A/N: Thanks for all the kind words.
T'Pol grabbed her head and tried to settle her stomach, which was on the verge of rebelling. Taking a deep breath, she suddenly realized Shran was crouched next to her, concern smacked on his face and his hand on her shoulder.
"You're not pregnant are you?" he asked.
Her eyebrow rose unintentionally at the remark, and she turned her head slightly to notice Skon squatting next to her, his eyebrow pitching a little higher.
"Did you say pregnant?" asked Skon.
Antennae squirmed with annoyance. "You'd think with ears like those, you'd be able to hear a little better," said Shran. "She's been having headaches and after the face-plant she just performed, I'm thinking she might be carrying a child." He continued, "After Jhamel was engorged with my seed, she would faint at the drop of a talpig. In fact, --"
Drowning out the discussion around her, T'Pol put a hand to her temple. Pushing herself to sit up, she began to understand why she had fleeting images of Jonathan in pain, his uniform torn and blood staining his forehead and spilling from his lip. It's why she was able to see a ship – it's metal twisting and engulfed in flame – crashing into the earth.
It cannot be.
And yet it was. The headaches, his voice sometimes ringing in her ears, visions of him ….. A connection had been made, one that she was unable to sense through mind melds performed before his departure. This link between them was real, forged during the time they spent together – the time they had spent lying in each other's arms as lovers, talking as colleagues and working together as friends.
A bond.
Then, recognition of Jonathan's dire straights sunk in.
When T'Pol opened her eyes, Shran was still discussing the finer points of pregnancy – blue hands curving as it to show a bloated belly. Skon, who also seemed to ignore the Andorian, leaned over.
"Are you well, Ambassador?" he asked. "Should I contact a doctor?"
Struggling to her feet, she blinked away the dizziness, realizing her hand was still at her head. "No."
Tares, arms folded, walked closer. "You don't look well."
Just as T'Pol was about to correct the woman, another wave of nausea overcame her, tightening her stomach, maybe even – she realized – Jonathan's nausea.
Jonathan?
There was no answer to her call.
Is he dead?
There was the tingling of life and with concentration, silencing the noise of the room, she traced it to a strange planet – one that reminded her of Risa, tropical and lush. Taking long, deep breaths, she attempted to call to him again.
Jonathan?
There was no response.
Perhaps he does not know how to use the bond. Worse, perhaps he is close to death.
And so in her mind, she screamed – one so loud it deafened her and prompted her other hand to fly to her temple.
Jonathan!
Thumping quickly, her heart raced and she felt his did as well, shocking him awake him from an unconscious slumber. She imagined him grabbing his chest, draped over someone's shoulder, in surprise and giving a shout.
What?
As Shran touched her shoulder again, the connection – and her concentration - vanishing.
"You're grabbing your stomach, are you nauseous too?" he asked.
"What?" she asked.
Shran called over his shoulder. "Tares get a doctor. No, get Phlox." With a smile on his face, he turned back to T'Pol. "It'd figure that the Pink Skin has the potency of a Andorian thaan in the heat of the Great Thaw."
She shook her head. "I'm not with child."
It didn't stop Tares from using an intercom to contact Dr. Phlox.
"What precisely is a Pink Skin?" asked Skon.
"A human," answered T'Pol.
And the two held each other's gaze for a moment, as if he were going to ask if she had relations with a human. He didn't ask, and she remained silent.
"Dr. Phlox will be here soon," said Tares.
"Why don't you sit down until then," said Shran.
T'Pol allowed herself to be guided to a chair and Skon left momentarily to bring back a glass of water as Tares fanned her (despite the Vulcan's equivalent to a glare, asking her not to). After taking a sip and attempting to quiet her mind and heart, T'Pol put down the glass.
"We must contact Admiral Garner immediately."
"Why?" asked Shran.
"Thames crash landed on a planet."
A scowl came across his face and his antennae bobbed. "What?"
"Thames crash landed on a planet." Closing her eyes, she provided additional information. "The diplomats and crewmen of the Excelsior made it to safety; although few of them were alive. They left on an Andorian vessel and are headed to Earth."
"The last report I got was that the Toltek was waiting for further instructions … and the Pink Skin had the antennae to promote an Andorian to serve as commander of the Potomac."
T'Pol touched her head. "Yes, but that was hours ago. This just happened."
"I would've been notified by Krag if things had changed," said Shran.
"I mean it happened merely seconds ago."
"Seconds ago? It's a good thing Phlox is coming, you must've hit your head; you've been here the entire time."
T'Pol gave the scarcest of frowns and pushed herself from the chair, despite being unable to clearly focus her eyes and her churning stomach. Staggering to the nearest terminal, the one Tares used, she punched a few buttons and saw a woman from Starfleet – it was the central administrator.
"This is Ambassador T'Pol. I'd like to speak with Admiral Gardner right away."
"He's debriefing right now."
"It's urgent." When the woman shook her head, she reasserted her authority. "It's urgent."
As T'Pol waited for the line to be transferred to Admiral Gardner, Skon stood at her side. In the quietest of voices he asked.
"Ma tel k'qom'i?" asked Skon.
She was about to answer when Admiral Gardner's image appeared. "T'Pol, I'm in the middle of a--"
"Admiral, the Thames crash landed on a planet."
"What?"
She noticed Shran had maneuvered next to her as well. The Andorian said, "Admiral, we're terribly sorry. The ambassador must've bumped her head--"
Speaking over the Andorian, she continued to deliver the news. "Sir, the Toltek has the survivors from the Excelsior and the entire fleet is heading to Earth."
The admiral's jaw dropped and he leaned into the communication device. "How the devil did you know? I heard this report just a few seconds ago."
Shran's antennae arched back and T'Pol shook her head. "Admiral Archer and the captain of the Thames survived the crash and they are on a planet in the sector. I believe they've been there before – it's one that is lush and tropical."
Gardner said, "I'm sorry to say that Commander Moog reported that they crashed into the planet to blow the ship up. And it looks like they succeeded. Thames signal disappeared just before you contacted us." Gravely, Gardner's voice lowered. "I'm sorry, but it appears Captain Vega and Admiral Archer are dead."
"Admiral, I'm telling you Admiral Archer is alive."
"T'Pol--"
"He's alive."
"I know Jon was a friend of yours and--"
Heart pounding, she lost track of the conversation about loss and friendship as she imagined Jonathan slung over a small woman's shoulder, badly injured. The woman, raven hair flying behind her, tore off into the thick of a jungle, dodging under overgrowth. As they made it to a small clearing, with a cave within sight, the earth shook.
Suddenly, blowing the two of them forward, an explosion of giant proportions sounded behind them, kicking up dirt, dust and debris in all directions. As the ground flung into the air, some of it on top of her bond-mate, spraying him, she shook her head almost violently.
"No!" Slamming her fist onto the counter, she nearly yelled. "He's alive!"
The room fell into an icy silence and the admiral watched her, a frown creeping over his face. Attempting to regain her mask – her unemotional veneer – she breathed deeply and explained.
"Admiral Archer and I have a bond." Before Gardner could ask what that meant, she continued. "It is a Vulcan mental link that enables me to communicate with him. That is how I know he lives."
The admiral continued to stare, as if trying to make sense of what she just said, when Skon spoke up.
"Sir, Vulcans are touch telepaths. To better communicate with someone, a Vulcan occasionally," he said, his eyes wandering to T'Pol, "enters a bond. Thoughts, emotions – they are accessible instantly."
Gardner's eyes were still narrowed. "It's difficult to believe that they could've survived a crash."
"But, they did," said T'Pol. "You know I would not rouse you from your meeting unless I knew beyond doubt they lived."
Gardner said, "Let me talk this over with the other admirals. I'll get back to you."
"Please do so, soon. I believe they are in grave danger."
When the screen faded to black, T'Pol turned to Skon. "Thank you for your help and discretion."
Skon nodded. "It did not seem prudent to reveal the exact circumstances of a bond at this time."
Shran, hands on his hips, stared at them. "So, Vulcans are mind-readers, too?"
"We are telepaths, but by touch only," said Skon.
Shran inadvertently backed away, his eyes on T'Pol and his antennae hunched forward – suspicious. She attempted to close the distance, even touch him to calm him or reassure him, but he put his hand on the ceremonial blade he kept at his hip and shirked her hand.
"That's close enough," he said.
She sighed.
---
When Archer awoke, it was with a start and slung over Captain Vega's shoulder as she darted around ancient trees and under vines. It took a while for him to understand his surroundings – the bright blue sky with white puffy clouds that floated by, the smell of rain and animals and the damp that stuck to his already sweating skin, mixing with the blood dripping down his face. As he came to, he remembered what sparked him to open his eyes: T'Pol's voice shouting his name, the sound ringing in his ears.
Wondering if maybe she was behind him, he asked, "What?"
"Lie still, Admiral," said Mel Vega.
Doing as he was asked, he heard her huffing as she continued to rush through the jungle, his head and body jostling at her movement.
"Where's my first officer?" he asked. First officer, that doesn't sound quite right.
"The first officer aboard Thames or Potomac?" she asked.
"No, T'Pol."
"You mean the ambassador?"
Yes, ambassador.
His stomach lurched, maybe because he was draped over the shoulder of a someone who he thought barely cleared five feet, or because he could still taste blood in his mouth.
"Set me down," he said.
"Wish I could, sir, but I can't right now. We have to clear the blast zone."
"How far do we have to go?" he asked. His voice sounded hoarse, even to his ears.
"A ways further."
"Then leave me here," he said.
"Stop playing the hero."
Breathing through the need to purge his gut, his eyes remained unfocused and the deep breaths he sucked in hurt his head, mainly because his face was bouncing against her back.
After what seemed like hours, but Jon rationed must've been much sooner, Captain Vega found a cave and just as they were about to enter its mouth a explosion kicked up dirt and debris in all locations, hurling it into the sky and knocking Mel and he to the ground through the sheer concussion. A spray of dirt seemed to come at them from all directions. The blast turned the daytime sky bright orange for a minute and then blackened out the sun with smoke. Flying animals, ones that already scattered from the landing, flew further away to escape the destruction.
Clarity started to form, defogging his memory – the crash, the fire and then nothingness as Vega tried to grab his hand, using sheer brute strength to save him. However she rescued him, he couldn't be sure.
He asked, "I thought the self-destruction didn't work."
"When we landed, it must've jarred the systems. Admiral Jeffries always told me it could happen," she said. "Damned if he wasn't right."
She helped him up, throwing his arm over her, and led him into the cave quickly before they could feel the earth shake beneath them again and the real pyrotechnics, thanks to the of the plasma injectors, display – burning the jungle.
The cave was sandstone in nature – warm brown and gold – and the faint dripping of water could be heard even under the rumble of the chaos around them. Mostly dragging him inside, she helped him to a rock to perch.
"We should be safe here," she said.
He looked at the captain, she was drenched in sweat, probably from hefting a man of about 180 pounds, probably almost 80 pounds heavier than she. Mel also had a small bruise forming at her cheek and a few cuts most likely caused from the reinforced glass shards of the Bridge's dome-like roof. Grabbing at his head, he leaned over to sit down and felt Mel assist him to the ground.
A medical kit, one she'd been apparently holding in her hand, appeared from nowhere and she opened it and retrieved the scanner.
"Thanks for saving my life," he said.
The device whirred in front of his head and she frowned. "You have a concussion, sir."
"Thought we were on a first name basis, Mel," he said.
It caused a small smile to spread across her lips. "I don't know if we have enough to treat you successfully."
"I'll take whatever you got."
A hypo shot into his neck and his vision cleared a little, but it didn't help his stomach much. The eggs he ate earlier liquefied in his belly.
"I don't suppose you've taken field medicine lately?" she asked.
His eyes narrowed. It'd been years since he had – probably more than four.
"I took a class last year, but it's difficult to remember," she said.
"You won't hear any complaints from me," he said.
"I do remember you're supposed to keep a patient who's had a concussion awake for approximately twenty four hours."
She rummaged through the kit and took out a sterilizing pad and a device to stitch his head. After swiping the pad across his head he winced – it served both sterilization purposes as well as had a mild numbing agent, so the sting didn't last long.
"I'm going to sew your wound, let me know if it hurts."
Taking the device to his head, he felt the pinpricks, but decided he could withstand the pain. Mel watched his face and then stopped suddenly.
"You need more?"
"I'm all right."
"What'd I say about the hero-shit, Jon."
He gave a small laugh. "I'd pipe up if it were worse."
She looked at her handiwork and gave a frown. "I hope you don't scar."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
"You do seem to like to get into the middle of a scrape."
"Keeps up my supposed legendary status, the one you said I have."
A giggle, a girlish one, blurted from her mouth as she packed the sewing device away and despite his pain, he chuckled, too until he noticed the bruise on her cheek become bright blue.
"You all right?" he asked.
"I'm okay."
"Don't suppose we have any water in that medkit?" he asked.
"We have a filter, but that's about it … and two packs of Starfleet rations."
Only two days. He nodded.
"I know you're not a fan of the Vucans," she said, staring at her medkit, "but, I'd like to find the ones on this planet. They're our only way to survive."
He hadn't been prejudiced against Vulcans for some time, but decided not to refute that point. "I don't think it's a good idea."
"No offense, but we can't just trust your gut here. We need food and water, which they have."
He was silent.
She said, "I'd also like to find my Security Chief and MACOs."
"Your Transporter Technician said he didn't read any human bio-signs."
"I need to at least know," she said.
And although he thought it was foolish, he couldn't argue against that logic. If he were the captain, he'd want to find his men, too, even if they were dead. Besides, the only thing warning him not to trust the Vulcans was a voice that sounded like T'Pol's. Maybe it was the head trauma he suffered, but he could swear he could hear her whispering to him, crystal clear, as if she was sitting next to him. Even right now, she was warning him against venturing too far away.
"How are we going to find them?" he asked. "Your medical scanner barely covers a foot radius."
"I still have the coordinates from when we transported down the first time. I know it's about ten miles from here. Besides, I'm hoping they'll want to check out the huge fireball in the sky that is burning down the jungle."
Logical, he thought, grimacing as he thought it
"All right," he said after several minutes had passed.
"Good."
Another wave of nausea hit, one too demanding to ignore, so he pushed himself to his feet. Making his way to the mouth of the cave in the nick of time, he expelled whatever was in his stomach. Instead of feeling instantly better, he felt the need would come again soon. Wiping his mouth, he saw the same traces of blood and closed his eyes; there was more than just the blood he swallowed – there was internal bleeding.
Maybe when Mel's asleep, I can determine what it is. No sense in worrying her, or slowing her down.
"You okay, Jon?"
"Yeah," he lied. He kicked dirt over it in an attempt to hide it and following basic survival training. Luckily, it was hidden from view as Mel came over.
She said, "Maybe we can rest here until tomorrow."
"Don't slow down on my account. I need to apparently stay awake anyway."
She grabbed his bicep. "I'm kinda pooped myself." Without his encouragement, she helped him back into the cave and then assisted him in sitting.
"I'm impressed you managed to carry me so far," he said.
"Little girl like me, huh? You're not exactly a beefy." Pushing back a piece of her black hair, she shrugged. "And I'm stronger than I look."
As he nestled himself against the wall, in a position that would minimize his pain, he gave a small smile to her. The next few hours they spent talking, her gently pushing him occasionally to wake up. When day passed with pink and purple succumbing to blackness, they could tell the jungle had mostly burned itself out, the tinges of smoke barely reaching the cave. Mel wandered off deeper into the cave and found a small spring to act as their source of water. Filtering it, she let Archer have the first cup and unwrapped the rations, which he waved off despite several attempts to make him eat them. The water on the other hand was cool and felt good going down his throat even if it splashed in his gullet. Before long, he drained half the cup and looked at the water and then her guiltily.
She said, "You must've been thirsty. Have the rest I'll get more."
He did so, gulping it, and then handed the cup to her. "Thanks."
Smiling she accepted and wandered back into the cave and retrieved another cup, sipping at it.
"You like camping?" she asked. She poked the fire with her stick.
"Yeah."
"Me, too. My dad would take me to a trail along the Appalachian and we'd camp – primitive style."
"I've used to go there with my dad, too," he said. "I barely remember it, but what I do remember is that it was beautiful."
"Sure was. I got my first brownie badge there. Of course, it didn't hurt that Dad was the Brownie Leader."
He smiled. "What was your badge in?"
"Discoverer or discovery, I forget," she said. "I was able to find our campsite and spotted a skunk."
After catching his eye, she asked, "You in the Cub Scouts?"
"Dad was the leader. I liked it so much I joined the Boy Scouts."
She smiled. "I'm sure you get this a lot, but … your dad's text on engineering was a bible to us."
"I didn't see engineering in your files," he said.
"Almost was an engineer. Decided at the last minute to focus on other things. I seem to have a gift for tactical situations, so decided to go through security. But, I never really gave up my love for fiddling with equipment. Much to my chief engineer's chagrin, I liked to go down there and occasionally help him out. He'll be pissed when he finds out Thames is dust."
The fire sparkled in her eyes, turning them almost amber in color and her cheeks blushed crimson.
"Sorry. I don't usually go on and on about myself," she said.
"Seems like we have plenty of time to kill," he said. "Besides, it's nice. To be honest, I've been 6the admiral for a little too long. Titles never sat well with me."
Her smile brightened and her cheeks turned redder as her lids lowered. Approaching carefully, she reached out to touch the stitches at his forehead and ran her thumb along them slowly, watching his eyes as she did.
"I'm sure the stitches are fine," he said.
"Never hurts to check."
Sitting a little closer, she crouched against the same wall he did and the two talked into the night, even past the dying embers of the fire, the two whispered to each other in the darkness.
---
After explaining to Shran, for the fourth time, that she was not pregnant and that yes – Vulcans did have telepathy, but no – they were unable to distinguish thoughts unless touching was involved and even then they preferred to reject the emotions of those they came in contact with – his antennae eased.
"Why didn't you tell me this before, Vulcan?" he asked T'Pol.
"It is not a tradition Vulcans speak of, Ambassador," said Skon. "It is private in nature."
"I wasn't talking with you, Scat," said Shran. And he whipped his head to T'Pol. "I thought we were friends."
She took a deep breath and then pointed her gaze toward the Andorian. "You know his name is Skon. You should call him that."
His antennae rose in defense, but she ignored it.
"As for telling you sooner …. Skon is correct, this tradition is personal." He looked nonplused, hands stuffed across his chest waiting for more information, and she gave in.
"It is private because," she said, "the bond develops between those who are romantically … intimately involved."
"Oh?" he asked. A furrowed brow gave way to a grin, as if for the first time he believed her, and he dragged a chair next to her – plopping himself in it. "Do tell."
As her mouth opened, Phlox crossed the threshold of the room and for a moment T'Pol was glad that they had contacted him even if he was unneeded. Rushing in, his white lab coat flapping behind him, he sounded a little out of breath.
"I heard you fainted?" he asked.
"I feel better."
Tares pushed a chair out for the Vulcan and she sat down, at Phlox's encouragement, as he ran a scanner over her. The Denobulan lowered his medical equipment. With a knitted brow, he leaned in.
"Your eyes seem unfocused. Have you had any head trauma recently?" he asked.
"No," she said. And before he could continue, she flattened her lips. "However Jonathan has."
"Admiral Archer?"
"Yes."
"I don't understand what he has to do with it."
"She has a thing with him." Shran pointed to the Vulcan. "She was just about to tell us what it meant."
As if losing her patience, suffering under the lack of serenity that humans felt – maybe even one earned by being bonded to Jonathan Archer, she sighed. "This connection with him enables me to feel his emotions and his pain, experience it as if it were my own. The Vulcans call this parted, but never parted. It is an ancient tradition that helps us when our mating cycle comes." When she saw Phlox open his mouth, probably to ask more about that particular subject, she intervened while staring at Shran. "This bond was caused because, according to Jonathan, he has had feelings for me for some time, and … I have developed feelings for him as well. We have chosen each other."
Stunned silence filled the room until a smirk landed on Shran's face. "When's the wedding?"
She was tempted to roll her eyes. "There may never be one if someone doesn't reach Jonathan soon," she said. "He is in great pain and in dire circumstances – head trauma is the least of his concerns." A hand involuntarily grabbed at her stomach. "It is why he must be found quickly."
Shran said, "I can contact General Krag and ask him to deploy one of the Andorian ships to pick up the Pink Skin."
And before he could instruct Tares, she got up to make his request happen and the blue man could only look after her with a smile of admiration.
Phlox said, "You may be experiencing his pain, but my medical equipment says you should rest."
"I will see to it," said Skon.
"And I do want to see you tomorrow – bond or no," he said.
T'Pol shook her head while Skon answered. "Of course, Doctor."
"Thank you," he said.
While Phlox gathered his equipment eavesdropping as he did, T'Pol turned to her assistant. "I don't need a nursemaid."
An eyebrow cocked, and yet his face remained placid. "I have been entrusted to help an ambassador of Vulcan, a woman who has risen to the stature of president of a council crucial to peace during a time of war. Is it not logical you should be cared for, especially when you are ill?"
"I am not ill."
"I am Vulcan. I know what it is to have a bond with a mate who is dying," he said. His eyes narrowed by the slightest margins. "You should rest err the ties that bind you together drag you asunder."
"Listen to Skip," said Shran. He winced and he corrected himself. "Skon. He seems wise for a Vulcan."
T'Pol said, "Jonathan must be found. I will not rest until that happens." Tilting her head only slightly, she said, "And he is not dying … at least not yet."
"There is a certain point where separation is necessary for your health," said Skon. "Forced separation …."
The remark stood unfinished, but she knew. She'd read through his files, he'd stayed with his mate until the bitter end, and apparently it was bitter – she suffered from Tuvan Syndrome. Besides, she knew the risks and didn't need any reminders, not now when her realization about how she felt was so new and hopeful.
She said, "You and I both know that having a bond, one borne of true emotion, makes that impossible."
Skon pointed his gray eyes to her and was about to counter her argument when a bleep interrupted them. Despite still feeling ill, she swiftly walked in front of the terminal and watched it fade from black. Admiral Gardner was on the other end.
"Ambassador," he said.
"Your decision?"
"There are many Romulans in the area and--"
"What is your decision?" she asked. It was unlike her to be so impolite, but emotion nagged at her – worry, concern – and her stomach still revolted.
Matt gave the smallest of faint smiles. "The Andorians volunteered to assist, but … we'd like to give them plenty of time to hatch a plan. The Romulans may suspect we'll come soon. Besides, according to the doctor on Thames, there were Vulcans on the planet. I think they can reach them in time."
"Have you spoken with Minister T'Pau about those Vulcans? Were they ordered there?"
"Minister T'Pau indicated she doesn't keep up with military reports. And Commanders Stek and T'Nara aren't aware of Vulcans being assigned to the area."
The Vulcan scowled, landing it at Skon who met her burning gaze, before turning back to the admiral. "It is unlike a Vulcan to simply misplace their military."
The admiral shrugged. "Minister T'Pau indicated she'd investigate and get back to us. And I'm obliged to do so."
T'Pol felt a tinge of green sting her cheeks and took three calming breaths before responding to Gardner, thanking him for his time.
"Wat?" asked Skon in Vulcan. Shran bristled at the Vulcan question, mostly because he didn't understand the language.
Speaking in English, T'Pol looked at her assistant. "Contact your sister immediately and let me know when she is reached.
"Ambassador--"
Her eyes narrowed. "Do it."
And without further ado, she asked Phlox for a lift back to her apartment and left the remainder of the council staring in confusion and disbelief. After several minutes have passed, Shran turned to Tares.
"Tarig re-nol, atra ka'tol."
Skon placed his hands behind his back. "What does that mean?"
"Never vex a woman."
---
When dawn broke Archer wiped his tired eyes, trying to keep awake. Mel had fallen asleep only hours earlier and he was doing his best to keep from waking her. Chilled, shivering under whatever ailed him, he struggled as quietly as possible to stand and made his way to the medkit. With the scanner pointed over his stomach and side, he ran the device over it and frowned at the information: gastrointestinal bleeding, cause unknown. The suggested remedy was surgery.
Great.
Feeling the need to retch again, he made his way to the mouth of the cave and spilled the contents of his stomach, which was only bile and blood, onto the ground. Spitting, trying to shed the taste of it in his mouth, he heard a voice ring in his ears.
Hold on.
"Hold onto what?" he asked quietly to the darkness. When he checked back in the cave, Mel was still nestled against the wall, her head gingerly laying on a rock.
Hold onto what? he asked.
Help will come, Jonathan.
T'Pol? he asked.
Yes. Your wound needs attention, you should tell the captain of your discomfort.
It'd slow her down.
It will save your life, said a voice that sounded like T'Pol. It then added, Do not be foolhardy.
He wiggled a finger against her ear canal, as if to clear the chamber. When the voice was silent, he sighed at his own delusion. Reaching his hand to his head, he checked his stitches and wondered just how bad his concussion was. The fact his eyes were beginning to gain focus, and he could remember the crash more clearly seemed to indicate he was improving.
I can't be cracking up already.
Cracking up? You must mean hallucinating. You're not. A warmth tickled his spine. Tell Captain Vega of your discomfort. She may be able to provide at least some assistance.
The medical device said I needed surgery.
I know. You should try and remain as still as possible until help arrives.
Help is arriving? Then cursing himself, he shooed the voice from his head. I must wish she was here. If I'm going to die, it'd be nice to spend the last few hours I have with her.
Ashal-veh, I also wish I was there with you. We have much to discuss when you return. And you will return to me.
Narrowing his eyes, he looked out into the jungle, letting his orbs dart one way and then another trying to make out a form in the night. A branch twitched and just as he was about to investigate, a hand curled around his shoulder and he shouted in response. The creature, equally startled, behind him recoiled.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," said Mel.
Jon clutched at his heart, panting to quiet it.
Rubbing her hand along his bicep, she apologized again. "Sorry, Jon."
Nodding, he looked at her and frowned. "Did you … were you --?"
"What?"
"Were you talking to me?"
"When?
"Just now … just before you put your hand on my shoulder?"
"No." And then she frowned in return. "Why?"
His lips flattened and he attempted to straighten his body. "No reason."
"Maybe that bump on your head--"
"I'm fine. It's just--"
His words were interrupted by a snapping branch. Archer furrowed his brow and looked at Captain Vega.
"That could be the Vulcans," she whispered.
"It also could be an animal," he whispered back.
"Hello?" she said into the early morning.
Nothing returned her greeting.
Peering into the night, the two waited for a figure to come to light. When one didn't, Mel silently moved backward until she found a tiny flashlight in the medical container and swung it over to the trees. A pair of eyes blinked and the form stalked out of his hiding place.
TBC