A/N: I'm sorry to put everyone through hell! I've noticed people are reading for different things, and I will try to alert you ahead of time. This chapter contains a nice Archer/T'Pol moment, some Ithanite bits with a character I hope you like (he'll develop more as the story unfolds – and ack, yes, there's more story), Shran moments and a scene between Mel and Archer and finally, not necessarily in that order.
Without further ado, thanks for all the reviews!
----
T'Pol hung her head. The ghost-like thread between her and her bondmate, Jonathan, was dwindling and she couldn't regain her healing trance to try just once more to speak with him. So, instead, she sat on the bed in the hospital room, after telling everyone else to leave, and cried.
She even buried her face in her hands, feeling tears leak between her fingers. Water fell slowly, as she was unschooled in expressing grief. It took several minutes to compose herself, and despite the end of her weeping, there was an aching inside.
Closing her eyes, she remembered a night she and Jonathan had together. One of her favorites and perhaps the defining moment – the second she knew that perhaps she felt love as well.
The rain in San Francisco was in between a full on down pour and monsoon. When they'd walked out it was a light drizzle, so neither thought about bringing an umbrella. As the rain grew more torrential, Jonathan spread his jacket so they could run underneath, splashing through the streets to get to the Mandarin Cove. His hair was wet, sticking to his skin as was most of his clothes and he wore a beaming smile anyway, laughing as they ran. The wrinkles spread along his eyes and lit them up until the glimmered jade.
Drenched, pulling at their apparel, they squished their way to the seats a the Chinese restaurant and realized they were the only patrons in the place; their usual waiter, Harold, explained the weather was keeping the other customers away. Jonathan turned his head and uttered a special request: to play music he knew she liked – Miles Davis. They obliged right away.
As the night bore on, he'd downed one more Tsing Tao than normal, three in all, the alcohol barely affecting his motor functions, but his grin spread broader than it ever did. He'd long ago given up using chopsticks and skewered the remnants of her meal, having finished his, on his fork and took them to his lips. As the two talked, she noticed him staring at her.
"Jonathan?"
He looked over his shoulder to ensure no one was watching and when the coast-cleared took his hand to her hair.
"You have a curl forming."
She reached over to flatten it, but he shooed away her hand.
"It's cute," he said. With a sigh, he spoke to her in whispers. "You cold?"
Holding up her mug, she explained though that she was warmed on the inside. "The tea helps."
He pointed to his beer. "I guess this helps, too."
The waiter mistook the motion for another beer and soon Jonathan began nursing his fourth. Drinking it made him smile even more and she realized right away he was tipsy, pleasantly inebriated. Instead of being more guarded with his affection or waiting until the wait staff left, he held her hand (despite her protests) and even kissed her briefly on the mouth. As she furrowed her brow at him to let him know she was displeased at the public display of affection, his grin grew more mischievous.
"God, you're beautiful," he said. His finger nudged the ridge between her eyes where the furrow grew.
The comment disarmed her, and before she could comment he paid the check – giving more than effusive praise over the dinner – and walked out of the restaurant with his arm around her. It was still raining, heavier now, and he attempted to hold his still damp jacket over them until he realized they were already soaking. Slinging it over his shoulder, he grabbed her hand and started running, laughing as he did. Even she felt tickled at the absurdity, her robes slogging through the puddles. A few blocks later they were at her apartment and he waited in the rain, looking up at the bottom of the stairs at her as she was attempting to let herself in.
"Want to call it a night?" he asked.
It caused her to point her head in his direction. "I do have to wake up early."
Disappointment seemed to speed across every feature and his inebriated smile threatened to become a frown. She waited for him to speak his mind, which he did immediately, even as others approached.
"I don't want to call it a night." Heading up the stairs to look in her eyes, he gathered her into his arms – the most forward he'd been in public. "I want to go upstairs with you."
Giggling young people passed inside and Jonathan smiled a little broader at them, as if their mirth was contagious.
T'Pol waited until they vanished inside and turned back at her lover. "We've been together quite a bit lately."
"I've enjoyed it."
He leaned into her and whispered in her ear. "I just want to be with you. We don't need to make love. I just feel comfortable with you."
A hand reached out to touch her cheek, caress it with more than one stroke of admiration. It was the same glint of longing she'd seen before when they were supposedly only friends; the same one he delivered when she knew he wanted more than just friendship. Then it made her nervous, now it almost made her want to smile.
"I have to get up early," she said.
"I won't interfere."
She let him in, and despite their words to each other, as soon as they entered the elevator, the two began to kiss. His lips entreated hers and he gently pushed her against the wall of the lift as they shot upward. Tongues met and she felt his hand spread under her wet hair dragging her into a deeper embrace where their throats were open and panting.
The doors began to open, reaching their destination, and she heard the older couple from down the hall give a mild cough when she and Jonathan broke free. It caused the Vulcan to narrow her eyes and Jon to give a mild chuckle.
"Sorry," he said, barely meeting their gaze.
As she opened the door, his hands fled to her hips and he turned her around, backing her into the apartment. They kissed more, and she realized he was backing her into her bedroom.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
He didn't have an answer.
She said, "I meant what I said about getting up early."
Rubbing his hand against his mouth, he blew out a small sigh. "Thought you were enjoying it."
She was, but that was beside the point.
"Hmmm," he said. With that, he began unbuttoning his shirt.
T'Pol was about to question him again, reminding him about his comment to her on the steps when he disrobed completely and headed into her bathroom, leaving a trail of wet clothes behind. The water started to run and the room immediately steamed, making even the bedroom feel muggy.
With mild annoyance that bordered on secret mirth, she gathered each garment up and flung it into her arms and dumped in a pile so that he could wear them out the next morning. As she flopped a drenched shirt onto the top of the pile, she heard a strange noise. Singing.
Following the song into her bathroom, she pulled back the shower curtain.
Tilting a shampoo bottle up, as if it were his microphone, she watched an impish grin spread across his face.
"You coming in?" he asked.
His hair, lathered but not washed clean, stuck up in a spike and the hair of his chest matted down. Water dribbled out his mouth and his eyes shone.
"Hmm?" he asked.
"Yes.".
She shimmied out of her clothing, leaving the curtain open – not so fastidiously – open so that water would pool on her floor. When she was done, he stuck his head under the nozzle to flatten his hair and then let her get under the spray as he stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her into a hug.
And then he quietly sang in her ear, swaying to the warm water. When she was about to turn around and deliver a kiss on his lips, he held her a little tighter.
"I want to spend every minute of my life like this."
Finally breaking his grasp, she faced him. His eyes were serious, watching her, blinking before he took her lips.
"How about you?" he asked. The words whispered against her mouth.
"It has its advantages."
Seduction in his eyes, he turned off the faucet and held her hands as he walked out of the shower.
"I need to awake early," she said, allowing herself to be tugged.
He nodded and led her to the bed.
"I prefer if you didn't get the bedspread wet," she said.
Gently pushing her onto it anyway, as her lips gave the ghost of a frown, he leaned over her and intertwined his fingers into her hair.
He said, "I made keys to my apartment for you today."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to be there more often." He sighed, sweetly. "I want you to come any time you want." He paused, and brushed his fingertips along her face. "Because I want to take our relationship to the next step."
It made her a little nervous.
"I want to open my dresser drawer and see some of your things in there," he said. "I want my bathroom to have your makeup case and the bottle of smelly Vulcan lotion you put on your skin."
"Jonathan, we have less than three weeks …."
"Think about it." Instead of giving up, he grinned more broadly. "Give it a day or two."
She nodded and his lips took hers again. Scooting her body up, so that she was spread horizontally on the bed, he kissed her again. When his embraces became more demanding, she pushed away from him.
"Tomorrow, I must awaken at five for a meeting with Ambassador T'Pau."
He climbed into bed and held the covers open for her, and she settled into them. Pulling the bedspread around them and then setting the alarm, he nodded.
"Okay," he said.
Fluffing her pillow, she gently laid on her side, facing away from him and closed her eyes to accept sleep. When she didn't feel him lay next to her or curl his hands around her, she waited. Creaking open one eye, she saw him gazing at her. Two fingers – the one of the Vulcan kiss – stroked her ears, neck and shoulders soothingly while her eyes drifted closed. He kept up the gentle movements for five minutes, then ten and then thirty. She could tell he was watching her, content to keep doing so until she fell asleep.
And yet, instead of making her drowsy, it caused her to shiver. Turning toward him slightly, he stopped.
"I'm sorry, was I bothering you?" he asked.
"No," she said.
Leaning up she placed a kiss on his lips and dragged his head down and his body over hers. His hair was still wet and she could tell he was still slightly intoxicated, but his eyes twinkled in the moonlight, shimmering with adoration. His features were handsome – high cheekbones and a strong chin. Smoothing her hands over his chest, she felt the soft hairs glide under her fingers and she sighed.
"The Vulcan lotion I put on my skin isn't … smelly," she said.
A laugh purred in his throat. "I meant that in a good way."
"If we had more than three weeks …."
His nose nuzzled hers. "So, when I get back …?"
She knew he wouldn't be coming back.
It's when she gripped the hair on his head and crushed her mouth to his, forcing his lips open with her tongue. Running her fingers over his back, she felt his strong muscles – taut shoulders – and kissed him with more verve. Her mouth fell to his neck and tugged at his earlobe, delighting at his labored breath.
"I thought you had to get up early," he whispered.
"I can rest after my meeting and before I move a few of my belongings to your apartment."
She kissed him again and ran two fingers along his jaw. When they broke for air, her eyes met his.
"I want you," she whispered, knowing how human it sounded and not caring. It was only the two of them and she wanted to mirror words he'd used before; delivering human words, she deemed in this instance, was important.
Bliss broke out over his face before his eyes darkened in passion. And it made her heart beat faster and her toes curl.
Easing against the sheets, she brought the covers to her chin, waiting for the single thread that connected them to snap … for his life force to ebb away. Bracing herself, she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her hands around them, clenching her jaw. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
But, nothing happened.
Instead, she felt the solitary thread buzz, plucked as if strummed like a lyre. Rather than fall into the cold and emptiness, what awaited the end of a bond, she felt a pulse of warmth.
Warmth?
She shot up like a rocket and gasped.
He's alive!
---
Mel was on her way to her cabin, a few feet away, with her head on her chest as T'Nara talking beside her. Captain Vega was tired, bone-weary, dragging her feet with each step. She was about to turn to the commander and explain she just wanted some time to herself when the intercom rang with a chiming ping.
"Dr. Sakot to Commander T'Nara."
The Vulcan strolled to the comm. "Yes?"
"When you have a moment, join me in the medical facility."
"Acknowledged."
Mel wandered into her room, said her thanks and let the door close behind her as she attempted to figure out where the blasted environmental controls were located. The room was blazing hot and the increased gravity was giving her a headache. When she discovered the device, she quickly notched the temperature down and sighed as she felt cool air blow on her skin.
Despite not having had a shower in a few days, the first thing she wanted to do was sleep.For the past few days, she'd stayed awake perched over Archer's body allowing her eyes to rest for only five minutes a day before they snapped open. The captain, feeling her body close to hallucination, lay down and closed her eyes.
Sleep wouldn't come. She revisited her decision, one that ended up killing the admiral, not to involve the Vulcans on the planet. His order to stay clear of them and dressing-down could've been spoken in a delirium, caused by the anguish he'd been suffering. Every single day she thought, more than once, about asking for their assistance. It burned like acid in her stomach and made her frown.
She'd let down the admiral, causing his life to come to an unceremonious end. And she'd let down herself.
Maybe I should resign.
Worse than holding Crewman Frailey in her arms and watching him go, the result of saving other crewman, was holding the admiral as he took his final breath. The sight of him speaking to her, pain spreading across his features, would never leave her. Hearing him gasp, extolling his life force, would haunt her the rest of her days.
What didn't make sense is why in the hell the Romulans, Orions and Arali started this war? What did they have to gain? Power? Territory? Wealth? For 100 years, the humans managed to side-step strife. After the third world war, they eventually settled their differences, ended hunger and sought peace. The Xindi attack and now the hostilities with these new enemies uprooted Mel's most basic beliefs: people, aliens included, were good.
She'd believed that despite small and mostly uneventful skirmishes with pirates and traders as captain. And, she'd believed the Xindi attack was a fluke. But, now she had to wonder if traveling through space, trying to explore and seek out new life somehow – for reasons unknown – put a mark on the human race.
Starfleet, as far as she knew, was still investigating the Council bombing without determining a culprit or even a motive. It had killed more than fifty people and was a sharp reminder of the violence that can be done to Earth and its allies.
Captain Vega sighed. There was only one person in the human race who was a single target, a bounty, to so many species: the Klingons, Orion Syndicate, Mazarites, Suliban and a few other dozen aliens. It was the same man who'd been near the Council building when it crumbled to the ground. Archer. And now he was dead.
A communication rang through, rousing her from her musings, chiming incessantly until she jammed her thumb against the button.
"Vega."
T'Nara said, "I apologize for the intrusion. I have limited knowledge of humans, and human culture. And while I know you were attempting to rest, I believed you might be interested to know that …."
As she was about to ask the Vulcan to spit out whatever she had to say, T'Nara finally got to the point.
"Admiral Archer is alive."
"I'll be right there!" And without signaling she was done, she leapt off the bed and tore down the hall realizing only after she passed the second junction she'd need to look at a map to figure out exactly where Sickbay was on a Vulcan ship.
----
Shran's antennae drooped and his head sagged against his chest. There weren't many people he liked, but the Pink Skin was one of them. Archer may've even been eighth on his list, following his family and a few Andorians. Sure, they'd had their run ins, betrayed one another and tried to kill each other, but after all the deceit and cursing of their early relationship, something else blossomed. Friendship.
Thy'lek Shran loved the man like a brother. All the goading, teasing and hubris between them, he'd known, was because of their genuine affection for each other.
It honored Shran to his icy veins that the admiral asked for him, personally, to become the ambassador for Andoria despite everything that happened with Commander Tucker and the Arali. General Krag told him that the Pink Skin had even pulled a few strings to make it happen. Although Archer may not have known, it'd given Shran his life back – his honor and pride after being disgraced for bringing dilithium crystals, the ones he was secretly ordered to take, back to his government.
An almost tearful smile made it to his face as he reminisced about punching Archer for the first time, watching the Pink Skin show a little emotion as his ruddy skin swelled and turned crimson. Even with that first smack, he had to admire the human; he didn't back down from a fight and stood up to the Vulcans.
Clearing his throat, he looked at Gral whose breaths had turned into light growls.
"You okay, Gral?" asked Shran.
The Tellarite sighed. "It's hard to believe he's gone, Blue."
The Andorian frowned, his antennae dipping just a little lower against his head, and awkwardly he took his little friend into a side hug before both men shifted uncomfortably and then looked at the door, sharing memories of Archer as Skon stood politely by.
As an hour became two and then four, Shran found himself pacing. He'd threatened for the past hour to the other Council members that he would go into T'Pol's room to console her. Every time he insisted, hand on the door, Gral or Skon would give another reason why he shouldn't. And frankly, the blue man was getting a little sick of hearing what he should and shouldn't do.
Testing fate, he placed his hand on the handle again, this time defying to look at Skon or Gral.
"I don't think you should go in there. Skinny told us to leave her alone," said Gral.
"She's been in there for four hours," said Shran. A gloved finger poked into the air. "And I don't think she should spend any time alone."
Skon interrupted. "It is natural for a Vulcan to seek solace in his or her thoughts at such a time."
Both Gral and Shran narrowed their eyes at the Vulcan.
"You've been quiet, Skill. Maybe you're happy about the Pink Skin dying," said Shran. "You have T'Pol all to yourself."
An eyebrow twitched, what appeared to Shran as vexation – it was the only thing that cheered him up.
Skon said, "I assure you, Ambassador, that is not the case."
It is, he thought. "We should talk with T'Pol about what she wants to do in his memory."
"But, Archer is barely dead," said Gral. "We should allow her time to decide when to honor him or how."
"Well, I want to honor him soon." His antennae whirled. "I for one would like the privilege to take one of Archer's possessions and leave it on the ice of Andoria in his memory. If his animal survived perhaps I can take him."
Gral said, "I don't think he would want that delicious creature to be taken to Andorian. Best to eat his dog, dining and thinking of him over ale in true Tellarite tradition."
Shran squirmed. "Can that mangy thing be eaten?"
Licking his lips, the Tellarite agreed. "Of course. It's meat. And that beast has lived a long, full and succulent life."
"Perhaps we could refrain from discussing the partaking of flesh," said Skon.
Shran grimaced and thought about opening the door again, but turned away at the last minute mostly because Gral coughed. Instead he contacted his wife, letting her hear the bad news, murmuring into his communicator as his wife said she would come to the hospital. Ending the call, he turned his head; footsteps were on the other side of the door. Turning his head, he watched the door thrown open and T'Pol a-glow. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at her flat lips.
"He's alive," she said.
"What?" asked Shran.
"Jonathan lives."
"You said--" said Gral. With what seemed like compassion, he spoke softly to her. "Skinny, I can understand how difficult it must be."
Skon nodded. "Perhaps rest and meditation will assist you. I am certain Dr. Phlox could--"
T'Pol shook her head. "Thy'lek, contact General Krag. I'm sure he'll tell you the same." With something that seemed like determination, she spoke resolutely. "I am not delusional."
Face barely worming into a frown, Shran shook his head until he realized T'Pol would insist on this.
"I'll contact him, but I want you to wait in there," he said, pointing to the hospital room.
"I'm fine," she said. Her arms folded across her chest and almost immediately Skon and Gral began to try and talk some common sense into her. When the commotion grew louder, Phlox joined them and cajoled her back into her room where he could take some scans. Gral and Skon disappeared inside with her, and Shran waited until he heard the voice of his commander and friend speak through the black device that reminded Shran of a human microphone.
"Thy'lek!" said Krag. "I didn't expect you to call so soon!"
"General, I have a personal favor."
"Of course."
"Any word from the Toltek or the forces in Romulus space?"
"I've just heard the most amazing news! We don't need to launch our ship to find the humans. Apparently the Vulcans have."
"You spoke with Minister T'Pau?" asked Shran.
"I did. I'm sure it was my skill at diplomacy that wore her down." Shran doubted it, but let the man continue. "She's as stubborn as a tarpig and has the personality of a plak."
"Your negotiating skills are legendary." Shran hesitated to ask. "The humans are--?"
"They're alive, although your friend is in poor health." The man gave a grunt. "He seems to have the stamina of an Andorian; he survived a wound that apparently should've killed him two days ago."
Shran smiled and looked at the door. The Pink Skin's alive because of T'Pol, he thought. Standing a little straighter, he agreed. "Thank you, sir."
"You've asked me for a personal favor, now I have one for you."
Shran shifted his feet. "Oh?"
"I'd like you to talk with Admiral Gardner about helping us convert dilithium for our experimental war ship."
Shran was quiet.
Krag continued, "Thy'lek?"
"Sir, wouldn't you want to invite all of our allies to participate?"
Krag's voice turned harsh. "We're in this war for two reasons – one, because Andorians were attacked and two, because the humans have been our allies for the past ten years and have proven themselves to be honorable. They stand up for their friends. Vulcans and Tellarites do not."
Shran hated to disagree, but felt the need to say something. "I think if you get to know some of the Vulcans and Tellarites--"
"Being an ambassador has made you soft!"
He resented those words. "I've served you in the Imperial Guard for many years. You know I'm not weak!"
"Then you'll talk to Gardner."
The line was disconnected and Shran's lips tugged down. That's a bridge Shran would cross later. At least I know the Pink Skin lives.
Pushing on the door of the hospital bed, he pointed his gaze at T'Pol, who instead of seeming anxious appeared to have self-confidence. She knows.
Shran said, "The Vulcan is right. Archer's alive."
Skon's voice was the only one who spoke through the silence. "Fascinating."
Excitement broke out.
----
Within the week, T'Pol was back to what she considered normal – her blood pressure was stable and standard for a Vulcan woman about her age, her heart rate was regular and her health was good. The only difference in her overall state was a spring in her step when she walked and the days she counted down until she was see Jonathan again. It would take a little more than one month and 6 days to reach Earth, and she was already awaiting that reunion.
Through the bond, he'd thanked her. Thanks weren't necessary. Not only would he do the same for her, but he had yet to realize that she wanted him to live for her. Selfishly.
Shaking her from her reflections, she strolled down the hall of her apartment and gathered her aide. After she'd knocked on his door, he appeared immediately and the two, dressed in their finest Vulcan robes, headed to a shuttle to meet at the Council room to welcome the Ithanite.
On the way to the meeting, Skon made – what T'Pol considered – small talk. It almost brought a smile to her face; he would learn yet what it meant to be human, and she was pleased he'd made so many strides so quickly. She had learned about the race through great difficulty and several missteps. He learned without the same ramifications.
As soon as they reached the Council room, the one they were renting, they saw Shran and Tares – both squeezed into Andorian black leather uniforms. A ceremonial blade, the one Shran always kept at his hip shone – as if polished – and his antennae wiggled with anxiety.
"I hope the Ithanite is worth the trouble," he said.
Tares placed her hands on his bicep and cooed. "Thy'lek, we should be on our best behavior. The allies could use his help."
He looked up at her and gave a gentle smile, his hand cupping her cheek.
It made T'Pol blink and she wondered exactly what the relationship between the two was these days. The last she'd heard from Shran that he'd brought up the idea of he and his wife sharing a bed with Tares, and that the Aenar was more than mildly upset, giving an emphatic "no." Unintentionally, she glanced over at Skon who had the same confusion spreading over his face.
Perhaps I should contact Jhamel. Although T'Pol didn't believe in girl talk, she knew that her friend may need a woman to confide in.
And before anyone else could speak, the Tellarite pushed through the door of the meeting room and held it open for a copper-skinned humanoid about three feet high with a fez hat and an animal skin. His teeth were jagged, pointed as if he'd – like a Klingon – sharpened them with his own blade. As he stood in the middle of the room, Skon and T'Pol gave a slight bow as the Andorians nodded.
The Tellarite, wearing a ceremonial robe of skins – one it seemed was to honor to Ithanite – pointed to the little copper man.
"This is Ki'ar – Head Negotiator for the Ithanites."
When T'Pol was about to introduce herself and her aide, Ki'ar interrupted.
"We eat first!"
Shran shot a look of annoyance to T'Pol and said, "We brought food with us, something Ambassador Gral was sure you'd like."
"Raw?" asked Ki'ar. "Freshly killed?"
"Oh, yes," he said. His tone was verging on snide. "It even has the skin on it."
The Andorian reached behind him and stuffed a plate of raw fish in front while the little man stood on tiptoe to reach it. After cramming a few pieces in his mouth, he gave a satisfied grunt and sat down at a table, his legs swinging beneath him. The rest took it as their opportunity to sit, joining him at a round table.
"Talk," said Ki'ar.
Gral, said, "Ki'ar, this is Ambassador T'Pol and her aide--"
A growl left his mouth. "Have you had offspring?" he asked.
She narrowed her eyes. "No."
A smile came over his face and he spoke in Ithan to Gral who stroked his beard; it was something the universal translator couldn't pickup. As T'Pol was about to inquire, the Tellarite shook his head.
Gral continued, "This is her aide, Skon."
Ki'ar gave a mild smile.
"This is Ambassador Shran and his aide, Tares."
"Your female looks like a male," he said, pointing to Shran.
The blue man's antennae twitched and he stood up, hands on the table. "I am a male!"
Ki'ar shoved another piece of fish into his mouth. "My mistake."
"We hoped, Head Negotiator, we could speak with you about joining us," said T'Pol. "There are many advantages of allying yourself with us. For example, we could share technology that you would otherwise not receive: weapons, engineering, transporters --"
Ki'ar said, suddenly, "We're through talking."
Skon poked his eyebrow at the alien and Shran leaned against the table. "You said you'd come here to negotiate. We're not through--"
Ki'ar scowled. "I want to be entertained."
Shran was about to object again, when T'Pol held out her hand to silence him. "Entertained how?"
"What do you do on Earth for fun?"
Shran mumbled, "You're asking a Vulcan what they do for fun?"
Ki'ar tittered as Skon answered the question, seriously. "Read, meditate and see some of the sights – the ocean and pier for example - while quietly reflecting."
The copper man waved his hand. "Boring!"
The Tellarites eyes fled to Shran's. Gral said, "There are places to drink alcoholic beverages, see scantily clad women who dance and smoke something called cigars."
Ki'ar's said, "Tell me more about the women."
T'Pol hoping to quiet this discussion, opened her mouth, but Shran spoke over her.
He said, "Ki'ar, many of them have large breasts."
Ki'ar said, "We leave."
T'Pol's said, "Perhaps it would be wise to discuss the treaty first."
Ki'ar hopped off his chair. "That can be discussed tomorrow."
Shran stood, too. "Head Negotiator, I'd be happy to take you to these places." And Gral chimed in with the same effervescence. Tares agreed to join them, leaving T'Pol a bit stupefied.
"Perhaps it is best if you continue without me," said T'Pol.
Skon leaned over to her. "Ambassador, it may help if we were there."
T'Pol turned around in surprise. "Would you condone such actions?"
Skon raised a brow. "It is neither to condone or not condone. I pass no judgment. We want him as our ally so it appears only logical we should accompany them." A bit of mischief in his eyes, he continued. "Perhaps we can also ensure none of them break any Earth laws."
The Vulcan sighed and discovered that she followed them out the door.
----
Ki'ar was like a kid in a candy store where all the candy was free. Gral, Shran and T'Pol paid for nearly every hedonistic vice he could stuff into his body or pointing his leering gaze toward. When they finally hit the fourth bar in three hours, one with bright lights and girls stuffed into tops two-sizes too small, he seemed content to stay. One drink became ten, and the little man held his liquor with aplomb, shoving each one down his throat.
Shran, an experienced drinker, even began to get tipsy as did Gral and Tares. Although they didn't keep pace with the Ithanite, they were surpassing their limits. Meanwhile, T'Pol – inwardly disgusted – sipped at an alcoholic beverage while Skon did the same. It was their second for the entire day.
The disco music annoyed the Vulcans, ringing in their ears and yet Ki'ar wiggled his butt in time to the beat as if it would fly off. Suddenly, he jumped from his chair and headed for the dance floor, twirling his little fez hat as he danced staring up at the women above him.
At the scenes, Shran ran a hand over his antennae. "I don't think I can keep up with him."
Gral agreed. "Ithanites are hedonistic little way-dons, but they are fun to attend parties with."
"Seeing as you are all inebriated, perhaps we should end our attempts for negotiation today," said T'Pol.
"Who's negotiating, Skinny?" asked Gral.
"Isn't that what we came here for?" she asked.
The Ithanite waved to the table and Shran gave a hearty wave back until they realized he was asking them to join him. Gral shook his head.
"Tellarites dance, but it's best I don't. With the number of beverages I've had …"
The copper man continued to beckon them out and then focused on T'Pol. Shaking her head, she tossed the little man the closest thing she could to a frown. Finally, Ki'ar headed straight to her and tugged on her robe.
"Dance with me!"
"Vulcans do not dance."
Shran corrected her, too drunk to know better. "You danced with Archer at my welcoming party."
The Vulcan gave an unperceivable sigh as the Ithanite smiled. "Dance!"
Skon turned to her. "Ambassador, there are times when diplomacy is painful." Shooting his eyebrow into the air, he wished her the Vulcan version of luck. "Pain is best dealt with quickly."
Closing her eyes, she pushed herself from her seat and moved toward Ki'ar.
---
Mel hovered over Jon's bed and stared at him, waiting for some sign or signal he was alive. The Vulcan doctor had instructed her to let him rest, but she couldn't resist hanging around occasionally – especially the day he was brought to consciousness. For some reason, that day, she put an extra effort into her makeup and ensured her hair was neatly brushed and tucked behind her ears.
When Jon's eyes fluttered open, she felt her heart racing.
"Admiral," she said. "Jon!"
The weakest of smiles passed over his lips. "Hey," he said, his voice groggy with medication.
Dr. Sakot turned to Melanie and explained everything that was wrong with him in his most dispassionate of tones: one failed kidney and spleen removed, approximately 40 centimeters of large intestines removed, an inflamed liver being treated and a human system receiving the latest in cell regeneratives, anti-inflammatories, pain relievers and sedatives.
Archer had apparently heard it before from the doctor. "Good as new."
"That's just the medication talking," she said with a teasing smile.
Being new information to her, she asked a few questions about his chance to fully recover and how long it would take. She was relieved to hear the results: his chances of fully recovering were good, even though it would take nearly three months to do so. The Vulcan was surprised, although he didn't use those words, that the captain managed to survive with the injuries he'd sustained.
Turning her attention back to the patient, she leaned against the railing of his bio-bed.
"You nearly died on me," she said.
"I'll try to do better next time," he replied. The wisecrack was there, but his words were slightly slurred and quiet.
A grin made it to her face. "We'll be back on Earth in about a month."
"Porthos?" he asked.
"Commander T'Nara said your 'subservient quadruped' is doing fine. Lt. Mayweather is watching him." She smiled. "Don't worry, we'll be transferring onto the ship soon."
"All the prisoners from the planet – the diplomats and crew of the Excelsior?"
Mel sighed. "Most of them lived. Although none of them remember being held or who held them. They're all aboard the Toltek and should make it back to Earth in a few weeks."
"Good," he said. After a long pause, his eyes a little glazed, he spoke again. "You didn't go to the Vulcans on the planet."
"No," she said. She wasn't sure if she saw thanks in his eyes or disappointment. "I'm sorry."
"I'm glad you didn't." His smile turned a little sharper.
"Well, after the dressing down I received …."
"Sorry about that."
"Me, too," she said.
He looked over at the Vulcan who seemed busy and then lowered his voice, placing his hand on hers. "What happened back on the planet--"
"Just relax, Jon. It's important you get your rest."
"I think we should talk about it."
"It's okay. We'll have plenty of time--"
Archer looked toward the doctor and in a much louder voice asked to have a few minutes alone with her. As if the idea was foreign, the Vulcan wandered around a bit before eventually leaving the medical facility.
Jon took a deep breath.
"Mel," he said. "You're a beautiful woman, funny, smart …. I'm flattered."
A smile crept over her lips, and she relished the moment, placing a hand over his. "I think whatever we have to discuss can wait."
Gazing down at his hand, he shook his head. "Mel, I'm trying to say …. I'm flattered, but there's someone else."
"You were near death. I was just upset."
He furrowed his brow slightly, as if understanding it was a little more than just that, and she looked away in embarrassment.
"I'm seeing Ambassador T'Pol," he said.
For a moment, she thought her jaw had touched the floor.
"Seeing isn't quite the right word, but I'm guessing it's as good as any."
She'd been wondering many things, that wasn't the first one that came to mind. "The comment I made about your prejudice toward the Vulcans--"
"It's all right."
Her shoulders dropped.
"Hey," he said. "You followed my orders, even if you didn't believe in them. And questioning them shouldn't have been a problem. I overreacted.
"T'Pol and I began seeing each other a few days after the bombing. But, I've loved her a long time … much longer than just a few weeks."
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.
"I guess I'm trying to let you know it's not about you."
She still didn't meet his gaze.
"You shouldn't be embarrassed of anything," he said. His hand reached up barely able to cup her cheek. "I'm not."
The faint traces of a smile wiggled across her face. "Okay."
"Okay," he said.
The doctor emerged from nowhere and Mel noticed Jon left his hand poised against her face instead of withdrawing it in embarrassment.
"The admiral should rest," said the Vulcan. There was no polite cough or other excuse and he went about his business.
"Thanks for everything," said Jon. Carefully, he set his hand down to his side and tilted his head toward his doctor. "Did you know she helped save my life?"
Dr. Sakot's face was stoic, without even the smallest traces of interest. "No."
Mel said, "I guess I did … despite you destroying my ship. Some pilot you are."
With the last quip, and watching his eyes glimmer with amusement, the doctor placed a hypospray against his neck and his voice got more hoarse and words more slurred.
"See you tomorrow?" he asked.
"Sure," she said.
And with that, his eyes closed.
When she left Sickbay, there was a part of her that wondered whether his relationship with T'Pol was meant to last and whether he'd change his mind.
"I've loved her a long time … much longer than a few weeks," he said.
Not a chance, she thought. I'm sure I only had a schoolgirl crush on him anyway.
She sighed.
----
The aftermath of the third week of Ithanite parties caused Shran's head to throb and made it impossible for him to lift his face, which he noted was stuck on the his couch with drool as the adhesive. The moment his antennae bobbled, his daughter ran to him.
"Are you going to make me breakfast?" asked Tallah. "You said you would."
The young girl was dressed in her black leather outfit and she was brandishing a small circular weapon. Suddenly, as if her father didn't react quickly enough, she folded her arms.
"You said we would practice fighting today."
Good, Grendal.
Holding his head, he noticed his antennae drooped and he nodded, pushing himself off the couch with annoyance.
"A member of the Imperial Guard always keeps his promises, Tallah."
She smiled at the news and practiced her moves as he headed for the kitchen. When he got there, he saw Tares dressed in only her workout outfit – half a shirt and shorts that showed off her long legs. Gulping, he made his way past her.
"I have to make breakfast."
"I thought you said Jhamel typically handles that," said Tares.
"I like to do so occasionally, after all I am the male." It was tradition for men to be the homemakers, taking care of offspring, cooking meals … Andorian females were the stronger of the sex, taller and more powerful.
As he stood in front of the oven, cursing human appliances, the Andorian woman whispered in his ear.
"I enjoyed last night."
An antennae stiffened and he turned to her. "I don't remember much of what happened."
Just as she was about to open her mouth, he heard the terminal beep – something that made his muscles ache – and he rushed to grab it. The screen materialized to T'Pol and she wore a slight amount of concern on her face. Shran narrowed his eyes and he waited.
"What?" he asked.
"Did you, Gral and Tares have a good time?"
She looked cross, so he decided to wait her out.
T'Pol said, "Three weeks is enough time dancing, drinking and seeing women for the Ithanite to decide whether he wants to join us."
"Gral didn't want to push him." Then he gave a glower. "Having you and Skon there last night would've helped."
"We are through being your chaperones."
He scoffed. "Chaperones! You and your aide seemed to be having a good time at Bar at the End of the Universe."
Her eyes narrowed further. "I believe Ki'ar slipped a concoction into my drink."
"I saw you drink three Andorian ales." Shran smiled through her mild protest. "It's the loosest I've seen you. It made you fun."
He remembered the little Vulcan taking her outer robe off, something she did infrequently, and recalling with a gleam in her eye about the interactions she'd had with Shran and Gral. The blue man figured it was nostalgia for the Pink Skin; after all he was returning home soon. And somehow each of the stories she told made her former captain the hero – not quite the way he recalled events unfolding.
And then a frown smacked across his face when he remembered Skip helped her home. He was about to inquire about that, when she spoke again.
T'Pol, "Regardless, I believe Ki'ar is stalling."
He nodded as the Vulcan sighed, lowering her voice.
She asked, "Did Jhamel find out?"
"Find out? About what?" he asked. Nervously, he eyed Tares who began helping prepare Tallah's breakfast.
"You and your aide seemed quite engaged with each other before Skon and I left."
Shooting his gaze out of the corner of his eye to his daughter, he announced to his family that he'd finish the conversation upstairs. Running to his den, he turned on the monitor and when he saw T'Pol's face, he ran back downstairs to turn it off and disengage it, walking away with a component that would bring it to life. Tallah was too curious, and Tares could figure out how to turn it on.
When he got upstairs, he leaned in. "What happened?"
"You don't remember?" asked T'Pol.
He squirmed and his antennae drooped. "No."
T'Pol conveyed a story that made him turn pale – one in which he and his aide were practically all over each other. She commented that they kissed, let their antennae scoop against each other and that he followed Tares into the bathroom twice before she was able to shoo him away. When the Vulcan left, Tares' tongue was running on the end of his antennae as Gral tried to warn him and the Ithanite smiled in delight.
A hand combed over his face. "I woke up on the couch. I don't remember what happened last night, but I will never forgive myself if I mated with Tares alone. What would my child think?"
The Vulcan pointed her gaze at him. "Perhaps you should have considered that before."
"Jhamel has become more fiery, but …."
He heard footsteps outside the door and swallowed hard. It was his wife. He instinctively knew.
Pushing back the door, she appeared rubbing her hand across her bloated tummy.
"Thy'lek, we have to talk."
There was an Andorian saying, it was time to face the firing squad. He wondered if he lived to tomorrow, which he was beginning to doubt, whether he would be the one to contact the Ithanite and tell him enough was enough. T'Pol ended the call, as if she sensed familial strife, and indicated she would talk to Gral right away. The blue man only nodded in confirmation.
"Was that T'Pol?" asked Jhamel. Her blind eyes skimmed over the room and he hung his head.
"Yes."
"She must be looking forward to Jonathan coming home."
"I suppose," he said.
Waddling to the one of the leather chairs where he often smoked cigars, she lowered herself into it slowly.
She said, "We should probably talk about last night."
"Yeah," he said, heaving a sigh.
"Aenar aren't like Andorians."
Oh, Grendal, I mated with Tares! "I know, my love."
"More than that, I'm nearly due."
"I know … I can't explain what happened."
"Tallah is half-Aenar. It must be confusing for her," she said. "The entire episode."
"Yes, I know. Can you forgive me?"
"Thy'lek, I can't mate with you like that again."
An antenna poked up. Did we share our bed with Tares?
The Aenar frowned and shook her head. "No, although I was afraid you'd ask again."
Shock crossed his features briefly and he scratched at his white hair.
Jhamel described the night. Apparently the lustfest Tares and he were involved in was so that she could lure another man to their table and Shran could only nod in agreement. Every Andorian knew there was nothing more alluring than seeing two people near mating. Back on his home planet, it was a sure way to pick up a partner or two. It didn't quite work with the human man, but after she chatted with him for a bit, she invited him back to the house where they made a beeline for her room.
By that point, Shran stalked onto their marriage bed. And his demure wife described such passion between the two of them, husband and wife, that hearing the description made him – a member of the Imperial Guard – blush with modesty. With a little clarity, Shran could almost remember noises emanating from the other room, pushing him on for more as his wife grabbed at his antennae and cooed for him, telling him she could sense everyone's emotions.
"Yes," she said.
The Andorian smirked and tangled them further in the sheets. As they were nearly at their apex, their daughter wandered in and screamed in horror or confusion before running out. Jhamel encouraged him to talk with her, and although completing the task at hand seemed important, he was a devoted husband. Gathering a few clothes, he followed his traumatized child into her room. It was the male's responsibility to take care of the brood, and he wouldn't be any kind of thaan if he let that duty slip.
The little girl looked at him with bright, teary eyes. "What were you doing to mother?"
A glimmer shone in his eyes before he snuffed it out. "I was doing what any husband wants to do to his wife."
She waited.
"Tallah, we were mating." It was a delicate subject, and he decided to get to the core of it.
"It looked like you and mother were in battle."
Shran grinned again, remembering his wife – despite being heavily pregnant – tore at his skin like an Andorian.
"Not battle. Mating is how you were born."
She narrowed her eyes. "I thought the oolon dragged me by me antennae into the nest you and mother built?"
His smirk twitched. "You're old enough to know the truth. Andorians have strong mating urges and your mother and I are drawn to each other like kelips in the Great Thaw.
"That desire created you and that desire created your unborn brother."
She blinked. "Mating?"
"If you're interested in the science behind it, I can show you information about that tomorrow."
"Can you help me practice with my blade first?" she asked.
He huffed at his little girl, who'd already forgotten about everything she'd witnessed. "Yes."
"And I want breakfast tomorrow. Pancakes."
"Can't you eat the raw food your mother and I prepare?"
She shook her head, telling him how a weakling human named Anne had the starch for breakfast on the weekend and that everyone liked that Pink Skin girl.
Shran said, "Well, then you can have pancakes." Mumbling to himself, he decided to pull a recipe tonight.
Tucking his girl in and laying the blade she loved beside her night table, he let his antennae wander over her a second.
"You are the pride of your mother and I, young one."
She smiled. "Let's not get sentimental."
He nodded and pressed at her chest. "Your heart beats like an Imperial Guard."
After he headed out, his smile turned leering as he headed back to his room. His naked wife was in bed, but asleep – letting a tiny snore that came with pregnancy leave her lips. Crestfallen, he heard the racket Tares made down the hall and almost pounded on her door to quiet her.
Heading eventually downstairs, he pulled a recipe and set in on the kitchen counter and then headed to the couch.
"Mating with Tares would've been a mistake." He laid his head on the pillow. "A huge one."
His lips curled effortlessly. "Jhamel, I have chosen you and Aenar ways despite not always understanding them. Mating is important to me, but nothing could be worth losing you."
Jhamel gave a grin back and kissed him on the cheek. Even at his age, it still made his knees go weak and he stroked her hair.
"You're telling me that Tares needs to go?" he asked.
Jhamel nodded. "I enjoy her company, but I can feel her desire and it makes me insatiable."
As Shran sloped his cheek more, Jhamel gave a mild laugh. "I know you enjoy when I am insatiable, but we could hurt our offspring, especially if we engage in activities like last night."
A sigh left his lips. "All right. I'll ask Tares to leave today."
He looked in his wife's eyes. "I've been meaning to tell you--"
"I know you were attracted to her," she said. "Do you not think I have found other men attractive?"
A frown covered his face. "Like who!"
A kiss pressed against his cheek. "Sexual attraction isn't the only thing between us, Thy'lek."
He nodded and felt her belly, although he knew it was more than just family.
Standing, a sparkle formed in her eye. "Maybe we can show each other?"
That idea sounded promising to him, and he stood letting his hands gather in hers. "I'll be more careful," he said.
"And so will I," she said.
----
A week ago, T'Pol noted that the survivors of the Excelsior showed up and made a beeline for Starfleet medical. Although Phlox wouldn't say, she believed that their loss of memory was created, as if their memories had been wiped clean. Among the survivors were Ambassador Neville Simon, Commander Stiles, Gral's aide, and a few others including Staron, her old aide. She and Skon gathered near Staron's bedside in Starfleet Medical, but he seemed nearly comatose and unresponsive. Phlox assured her she'd have to wait for a few weeks at the most before anyone could talk to them. She held the smallest smidgen of anxiety, wondering if they would remember being held by Romulans who looked like Vulcans.
She'd even hatched a plan with Minister T'Pau should that prove true.
Gral had made some progress with the Ithanite, after prohibiting further parties, the Ithanite decided to start really listening, in earnest, to what was being said. The little copper man in his own defense explained that his people wanted to see their old enemies (the Vulcans and Andorians) inebriated before striking a deal, and was content with what he saw and the friendship they had with each other. Although he pledged to return to Ithan and discuss the matter with their leader the chief, he indicated he believed they would have their help.
T'Pol also counted down the days until Jonathan would return – three. She was scheduled to collect Porthos, when the creature arrived at space dock, and the Vulcan wanted to be there ahead of time. It was only ahead of Commander T'Nara's ship – the one that held Jonathan – by a few days. Arriving a little early, she watched in space dock as the Potomac – scarred from battle – docked in the spaceport and waited anxiously for the vessel to depressurize. When the airlock door slid open, she placed her hands behind her back and took on a stoic gaze, something Trip would've called years ago her "poker face."
Suddenly the animal bolted out the door, barking, with what sounded like Mayweather's voice asking it to heel. She crouched down as the Beagle dug his paws into her robes and licked her at least twice, tail flailing wildly behind.
"T'Pol!" said Mayweather. He finally caught up, leash in hand. "Sorry, this dog just doesn't want to mind anyone."
"It never has," she said. There were a wink she wanted to present the dog, but refrained and instead picked it up into her arms as she'd seen Jonathan do millions of times before.
"Thank you for caring for him," she said.
"Ah – it was fun. And I didn't watch him the entire time." He gave the Beagle a scratch behind the ears.
The two began walking down the hallway, Mayweather slowing unnecessarily, when T'Pol caught something in her bond, it was a purring laugh, but felt closer than parsecs away ….. Spinning she realized her mate was emerging from the Potomac, wheeled out by Captain Vega, with a smile plastered on his face.
T'Pol nearly dropped Porthos before he managed to squirm free and then swiftly headed to Jonathan. He looked as thin as he was in the Expanse, if not thinner. His skin was pale – rather than tan – and the light that hit his eyes had weakened. A smile tugged at his lips and she could tell he wondered what the appropriate greeting would be. Straightening up, he held two fingers out to her and hoped she would take it.
Not today.
"Jonathan."
A lump formed in her throat and despite the offer of his fingers, she swept past them and placed, calmly, her arms around him and pressing her cheek to his. It was a hug, which she squeezed tighter when his hands wrapped around her.
"I have missed you," she whispered.
She drew back and looked into his eyes and then crushed her lips to his – unVulcanly – for a few seconds. Instead of fighting it, his hands wound to her hair and he held her in the kiss. Although their mouths didn't part, she could feel the yearning beneath her mouth and knew he could feel hers. When the two separated, she noticed his cheeks were crimson and she felt hers transform to dark green.
The Vulcan glanced over at the captain behind him, who'd turned her head to give them privacy. There was something else in the woman's countenance, as if she disapproved of their embrace.
Before T'Pol could say anything to the woman, Travis joined them.
"Sorry, T'Pol, the admiral made my promise," said Mayweather.
She glared at her mate. "I will never understand the human need for the element of surprise."
Jonathan laughed. "When you met me on Earth less than a year ago, you and Admiral Gardner insisted on surprising me."
"That was purely of Admiral Gardner's making."
Oh, the hell it was, he thought to her.
In return, she let her eyes twinkle.
The Vulcan broke her contact and spoke to Captain Vega who was shifting from one foot to another.
"I am Ambassador T'Pol," she said to the woman. Extending a hand, she waited for her to take it, which took a few seconds. The woman was petite – both of build and height – and the Vulcan looked down at her, noticing that despite her tiny bones, the captain was strong.
Vega said, "Jon was telling me stories about your missions."
Jon? "Which ones?" asked T'Pol.
A sideways smile crossed Jonathan's lips. "Remember the time you and I rescued Travis from the space station? Stuff like that."
"I see," she said. He gave her a wink and suddenly she felt warm on the inside. "I could wheel the admiral back."
The captain relinquished him without protest and T'Pol noticed her stride lengthened to collect her mate as Travis, Captain Vega and Porthos walked beside them.
I had not realized you transferred to the Potomac, she thought to him.
T'Nara was able to make up some of the speed. They're only a few hours behind. Grinning, he thought, I've been reading a little of the Kir'Shara and learned a few tips on sequestering thoughts. It's been helpful.
A hand reached over his shoulder and his fingers touched hers as Travis yammered on.
"T'Pol, you may want to know the admiral promised to buy a drink to everyone in the fleet, and I'm hoping he keeps that promise. I'd hate to piss off the commander of the Toltek, who seemed particularly happy about the suggestion."
Archer shrugged. "I was on medication."
Vega giggled. "Not that much."
Jon sighed. "I told them all around seven tonight. It's an hour after Commander T'Nara's ship docks."
The gleam in T'Pol's eyes vanished briefly. "Tonight?"
"I can't let them down," he said. Although I'm hoping for a reunion with you a little later.
"You want me to attend?" she asked.
"Wouldn't be a party without you," he said. "If you're up for it."
"Where is it being held?" she asked.
Travis beamed. "The 602 Club. And I already have my sights set on a double."
Archer gave the faintest frowns. "You do remember I live on a Starfleet stipend."
Travis clapped him on the back. "I do, but you may want to warn Ranol. He's just downright giddy and has already invited Ambassador Shran and his aide, as well as some of his friends."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to know how large this party is – do I?"
Captain Vega said, laughing, "Only if you like to live in fear."
Welcome home, conquering hero, thought T'Pol. And she felt the bond stir between them. "We can discuss our situation later. Tonight, you are their admiral. Tomorrow, you will be my mate."
"Looking forward to it," he said aloud. His eyes met T'Pol's. "Maybe we can sneak away early, ashal-veh."
"Indeed," she said.
TBC
A/N: We're nearing the end of the second arc. Feel free to tell me what you want more of and less of. It really does help!