Shran shuffled his feet in front of the door and knocked again, this time much louder – hard enough to nearly bruise his knuckles. When he didn't get the immediate attention he believed he deserved, he put an ear to the portal and wiggled his antennae.
"Vulcan, are you home?" Leaning into the frame of the door, he pressed his lip at the edge of the door, hoping his voice would escape inside. "T'Pol!"
Barely hearing footsteps, he stood upright and folded his hands across his chest, waiting for her to finally let him in. When the door swung open, he saw the Vulcan – her hair askew and dark green bags under her eyes; it made him soften.
"You look like something the tarpig spat up," he said.
An eyebrow didn't flicker at his bait, which is why he pushed himself inside and past her. His eyes landed on a candle spilling wax onto the floor as if she'd been sitting on her mat the entire day meditating instead of resting. She must've seen his disappointment because she spoke up.
"I had to contact him," she said.
"The Pink Skin?"
"Yes."
"Dr. Phlox told you to take it easy."
"Jonathan is in grave danger. I must reach him." Shran noticed she turned her back and was about to sit down again.
"He can take care of himself," he said. Reaching his hand along her bicep, he dragged her over to her table all the while noticing she was too pooped to successfully break his grip.
"What Scare said is true, isn't it?" he asked. At the twitch of her lips, he corrected himself. "Skon, I mean."
"To what are you referring?" she asked.
"You're being affected by Archer's wounds." She was about to shake her head and deny it, so he leaned closer, his antennae lurching forward, threateningly.
"It's true." He watched her fill her lungs before divulging more. "It is also affecting my ability to suppress my emotions."
He knew that was true firsthand; he saw the outbursts in the meeting room earlier, underscoring her statement. A shaky Vulcan hand pushed at a lock of her hair and the blue man shook his head.
"Affecting the ability to suppress your emotions?" he asked. "I was wondering why you seemed more likable today."
T'Pol closed her eyes and his teasing smile vanished from his face.
"Maybe you should do what Scamp said and break the bond you have with Archer."
"It has not come to that yet."
"If it comes to it, you should. The Pink Skin wouldn't want it any other way."
She was silent, and the Andorian got the idea she'd die before breaking that connection with him. In a way, he admired steadfast loyalty just as he promised himself that he'd work with Skon to keep her from destroying herself.
"If that is all--" she said.
She was about to push herself from the table when Shran spoke up.
"Skon indicated your meeting with T'Pau didn't go well."
"No," she said. "I asked if Vulcan would assist in helping Jonathan and Captain Vega, but she did not commit resources to the endeavor."
"I made a case to General Krag, asking him to send a ship to the planet. He agreed."
Relief crossed every feature of her body, and for a second he thought he saw tears begin to form in her eyes before being blinked away.
It made the blue man frown. "Don't get your hopes up. We don't have transporters on any of the ships in the vicinity, something the general insisted on … and with the number of Romulan forces in the area, I'm not sure I blame him."
"What is the solution?" she asked.
"We have a prototype ship with transporters that has just been built – the Tanton. Krag suggested we use that vessel."
"How long will it take to reach them?" she asked.
"Two weeks."
"Jonathan will perish before they reach him."
"I wish I could do better," he said. His antennae drooped as he watched T'Pol's lip turn down ever so slightly. "I'm sorry."
"I appreciate you inquiring," she said.
A small smile shone on his face. "I also asked Krag to talk with Minister T'Pau. He agreed."
It made T'Pol's eyebrow creep up and Shran nodded at the momentous occasion, one that forced him to call in an old favor. He could count on one hand the number of times the two leaders talked. Despite now being allies, there was no love lost between Vulcans and Andorians – even high-ranking officials.
"Probably won't help, but … you never know," he said.
"When you joined the Council, I didn't--"
"Water under the ice flow." He waved his hand cutting her off. "Let's not get sentimental. We both owe the Pink Skin favors." He was about to embellish, sticking his hand into the air to denote he and Archer were even, but the tiredness on the Vulcan's face kept his mouth still.
Pushing himself from the table, he focused on her. "You could repay me by getting some rest. You look like you need it."
She was about to argue, when he continued. "Don't be such a stubborn karplog."
He made his way to door, looking behind at the candle still dripping onto her floor resisting the urge to blow it out.
"Srap, Tares and I visited Gral in the hospital today. He said Phlox is going to release him tomorrow afternoon."
"That is good news."
"He also said he convinced one of the Ithanites to come to Earth and meet us."
"Impressive. Which one – Ki'ar?"
"That's the one."
"I never thought an Ithanite would come to Earth."
"Me neither. You can talk to Gral after I pick you up to take you to see Dr. Phlox tomorrow; he might be able to give you the good news himself." And before she could decline the suggestion that he would take her to the doctor, he added a few words. "If I don't your aide will. I know he lives down the hall from you."
"Very well."
"Good. I'll be here at 10. I'm serious about getting some sleep."
With that, he left. Walking to his shuttle, he smiled to himself and wondered when T'Pol had become such a trusted friend. He never would've guessed that was possible … even a year ago. As he climbed into his vehicle his grin waned. He'd be coming home to Tares and Jhamel again tonight, and like last night, he'd undoubtedly walk into them discussing him – his personality traits, body and embarrassing stories.
Maybe I'll go and visit Gral again, he thought.
---
Footsteps transformed from pain to agony as night began to descend when Archer realized that it was becoming unbearable to travel. Collapsing to his knees, he looked up at Captain Vega and conceded defeat. She ran the scanner over him. Frown deepening as if the results displayed gave bad news.
"Jon, we have maybe have another two kilometers to go."
"I can't," he said, hoarsely. For a moment, he thought he should've stopped two kilometers ago, but willed himself forward.
Mel stooped over as if to throw him over her shoulder and he tossed his head from side to side.
"Don't," he said, knowing it could cause him to gag instantly. "Go ahead and go on."
"I can't leave you here."
"I'll be all right."
"The hell you will," she said. "I'm not leaving you."
He was about to debate her again, when his stomach revolted and he vomited. Dizzy, he tried to stay focused, but realized it was nearly impossible. His body was shot; he was dead tired, more weary than he could ever remember being. It had taken all his concentration to put one leg in front of the other on the long march here, and now that attention was gone. Zapped.
"I just need a little sleep," he said.
She crouched down next to him and lowered herself to the ground, before holding the water out so that he could rinse his mouth.
"It's been twenty-four hours," he said.
After a few seconds, she nodded – resolved – and he lowered himself to the ground.
"I wish there was shelter somewhere around here. Can you stay awake for another thirty minutes while I look around?"
"Sure," he lied.
"I'll be right back."
The moment she left, he felt his eyes drift closed and the whispers he'd been hearing all afternoon become clear. The breath tickled his ear.
"Jonathan."
"Yeah?" he asked. His voice, even inside his head sounded worn-out.
He could feel relief settle along his bones and sloped his lips up at it; it was the first pleasurable thing he'd felt in hours.
"Shran indicated Krag has volunteered a ship, but that it would take two weeks to reach you."
"You don't think I'll make it."
Exasperation in her voice, she agreed. "No."
When he thought he could feel a frown develop over her face, as if he could run his fingers over it, he shrugged. "Well, it was nice of him to try."
"I'm still waiting for Minister T'Pau to respond."
"I know you're doing your best."
As if he could feel her laying next to him, a warm body that smelled vaguely like cinnamon mixed with nutmeg, he reached out and for a second could almost feel her hair slip between his fingers. It was a bit of heaven.
"You no longer believe you're delusional?" asked T'Pol.
"I don't know. I guess I don't care." A wry smile played on his lips. "Besides, I'm starting to get used to your voice rummaging around in my head."
"It's different than holding Surak in your mind."
He gave a mild chuckle at the comment. "With Surak, it's like trying to remember a lost thought. Faint memories, mild smells, words that are on the tip of your tongue …. It seems to hear you all I need is a little focus. Although, all day I've been feeling like there's something you need to tell me."
"Yes," she said. She paused, as if preparing herself for a difficult conversation; it made his mirth disappear. "You once asked me what the connection between Vulcans and Romulans are."
He waited.
"The Romulans are our ancient brethren."
"I don't understand."
"Before the time of the Awakening, Romulans and Vulcans lived together. During Surak's time, they left our planet and sought another where they could live in emotion. Romulus. I know nothing of what they look like, what their technology is like – other than what I saw on Enterprise or what their motives are. After Surak, Vulcan cut all ties to them."
It caused him to open his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" He'd really wanted to ask why she didn't tell him sooner, and she answered that one instead.
"T'Pau only made this information known to me within the past six months, and she asked that I keep this information private. I wanted to tell you."
"You didn't trust me?"
She was silent, and to combat it anger bubbled inside him. Then the inquiry became a confirmation. "You didn't trust me."
"Believe me. I wanted to tell you," she said.
"I gave you plenty of opportunities. I asked you about it. Specifically." Then he accused her. "You lied to me."
"I did so to protect my planet."
"From me?"
"You would tell Starfleet."
"Don't you know me better than that?" he asked. Worse than the anger was the disappointment, and he could feel her squirm under it.
"Jonathan, you don't understand. This secret would cause unrest among my people. It may even cause civil war. The consequences were too great to leak it to anyone."
"Don't you think I would've understood? Don't you think I would've protected you?"
"I couldn't take that risk."
"There was no risk. Ashal-veh, don't you know by now what I feel?"
"I didn't know that then," she said.
And for a moment, he saw the exact moment T'Pau told her. He'd seen T'Pol asking to tell him, and the minister declining outright. It hurt her, mostly because she felt like she was being disloyal, even if she agreed with the assessment.
He asked, "Even after all your years on Enterprise, did you really think I would betray your confidence?"
He could almost see the Vulcan bend her head, lowering to her chest, under the weight of his accusation. A sigh left his lips and a hand darted to his sweaty hair.
"I did not intend to hurt you. I did what I thought was best," she said.
He was silent.
She said, "Perhaps I made a mistake."
"Yeah." It was all he could utter under the circumstances. A deep breath filled his lungs and he blew it out quickly.
"You will forgive me?" she asked. He could see into her mind that she'd in one way or another tried to tell him ever since – that she'd wanted to convey the truth, especially now when it could mean his life. She was willing to cause her planet doom to save him, and that's why he would always forgive her.
She asked again. "Can you forgive me?"
The words, even in his mind sounded sweet and fraught with concern that this could mean the end to his love. He shook his head at the Vulcan, as if she didn't understand human emotions – even after all this time – at all.
"I already have," he said.
"But, you seemed angry and--"
"I'm glad you told me, T'Pol. I just wish you'd said something sooner."
He watched images come to his mind, and then frowned more. It wasn't just civil unrest that made the Vulcans nervous, there was a greater thread. "You think Vulcans would want to reunify?"
"They are our ancient brethren. They, too, are Vulcan."
He said, "Vulcans will find out eventually."
"Yes, but hopefully by that time Vulcans will have translated all of the Kir'Shara. By then, my people will understand – truly – what it means to be Vulcan. And perhaps by that point, Romulus would embrace peace."
He wanted their lips to connect and despite imagining himself in her apartment with jazz playing quietly in the background as her candles burned themselves extinct, he didn't place his mouth on hers. They were both too weary to keep the connection open for such platitudes.
"You seem tired," he said. "You should get some sleep."
Concern knitted in her brow.
"You don't need to stay up for me. I'll be all right," he said.
She said, "Jonathan, there's something else – we've discovered that Romulans are disguising themselves as us."
"The Vulcans we saw …."
"Could be Romulans. V'Las was one."
"Their bio-signs registered as Vulcans."
"As our ancient brethren, they may have similar internal structures …. We don't know what they look like."
"We're two kilometers from their camp."
She said, "Then you must leave. Head back to the cave."
"It took us all day to get here."
"I tried to warn you earlier."
He remembered Mel shaking him alert and then noticed irritation tingle along his skin. Furrowing his brow, he stared at the Vulcan as she turned away from him.
"You're jealous?" he asked.
"No more so than you are of my aide, Skon."
That wiped a bit of the confusion off his face. He'd seen into her mind a Vulcan roughly her age that seemed to hang on her every word … a man he knew she thought was attractive.
She said, "I'll contact you again when I hear from T'Pau."
Before she could end the connection they had, he held her arm and a tingle climbed up his spine. "You don't have anything to be jealous about, T'Pol."
"I know. And neither do you."
"I know."
Without touching lips the link came to an end, and he looked up at the sky – a purple veil draped over the bright pinks of twilight, and the moon gleamed in the background along with tiny stars, twinkling. Sitting up, he realized that Mel was gone longer than thirty minutes. When he struggled to stand, something that was more of a chore than he intended, Mel approached. There was a gleam in her eye and her face was alive with excitement.
"I saw a couple of Vulcans not far from here!"
"Mel, about that--"
"We're finally safe!" she said. She threw her arms around him, hugging him. "I'll help you walk the last bit--"
"Did you make contact with them?" he asked.
Her glee didn't vanish as she stuffed medical equipment strewn on the ground into the box. "I tried to, but I couldn't get their attention before they left. Although, I thought they were looking at me." The grin waned only for a second.
"They saw you?"
She said, "I thought they did. Although, I'm sure if they noticed me, they would've said something."
Turning his head, he looked around the jungle – they were in a clearing, but foliage surrounded them as did the shade of night; Romulans could easily be hiding in the brush.
"Throw your arm around me and--"
"No."
"What?" She grabbed his arm to sling it over her neck when he shirked from her grip.
"No," he said.
Eyes glared. "You're going to give me the gut feeling explanation again?"
"What if they're Romulans in disguise," he said. It wasn't a question; it was a statement.
"They're going to a lot of trouble to conceal their identity as Vulcans."
He'd wanted to tell Melanie everything he'd learned from T'Pol, and maybe for the first time since he was told the secret, he understood why the Vulcan kept it from him. Now, he was in a position to lie to the captain in order to protect T'Pol and her people.
"I'm just saying, we should be cautious."
"Vulcan is our ally," said Mel. "What is there to be cautious about?"
"Doesn't it seem odd that the Vulcans are on a planet that is surrounded by Romulan vessels. They've been holding the delegates and the members of the Excelsior crew hostage--"
"You don't know they were holding them hostage."
"They were tied up!"
"I'm sure there's a logical explanation."
"And what about our people being fired on?" asked Archer.
"We don't know the Vulcans fired on them."
"Who else is on this planet?"
"We don't know, we only saw Vulcan bio-signs."
"That's right. So it stands to reason these Vulcans are the ones that kidnapped our people and fired at your security officer, killing him."
"We don't know if he's dead."
"Your transporter technician couldn't find human bio-signs. Your security officer and the MACOs are gone."
She knitted her brow. "I know what this is really about."
"Huh?"
Stuffing her hands across her chest, she narrowed her eyes. "I'd heard that you had a grudge against the Vulcans, but I never would've believed it until now."
"I don't have a grudge against the Vulcans."
"I'd heard your father's work was shut down and that seemed to spur a hatred in you."
"That was a long time ago. I had a Vulcan science officer for ten years and--"
"Whatever prejudice you have, I think it'd be wise for you to bury it, sir."
"Listen, Captain, I don't have any prejudice." Her lip quivered, like she had something to say about that, so he continued before she got the opportunity to retort. "We're done discussing this. I'm giving you an order: We're leaving this vicinity and we're heading back to the cave."
"The cave! You've got to be kidding!"
Jon's jaw clenched and Mel began a tirade that stirred the wildlife – birds left neighboring trees. Obscenities left her mouth in a string, and she accused him of sabotaging their rescue based on some hair-brained gut feeling and a nearly forty-year vendetta against the Vulcans. He was trying to keep his fury in check, letting her get it off her chest, but the allegations stacking up that he hated T'Pol's people began to make his hands clench. After she continued for another two minutes, Archer'd finally had enough. Red-faced, he squared his shoulders to her.
"I really don't give a damn what you think, Captain. And I have half a mind to write your ass up when we reach Earth."
She opened her mouth, but he shut her down immediately. "I'm not trying to sabotage our rescue; I want to get off this God-forsaken planet as much as you. And as for hating the Vulcans …. You don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Sir," she said.
"And how dare you accuse me of it. Want to get personal? Well, I've heard some things, too. I read in your report previous commanders thought you were a hot head and that moniker nearly kept you from being promoted. Forrest seemed to think that passion could be channeled, and I'm hoping he was right."
"Sir?"
"I'm not finished. Part of a captain's, or any rank in Starfleet for that matter's, obligation is to follow the chain of command. I understand you may not like an order you receive, but you're duty-bound is to fulfill it."
"Sir?"
"So, unless you'd like to be busted back to Commander, you'll follow my orders – to the letter, ma'am – and you'll do so without …." A wave of dizziness passed over him and he felt something trickle down his chin. Wiping his hand over his lips, he realized it was blood.
"I was trying to tell you," she said. It was softer, despite her cheeks still being flushed from her rant and his dressing down.
Everything went black.
----
T'Pol had difficulty waking up, and when she did she instantly felt her side turn to fire. With great effort, she pushed herself off the bed and grabbed her abdomen.
Jonathan.
Glancing at the clock, she realized how late it was – already past 0900 hours and less than an hour before Shran would barge into her room and demand to take her to see Dr. Phlox. Woozy and a little nauseous, she made her way into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Her face was flushed, as if she had a fever, and her eyes held dark circles. A shower, a lukewarm one, makeup and tea couldn't seem to even her complexion or grab her focus. And when she greeted the Andorian at the door, he wore a puckered brow.
In the shuttle on the way to Starfleet Medical, Shran raved about Tares and Jhamel becoming friends, walking in as they were telling stories about him – something that began to dampen the need to be tyla-tora with his aide. Attention waning she stared out the window at the buildings below her, each one whizzing by. There was a dread in her soul – her katra – that the man she had a bond with would perish in the next few days, or sooner. His vital signs, she knew, were crashing – blood pressure dropping and heart rate slowing. That wasn't the worst of it. Even in his unconsciousness, the agony of his wounds had racked his body making him twist, tremble and sweat. While she was in bed last night, she'd tossed and turned under some of that pain, hoping if she shared it, his life would be prolonged.
A hand reached out to touch her arm, waking her from her musings.
"T'Pol?" asked Shran.
"Yes?" she said.
"You're shaking."
It took a great amount of self-control to keep from breaking down or screaming in pain.
"We're almost there," said Shran.
It took less than three minutes to arrive at the facility, and when they landed – directly in front of the building, T'Pol wondered if Phlox had been alerted as she day dreamed; the doctor was waiting for her outside with a gurney and wheeled her quickly into the building.
In her daze, she heard voices above her – faint figures melding into the light fixtures and ceiling.
"How long has she been like this?" said Phlox.
"I don't know," said Shran. "She seemed pre-occupied when in the shuttle. Even when I went to pick her up, she looked like kal."
"Skinny?" said Gral. "Can she hear us?"
"She has some inflammation in her liver and spleen, but otherwise she seems fine," said Phlox.
"Then why is she quivering?" asked Shran.
Drowning out the voices around her, she closed her eyes to focus on her mate. She would have to be stronger, strong enough for the both of them, to keep him alive. And as she blew a deep breath from her lungs, something she barely noticed halted the conversation above her, she reached for every gram of vigor she possessed. Ancient words mingled in her mind like runes, presenting themselves in spiraling symbols written on parchment.
Yes.
She would meditate, enter a healing trance, to help him focus his energy and her own. They would be in that state together. But, before allowing herself to reach a deep sleep, she needed to do one last thing.
The words from her lips sounded raspy.
"Bring me Skon," she said.
Chaos ensued above, but her mind was already drifting, preparing her body – slowing her heart, dropping her blood pressure dangerously low and seeking the concentration she would need to continue. Finally, a figure appeared before her and it leaned down.
"T'Pol?" asked Skon.
"Continue putting pressure on our government to help rescue the admiral and captain. Do what you can to assist Gral with the Ithanites. Do you understand?"
He must've known what she was gong to do, because he almost spoke harshly to her.
"What you do is illogical."
And yet, she knew he had done so himself. "On the contrary, it is the epitome of logic. I can reserve my strength and his if I enter this trance."
"You could perish."
"He has given his life for me many times before; it is a risk I must take."
There was silence, and she finally asked – eyes beginning to lose their focus. "You will do as I ask?"
"Of course," he said.
And with that, her eyes closed knowing they would not open in days – if ever. The catatonic state of the Vulcan healing trance overcame her and instantly the words of her friends were snuffed out. The only voice she heard other than her own, was from her mate. In her mind's eye, she lifted two fingers to his and whispered a promise.
I won't leave you.
He shook his head in response, wearily, to indicate his displeasure at her self-sacrifice.
Pushing him gently down to the ground, she crouched next to him. "Breathe when I breathe and be still."
She watched him fight, despite seeing traces of memories from Surak of the man closing his eyes before the final death throes from radiation killed him.
She continued, "You are the middle of the ocean, and merely watch as life happens around you, without care or thought. You are limitless."
He fought a little, and the Vulcan raised her eyebrow at the human's natural instinct to survive.
"You are motionless. Still. Calm and serene." Lying beside him she took his hand. "Breathe when I breathe and be still."
----
Captain Melanie Vega looked at Jon crumpled on the ground and her brows knitted together. Despite the fact he'd just spent the past five minutes chewing her out, she looked at his countenance with fear and hope. Pulling out the scanner, she ran it over him again and noticed his body was beginning to tremble. According to the display it'd quiver more before his life extinguished. But that wouldn't be long now.
His body is beginning to shut down. I should've never made him walk with me to find the Vulcans.
Crouching beside him, she pulled at the zipper of his uniform and lifted his shirt, trying not to let her fingers spread over his skin, and removed the ice pack. It was a ludicrous idea, she believed, to think the inflammation would simply go away; it'd been a last ditch effort. Ripping the bandage from his body, something that didn't stir him, she felt at his side. It was hot and swollen.
"What are we going to do?" she asked no one in particular.
Should I toss him over my shoulder and head back to the cave, or disregard his order and find the Vulcans?
His face was pained, she could see it tense even knocked out – dead to the world – as he was. Crimson had already rushed to his cheek and his lips parted to give a soft moan as blood dried at his mouth.
Maybe we can compromise.
Mel had located a small hut only a kilometer away. Though she hated to move him, if he was concerned about Romulans disguised as Vulcans – an idea she thought was preposterous – at least getting out of the clearing and heading back into the thick of the jungle would help. Carefully lifting his arm, not bothering to re-zip his uniform, she rolled the man up and onto her shoulder with a huff.
Good thing he's thin.
Heading into the jungle, she passed foliage, ducking under giant leaves and attempting not to trip over tree roots in the pitch black of night. The moon, occasionally creeping between the clouds and squeezing through the overgrowth was unable to light her path.
After almost an hour, sure she was going the wrong way, she saw the tiny hut – a structure that looked like it had been built decades ago – rotting and near collapse – made of something that resembled bamboo. Making her way past the door, laid up against the structure, having fallen away long ago, she unraveled the admiral's form and placed it on the ground. As she settled him there, he groaned again, a word on his lips.
"What?" she asked, hoping he was coherent.
"Ashal-veh," he whispered.
The words sounded foreign, from a language not from Earth, and she wondered what he dreamt of. Mel reached for the water and shook the canister. There wasn't much left. Maybe if there was rain tonight like last night, she could collect something to filter. He could no doubt use fresh water, and so could she.
Watching him - his uniform tattered and pushed around his waist, his black undershirt equally scorched and grimy with buttons missing – she sighed. Her commanding officer was a pain in the ass, stubborn as a mule, had an ego bigger than Sol's solar system, insisted on being right all the time … and yet reeked of heroism. It could've been his noble chin or the seriousness in his eyes when he gave her commands, or it could've been the way his eyes twinkled mischievously at death and danger. Maybe it was his reputation, which was larger than the man himself. Tucking a piece of hair behind an ear, she reasoned perhaps it was none of these things that made him seem heroic, just be a crush on the man who'd generated more praise and jeers in the halls of Starfleet than any other man.
When she was a commander at HQ, she remembered him passing her in the hall – eyes as cold as steel with a grimace on his face. He'd just come back from the Expanse, gloriously successful, and from a meeting where he'd apparently spent the majority of his time shouting at Starfleet's top brass and the previous ambassador to Vulcan, Ambassador Soval. Even as he passed, in a huff, she realized how shockingly handsome he was.
That she'd never heard in the halls of Starfleet or read in the annals of Enterprise's early history.
She was long past schoolgirl fantasies – knights who fought for honor. She reasoned that her admiration, what made her heart pang, was that he'd made the decision to go down with the ship with her – despite an undoubtedly long and successful career ahead as an admiral. Nothing stirred a woman, even one as cynical as she, like self-sacrifice. He even – commanding officer - served as her pilot.
A smirk made it to her lips, one that dissipated when she watched his body shake again.
She reached her hand over his forehead, something her mother used to do when she was a girl, and felt his forehead. Boiling. Sweaty.
Not much I can do.
Quietly sitting next to him, she zipped his coverall around him – knowing that would warm him – while placing her hand over his now and again and giving a vigorous rub. She'd learned in training that having the forearms, including the hands, warmed would increase someone's heat; it was a treatment for shock, one to use if blankets weren't available.
As she stared out into the dark, a few drops of rain smacked against the leaky roof and she breathed a sigh of relief. At least they'd have enough water to last another day. Setting out her canteen to collect some, she ventured back into the hut. Her eyes were too weary to stay open and without realizing her head drooped to dream.
---
When Skon saw T'Pol's eyes close and watched every single statistic displayed on the screen above plummet, he knew what she was attempting: the Vulcan healing trance, Hakausu Vitaya.
It made his eyebrow jump.
When injured, the Vulcan body naturally entered the state in order to survive, but he had yet to see someone attempt to throw their body into it willingly especially to save another … besides himself.
It was a practice he'd read in the Kir'Shara, a book that after pouring through had changed his life. It brought him peace after his wife's death – as much as it could at least - and caused him to seek one of the only two Vulcans to retrieve it.
Turning to Dr. Phlox, his face lined with concern, the Vulcan clasped his hands behind his back.
"She has attempted a healing trance. I only hope it will prove successful."
Shran's antennae whirled and the Tellarite, itching for a fight, pointed his long finger toward the Vulcan.
"Why didn't you stop her?" asked Gral.
"It is illogical to halt what is inevitable," he said. Pausing briefly, he turned his gaze to Dr. Phlox. "If the ambassador proves successful, she will need assistance waking from that state. And I believe, Doctor, you would find the method … distasteful. You may contact me, and I will assist you."
Without describing the method, he turned once more to the ambassador he served. Her face was peaceful, serene even and her hair fanned on the pillow.
She was never more beautiful.
When he accepted the position, asking his sister for assistance in changing his career, he hadn't realized he'd be working for a woman who would stir something in him. He'd heard the rumors that she was emotional and bound to the humans; but rather than become repelled, he found that intriguing. That wasn't what caused his eyes to darken when she entered the room, and it wasn't her beauty – although he believed her quite exquisite. T'Pol walked a fine line between logic and emotion, caring for her friends and the humans as she welcomed new ideas, thoughts and beliefs. She was the most open-minded Vulcan he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting.
As he watched T'Pol's breath slow, barely noticing the rise and fall of her chest, he decided to make good on his promise. Straightening, he assumed the role of ambassador.
"Ambassador Gral, I would like to discuss the Ithanite ambassador and what--"
"Skip, Vulcan's ambassador … our friend … is in dire straights, and you've been nothing but cryptic," said Shran. "I want some answers."
Gral snorted in agreement.
"I have answered you," he said with confusion. "The ambassador has entered a healing state."
"What the devil does that mean?" asked Gral.
"It means she will be catatonic until someone rouses her."
"Why did she enter this trance?" asked Shran.
"To save her bondmate." An eyebrow flickered.
"The Pink Skin?" asked Shran.
"Indeed."
"Drawing out information from you is like debating with a mute!" said Gral. "Tell me what is happening!"
It amazed him that the emotion in the room had reached such a fevered pitch as the Andorian's antennae lurched forward, Gral's snout twitched with anger and even the Denobulan's mouth turned down.
"Fascinating," he said at the scene. Before Shran could point a blue finger in his face, which he hypothesized the man was likely to do in less than one minute and five seconds, he started from the very beginning, explaining in detail what it meant for a Vulcan to have a bond. He waited for the Tellarite's head to now and then deftly switched topics to the how a Vulcan heals him or herself. Skon provided information and theories that it was possible to throw one's self into it, as T'Pol had done. While the aliens stared on, the aide finally raised both eyebrows.
"I presume now you will allow me to contact Minister T'Pau as the ambassador requested?" he asked.
Shran asked, "One more question – what if we need to bring her out of that state."
"You mean, if we determine she will die?" asked Skon. "If the bond threatens to kill her?"
The blue man tossed him a frown and let his white head fall to his chest. "I don't think the Pink Skin would want her to die because of him. And I at least owe him that."
Skon agreed. "I presume, Doctor Phlox, you will continue to monitor the ambassador?"
Phlox frowned and jerked his head. "Of course."
"Then you will inform us when T'Pol's life is threatened?"
The doctor sighed, as if weighing ethics and wondering whose wishes to uphold. When the Andorian pressed him, the Denobulan capitulated.
"Yes, yes … very well," said Phlox.
"That's what I wanted to hear," said Shran. Gral could only grunt.
"Then we are all in agreement," said Skon. "You will excuse me."
With that, he strode out the door and down the hall to talk with his sister. With two Vulcan ships able to get to the planet in a week's time at great velocities and with transporter technology, it was logical that commander Stek or T'Nara should help.
There was another illogical reason the Vulcans should assist, and it had nothing to do with the admiral having carried the katra of Surak around or helping to find the Kir'Shara. Skon wanted Ambassador T'Pol to live.
His sister's image appeared on screen, and Skon's eyes darkened.
"Minister, I have a request to make," he said. His chin rested on his index fingers as he laid out the argument succinctly and plainly. "Send the Vulcans to collect the humans."
"Ambassador T'Pol already made that request."
"I am aware." He watched his sister wait. "It is the logical course of action. Sending one ship to retrieve two humans would save them, assist our relations with the Terrans and protect a secret."
"What do you mean?"
Leaning in, he tilted his head. "I have known you all my life. You know where your military force is located."
"There have been too many tasks to attend to, I--"
"The Romulans are the Sundered?" he asked. It was the name they had given the outcast – the Vulcans who sought to wage war before agreeing to live on another planet where they could embrace emotions. Using the ancient tongue, he asked again in Vulcan. "Seheikk'he?"
T'Pau watched, wordless.
He said, "It is why the Terran doctor believed there to be Vulcans on that planet."
She remained silent.
He said, "If so, I believe that is a secret worth risking one ship for. And, it is most certainly worth saving two lives."
The two siblings stared at each other, as if they had played this game before – waiting to determine who would speak first. Skon knew his sister was a brilliant politician and leader, but had no stomach for patience; it was a weakness he took advantage of. More than a minute ticked by, and she spoke first.
"I will ask Commander T'Nara to turn around."
"I thank you," he said.
"Thanks is a human tradition. I made a logical decision."
"Indeed you did."
Bowing, he watched the screen fade to black and then felt his lips twitch at the screen. "Most fascinating. That was easier than I anticipated."
Perhaps the Romulans are our ancient brethren. I shall read the Kir'Shara again tonight for clues.
TBC
A/N: The healing trance was used as a plot device in TOS – A Private Little War. Dr. M'Benga, a human doctor who specializes in Vulcan physiology, is there to help Spock.