A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Anna, I'd love to update daily, but I just don't have that much time. ;) I promise to try and update more frequently; I know the last two or three chapters have taken a while. I like to usually update once a week, but have had some stuff happen that has taken my time.
Mega thanks to Mana!
Anyway, on with the fic.
---
Archer visited Admiral Gardner, providing information about how the Andorians wanted to work together to create dilithium to fuel starship vessels. It didn't take long to convince him, despite that there would be no involvement from the other races. Both men knew getting closer to a seemingly limitless energy source was worth the possible temporary damage to diplomatic relations.
It also didn't surprise Archer to hear Gardner and the president were considering nuclear weapons to stop the Romulans – too many ships were lost: the Thames, Phoenix, Kilimanjaro, Shi'Kahr, Kita, T'Ran, Mena …. It didn't stun him, but it was a decision he personally couldn't condone. Nuclear weapons nearly destroyed the planet almost ever since Oppenheimer helped invent them; 1945, 2011 and then again in 2049.
I hope that's a decision they don't make.
When he left Starfleet, he stopped by to see old friends before going to one of the many services that lay ahead for him. Death. So many crewmen were dead and it was the time to bury them, finally putting their souls to rest.
Chris Richards. Today is his time.
Travis, Hoshi and Malcolm waited at a Nob Hill restaurant. Despite the somber occasion, they seemed happy to see each other. Hoshi and Malcolm caught Archer up on every event that had taken place in the three months he'd been gone, discussed their wedding – only a couple of months away – her teaching position and the politics at the Academy. Finally, the conversation turned to how the investigation of the Council building bombing. Reed sneered his lip and said gruffly, "nowhere fast."
No clue was left behind. Every security camera had been reviewed and yet no video recorded what happened. Tidbits of clothing, bones and personal items had been collected and analyzed without any results. Interviews led to nothing interesting. Nothing. Before the Brit continued to become upset, Archer made sure to comment that the Romulans would never leave a trace and that they'd have to all move on; it didn't seem to halt Reed's dedication to solving this particular case.
They discussed the war – it was fresh on their minds. Bad news lead to worse, Reed had first-hand knowledge that Starfleet and the president were considering putting untrained crewmen in Starfleet vessels, and not just armed men like the MACOs; they were looking to recruit engineers who had starship design expertise, language specialists and more to plant in the ships that were coming off the line. Apparently, there just weren't enough personnel.
"Never happen," said Travis.
"They're desperate enough to do anything," said Reed.
Archer could only silently agree.
After the bill was paid, the three walked to the cemetery – only four blocks away. When they arrived, they saw other friends – Mel Vega and Dr. Higgins (the doctor aboard the Potomac) were already there. The moment Mel noticed Archer, she walked over to him and drew him into a hug.
"There are two more tomorrow," she whispered into his ear. "Two men from my crew."
"I'll be there."
"I know," she said.
As the man behind the podium began the service, Jon felt raindrops on his face – cold and wet. Lowering his head, he remembered Trip's funeral and the downpour in Miami. An ironic frown spread, causing his eyebrows to furrow; it'd rained the day his father died, too.
The casket was lowered into the grave and the rain turned to mist, barely noticeable. The preacher made his final remarks and the crowd dispersed, causing Jon to wonder if memories of Trip and his father had consumed the entire ceremony so much so that he barely gave Chris a thought. Memories hadn't come: Chris' skull bashed in by a beam that had fallen, admissions of his love for Rita and the words he'd spoken about Erika having died along with the Columbia so many months ago. For a minute, Archer had even forgotten what the captain sounded like and looked like.
"Bloody war," hissed Reed under his breath.
Bloody. This war is definitely that.
Dr. Higgins made his way over. "Some of us – Travis, Malcolm and Westing, are going to McSorley's to wish Chris goodbye. Give him the wake he deserves. Want to join us?"
"I need to get back," lied Archer.
"Sure," said Higgins.
Closing his eyes, there was a peace of solitude in the graveyard except for one person behind him who shied from approaching.
"You don't have to stay, Mel," he said.
"I know." After pausing, she asked, "Do you want company?"
Opening his eyes, he saw the woman who had reported to him, and yet today she appeared more vulnerable and feminine. Her black dress flowed around her tiny frame and her hair was loose and damp from the rain.
"Sure," he said.
As the two walked a little, viewing the tombstone, Mel asked, "Where's T'Pol? I thought she'd be here."
"She had a meeting with an ambassador from Coridan."
"You okay?"
"Yeah." He sighed. "Just … thinking about things."
"You weren't responsible for his death."
"I know. It's just … Trip was so young and had so much potential."
"Trip?"
"Huh?"
"You said Trip. You mean Chris right?" she asked.
"Chris. Right."
Intertwining her arm in his, she pressed her face into his shoulder.
"Let's walk around for a bit," she said.
Cherry blossoms bloomed, their white and pink flowers dotting the graveyard, and the two walked under them – mesmerized by how they drifted along with the air before lighting on their clothing. Mel had a pink one, dainty, stuck in her hair despite trying to dislodge it several times.
"Trip. You've said that name before. Who is he?"
"Charles Tucker. A friend of mine."
"Isn't he the engineer from Enterprise?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"So what's the story with him?"
"He died three days before Enterprise's mission was over – three days before Enterprise was decommissioned."
Archer sighed and looked at the sky, drizzle pelting him in the face. "Maybe we should head indoors."
She shrugged. "I'm already wet."
"Trip and I used to go to bar on the marina and watch the ships go by. Chris said he liked the place. Interested?"
"Of course," she said.
With that the two headed into a shuttle car and made their way to the Embarcadero area. Archer loosened the tie he wore and flipped off his jacket, before sipping on a Pacifico and shooting oysters into his mouth along with Mel.
---
Shran, with Shras harnessed to his chest, and Gral walked into together at their normal meeting place – a room without any real décor in the middle of some strip mall that only had one large conference room, a monitor, a bathroom and a kitchen. The Andorian frowned at the facilities, tired of them already, as he slipped into his normal seat and waited for Tares to stroll in with the Coridan ambassador. He was scheduled to arrive earlier in the day, and by all rights his aide should've called already.
As he grabbed a seat, he looked over at T'Pol and Skon, shaking his head. Neither had noticed his presence, despite scraping his chair against the linoleum along with Gral. Shran was about to interrupt them, when Gral leaned over.
"Didn't you talk to Archer about this?" asked Gral.
"Maybe you'd have better luck," said Shran. "I think he's jealous, but he says he trusts her."
Gral nodded when finally T'Pol and Skon turned their attention to the two.
"Where is Tares?" asked T'Pol.
"I tried contacting her, but she must still be with the Coridan ambassador," said Shran.
"She should have retrieved him nearly three hours ago," said Skon.
"Maybe they did some sightseeing. Tares tells me this is his first time to Earth," said Shran.
Gral's snout twitched and mouth opened when suddenly through the doors came two figures – Tares and a cloaked figure trailing behind her. Unlike the other Coridan ambassador that left Earth in a huff months ago, this one, Shran thought, looked like a freedom fighter – one of the men that would've taken it as a personal honor to kill Vulcans. Even with the minimal amount of Coridan Shran knew, the runes on his cloak gave him away; the Andorian had seen those markings nearly ten years ago when he helped rescue his Pink Skin friend and the Vulcan.
"Sorry we're late," said Tares. Her hands went to her black bodice, barely containing her blue skin, and she righted it. "This is Daran."
Immediately, the figure, roughly Tares' height, pushed off the hood of his robe. Eyes darkening, he glared at the Vulcans. Introductions went around the room until T'Pol and Skon were announced, and suddenly the Coridan scoffed under his breath.
"You knew they would be here," said Shran.
"Doesn't mean they disgust me less," said Daran.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the corners of T'Pol's mouth draw down as she blinked.
"You should show more respect," said Gral. He pushed his little body from the table, as if to show ferocity, his teeth bared and snout twitching.
Tares held out her arms in front of her and spoke with precision. "Please, Daran agreed to meet with us. Isn't that a step in the right direction?"
"Yes," said T'Pol. With the slightest hesitation in her voice, she continued, "I feel it is my duty to … apologize for the misunderstanding between my people and yours. The Vulcan High Command--"
Daran said, "Was incompetent, and forced us to accept a government we did not choose."
"And that was wrong," she said.
Grabbing a seat next to Shran, he nudged his cloak off and stared at the quiet group. "I'm waiting."
Skon pointed his fingers under his chin and leaned in. "Waiting?"
"Waiting to be convinced I should join you. Tares has already communicated to me how important this is. I want to hear what your offers are."
"Galactic peace isn't enough incentive?" asked T'Pol.
"Not really, Vulcan, no."
Gral whispered only so Shran could hear. "Ki'ar was much more fun."
Don't I know it.
Daran folded his arms across his chest, the sneer on his face spreading like ice flows during the long winter months on Andoria. So, Shran pointed a blue hand at the man, hoping to stop it.
"If it hadn't been for the Andorians," he said, "you'd still be licking the boots of the Vulcans. We helped your civil war and even brokered a deal for the Vulcans to leave. As far as I'm concerned, you owe my people one."
Daran said, "The reason the Andorians helped us is the reason I listened to Tares and allowed her to contact me." Standing, he paced around the room. "I'll be blunt. My people still lack some of the sophisticated technology your people hold."
Shran's eyes headed over to T'Pol; the ghost of a frown on her face was growing.
Retrieving a list, Daran continued, "The people of Coridan want ring-ship technology and warp capability from the Vulcans, shield technology from the Andorians, transporter technology from the humans and navigation control of the Tellarites."
Shran was about to tell him to stick his list where the caves don't dwell, when Daran continued.
"In addition, I would like for the Vulcans to give my people reparations for the damage your people have done to my planet."
"What damage is that?" asked T'Pol.
"Because of you, buildings were bombed, people were killed--"
"The Vulcans didn't do that to you," said Gral. "From where the Tellarite sit, you people did that to yourselves."
"I'm not finished!" yelled Daran. "I want the Vulcans to secure four million krodak to make amends for meddling in affairs of Coridan--"
Skon raised an eyebrow. "We assisted your planet with agriculture so that your people would not starve. Helped you with medicine to cure disease. Worked side-by-side with you to create a system so that your people could govern and achieve order. Before we arrived, your people were at war – chaos ensued, disease was rampant and factions attempted to assassinate each other." The Vulcan leaned forward. "Tell me, exactly what should we pay damages for?"
Shran's antennae twitched. "Skip, the Vulcans arrived without an invitation. No one likes a meddler."
Daran smiled.
The blue man pushed himself from the table. "And yet, Daran, a lot of what the Vulcan said was true. I think the only thing the Vulcans are guilty of is overstaying their welcome."
"Thousands of my people died to re-establish our government, to free ourselves from the shackles of the Vulcans. That's not simply overstaying a welcome."
Gral grunted. "The Vulcans were never engaged in your war."
Daran said, "Some of them were."
"You're being unreasonable," said Gral. "You can't make every Vulcan pay for--"
"We'll pay it," said T'Pol.
Shran's antennae shot up. When his gaze slid over toward her, he could tell even her aide looked surprised.
T'Pol pushed herself from her seat and walked toward Daran. "Much of what you said is true. Some of my people were involved in your civil war; we believed at the time we were supporting the rightful government of Coridan." She sighed. "We obviously made a mistake."
"That's all it is – a mistake?!" asked Daran.
"You're right to ask us to pay for the problems that ensued because of our involvement. I'll ask Minister T'Pau to provide your people the money that we owe you."
"Ambassador, I do not believe--" said Skon.
"This is the right thing to do," said T'Pol.
Daran folded his arms. "This is a trick!"
"There is no deception. You have made your point clear, and I agree with you."
Shran walked over after rubbing his antennae to make sure he was sensing everything correctly.
"T'Pol, you're going to pay Daran's people for your … meddling?" asked Shran.
"Yes."
Daran grabbed his cloak. "Good. I won't speak to you again until the money is given to us – and neither will any other Coridan."
Gral snorted.
With that, he headed out the door. For a moment, Shran wished he'd had the opportunity to reach for the tarpig's face and smash it into his blue fist. By the looks on nearly everyone's face in the room, he guessed most of them wanted to do the same – maybe even the male logician.
A heavy sigh came from Tares. "I had no idea it would come to this. He seemed friendly when I contacted him."
Shran shook his head. "It's not your fault. We should've seen this coming a sot away. We just didn't strategize for this."
Gral said, "Blue's right. But now we're back to square one."
"No, we will provide him his money as soon as possible and talk with him," said T'Pol.
"Ambassador, I have rarely questioned your decisions, but I doubt Minister T'Pau will concur with your assessment or that she will provide you the finances," said Skon.
"You know I hate agreeing with Skip, but he's right. Your minister would have to be out of her orderly, logical mind to pay the Coridans," said Shran.
"I will discuss this with her," she said. "I believe she eventually see the reason behind this request. Besides, as the humans say – it never hurts to ask."
Shran disagreed. "Humans have stupid sayings."
----
A week passed and Archer had lost track of every funeral he'd been to – Rita, Chris, crewmen Johnson, MACO Fritz … they were running together. He'd seen Mel on a daily basis; though assigned to the Panama, the ship had been in dry dock receiving the last pieces of equipment. Starfleet hadn't even sanctioned Mel to board her own vessel yet; Admiral Jeffries wanted to make sure every detail was absolutely and positively correct before letting additional personnel onboard.
In a way, Archer was glad to have a friend around. T'Pol had been pre-occupied with the ambassador from Coridan and paying him the reparations she thought he was owed. It took her away from him nearly every morning, day and night. Jon could count the number of times he'd actually spoken to his bondmate on one hand in the past week. Even Shran and Gral were busy with the same dilemma, unable to socialize. And though he'd be chagrinned to say so, Archer missed their company, even the harassment he was sure both men would deliver over a multitude of topics.
The one productive thing Archer had done in the week was move in – completely and utterly. His furniture, artwork and décor had arrived and been arranged. Porthos already sniffed at every corner and explored every new space as well as developed new habits. He liked to follow Archer into the bathroom, for some good petting time, at the most inappropriate of moments and grumbled at the door if it was closed in such a way the little Beagle couldn't open it. Unfortunately for T'Pol, he practiced the same habits on her, following her into the restroom in the morning despite her pointing out and using her authoritative voice to usher him to leave.
The living room, rather than remain covered with pillows, had a pincushion style couch; it wasn't exactly Jon's favorite, but T'Pol wanted to purchase it. Apparently it reminded her of an ancient Vulcan chair used in the temples on her homeworld.
Cochran's stature already had a place of importance on the wall in the bedroom, standing next to water polo trophies, a picture of Archer's academy graduation, a photo of his father and mother, a candid shot of Trip on a SCUBA dive in Florida and a framed scroll – a gift – given to him after his speech at the Paris conference regarding what the Coalition of Planets now called the Council (or lovingly the Federation).
His mustard yellow and chocolate brown theme fit in perfectly with her red draperies, bedspreads and candles. His overly masculine, Earthbound doodads and her feminine, Vulcan necessities belonged together. And when everything was settled, Archer couldn't help but prop his feet up, hands behind his head on the pincushion couch, leaning against one of her pillows and recognize this as their home.
His eyes resting on the starfish pattern in the living room, he gave a broad smile.
"Everything fits like a glove, T'Pol."
Bringing a glass of wine to him, she slipped off her shoes and nodded her head before sitting next to him. She curled against his body, her face rubbing gently against his shoulder.
"It does," she said.
Porthos hopped up next to her and wandered into her lap. A satisfied sigh left Archer's lips and then his mouth closed on hers, reminding him that it'd been too damned long since they'd been intimate.
Has it been a week?
Council business kept her up late, and despite him trying to keep his eyes open until she climbed into bed, he found himself usually dozing off – even with the light on and a book in his lap. He also noticed that when he awoke, the light would be turned off and the book would rest on the nightstand near his side of the bed.
As his mouth nibbled on her throat, the monitor in their bedroom beeped.
"Ignore it," he whispered into her ear.
Disrupting his dog, he pushed T'Pol onto the couch so that her back rested against it. To his delight, she not only welcomed his advances, her lips attacked his with more stubbornness than the first time they'd kissed. Fingers tore through his hair and he knew she too was thinking about how damned long it'd been. She even bit at his neck and raked her teeth across his chin, encouraging him to do the same.
The doorbell rang again.
"Don't answer it," he said, his tongue sliding along the point of her ear.
"I can't ignore both the monitor and the door. What if someone from the Council is trying to contact me," she said, breathlessly.
It's probably Skon, he thought as his mouth devoured hers
"Ki'ar is scheduled to contact one of us about joining the Council. Maybe he called Skon tonight," thought T'Pol to Archer.
"I don't care," he said again as his fingers moved to start freeing her of clothing.
Although T'Pol seemed eager, she pushed herself up as Archer's hands fell to his side – failing his task, took a deep breath and gave an apologetic look before sauntering off to open the door. Through the bond and then visually Jon saw the culprit, and suddenly a growl formed in his throat. He faked a cough to mask the sound.
"Skon. What a surprise," said Archer.
T'Pol's lips flattened, eyes shooting over in his direction – warning him to be kind. Instead, Archer exhaled loudly, leaning back against the couch to stare at the ceiling. Closing his eyes, he tried to excise the need to throttle Skon and jump T'Pol.
"I apologize if I have intruded," said Skon.
"You are never an intrusion," said T'Pol.
Archer opened his eyes enough to roll them.
"I received a communication from Shran," said Skon. "Apparently, Ki'ar was partially successful in persuading his government to ally with us. Ki'ar would like for us to schedule a time when the Council and his leader can discuss the details of a treaty."
"He's looking for something?" she asked.
"It certainly appears so," said Skon. "Also, I wanted to remind you about the meeting with Soval tomorrow."
T'Pol nodded.
"Do we need to discuss it?" asked Skon.
Before T'Pol could answer, Archer sat upright. "Don't want to over-plan."
"Do you feel it's necessary?" she asked.
"There is some truth to what the admiral says, and yet …."
"Then come in and sit down," she said.
The two wandered to the table and almost immediately began working, discussing their approach on what to do about the reparations. Jaw-dropped, Archer pushed himself off the couch and stared at his mate in disbelief – waiting for her to tell Skon to leave.
That does it.
Jon stalked over to the table and in his deepest of voices – the one he reserved for captain, usually when he was attempting to get someone to scramble to do his bidding – began speaking.
"T'Pol, you've planned every night for the past week with Skon on this matter." Before she could cut in and explain she was attempting to help her aide who appeared unsure of the approach, Jon shook his head. "I think Skon should leave."
His eyes locked with Skon's and for a moment, there was a glint of defiance, as if a challenge had been made. Pushing up a sleeve, Jon was tempted to meet that challenge when T'Pol spoke.
"Jonathan," she said, "you do not have the right to tell guests when to leave."
Narrowing his eyes, he placed his hands on his hips. "I do. This is my place, too."
"However, it is not only your abode. I live here, as well."
"I know," he said. "And I've been supportive and understanding of the two of you working here into the wee hours. Tonight, I would like to spend time with you."
She heaved the smallest of sighs. "I would like to spend time with you, too. But, this isn't about us. The Council is attempting to end a war. And I am doing my duty."
Hand cupping her cheek, he gazed into her eyes. "I just want one night with you, alone. I don't think that's too much to ask."
"I want that as well, but I cannot allow war to destroy our planets because we needed time alone and gratification."
His hand fell to his side before combing through his hair.
"When will you be done?" he asked.
"I won't linger. Perhaps I can end this in two hours?"
Nodding hesitantly, he grabbed a book and his glass of wine and retired to the couch, mostly so he could remind T'Pol he was waiting for her as well as keep an eye on Skon. The words Shran spoke only week ago – and had repeated ever since that conversation – rang in his mind. Fight. The urge to challenge Skon becoming overwhelming, as if he needed to prove to T'Pol he was the dominant male and would give her children superior genome. Rationally, though, Archer realized an angry, well-fed Vulcan had roughly three times the strength he did. Irrationally, he wondered if he could give the logician at least a good fight.
Two hours passed quickly, as he continued to let his brain chew on what to do about Skon. He believed those thoughts distracted her, because good to her word, she shuffled Skon out the door. Turning to her mate, he witnessed something like seduction in her eyes as she whispered to him.
"You have been thinking of the kun-ut kali-fi?"
Tossing his book to his side, he heard himself say the words as if in a trance. "I would fight for you."
An eyebrow hitched on her forehead and she sauntered to him.
"You don't need to," she said.
Passionate kisses fell on him, clouding his mind with chaos and loosening the caution he usually provided. Barely aware of his surroundings, he realized he'd been stripped of clothing – shirt shredded below him – and that he had done her almost the same service. It didn't stop him from continuing though, and as their actions became more demanding and careless, he felt a smile cross his lips and one nearly spread across her face as well.
When his body collided to the floor, pushed by her, he wore a grin and nothing else.
---
T'Pol awoke the next morning expecting a communication from Soval. T'Pau, as Skon indicated, had already disagreed with granting reparations especially the number that Daran threw out. There were more members of the Vulcan High Command and she summarily talked with every single one: Kovak, Soval and T'Pau. She'd tried hailing others that her family had known in a position of power for naught. Even her friend and mentor Soval had trouble with the notion that the Vulcans had interfered negatively with the Coridan people and they should accept public shame – what T'Pol assumed the money was – for their intrusion.
Although her friend and mentor had disagreed with her idea of paying off the Coridans, he granted her one more hearing. Waking up early, she showered and meditated to calm the emotions rumbling underneath the surface – the ones that were omnipresent these days.
When Soval's image appeared on the screen, T'Pol greeted him, showing her hand to the screen and parting it in her people's greeting. He returned the gesture.
"It is agreeable to see you again," he said.
"And you," she said. "Thank you for hearing my case once more."
Before she could open her mouth and begin to convince him, Soval – uncharacteristically – interrupted.
"Because I have known you so many years, I have a question to ask you."
"What it is?"
"Are you asking Vulcan to repay Coridan because you believe we have caused such hardship on their people, or because being bonded with Archer – and his feelings of how we treated the Earthlings were treated - makes you intent on paying?"
A ghost of a frown threatened to spread across her face and she shook her head. "Jonathan's wound for his father's and Earth's treatment does go deep. However, it does not influence my decision."
Soval stood and placed his hands behind his back. "The Vulcans have attempted nearly every possible policy regarding how we approach new worlds. With the Andorians and Coridan, we provided them technology, medicine and more. With the Tellarites and Orions, we allowed them to contact us first, determining they would be more prepared for alien cultures. And with the Earthers, we waited until they had the technology, medicine and agriculture first before we presented ourselves to them. Without exception, each of them grew dissatisfied with our policy."
She was aware of the policies and the failures with every one. Waiting, she hoped he would make his point.
"T'Pol, do you believe we had mal intent?"
"No."
"So, if we pay the Coridan, what is to stop us from paying other races?"
"Soval," she said, "Coridan was the only planet that engaged in civil war due to our policy. The Andorians, Tellarites, Orion and even the humans banded together against us."
"We did not force the Coridan to choose sides."
"Yes, we did. We helped determine their government and then protected it once it came under attack. Imagine if the Vulcans were unable to oust V'Las, despite his incompetence."
"You met Chancellor Gadin. Do you think she was incompetent?"
"By our standards, no. But, we did not allow them to determine that for themselves. The Coridan had the right to govern as they please, not follow our rules of law because we know best."
Soval was silent.
She said, "Minister, our greatest mistake with each of the races is something only you and I know to be true – Vulcan arrogance. It is our unfortunate legacy to believe we know better than any race, despite our belief in the IDIC philosophy."
"We did not insist our way was best when dealing with the humans."
"Of course we did. We told them we would not provide them assistance because of our non-interference policy. We patronized them, rather than treat them as equals. And, you know that we have done so with every single race we have encountered."
His lips flattened more. "You are correct when you say we may be the only two Vulcans who know our weakness."
She said, "T'Pau has been holed up in the Forge and on Vulcan all her life."
"Minister Kovak is less … stubborn, but he too has never left our planet."
"I take it you agree with me then?" she asked.
Soval furrowed his brow. "I do not agree, however, you make a compelling argument. I believe we should engage in more discussion regarding this topic."
"Thank you."
"You and your aide should return to Vulcan and argue this in person."
As soon as the words were said, her heart raced and a frown she'd attempted to prevent from marring her face turned the corners of her mouth down in a nearly open display of emotion.
Not this.
She said, "I am still making headway with the Ithanite ambassador and there are various duties to perform …."
"Those sound like excuses." Soval said, "Ambassadors Shran or Gral seem competent to lead in your absence."
I won't see Jonathan again before he leaves. "Shran and Gral are competent, but they all rely on me to lead."
"I find it difficult to believe you find that either Shran or Gral are incapable of leading."
Her eyes fell to the floor. Panic was an emotion she'd felt only a few times – when she experimented with trellium. Now, it turned her insides into fire and caused her stomach to tighten as if to implode.
"Your bondmate will understand," he said.
Why am I so desperate to stay with Jonathan? Illogical.
"Very well. I'll work with my aide. In the meantime, ask for a hearing on my behalf regarding the Coridan matter."
T'Pol couldn't miss the pride in his eyes directed at her. "Of course," he said. "Give my … warm regards to Archer and Shran."
"Live long and prosper," she said.
He returned the greeting and the screen faded to black. When it did, she felt herself shake – tremble with an unknown fear. Hand quaking, she touched her temple and attempted to clear her mind. Futile. Her thoughts must've called out to Jonathan because he suddenly appeared at her side.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She allowed him to see in the bond. "I must return to Vulcan."
"When?" he asked.
It must be clear why; he didn't put up a fight.
She said, "I should leave within the week."
"You're taking Skon," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," she said.
Suddenly, their mouths met hungrily in a torrent of desire. The kiss included their tongues and teeth. And then chaos ensued. Instead of talking through her departure while they gave each other tender Vulcan finger-kisses, she found herself on the floor covered with his body. For some unknown reason, he had pinned her as their mouths continued to devour each other's, each embrace greedier and angrier than before.
"You belong to me," he whispered, hotly, into her ear.
TBC