A/N: Back to our regularly scheduled story! More of Shran, more of Gral, more of Skon, more of Tares and the same amount of Archer and T'Pol. :)

----

The next day, Archer woke up more sore than usual – his muscles stretched. Still weak from his near-death experience and surgery, not to mention the "christening" they'd given T'Pol's bedroom, his shoulders ached as he lifted his head at the door's chime.

Glancing over at the clock, he frowned.

"Seven in the morning," he said to himself. His hand reached next to him and noticed the spot next to him was bare. The frown he wore cascaded across his face.

Tossing on a pair of pants and nothing else, he walked into the living room to ask T'Pol who had the lack of decency to rouse them so early, until he realized standing in the middle of the room was the culprit: Skon.

"I apologize for waking you, Admiral."

Jon exhaled sharply, shooting his gaze to his bond mate.

T'Pol said, "As you know, Ki'ar leaves this morning and Skon believed it would be appropriate to wish him goodbye – in Ithanite fashion."

"What's the custom?" asked Archer, making his way to the coffee pot. Looking down at his bare chest, he suddenly felt underdressed.

Skon said, "I believe you would use the term: bar hopping."

It made Archer halt in his tracks. "Bar hopping?"

"Did I use the term incorrectly?" asked Skon.

"I'm not sure," said Jon.

T'Pol explained, "Jonathan, Ithanites are hedonists who value entertainment greatly. It honors them to show them an … enjoyable time."

"Are there any bars even open now?" asked Jon.

"Apparently," said Skon.

Jon raised his eyebrows and watched as T'Pol excused herself to tidy up, leaving the two men alone. She also ignored his silent pleas to come back and rescue him from a conversation with Skon.

Jon sighed, "Well, it's just us. Want some coffee?"

"No, thank you."

After pouring a bit for himself he walked back over, eying the young Vulcan. Although Archer never considered himself an authority on male looks, believing on good days his own appearance wasn't too shabby, he wondered if back home Skon was considered a hot commodity. The most striking feature of this man was his eyes – not brown, as he'd seen with most Vulcans – but light blue almost bordering on gray. It wasn't his appearance that bothered Jon most or caused him to cringe with jealousy; it was his age, much closer to T'Pol's, and the open-mindedness of this one. Also bugging him was the way Skon looked at his bond mate; she made a twinkle form in his eyes.

"So, where have you been in San Francisco during your stay?" asked Archer, irked that he was the one who had to do the small talk.

"Many places. The council meeting room, my apartment, the apartment of T'Pol, the parking structure of this building, Mandarin Cove--"

"I was kinda looking for the highlights."

"I see – those most noteworthy?"

"Yes."

"I have been to the art museum, the wharf, Nob Hill, the Castro area for artwork and the Mission district."

"Any favorites?"

"I found the art museum quite satisfactory."

Jon's eyes went to the bedroom, hoping T'Pol would join them quickly; when she didn't readily appear he heaved a sigh and turned back to Skon.

He said, "I'm a fan of Chagall. Did you like any artists?"

"Many of the early painters, like da Vinci, are quite competent." Skon paused. "T'Pol explained the techniques your historians believe were used for such accurate drawings – reflecting images on a canvas."

"There's controversy about that. We're not really sure they used that method."

"I find it difficult to believe anyone could paint such a precise picture without it."

"I'd like to think it's just skill. Men like da Vinci did many things ahead of their time with extraordinary precision and skill."

Skon's eyes fled to the door and the two men waited for almost a minute, before Archer picked up again.

He said, "Earth seems to be agreeing with you."

"I find your planet … fascinating. I have never seen or experienced such an abundance of water."

"We have deserts as well."

"I have read that. T'Pol and I, before you arrived on Earth, had discussed hiking in one of them."

"Oh?"

"It was her suggestion."

"Was it?" he asked. Ignoring the tiny voice in his head he recognized as T'Pol, warning him to veer off the conversation, he continued. "Which desert?"

"In the Sedona region – Arizona."

"Sounds nice. Sorry I interrupted your plans."

"It is of no consequence. We can revive those plans when you join the front again, assuming you are." The Vulcan took only a small breath before adding, "I have read that the United Forces have not fared well during this conflict. I would think an experienced admiral as yourself would be beneficial to our fleet."

"I've been grounded until the doctor gives me a clean bill of health."

"Has your physician given any indication of how long it will take you to recover?"

"Not yet."

"I hope for your speedy recovery, Admiral."

Archer's eyes squinted and an ironic huff came from his lips. "I'm sure you do."

Skon raised a single eyebrow – a mannerism Jon was beginning to dislike. This one had a touch of innocence, and Archer was determined to call him on their tête-à-tête … despite the voice of T'Pol growing louder, alerting him to discontinue. Archer's voice deepened, rumbling in his throat.

"You know, Skon, let's be honest. I know that you --"

The door opened, ending the discussion and T'Pol shot Archer what he knew was a glare, despite her stoic appearance. And he knew he deserved it; he was on the verge of telling her aide that he should spend less time with her and that he should get a hobby or two. As his lips parted to explain himself, she shook her head and strolled toward Skon.

"Are you ready?" she asked the Vulcan.

"Of course." Skon paused only for a moment before looking at Archer. "Admiral, perhaps we can continue our conversation later?"

"I don't think it's necessary," said T'Pol.

With that, the two walked out and Archer scratched his chest near the shoulder knowing he and T'Pol would have a conversation about that later.

---

After taking a shower, donning some casual clothes and brushing his teeth, Jon hurriedly splashed some coffee into a cup on the way to Starfleet. The first meeting was with Gardner regarding his mission and the war in general. There were rumors about the war's failure and even political pressure to bring it to a close quickly so that no more lives would be spent. Archer had no love for politics or people that didn't realize if Earth didn't defend itself, many more lives would be lost.

As he drove the shuttlecar into the parking garage, he passed the burned out structure that was the Council hall. Apparently Starfleet, or Section 31, he couldn't tell which, were still involved in trying to decipher exactly what happened. A frown came to his face as he remembered thinking T'Pol had perished. He bowed his head at the memory of those who'd perished during the event.

Heading down one blue-carpeted hallway to another, he eventually made it to the center of the Starfleet building. The office was alive with activity – young officers and assistants scrambling, running information from one office to another - and Gardner marched out of his office right away to greet Archer, clasping hands, before hustling him in and shutting the door.

Matt was grayer than almost four months ago, with lines spreading around his features like cracks in a windshield. The man's eyes were surrounded by purple, and he looked tired as if he hadn't slept well in days.

Rather than chitchat, Matt got right to the point. Sitting at his desk, plopping himself into it, he focused his eyes on Archer like a laser.

"The war isn't going well," said Gardner. "We've been losing almost a ship a day since this thing began." With a little anger, the admiral smashed his fist onto his desk. "Hell, we don't even know what the Romulans want!"

"Seems like they're content with destroying us."

"And then some. These Romulans are cold and calculating son of a bitches, Jon. They know where we are in nearly ever battle – coming out of nowhere and nearly always have us outnumbered. They've even started targeting civilian ships."

"T'Pol thinks the Ithanites are close to signing a treaty with us. That should help."

"She's kept me informed. God, we need all the help we can get." He sighed. "And I need you out there as soon as possible. When are you clear to return?"

"I don't know. I meet with Starfleet Medical after this," said Archer.

Gardner nodded, grimacing as he did so. "Well, there's some good news in all this. You were able to complete your mission. Although, only ten of the men and women recovered actually survived and no one remembers much of what happened other than Stiles … and I question his faculties."

"What did Stiles say?"

"The Vulcans were holding them and torturing them."

Jon thought back to T'Pol's secret, one she only recently shared, that the Vulcans and Romulans had the same heritage. She didn't know, and he supposed no one did, whether the Romulans actually looked like the Vulcans or whether they had disguised themselves.

Archer said, "They may have factions who disagree with Kir'Shara, just as Terra Prime doesn't necessarily agree with Prime Minister Pelletier."

"I suppose," said Matt. "But, I've never known a Vulcan to torture a man."

"Me neither." Shifting the conversation to more pleasant thoughts, Archer asked a question that he'd been wondering ever since the crew of the Endeavor, diplomats and aides were freed. He'd been told precious little about it. "Who was rescued?"

"T'Pol's aide - Staron, Ambassador Bagdol, Ambassador Neville Simon, Commander Stiles, Lieutenant Hoyt, Crewmen Little, Gral's aide – Guf, the Xindi ambassador's aide – Varl, Crewman Sanders and Ensign Washington."

Archer asked, "How are they?"

"I'll be honest, it'll take months for them to recover. It seems like a miracle they survived at all."

"When will you let the Council know you have these people?"

"We've already notified everyone's government. The Xindi want to send a ship to pick up their aide. Ambassador Bagdol's government is investigating into this matter."

Matt grabbed the coffee cup on his desk and put it to his lips for a deep drink and then continued. "Jon, I wanted to discuss something personal, something that affects your role at Starfleet."

This is what Archer was afraid of. "Yes?"

"Ambassador T'Pol indicated you have a … bond with her." He paused. "We've checked into a few things, and from what I can tell, it's more than just friendship. Do you two have a romantic relationship?"

Archer thought about evading the question, but decided to answer it outright. "We do."

"T'Pol described this bond as being able to exchange thoughts easily. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"That's what I thought." Matt put his cup on his desk and stared at it. "Prime Minister Pelletier and I need to lower your security clearance."

"What?"

"You know I trust T'Pol. She's been an excellent officer, a friend and quite an admirable ambassador. However, she represents Vulcan now."

"Vulcan is our ally."

Matt agreed, "Yes, but … even allies have secrets from each other. And as an admiral with your clearance, you have been asked to a keep a few."

"T'Pol was already aware of Section 31."

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about future secrets." The man frowned and then looked at his desk. "We need you, but I'm going to have to lower your clearance."

"Lower it to …?"

"Fleet captain." Just as Archer was about to shoot out of his seat, Matt continued. "We've decided not to reduce your rank. So far you've done nothing wrong."

"How am I supposed to lead a fleet if I don't have the clearance?"

"We'll just have to assign you a mission where that won't be an issue." Matt shook his head. "Don't give me that look, Jon, you knew there would be trade offs. And I think you knew starting a relationship with an ambassador from Vulcan would bring some problems and repercussions."

"I didn't start a relationship with her until the bombing of the Council building."

"I believe you. But, we're back to the issue of having the Vulcans think you're in their back pocket."

"You know that's not true."

Matt frowned. "I asked Captain Vega to tell me why you didn't go to the Vulcans on the planet for help."

"The ones that tortured crewmen, diplomats and aides?"

"It sounded like you didn't know that, especially at the time." He paused. "Vega was quick to defend you, but I managed to weasel that out of her."

"It turned out to be the right decision," said Archer.

"How did you know?"

Archer was silent.

Matt said, "This is part of the reason your clearance is lowered."

"For acting -- correctly, I might add -- on instinct?"

"Don't pull that with me. I think you got information from T'Pol, and the reason you're clearance is pulled is because you aren't willing to share that information with us."

"Sir, I thought I made it clear that--"

"There may come a time you'll have to decide your loyalties. Pelletier and I are hoping it's with Starfleet."

That caused him to push himself out of the chair, holding onto the armchair for balance. "I have never disobeyed an order. I was successful in the mission, recovering survivors from the--"

"No one is questioning that."

"I'm not finished! I didn't realize ordering Captain Vega to do the right thing would create suspicion about my … loyalties." Archer watched Matt stand as well.

"Watch it, Admiral."

"Am I done here?

"Yeah. Dismissed, Admiral," said Matt. Before Archer could turn around and throw open the door, he heard behind him. "Let me know what Starfleet Medical says. We need you back there."

Yeah, right. As Archer made his way, fuming, to Starfleet Medical, he heard the familiar buzz in his head that he knew was T'Pol.

She thought, "You know he's right. You did ascertain that information from me."

And then information came to the forefront that he hadn't expected. T'Pau also had a similar conversation with T'Pol months ago, reducing her clearance and indicating a relationship with a human admiral was ill advised. Unlike him though, she took the information with grace, agreeing to the small censure and continued on without letting it affect her ego.

"I suppose it is my pride that smarts," he said. "I don't think he understands what information you and I learn, we keep between ourselves."

"Humans are unfamiliar with what a bond means, and even the Vulcans are wary. They don't know what to expect from a human-Vulcan bond."

He sighed. "Sorry."

"We can discuss this further tonight."

Thinking about their conversation and the implications of being involved with a Vulcan ambassador, on his way to living with one, he headed to Starfleet Medical for his check-up, hoping that he would need a while to recover.

---

T'Pol waited at "Voila," a bar at the end of pier 21, holding a weak drink as Skon watched the clientele, searching for the others to show up. They were already an hour late, and both the Vulcans were wondering if they were going to show. While Skon suggested perhaps they were detained, T'Pol knew there was another explanation, one that fit the hedonistic Ithanite's lifestyle – that they'd mostly likely gone to another bar first. As she sipped her cocktail, something called a gimlet that tasted too sweetly of lime, she noticed a woman and three men lumber in one carrying a baby at his chest in something that resembled a harness.

It was Shran – with his child Shras in tow, Gral, Tares and the Ithanite. And although none of them looked intoxicated, T'Pol surmised they'd been what Jonathan might say, "up to no good." Skon left his stool and nodded toward the baby.

"Should you bring your child into a bar?" asked Skon.

"He's not drinking anything except what's in here." He took a bottle from his hip and held it in the air. "Don't worry, it has Jhamel's milk inside."

T'Pol watched Skon about to explain that his point was more about decency and youth of the babe than intoxication when Gral interrupted.

"I apologize for being late. Ki'ar wanted to see what a strip club was like, and we didn't feel it would be right to make Skinny go."

"Strip club?" asked Skon.

Ki'ar smiled and removed his fez, holding it over his chest with reverence, displaying thinning hair on top. "Naked women."

Skon's eyebrow shot up. "Pardon?"

Shran waved his hand, correcting the Ithanite. "They don't start out nude." A smile slid onto his face. "They start off moderately clothed and then work their clothes off as they dance, tauntingly until they are bare."

Gral gave a mild chuckle until T'Pol's eyes caught his, and then his grunt ended abruptly.

"And you took your child to that as well?" asked Skon.

"Of course. There's nothing shameful about the female form." His antennae wiggled. "I might ask Jhamel to see if they provide lessons – it would make mating more--"

T'Pol coughed. "If you are through discussing your adventures this morning, perhaps we can resume our discussion about the treaty."

Shran continued, "— interesting, if you know what I mean. I especially like what the humans call a dancing lap."

Gral shook his head. "No, I think it's called a lip dance."

"Maybe you're right. I think the only thing that establishment could use would be some Orion and Andorian women. They dance like demons, and if they were like Andorian females in the clubs on my homeworld --"

"Can we discuss the treaty?" asked T'Pol.

Tares said, "Yes, if the females were like those in T'kak for example, humans would be as prolific as Andorians. Lip dancing would probably cost more."

"I heard of an orgy in the T'kak that would make your antennae stiffen." Shran smiled and shook his head. "But, I think the humans have something by only letting the women go nude. It's more innocent, adding to the tease. And the one thing I've never liked about the T'kak is the sweating thaan."

"I like sweaty thaan," said Tares. "Although, I do like how they taunted the audience, peeling off one garment at a time."

Ki'ar smiled. "Like it!"

"Orion women would definitely make the performance more enjoyable," said Gral. "I saw one – her raven hair flying, hips pulsing and green, curvy flesh writhing in delight. That was quite a sight to behold." A lecherous snort exploded from his lips and when T'Pol turned her head toward him, he stopped again.

"The purpose of going to a … strip club … is to become titillated?" asked Skon.

"Yes, and it does the job. It gets the blood pumping and reminds you that you are a male," said Shran.

Gral agreed. "It's a feast for the eyes, Vulcan. It's like artwork."

"Gave me some ideas," said Tares.

Skon said, "Fascinating."

Ki'ar said, "Like it!"

T'Pol stuffed her arms across her chest as Shran described what one of the dancer's, Candy, was doing – as if to prove the art form – when finally the Vulcan had had enough. Putting down her drink, loud enough to end the conversation, she said her peace.

"I would like to change the subject," she said.

"Why?" asked Shran.

Gral nodded, answering for her. "Sorry, Skinny. We were only trying to help Skon understand and perhaps we got carried away. Although if you'd like to argue about the benefits of strip clubs--?"

"No, thank you," she said.

Shran said, "T'Pol isn't a prude, she mates with Archer even outside of whatever that ten-year cycle thing is called."

Tares agreed, "I would think she's mated with him multiple times. Humans are apparently like Andorians – insatiable, and I can imagine Archer has a rather large appetite."

T'Pol couldn't help but drop her jaw – it wasn't out of anger, but shock the Andorian would mention it so casually. Vulcans rarely spoke of sex, especially in public; her own sex life, she would think, was entirely off limits.

"Oh, what Skinny does – or how many times - is not our concern." Gral stroked his beard. "But, I would think you're right, Tares. He seems like a man who enjoys mating."

"Which one? The hairy one?" asked Ki'ar.

Shran said, "Yeah, I'm hoping something comes of it – Shras could use a playmate his own age."

Skon spoke up. "These are private matters between the admiral and ambassador. Now, perhaps we should order our beverages and discuss the treaty."

"Whatever you say, Skip," said Shran.

A headache was beginning to form behind T'Pol's eyes, and she rubbed her temple with relief that finally the lewd conversation managed to shift to what they had convened for – discussion of the council, the war and treaties. Ki'ar had thankfully promised to keep his word, asking his leaders to join the conflict in exchange for very little – some technology and food. His main concern was opening trading between his people and the Vulcans and Andorians.

T'Pol knew that a human would call this arrangement a "win-win."

Before they left to take Ki'ar to the shuttle, Shran held his glass aloft.

"To Ki'ar. He has been excellent company and brought life to our Council."

Ki'ar said, "Enjoyed it."

After finishing their one and only drink, they took him to his shuttle where he gave something that seemed like a hug to T'Pol. With nearly a tear in his eye, he waddled into the shuttle and turned around once to give a salute. The shuttle left, zooming off into the distance and Shran was the first to speak.

"I'll miss that little guy."

"Me, too," said Gral.

"When do we expect to hear from him?" asked Skon.

Gral said, "It takes his shuttle roughly a solar week to arrive on his home planet. I presume we'll hear something shortly afterward."

"I wish it were sooner," said Shran. "Andorian reports have not been favorable."

"Vulcan has indicated the war is not going well," said T'Pol.

Shran sighed. "The gentleman from Coridan that Tares spoke to. He seems interested."

"He is." Tares said, "He's already on his way here. He contacted me last night."

"Good," said T'Pol.

"I doubt he'll be as entertaining as Ki'ar," said Gral. There was a hint of sadness in his voice.

Shras kicked and Shran whipped into action, putting a bottle in front of him. The boy sucked on it, his tiny antennae whirling.

Smirking, Shran said, "I don't like the human bottle used to feed him. My child is suckling on rubber! I wish I'd remembered to take the glarok skins when we were on Andoria."

Tares said, "I offered to give your child my milk. It wouldn't take long to produce some – maybe less than an hour."

Shran sighed. "No," he said. "Jhamel is picky about how our children are raised. It's why she used the ridiculous human device to fill this bottle." Shrugging, he added, "She would only let the avat help, and we weren't sure whether T'Pol could lactate as quickly as an Andorian or Aenar."

T'Pol's eyes narrowed. "No."

"That's all right. We'll muddle through," said Shran. As the blue man watched his child, his grin grew longer. T'Pol recognized the grin: pride in his son.

"Why did you not leave your child at home?" asked Skon.

"I'm the father."

The Vulcan was about to question further, when T'Pol reached her hand on his arm as if to let him know the query wasn't worthwhile. After piling into the shuttlecar, they headed to the meeting room to strategize about the visit from the Coridan. It was interrupted only twice by Shran providing new garments for his child, changing him with precision in front of the room. T'Pol watched on, father and son, and felt what was a pang.

Children.

TBC