoping I'd see you again one day." Then a purring laugh, she asked, "How many years has it been?"
"70 or so."
She said, "When my family moved to Try'lah--"
He sighed, agreeing. When he was a boy, Tares was his best friend. The two spent most of their time together and even 70 years later, Shran missed that companionship.
"You stopped writing," he said.
"I had to," she said. "The change is difficult, and I knew it would make you uncomfortable."
He didn't respond, but instead packed her bags away in his shuttle and the two got into the vehicle.
Leaning in, she chuckled. "Remember the ice hole that you and I used to visit? How we'd swim nude so our parents didn't know we'd left our village."
Shran squirmed in his seat. "Yeah. I remember. But, that was a long time ago."
"I suppose," she said. And then with a twinkle in her eyes, she asked what he'd been waiting for. "Did you wonder if I was chan back then?"
Shran knew chan, androgynous males, who were able to change into females easily, some even longed for the metamorphosis. It made Shran accidentally swerve the shuttle pod before he righted his steering column. Tares growing up was every bit, in his mind, as masculine as he.
"No," he said.
"I knew I would change. I even think back then, I wanted to. If I had done so sooner, our night swims might've been more interesting."
Shran's antennae perked up and for only a second, he closed his eyes. Back on Andoria, chan who became shen – females - were some of the most alluring of his species. They had the poise, dominance and strength of a woman, yet had voracious sexual appetites like men. Shen had the advantage of knowing what would please a male, which only added to their appeal. Some of them looked androgynous, somewhere in between a male and female, but not Tares. Unlike some shen, her breasts were full and she had hips.
In the ice caves of his home planet during the Great Thaw that happened every year for one week, shens and chans were highly sought after; they'd help while away the time as Andorians waited for their planet to turn cool again. Shran had not had the good fortune to bed one, and it had been a long-held fantasy.
Without intention, he hunched closer to the wheel, gripping the steering column until his knuckles turned light blue.
Think of Jhamel!
Tares said, "I always knew you were thaan. You were so masculine."
Breathing deeply, the blue man kept his eyes trained ahead. Finally, he admitted to her his status.
"You should know I'm married, with one child and one on the way."
"I know." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her still smiling.
Why did I agree to let her stay in my house?
----
It was good news for Archer to hear Moog won the battle against the Orions, suffering twenty losses and only one ship with heavy damage. He coordinated repairs with the Tellarite and the various ship commanders at the Romulan border, helping them receive everything they needed.
He also got a report about the Potomac and Ar'ala; they'd need five and three days, respectively, to be able to take the ships to warp. Luckily for the fleet Kelby and the chief engineer on the Ar'ala were some of the best, otherwise they'd be down at least a week.
Why shouldn't Kelby be one of the best, he was trained by Trip.
Mayweather continued to assume temporary command of the vessel and Archer noticed the young man hardened almost immediately, as if he knew the weight of the burden. Gone was the young man's trademark over-eager smile.
When repair crews had been coordinated and assembled and ship's business seemed to get back on course, Archer made a long trek to Sickbay. The moment he entered, he spied Dr. Higgins standing in front of a drawn curtain, a frown plastered on the doctor's wrinkled face. Jon took a breath and nodded as the doctor pulled the veil back showing what used to be Chris Richards. This lifeless shell's blood and organs dangled from his face and was riddled with metal fragments.
"His skull was crushed by a fallen beam," said the doctor.
Though Jon's lips quivered for a second, he calmed the churning of his stomach and closed his eyes. As if Higs knew that sight would be bothersome, he closed the curtain again.
"He once told me when his time came, he wanted to die in the line of duty," said Higs.
"A lot of men and women died in the line of duty today. Ten aboard the Potomac, eight aboard the Ar'ala, five on the Tuk--"
"A lot more would've died if you hadn't pulled what you did." Archer's gaze turned toward his shoes as Higs continued. "I heard how you were able to turn it around."
"Well, if turning it around lost us in total 31 people--"
Higs shook his head. "Admiral, you have a reputation as being a real Boy Scout and a real son-of-a-bitch. You know which one is more true?"
Jon looked up for the first time, waiting.
Higs said, "They both are. Probably why you made it to admiral. Probably how you destroyed the Xindi weapon."
Sighing the admiral glanced over his shoulder. Six men and women lay in bio-beds behind him with various injuries and watched him, wide-eyed. Straightening a little he acknowledged them and then took the doctor's arm, walking to a more private portion of the medical facility.
"We can't afford a burial in space."
Higs frowned. "You want our captain in the morgue?"
"I want to eulogize Chris, Rita and the others, but we don't have a choice. The torpedo casing would be a buoy for the Romulans; they'd know we were here and the success of our mission would be compromised."
The doctor shook his head. "Bad for morale."
Archer agreed. "I know."
"What if we run out of space in the morgue? We don't have much room left."
"Maybe Thames, Ar'ala, Toltek or Tuk have room."
Higs crossed his arms and then eventually nodded. "I'll coordinate with their doctors."
"Good."
Before Archer could turn around, Higs spoke up. "Who you going to promote?"
"I don't know."
"Lt. Mayweather is a friend of yours?"
Archer confirmed it. "I was his captain for ten years."
"You know he's not ready. And we both know that Commander Kelby is needed in engineering."
He'd been wondering the same thing, but didn't reward the doctor's musings with any comment. Instead, he furrowed his brow and tossed a comment over his shoulder before heading back to the Situation Room.
"Make those calls and let me know what the other ships say."
----
Gral waited for the Ithanites to contact him, willing the PADD in his hands to beep. So far it wasn't working. Just as he was about to abandon Fartog's tactic of patience, the door opened. Immediately on entry, Shran shuffled in and T'Pol strolled in behind him. With a thud, the Andorian plopped down in the nearest seat and hung his head. The Tellarite used that as an opportunity to press the button and ask for Phlox to scan T'Pol as he and Shran discussed just the day before.
"What's wrong, Blue?" asked Gral, after he'd slyly notified the doctor.
T'Pol said, "He is concerned he is going to be … tyla-tora," tripping over the Andorian word, "with his aide."
Gral grunted. "You better not! Jhamel is nice. Deserves better than you."
"I know!" His antennae drooped. "I'm doomed!"
"I don't understand why it would be difficult for you to control yourself," said T'Pol.
"I'm not some Vulcan who mates every ten years or so only to have offspring! I'm an Andorian male. Thaan! My worth is based on my sexual prowess and potency."
T'Pol said, "I think your libido will survive."
"It may not. Since Jhamel entered her last semester of pregnancy, she will only let me mate with her once per day."
T'Pol coughed as Gral shook his head. The Tellarite said, "You'd think the Andorians would be less hot tempered if they garrang-odong all day."
Shran stood. "This is serious! The Aenar are different. They're … monogamous."
"May we discontinue discussing Andorian mating habits to address the Council?" asked T'Pol.
Gral ignored her. "Don't get your antennae twisted, Blue. Your wife will give birth to your larva soon enough and then you can continue your excessive mating."
"Working next to Tares everyday …. I think I should ask General Krag for a new aide – an ugly one who won't go through the change."
"Might be for the best. I had an assistant when I was newly married – beardless, muddy and slender. She was a seductress and wouldn't take no for an answer. I nearly --"
"Gentlemen," said T'Pol. "I came here to inquire about the Ithanites. Have they contacted you?"
"No," grunted Gral. "Blue, have you had a chance to contact Coridan?"
"Tares is doing that even as we speak. My contacts would not speak to me. I figured a female might change their mind."
T'Pol said, "I can contact the Xindi again, request they reconsider."
At that moment, Phlox entered. Smiling his extended grin, he waddled up to a PADD by Gral's bed and picked it up.
He said, "Sorry to interrupt."
The doctor eventually wandered behind T'Pol, as if needing to look at a machine behind her. Gral saw him instead remove a scanner and wave it behind her, collecting readings. The Tellarite decided to pick up the conversation and distract the Vulcan.
"What about the Aenar? Maybe they can be convinced to join us?" he asked.
Shran shook his head as T'Pol spoke up. "They are pacifists."
"So are the Vulcans," said Gral.
Shran said, "When my wife joined Enterprise to save her brother, she became an outcast. It's no use. The Aenar won't help us."
When a soft whirring noise was heard, T'Pol turned catching Phlox wielding a scanner. The Denobulan's shoulders sagged only mildly, as if regretting being found out. Before the Vulcan could ask, Phlox explained his actions.
"Gral indicated you had been having headaches and asked me to take a scan to determine what was wrong."
"Was there anything?" asked Shran.
"Not that I could tell. Maybe if T'Pol were to enter an imaging chamber, it may reveal more information."
T'Pol shook her head. "I have not had discomfort since last night before I meditated."
Phlox said, "It doesn't necessarily mean your condition has disappeared."
She blinked. "No. However, I feel … better." Her eyes found the clock across the room. "T'Pau informed me that my aide is arriving early."
"Don't try to squirm your way out of our care, Skinny."
The Vulcan poked an eyebrow into her forehead and let it hang there for a minute. Phlox interrupted the silence.
"You'll tell me if your symptoms return or get worse?" he asked.
"Of course."
With that, she left the room and upon her departure Shran grimaced.
"I think she's lying," he said.
Phlox was about to interrupt when Gral spoke over him. "I don't think she's lying. I think she knows what's wrong with her."
---
Jonathan Archer rolled his shoulders to ease the tension from the day. It'd been a long one. Science Officer Donaldson found various species' life signs on a nearby planet - with suspiciously no Romulan, Arali or Orion ships in the vicinity - on a Minshara-type with a lot of blue and green. It seemed like a good bet that the diplomats and crew from the Excelsior would be there. Unfortunately, they couldn't take the risk of trying even encrypted channels to contact them. Any chatter could put the fleet in danger, which meant only one ship could investigate safely if it approached cautiously using the planet's moon as shielding. And because of the damage done, it couldn't be the Potomac.
The Toltek was the fastest ship, but a heavy ship with shielding going in first would be helpful. That meant the Thames was the only choice.
At 0700 hours tomorrow, Archer would be ordering the Thames to orbit the planet and beam a small party down, one that he would be a part of. It meant that he should leave for that vessel by 0600. And that meant that he'd only have four hours of sleep.
Porthos grumbled, putting his head on his paws.
Archer leaned over and rubbed his dog's head. "I'll be back, boy. Don't worry."
Before heading for bed, he decided to touch base with Captain Vega. As if already asleep, she appeared on the monitor – her hair mussed and wearing a pink nightgown. Archer winced.
"Sorry to call so late, Melanie."
"It's all right, Admiral." Sitting down, she sat up straight. "What can I do for you?"
"I have the command list for Potomac with my recommendation of who should receive a field promotion to captain. I need an objective pair of eyes to look over it."
When she knitted her brow, he explained. "One of the men in line served on the Bridge with me for ten years, and the other served with my vessel for five under my chief engineer."
She nodded. "I'd be happy to look at it."
"Thanks. I asked your nephew to send you the coordinates for the planet. Your helmsman can plot the course. Best speed. I want to get in there and out quickly."
"Yes, sir."
He paused. "Morale okay over there?"
As if reeling off words from a brochure, she began to indicate the state of readiness. "The Thames is a good ship with one of the finest crews --"
"Be straight with me."
"All right." She sighed. "They're scared, sir. But, they know their jobs and they have confidence in you, especially the way you pulled off our last victory. They think you're a real--"
"Son-of-a-bitch or Boy Scout?"
"Is this a trick question?" The twinkle in her eyes put one in his.
"Thanks for your help today. I'll see you early tomorrow morning. Get some sleep. Archer out."
After ending the contact, he poured himself a glass of scotch, despite having already brushed his teeth, and sat on his bed. He could use something just to knock him out, at least for an hour so he wouldn't have dreams like he did in the Expanse – nightmares of death and visions of helplessness with a crew he couldn't protect.
Sipping his drink, he thought about the dream he had of T'Pol last night.
It seemed so real. Maybe I'll get lucky and dream about her again. But, I hope this time she has the good graces to run into my arms.
A soft smile spread over his face and he turned to the picture by his bed.
I could've used your help out there today, he thought. And it wouldn't be too shabby having you here now with me.
Finishing the last of his glass, swallowing it in one gulp, he plunked it on the desk next to his bunk and let his eyes drift close for just a second when he heard a voice that sounded like the Vulcan's.
Jonathan?
It caused his eyes to flash open.
T'Pol?
----
T'Pol waited patiently for the Vulcan ring ship to arrive at Starfleet shuttle bay. When it finally did, creatures impetuous and eager to run off the ship headed out first – Earthers, Andorians, Tellarites, Denobulans ….. The last to de-board any shuttle were the Vulcans. Always. T'Pol considered it a universal constant.
Out of even all the Vulcans, Skon was dead last. She noticed him right away.
Regal, adorned in a robe that was the color of sand with an IDIC pin, he strolled from the ship and walked to her. His black hair was cut in perfect Vulcan fashion, without a single piece askew, and his eyes were piercing blue. In the picture she'd seen, she had imagined the hue of his eyes were the color of water, like Trip's. In person she realized his eye color appeared more like the shade of a wolf's – almost gray and iridescent. Like Jonathan, he had a dimpled chin and stood tall and confident; his lanky body looked as if it was also muscular. A tanned face, bronze and expressionless, held warmth.
If she were not Vulcan, she would've said he was strikingly handsome.
Opening her hand into a V, she greeted him.
"It is an honor to meet you, Skon."
"The honor is mine," he said, bowing his head.
"Do you have luggage?"
Nodding to the satchel on his shoulder, he told her. "I have one bag."
"You don't need more?"
"Not yet."
The two headed to her shuttle car and climbed in. Once in the air, T'Pol decided to broach the subject of his career changes, doing so straightforwardly as any of her species would.
"You were a mathematician, and a highly regarded one."
"Esteem is not important to me," he said.
"It is unusual to win such accolades when a subject no longer interests you."
"It is."
Tilting her head, she watched what humans referred to as body language. And then she asked, "Why did you choose to become a diplomat?"
He looked at her from the corner of his eyes; his face placid. "I have my reasons."
T'Pol was about to let the matter drop, when he placed his hands together and formed a temple with his fingers under his chin. A few minutes passed when he spoke again.
"My wife was a mathematician. After her death, I found I no longer wanted to continue in that profession. In addition, becoming an aide would allow me time away from Vulcan."
"You told this to T'Pau?"
"She knows of my reasons. The minister is my younger sibling."
Nepotism? wondered T'Pol.
Wanting to frown, she continued driving in silence until they were near the Sausalito headquarters. Skon looked at the building and then back at T'Pol.
"This is the location of Vulcan High Command? The compound?"
"It is," she said.
"I understood I would be staying in San Francisco."
"I assumed you would want to stay with other Vulcans."
"No."
"I did not secure lodgings for you in San Francisco," she said.
"Then, I would like to secure my own lodgings," he said. After a slight pause, he corrected the statement. "I meant no offense."
"No offense can be taken where emotion does not exist." Instead of continuing toward the compound, she made her way to her own apartment.
"You asked why I transferred to a diplomat – I was not complete with my answer. I wanted to leave Vulcan."
"Why?"
"I have visited few other planets and without my wife's bond …. It seemed Earth was available and you needed an aide." Staring out the window as if interested in the sights, he spoke quietly. "Why did you choose Earth?"
"Why did I join the Terrans to begin with?"
"Yes, and why did you return to Earth when your career aboard Enterprise was over?"
"I joined them because I believed I had something to learn from them. As for why I returned – many reasons. Perhaps the largest was familiarity."
The shuttle landed, the two walked into her apartment building, took the elevator and entered her home. She noticed he scanned the room with his eyes, and despite the number of human items in her abode didn't comment. Instead, he faced her.
"Do you know if this building has another apartment that I could occupy?"
"Perhaps."
"I find your home quite satisfactory."
T'Pol made a mental note of that, for a Vulcan it was effusive. As she was about to comment on the types of abodes available, her comm began beeping incessantly. Leaving his presence with a single nod, she walked to her bedroom and typed in a command. Shran's pale face filled her screen.
"I have news from the front!" he said. "Captain Richards is dead."
Her heart thumped in her chest for a moment. "Any others?"
"No news on others." Shran said, "I'm sure the Pink Skin is fine."
She closed her eyes briefly, feelings bubbled to the surface – fear – that needed suppression. Closing her eyes to push the emotion back, she imagined Jonathan settling in for the evening with a glass of scotch at his lips and Porthos at his feet. He looked weary, more exhausted than she'd seen him in the past six years … almost as tired as when he was in the Expanse. Much like those days, he wore a small cut on his right cheek.
Almost as if she could touch him, she reached out to take a strand of his hair between her fingers. It was more gray at the temples than she remembered.
Jonathan?
When his eyes flashed open, her stomach clenched and her eyes fluttered.
T'Pol?
"T'Pol? Are you listening, Vulcan?" said Shran. He was in the middle of a tirade about her not paying him attention when her focus jerked to the Andorian. Startled, she forced her body to sit – blinking quickly while staring behind the monitor.
And then he stopped his ramblings letting silence break for a moment before starting down a new conversation path.
"I knew it! Phlox should've taken you to the imaging chamber," said Shran. His antennae poked in her direction as if annoyed. "You are unwell."
"No," she said, more to herself.
"Yes, you are, but you're too obstinate to do anything about it."
"I was concerned about Jonathan, nothing more." Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly. "It caused emotion."
His eyes narrowed. "Did you pick up your aide, Score?"
"Skon. Yes," she said.
"So, what's he like?"
Shifting her eyes, she looked out her bedroom to see the Vulcan meandering around her living room as if trying not to listen to her conversation. Carefully, he picked up a book from the kitchen table, one that Jonathan loaned her, and he shot up a brow.
"He is Vulcan." Before Shran could respond, T'Pol spoke again. "Tares' meeting with the Coridan go well?"
"It's not a sure-thing, but it's promising. I'll have Tares provide a transcript of what was said."
"That is good news."
"And I'll keep you updated if I hear anything else from General Krag about the front."
"Thank you," she said.
"No problem. Now about this Stork who's with you--"
She turned off the screen, letting it fade to black and continued to stare at it long after the Andorian's image was gone.
Pushing herself from her seat, she walked to Skon. On her approach he held her book out.
"You enjoy Earth literature?"
"I do."
Nodding, he placed the book back on the table.
"I did not mean to eavesdrop, but--" he said.
"You could not help but overhear." She realized only too late that she sighed, but was relieved he did not comment on it as Staron may have. "I'm well. And if there was something physically wrong with me, I would tell you."
When he opened his mouth, she spoke over whatever he was about to say. "I know I may be more emotional than some Vulcans, but I do not believe it's wise to comment on my feelings in front of me."
Her arms folded across her chest and she waited for his response.
"I was merely going to ask if I could contact the owner of this building. If something were to happen to you, it would be beneficial for me to be nearby."
A light frown threatened to spill over her face, but she held it at bay.
"And as for being emotional, Ambassador, my sister indicated you were the perfect Vulcan to represent our planet to Earth. She indicated you understand and can tolerate the humans better than anyone. That is a compliment she never bestowed on Soval."
"I apologize," she said.
"No offense is taken where there is no emotion."
Perhaps he will be a better aide than I predicted. "If you are available, I would like to take you to a restaurant I frequent. Chinese food."
"Chinese? Fascinating." An eyebrow quipped. "I will try to keep an open mind."
"Good."
As he made arrangements to live in the building, T'Pol wondered something more. Perhaps he can more than an aide; maybe he will be a friend.
TBC