Gral was glad to be free, able to walk on his own even though he'd been slowed some because of the Council building bombing. More than a month in the hospital had caused him to go a little stir crazy and he found himself biding his time watching what the humans referred to as "television," enjoying particularly the legal channel where lawyers bickered all day long.
The morning that T'Pol had put herself into a purposeful coma, he took the opportunity to head to a local bar with Shran and discuss everything he'd missed while away. It seemed though he got regular updates from his friends, there was a lot he didn't understand.
A few days had gone by, and every morning he and Shran would make the trek to the hospital to see T'Pol, and each day her vital signs would dip lower. Skon had called the three of them together, meeting to discuss the Ithanite arriving tomorrow and presumably (although the Vulcan never mentioned this) when to wake T'Pol up.
Gral waved goodbye to his wife after a very satisfying argument that morning, one that he knew she'd allowed him to win and headed out to the shuttle Shran was driving. Climbing into the vehicle, he put his plastic lunchbox on his lap and belted himself in.
One look at Shran and the Tellarite gave a small snort.
"What in the devil happened to you?" asked Gral.
Shran's white hair was askew and he had a small bruise on his neck. A smirk fell over the blue man's face, and he smoothed his hand over his antennae and hair.
"The women in my house want me."
Gral snorted. "Not this again."
"Jhamel said she's picking up on Tares' feelings." His lips spread into a full-blown smile. "Let's just say – those feelings are putting my wife in the mood."
Gral winced. "Your offspring is due this month."
"So?" Shran sighed. "It's almost like when we first began mating. We nearly broke the bed."
Gral shook his head. "You had me worried that you and Tares were--"
"No … at least not yet."
"Not yet? I thought excessive mating with your wife is what you wanted?"
Shran shrugged.
The Tellarite frowned. "What happened to Jhamel and Tares telling stories about you. I thought you were beginning to hate going home?"
"Apparently last night Tares got into the Andorian ale and started telling Jhamel about the nights we went swimming together as children. It got them to … compare notes. Tares admitted she had wanted me as a lover."
His antennae stiffened and he gave a proud smile. Shran said, "I've been thinking of asking Jhamel if Tares could join us one night."
"Do Andorians typically do that?"
"Andorians can have sex with up to three partners at the same time."
Gral didn't want to know, despite being more than a little intrigued. Though the Tellarite was no prude, there were boundaries to friendship … and he decided later to look up how Shran was able to consort three other women at once.
Gral said, "You Andorians have strange customs."
The smile stayed put and the Andorian slyly glanced over. "Don't knock it until you tried it."
A squeal left Gral's mouth and he rubbed his belly, which quaked with mirth at the same time he shook his head.
The ride continued until they reached the meeting facility and the room. Skon was already seated, punctual as ever, with his eyes closed and his fingers pointed under his chin, forming a temple. On their arrival, the Vulcan opened his eyes.
"Greetings," he said.
Shran's eyes narrowed and he mumbled under his breath. "I can't figure out if I like this guy or not."
Gral nodded in agreement, but waddled in and plopped himself into a seat as Shran swaggered in and sat down. The Vulcan watched patiently as if determining how to begin the meeting. It was a few seconds too many.
"We don't have all day," said Gral.
"No, we do not," said the Vulcan. "I wanted to discuss our approach when the Ithanite comes."
"Gral settled this, he should decide," said Shran.
Gral nodded in agreement as the Vulcan blinked twice.
"Then perhaps you would share your approach?" asked Skon.
"That's none of your concern."
"Actually, it is. Vulcan, Andoria and Tellar are allies along with the humans. These matters are imperative to all of us."
"I used to be the president of the Council. I know what I'm doing. I'm not some youngling fresh off his mother's teat," said Gral.
He noticed that Shran gave him a firm nod, and it made Gral smile.
"The Ithanite isn't important. I thought we were going to discuss T'Pol," said Shran. "She's been in the trance for more than three days, and Phlox said she's getting worse."
"Both Blue and I like Archer, but we can't allow her to give her life for him. We know he wouldn't want it," said Gral.
Skon said, "I too do not want Ambassador T'Pol to perish."
Gral said, "Then we should wake her."
"The ambassador's vital signs are well within the--"
Shran waved his hand with annoyance. "You and I both know they've been plummeting exponentially in the past four days. Phlox called us in last night. We're running out of time."
Skon closed his eyes as if to concede the point and Gral spoke up. "It appears we all agree. We're the closest thing the Vulcan has to family. Let's decide now."
"We wake her," said Shran.
"That was not her request," said Skon. "Anticipating her actions are also important."
Gral shook his head. "Skinny doesn't need die. I agree with Blue. We wake her."
An eyebrow lifted from T'Pol's aide. "Very well."
Shran left his seat. "Now."
Gral in solidarity did the same, and the Vulcan after giving what almost amounted to a sigh nodded.
The three made a beeline to Starfleet Medical, as if each one had been waiting for this moment for the past few days. When they arrived at the facility, Phlox was already standing over her bed. On their entry, he addresses his same concerns.
"If we don't stop this now, I'm afraid she's going to die," he said.
"We have already come to the same conclusion, Doctor," said Skon.
He placed his hands together, as if in prayer, and put them in front of his face for a moment. Shran was about to ask what he was doing when the Vulcan spoke quietly.
"What I do may be startling and unsettling. I assure you it is the only way to assist her. You cannot interfere. Is that clear?"
Each nodded and Gral pointed at the display over her head, one that showed her heartbeats decreasing by the second. "Hurry!"
Skon's eyes opened and in their clear gray irises, the Tellarite believe he saw fire, something that resembled anger. The Vulcan took a harsh breath, one that noisily left his lips and then headed for T'Pol's hospital bed.
"Raise it," ordered Skon.
The order was given between clenched teeth and Phlox scurried over lift the bed. Once T'Pol's biobed was poised in a sitting position and the gears came to a halt, Skon looked at her and showed her the back of his hand before smacking her across the face – hard.
"What the Grendal?" asked Shran. His hand went to his ice blade.
Phlox said, "I can't allow this to continue."
But rather than heed their words, Skon struck out several more times – slapping her across the cheek with his forehand and back, shoving her face from one side to another across the pillow. As if enough force wasn't used, he grunted and swung harder until her body slammed against the railing of her bed.
Gral watched as Shran grabbed the Vulcan's hood and yanked him to his blade. The small circular object went to Skon's neck, directly over his jugular, and the Andorian cursed him.
"If you touch her again, I'll kill you," he said.
Skon, his adam's apple under the weapon, tried his best to speak. "I warned you, Ambassador." Swallowing, nicking himself in the process as green blood dribbled down his neck, he continued. "It is the only way to wake her."
"You came to Earth so that you could be ambassador instead of her – it was jealousy," accused Shran. "Or it was a political coup set up by your sister."
Phlox went to his patient and gave a large frown. "Her vital signs have improved."
"I must continue," said Skon. In an instant the Vulcan shirked the Andorian and he raised the blue man easily above his head, grabbing him by the collar. As if picking up a rag doll, Shran's limbs went limp, and Skon tossed him to the side without so much as a grunt. When Shran landed against the wall, his shoulder smacking against it with force, he headed back for Skon until Gral placed his hand on the Andorian's stomach, holding him back.
"Dr. Phlox said it was working," said Gral. "We don't know enough about Vulcan physiology." With a sneer working to his lips, curling back to show his fangs, the Tellarite nodded. "Continue."
Striding up to T'Pol, without looking back to see whether the Andorian had managed to recover or whether he was nipping at his heels to attack again, his hand flew at T'Pol – slapping harder and faster until finally they heard a moan.
"You're going to kill her," said Shran, who shirked off Gral.
"T'Pol, we cannot … will not allow you to perish," said Skon. And as he said the words, his hand flew against her face nearly knocking her from her bed as the Vulcan grunted, using all his strength.
---
The waves emanating from Archer's body – the ones that were gentle at first, rolling – turned chaotic. And although T'Pol was unsure about the passage of time, she knew instinctively this was his last day.
His mind was beginning to wander, growing delusional with memories of his father and earlier missions – including Trip's death and the moment he saw her awake from the trellium overdose she received from the Selaya. His breaths were more labored, as was his heartbeat, each one a struggle.
She'd tried to reiterate the words reminding him of calm and peace, but she could feel him in his death throes, fighting his imminent demise. Attempting to reach deeper into her bond, she felt him force her back.
"Don't," he said. His voice was wearier than she'd ever heard it before, and it made her stomach clench.
"Why?"
"I know it means you may not be able to turn back," he said.
Fighting, he opened his eyes and pushed himself, which took more than once for him to sit up.
"You need to let me go," he said.
"No." She was still trying to reserve her energy, closing her eyes to take on more of his agony.
"Dying is logical. It's part of life," he said. The words held pain, and yet were whispered softly, seemingly knowing what hurt they would cause.
She shook her head. There was still hope; Skon told her catatonic body that T'Pau had agreed to send a ship – one that would arrive there in less than a week. The captain, he assured her, was an excellent military commander. She'd had years of training in Vulcan High Command in various units despite her youth.
"It's not your time to die." She said, "Until a ship comes, I must help you."
"It's killing you," he said. "I love you too much to let you die along with me."
She was about to refute that point, when he whispered in her ear. "Be reasonable. Let me go."
"No."
He sighed. Stirring her, he continued to talk as if hoping to break her concentration and her peace.
"Remember our first night together, the one after you stormed into my apartment?" he asked.
"I did not … storm." Her eye creaked open to see him smiling softly. "Jonathan, conserve your energy."
He laid back down, mostly succumbing to weariness while his eyes drifted closed. "I remember the thrill of you kissing me. It was like sharp volts of electricity were shooting into my fingertips and toes. I can't remember that ever happening, not even when kissing Susie Rogers at the prom."
"Please," she said.
"And then making love to you, melding with you." He sighed. "I've been lucky to have you in my life."
"Fortune has nothing to do with it, and your life is not yet over."
"Some things are too good to last forever, Ashal-veh. I'm just glad I had the chance to tell you that I loved you. I never thought I would."
"Be silent."
"T'Pol, I don't want to spend the last moments of my life conserving my energy." His hand grasped hers. "I want to spend them touching you."
With what seemed like great effort, he raised his two fingers. Furrowing her brow, she pushed over to face him as his complexion turned more ashen.
"It is most likely a question of hours until the Vulcan ship arrives, if you have just a little more patience--"
He turned his head to her. "I'm so tired."
With a quivering voice, she said, "I know. But, I am willing to give you more--"
"I don't want it." Nodding to his fingers, he encouraged her to take them and smiled when she did.
She said, "If you hang on just a little longer--"
"Thank you for everything you've given me."
"Jonathan--"
"I was right when I said I've always loved you. And I always will."
His arm, as if gravity was overtaking it slowly lowered and his eyes began to drift closed. The hint of a smile was on his face and she could feel the tether – their bond - bend and twist as if to separate. Scrambling desperately, she tried to reach out to him and nearly screamed in frustration as his image faded.
And then she felt a hard slap against her right cheek, one that was already sore. Weakly, she opened her eyes and watched while Skon brought his hand down to strike her again, and then halted his motions when she blinked. A look of utter joy gleamed in his eyes.
"Ambassador!" he said. It was the closest to glee she'd ever heard in his voice.
Turning into her pillow, she couldn't help but let a tear trickle down her cheek – one that was hidden from view. Emotions strangled her throat, regret and sorrow, what she'd felt when her mother died and when Trip did.
Like a single strand of silk, her bond with Jonathan was barely perceivable. He wasn't quite dead, but perhaps – she reasoned – it was only a formality. She'd wanted to be there when he died, to feel his katra slip from his body as she held him to her. Now, she would never get that opportunity.
Shran must've known the emotional turmoil she was in, because he touched her hand. "T'Pol, there was no other choice."
"I was not quite ready to be retrieved," she said, knowing the emotion that it was laden with. Breathing in the emotion, she heard her voice sound more pained. "I was so close …. Just another few minutes."
"You could've died, Skinny," said Gral. "We couldn't let that happen."
Although she wanted to look into her friends eyes, pleading with them to let her have a few final minutes with her bondmate, she would enter the healing trance again too late to feel his life force slip away. On the verge of tears, she whispered.
"Leave me."
And they all filed out, Phlox bringing up the rear. He leaned over his patient and told her what she'd already known.
"Skon saved your life."
With that, he headed out as well and for the first time since Trip died, she cried. These tears though that weren't of missed opportunities and friendship mixed with confusion; she'd known how much Jonathan meant to her and he left just at the point when she almost told him how much she loved him, too.
It was fitting he'd picked their first moment as a couple. Even then she was encouraging him to stay by traipsing her lips across his, compelling him to remain on Earth. He was right to question her motives, at the time her mouth entreated his, she thought merely of keeping him with her.
The complexities of why it was important for him to be with her lighted upon her later, just as she'd now wished she'd pressed her lips to his once more and vowed he was her bondmate – one she'd choose even if no link connected them. Friend, lover – he touched her katra in a way that she had yet to experience in all her days.
As the silk connection strained, she focused with what little strength she had.
I love you, too.
----
For the past three days, Mel discovered she'd talked to herself a lot. Little things mostly. Chatting mostly. It's what she did with friends, those who would accuse of her of having a motor mouth and too much energy.
But talking to no one in particular also cheered her up.
Being stuck on a planet, ordered to stay clear of other life forms (when she desperately needed their help) was soul-suckingly depressing. Watching the admiral's condition continue to deteriorate brought downright despair. Every day, twice a day, she'd check his vital signs and note that every time she checked they worsened. A kidney had shut down, and his blood pressure and heart rate put him at nearly dead. His body was cold, his face ashen and he hadn't had any real water to speak of in three days.
He was going to die.
Sadly, she retrieved the cardio-stimulators out of the medkit and the adrenalin, the one shot they had, so that she could revive him if necessary. Other than that, she had to wait.
Although she felt badly for it, she also ate the last ration; she'd done so yesterday. Now, as she scouted on the perimeter trying to figure out exactly how to get help without tipping off the Vulcans that Jon had been so suspicious of, she'd begun eating bugs. Tonight, she decided, she'd tried to hunt something. Maybe she could force the food and a little water down his throat.
It's rained for the past few days, the rook leaking onto them – keeping them cold at night and the sun would stream in baking them during the day. It was enough light to give her a slight sunburn; he was saved from extra heat because of the makeshift shelter she built to keep him out of the sun. Removing it at night, she figured the rain was good for him – maybe drops would pool into his mouth to keep him hydrated.
When she woke up on the fourth day, she checked his vital signs as she had every morning. His breath sounded raspy, as if he was finally struggling for breath and she closed her eyes. The end wasn't just near, it would probably happen today. Deciding to postpone her hunting plans, she weighed in favor of staying at his side and being with him when he passed into the Great Beyond. Then another idea lit her brain, maybe it was time to disobey an order.
He was on the verge of death, looking at the Grim Reaper. By all intents and purposes, she was no longer obligated to follow his orders or commands. And yet, her gut twitched at the thought of disobeying him. A small portion of her was afraid the minute she'd go against his orders, he'd awake and become angry or worse, become disappointed.
As she put the scanner away, she heard him barely whisper.
"You need to let me go," he said.
Turning, she saw his eyes closed and yet concern on his face. His voice was hoarse and cracked from lack of water and it made her frown.
"I can't. You're not going to die on me," she said. As if his words were said instead of as a parting, she brought the scanner to him again, hoping to see improvement. She saw none.
"Dying is logical. It's part of life."
She shook her head. Word at HQ was that Jonathan Archer was a man who couldn't be killed, despite blowing himself and the Xindi weapon up, being kidnapped at least twice a year, having a bounty on his head from more than five different species and putting himself in harm's way more than once a month.
Scooting closer to him, to lay his head in her lap, she disagreed.
"Who cares about logic?"
"It's killing you," he said. "I love you too much to let you die along with me." He paused as if for dramatic effect. "Be reasonable. Let me go."
She knitted her brow. "We'll get through this."
Stroking his forehead, she felt his hair slide between her fingers and marveled at his soft brown hair and the light mix of gray – which were just as Jon had said: wiry. Her fingertips found their way to his cheek, which was rough after not having shaved in four days and growing a pepper-colored beard.
As captain, she'd held a dying crewman – it had been one of the most horrible and beautiful things she could ever remember happening. Horror turned to peace just as he'd gasped his last breath and his eyes stared into nothingness. Despite having seen ghastly things, including replays at Starfleet Command of the Xindi attack people disintegrating in seconds, the death of Crewman Frailey stayed with her. It woke her up at night.
It was the same feeling she had now. She could tell his eyes were staring into eternity and his breath was coming to an end.
"I should've disobeyed your order," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Hanging her head, she noticed the serenity overtake his face and in a moment of weakness leaned over to take his lips to hers. Teardrops spilled from her eyes and landed on his uniform while she cursed her final actions.
"Jon, please forgive me."
Cradling him, she wept. More tears came, more than should've, the result of everything in the past few days finally catching up with her. Stress and anguish. Tired, ship destroyed, crewmen killed, landing on an unfamiliar planet with little to eat or drink, a dying friend and hiding from their allies because of confusing orders. His death was just the final straw to a series of traumatic events.
In all her days in the officer rank, she hadn't cried like this. And letting the water come down her face, shoulders shaking, made her feel vulnerable and desperate.
I'll stay with you until your final breath.
She knew it was seconds away. A wheeze turned into a moan, and with one final gasp, she felt his body still. And the last human connection she had on this planet ended. She stroked his forehead again, murmuring a prayer under her breath, one her Catholic grandmother told her, when she realized her particles were swirling in a beam of light. When her neutrons, protons and electrons finally re-sequenced together, she looked around. This was a ship, one with red metallic walls and letters that resembled spirals.
The air felt hot and dry, not like a human's environmental controls. Her breath came in quicker pants, the gravity has stronger here, too.
A creature walked up to her and leaned down, speaking in a language she didn't recognize. Shaking her head, she tried to explain.
"I don't understand."
He pointed to the admiral and then back to herself, saying the same phrase much more slowly. The man looked Vulcan, but given the admiral's warning about them, she stayed protectively at Jon's side keeping his body in her lap.
Another creature headed in, the door sliding in front and behind her, and Mel instantly realized who it was: Commander T'Nara. It made her smile and stand instantly.
"Commander," said Mel.
The captain of the vessel pointed to a console, one that her assistant was working on and a Vulcan with a biobed joined them, scooping Jon from her. The two disappeared and Mel found dizzy and disoriented.
"—can understand me?" asked T'Nara.
"Yes."
"The universal translator on your uniform was not functioning properly."
The human wiped grime from her face that was wet from tears. "I think I'm not functioning properly."
T'Nara gave the smallest of frowns and gently spoke. "Do you need a doctor?"
She shook her head, her lips sloped up gently. "No."
"Then allow me to show you to your quarters."
"Admiral Archer --?"
T'Nara shook her head. "Our doctors will do everything they can."
"He died."
The Vulcan put her hand out in front of her. "Allow me to show you to your cabin."
On the way, Mel could only think about the state of her commander as she nodded to hearing T'Nara's ship had been ordered to pick them up and how they barely escaped the Romulans.
"Are your people on the planet below?" Mel asked.
T'Nara recovered from the surprise quickly. "I do not know."
And with that, the two disappeared down the hall.
TBC
A/N: Dr. M'Benga, in TOS' Private Little War, slapped Mr. Spock to wake him from the healing trance. I used the same method here. Oh, and hang in there!