Skon leaned over and T'Pol allowed their lips to connect. Her body assured her – vetoing her mind – that it would be one simple kiss to show him the art, to teach him before pushing him away. But when their mouths met a gasp worked its way out of her mouth and a tongue plunged in between his unsuspecting lips.
Mate.
Unlike last time, he did not recoil. Instead, she found him a quick study – not nearly as good a kisser as Jonathan -- but adequate enough to stoke the blazing fire that rummaged in her belly and burned her throat and lips.
Yes! she thought. Mate!
The relief that came with the meeting of their lips and tongues brought intense pleasure, waves cascaded off her body and caused the hairs on her arm to stand on end. Her panting increased twofold as if she would hyperventilate and her body screamed for her to succumb to him.
Fire ignited in his eyes and he grabbed her arm as if to twist it off and dragged her out of the seat to meet his lips again. Although she knew he was not particularly fond of the practice, she also recognized he did so to emblazon her further … successfully.
Her brain cried out to stop, but the bedlam was fierce and persistent, clouding her eyes and forcing her tongue to swell.
Fingers and hands caressed open skin – necks, fingers, mouths, ears – until his hand reached begin her head to clutch at her hair and drag her lips more fiercely against his own.
As he held her hair tight in his grasp, his other hand reached up to touch her temple. This was the beginning of the mating dance for Vulcans. He would force a meld where they would share the sensation of burning – lust and desire – and then he would satisfy her craving.
She titled her head up to meet Skon's fingers. In her mind's eye, she saw a familiar figure, one that was angry, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow.
"Jonathan," she whispered.
Her fingers moved, willed by the last bit of control she had. It was another desperate attempt to receive his attention; this one possibly stranding she and Skon.
"T'Pol," said Skon, sternly.
She faded into the black, her eyes rolling into her head, barely noticing her body collapsed to the floor.
----
Vega had to admit it'd been a damned long time since she'd gone to bed with a man. Silently, she counted up boyfriends and came to the embarrassing conclusion it'd been about two years.
The notion stopped her in her tracks and she stood in the middle of the hallway, watching crewmen stream by, as she realized the length of time. Shaking her head, she continued to the turbolift and watched the door close.
And yet, despite how much time had elapsed, even the idea of sleeping with Jon didn't really sound as appetizing at it did when he was kissing her in his room. Maybe, she thought, it had something to do with the fact he didn't love her.
Although she wasn't the Harlequin romance kind of girl, she did have particular ideas when it came to the act. She believed it should involve love. And so did her family -- a long line of Catholic Latinos from Puerto Rico, Cuba and Mexico. It had been a major blow to her family that she hadn't gotten married, especially at her age and had chosen a life that put her among the stars instead of close by with a husband and children.
Though, she didn't hold the same beliefs, she occasionally felt the pangs of her upbringing and something she attributed to her biological clock.
When she stepped onto the Bridge, she saw the science officer leaning over her station. Vega gave her a lopsided smile.
"See something interesting?" she asked.
Indigo paused and then a look of bafflement crept across her face. "Maybe, but …. Nah."
Mel's smile fell. "Go ahead."
"It's nothing."
"We're on a difficult mission, putting us in jeopardy. If you see something, I suggest you tell me … even if you think it's nothing."
"I saw another explosion, a bigger one. I was thinking … it seems like a flare."
"A flare?"
"Yeah. I told you."
An idea hit Vega, an absurd one. What if the vessel trying to contact us is T'Pol? If Jon feels whatever this Pon Farr thing is, maybe she does too and is trying to alert him.
Ludicrous. She thought it was her overactive imagination attempting to save her from an embarrassing situation.
Yet, rather than dismiss it, for some silly reason she ordered T'Var into Sickbay and then headed down to confer with Dr. Phlox. Maybe the three of them would be able to discern the truth.
----
Skon watched the information on the console and hung his head. T'Pol in her madness jettisoned nearly all the fuel, lit by their engine, for what purpose he couldn't understand. It caused the vessel to lurch when the fire and fuel ignited and then grow still; nearly all systems were offline – lights, some power, and even life support.
They were doomed.
Using his mathematic brain, he calculated they had exactly one day's air and perhaps enough fuel for another half a day.
They would never reach Vulcan.
By attempting to assist her, he'd caused her to act out of desperation. He should've listened to her, understood the bond she had with Archer was permanent and meaningful to her. Hubris and perhaps want made him act otherwise. Illogical. Pointing his fingers under his chin, he gathered his thoughts for a second before helping T'Pol.
When he reached her, even in the pitch-black that enveloped the ship, he could see her pant and shiver.
"I will help you reach him," he said. "I apologize for being so foolish."
Deciding he couldn't exactly use the fuel to do anything else, he closed his eyes and burned the last of it using the engines one more time hoping to send a final beacon to Archer's ship. He put the communication signal to distress, thankful it still worked for at least a few more minutes.
In the dark, he then picked up T'Pol's body and arranged her into the chair next to him. He realized soon he'd need to restrain her – before she did harm to herself – and took off to look for something to hold her.
-------
Jonathan Archer had the feeling he was floating, way above the world as if on a cloud, and realized with disappointment he was in Sickbay. The moment lucidity hit him, he realized how comforting it felt to be conscious and not think of tearing people – like Skon – apart and ravishing T'Pol.
With a groan, he realized the floating was hampered by tethers and realized his arms and legs were strapped against the biobed. Turning his head slightly, he saw Phlox heading toward him with a bowl in his hand.
"No more," said Archer. "I don't want any."
"Now, admiral, this will just help you sleep."
"I don't want it. Please."
It stopped the Denobulan for a second, and Archer tried his best to smile. And then it occurred to him what brought him out of his fog and steered his mind away from violence and sex: T'Pol.
"There's something important," he whispered, realizing his tongue wasn't quite as coordinated as he remembered.
"What?"
At that moment, Archer heard the doors swish open and instantly he smelled what walked in the door: women. Suddenly, his brain prickled with heat and he gazed at them, wondering if fire could shoot from his eyeballs and scorch them with flame. Immediately he squirmed, understanding the limits of the restraints, and felt his lips swell, aching to be kissed.
Melanie walked closer and then looked down at him.
"You seem to be feeling a little better," she said.
His hand automatically gripped the bed and clutched at the sheet as he imagined his mouth on hers and their tongues dueling. Curses fled to his mind, obscenities that would cause her cheeks to blush and before he could whisper them to her, Phlox interrupted.
"It appears so," said Phlox, joining her. "He said he had something important to say."
What was it?! Wracking his brain he attempted to dislodge ideas about wooing women and concentrate on what allowed him to revive. Something touched his mind, begging him to speak, but that single thread of sanity had snapped.
"He hasn't spoken in a day," said Mel.
I'll say something. And then he smiled, his lips curling lecherously. "If you release me, I may be able to better communicate."
Phlox narrowed his eyes and as Melanie took a step forward, her hand on the restraints, the doctor held her back.
"Why don't you tell us, admiral," he said. "You can speak from the biobed."
The two other women with Mel had confusion cluttering their faces, even T'Var
The Vulcan said, "I would not trust what he says. He is under the influence."
Mel backed away and Archer closed his eyes in futility, unable to satisfy the need gripping his body and preventing him from being able to think.
Vega turned to the doctor. "Indigo said she saw something that seemed like a flare. Actually two flares and I saw one for myself. I know it's a long shot, but I was wondering … do you all think it might be Ambassador T'Pol?"
T'Var cocked an eyebrow and placed her hands behind her back. "If Ambassador T'Pol has the fever, she would not be able to perform logical thought. In the admiral's mind, I understood chaos had already taken them."
The information sounded familiar to Jon, despite the madness. Closing his eyes, he saw his bondmate in the arms of another the two kissing and caressing. Struggling against his restraints he then watched as T'Pol flicked her hands along the console to send a beacon into space. As she fell into unconsciousness, she mouthed his name.
Yes, that's what woke me.
And despite his body screaming to him to answer his arousal, he turned to the three people in Sickbay as they chatted.
"It's T'Pol," he said.
They didn't hear him and with a growl, he said the words again louder.
"It's T'Pol," he said. "She's the one who sent the flare – to let you know." And at the mere idea that they would reunite, his body writhed. "If you release me, I can show you the coordinates."
Phlox frowned and T'Var narrowed her eyes. But Mel titled her head to one side.
"You could indicate where they are from your current position," said T'Var.
Angry, he let his voice shake a little. "I don't know the exact coordinates, but I know the area they're in."
Phlox shook his head.
"Let me go!"
"Release him," said Mel.
Phlox disagreed. "I don't think that's wise. We know he's under the influence of Pon Farr and--"
"Release him."
Phlox said, "If we do, I recommend we provide a mild sedative so--"
Archer disagreed. "I can't think with that rummaging around in my head. Let me go!!"
Just as Phlox was about to oppose the notion again, Mel moved forward and began undoing the restraints that kept him bound to the biobed. When she did, he watched her fingers and considered putting his lips or tongue to them. Finally as she freed him and he stood, he thought about pressing his hands to her shoulders and push her against the wall. Trembling, he tried to focus on finding T'Pol.
Captain Vega walked over to the console that typically showed a patient's insides and typed in a few commands. She then turned to the intercom next to her.
"Vega to the Bridge."
Travis answered. "Bridge."
"I'd like you to pinpoint exactly where the last explosion we saw was and send those star charts to the monitor in Sickbay."
Archer could hear the confusion in Mayweather's voice, but after a brief pause he agreed.
"Yes, ma'am."
Within a few seconds, Archer saw a star chart appear on the screen ahead. Walking bare foot on the cold deck plating he closed in on the monitor, standing directly behind Melanie, the citrus of her perfume tickling his nose and stirring his libido. She shivered a little, what he guessed was the close proximity between them. Rather than back away, he stepped nearer to her, his lips nearly on her ear as he pointed to the map.
"Zoom in on that sector."
She did and his mind buzzed, as if trying to recall a memory almost out of reach. Through the bond, he attempted to rouse his bondmate, but he could feel the fever scorch her and he gasped.
"What are the coordinates?"
She did not, could not responds, and with fallen shoulders, he asked Melanie to nudge the screen right and left while he licked his lips almost tasting the scent of the woman in front of him. Some of it looked familiar and he realized that he could only get the Panama closer rather than provide the exact location.
"I know it's in this region," he whispered into her ear, his finger circling parts of the screen as his teeth scraped against her earlobe.
She stepped away. "Maybe with sensors we might be able to find it."
T'Var said, "Captain, you indicated Admiral Gardner asked you to remain at these coordinates until our allies could join us."
"Yes, he did, Ensign." Folding her arms across her chest, Archer watched as Mel nodded. "But, we just received a distress call from Vulcan's ambassador."
"We do not know whether it is truly a distress call," said T'Var.
"The admiral said it was."
"Doctor Phlox indicated the admiral is delusional."
Archer stepped closer to Melanie and she watched narrowing her eyes, as if considering the information. Before he could approach her, she said, "Regardless, I think it bears at least investigation."
"You are taking a risk," said T'Var.
Mel nodded. "You told me that a bond would enable both Admiral Archer and Ambassador T'Pol to communicate. Wouldn't the admiral know her location?"
"The Science Directorate proved that humans do not--" said T'Var.
"Would you want the Romulans to capture the ambassador?"
"Of course not, however--"
"Then what choice do we have?" asked Mel.
The Vulcan had no response.
Mel said, "Contact Admiral Gardner right away."
T'Var furrowed her brow. "And the fleet?"
"I want to talk with Gardner first."
With that, the Vulcan strolled out the door. Archer lost track of the rest of the conversation between Phlox and Melanie, despite somewhere in his brain attempting to force him to listen. Instead, his attention was attuned to Melanie, and not so much what she said, but the curve of her cheek, the pout of her lip and the perfume still clinging to his tongue. A hand reached out and drifted to her long tresses, falling through them as his lips dodged to her throat. In return, fingers curled into his hair and drew back his head. As his mouth opened to kiss her on the lips and allow his tongue to touch hers, Dr. Phlox intercepted to shove a bowl with liquid down his throat.
It was only an instant later that he felt the floating feeling again, his head drooping against his chest as the doctor and Captain Vega escorted him back to the biobed. He tried asking them to release him, but his mouth wouldn't budge. Before his eyes started to close he heard Melanie speak.
"Thank you for sedating him."
----
Melanie didn't exactly bend the truth, but she danced around it as if doing a little soft-shoe routine. Only after an hour of explaining Vulcan's ambassador had sent a distress call and might be in danger, was she allowed to take the Panama to investigate. Although Admiral Archer's condition had something to do with the call, she decided – for the sake of Ensign T'Var's confidentiality and just good sense – that she would forget to mention it. It was minor details, she'd told herself.
Right away, she ordered Travis to travel to the area where they believed T'Pol was located and asked Indigo, her science officer, to keep a sharp eye on the long and short-range scanners. Mayweather plotted the course and announced at warp one, they'd be there in three hours.
She also asked T'Var to begin communications with the vessel that attempted to contact them earlier and the Vulcan nodded.
The Panama pulled away from the group, leaving Captain Stiles in the Constantinople, in command of the remaining Starfleet vessels, and Mel got a call from Dr. Phlox.
Admiral Archer had gotten worse.
When she walked into Sickbay, she could see that rather than flush, attempt to tear at his restraints and curse, he trembled with a fever. Skin white and clammy to the touch, she withdrew her fingers from his cheek.
"I thought Ensign T'Var said he had another day?"
Phlox shook his head. "I don't know. The Vulcans don't keep any data about Pon Farr," he said.
"Is there a Vulcan doctor you can talk with?" she asked.
Phlox shook his head and then finally it settled. "I could contact a Vulcan I know. He's not a doctor, but I would assume he's been through this himself. I just hope I'm able to communicate with Soval in time."
"Travis says we have about three hours."
"I'll contact him right away."
"Good. Anything you can do in the meantime?" she asked.
"I could continue to sedate him."
"All right."
As Mel turned around, she heard the doctor call after her. "I can appreciate that you want to wait for T'Pol, but we may run out of time."
That was something Mel was unprepared to think about.
When she made it back to the Bridge, she asked T'Var if they'd received word from T'Pol's vessel.
"No response," she said.
With a curse, Mel wondered why she hadn't contacted them earlier and decided, with a frown: fear of the Romulans. Thinking she wouldn't make that mistake again, she instructed her communications officer to continue contacting them and to send information that they were coming.
I just hope Jon can hold out that long.
With that, she settled into the command chair and crossed her legs, her chin resting on her fingers as she perched waiting for a sign.
-----
T'Pol awoke again – this time the unable to think. Chaos. Green. The color of her blood surged through her body, blinding her eyes and flooding her brain. The heat, the insatiable fire, licked her insides as if to burn her alive. Inferno.
Bearing her teeth, she growled at the man next to her, unable to recognize him, and drank in his scent. Male. Vulcan. He spoke words to her in Vulcan, but she couldn't focus on the meaning. Instead, she gazed at his lips wondering how they tasted and pondered the idea of biting them until they bled so she could suckle the liquid. Shaking, her hand reached out and attempted to grab his temple to begin the mating ritual – sharing minds and then bodies. He deftly stepped out of the way.
"No," he said in Vulcan.
Lurching forward, she disagreed. "Yes!"
And though she was nimble, he quickly had her in a vice grip and planted her back in her seat until she felt her body tethered to the chair she occupied. Frustrated, she struggled against him, but soon realized she was stuck. Trapped.
Screaming, she cursed him – in every language she could think of – and accused him of everything she could think of. She said he was guilty of leading her on, of accompanying her and denying his body, of being unwilling to fulfill a Vulcan pact to mate in dire circumstances like these. Scathing words sprang from her lips about his lineage, his sister and how she'd been involved in nepotism. Her lips curled as she blamed Skon for agreeing to come with her so he could watch her die and claim the ambassadorship. Tongue coated with fever, caking against the roof of her mouth, she told him that he would never satisfy her as a lover anyway, not as her human one did. Vulcans like him, she claimed, lacked sexual prowess.
"Do not mock me," he said.
A smile spread across her lips at the emotion that tinged his voice.
"You know not what you speak of," he said. "The chaos has taken your mind."
"Then prove to me you are capable."
A hand trembled and snagged her hair while her mouth tilted up hoping for a kiss – a human one.
"Tempting," he said.
When their lips almost touched, she called out a word in her fever – the human's name. Eyes opening, she felt fingers snake along her shoulder and caress it as she writhed under his touch.
"But, unfortunately, you chose your path, T'Pol, and I feel honor bound to see it through with you."
And then she felt his hand grip her shoulder, crushing it as if he would snap her collarbone. Instantly, her eyes drifted closed and she slumped against her chair.
-----
"I got something!" shouted Ensign Indigo Jansen, the science officer.
Melanie sprinted to the station and almost shoved the young woman out of the way to call up the information. In front of both of them, they saw a tiny little vessel listing in space.
"Power is down. Communications are down. I'm getting two faint life signs."
"What are they?" asked Mel. "Vulcan?"
Jansen shook her head. "I don't know. I can't confirm."
Captain Vega looked at the data and sighed. The coincidences, she decided, were too many to merely dismiss. Despite the fact she'd heard of decoy Romulan vessels blowing up Federation vessels, she decided she was in too deep.
"In for a penny, in for a pound," she said.
When T'Var cocked an eyebrow, Mel laughed softly. "Human expression," said Vega.
"I have heard it before," said her communications officer.
And within less than thirty minutes, the Panama used a grappler to catch the vessel and bring it inside the ship. Vega ordered Simon to stand down, seeing him with his hand on his weapon about to head out the door, and told him that she'd heard from a Starfleet officer it was a quarantine vessel.
Simon frowned.
"Enact quarantine procedures," she ordered.
Silently, she figured it was the best excuse she could think of to keep Ensign T'Var's information confidential and save the admiral's life. Levy agreed, with a scowl – as if he didn't buy the information – and then announced his team had been called off..
"Life signs are growing fainter," said Jansen.
Mel looked at the blond. "Indigo, tell Dr. Phlox we have the ship."
"Yes, ma'am," said Jansen.
Vega then turned to T'Var. "Tell the folks in that ship we're using quarantine procedures and that we've cleared the decks between the shuttle bay and Sickbay. And repeat that message in the shuttle bay."
She nodded and followed those orders.
Levy leaned on his console. "Ma'am, you going to tell us what this is?"
Vega took a deep breath. "We just brought the Vulcan ambassador and aide aboard. They sent a distress call yesterday at approximately nineteen hundred hours. Through … information … we discovered the ambassador had contracted a Vulcan illness."
Levy said, "Unless it was Section 31, we would've heard--"
Vega spun her chair around to the man and stared him down, secretly hoping he'd come away with the conclusion that she had knowledge from that super-secret organization. As his face relaxed to awareness, he sat down.
"My apologies," he said.
"It's okay." A smile drifted onto Mel's lips. "I understand your concern."
And then pointing to T'Var, she said, "Ensign, come with me."
She headed to the turbolift and then sighed as the doors closed.
"The ruse --" said T'Var.
"Ensign, I know your people are always truthful, but … occasionally humans believe a white lie – a small one – is probably for the best."
She nodded. "Actually, Captain, I thought you handled the situation quite adeptly."
The two women stared at each other for a minute and then Vega broke out into a smile.
"Thanks," said Vega. "You know, the admiral and ambassador owe you their lives. Good work."
"Thank you," she said.
And then Vega walked into Sickbay to see Archer, already awake and alert, attempting to rip free of his restraints. Phlox, a little harried sounding, indicated he'd awakened as soon as the ship was brought aboard.
"He knows she's here," he said.
"I have to get to T'Pol," said Archer, groggily.
"We've cleared the decks between the shuttle bay to here, Doctor," said Vega.
And then as soon as T'Var was about to speak, two Vulcans entered the facility. A Vulcan male, the ambassador's aide that Mel met at a party a few months ago, carried the ambassador inside. Even in his arms, she struggled beginning to say Jon's name.
On closer inspection, Vega thought neither Vulcan looked in excellent condition – both of their pallor glowed light green as if sickly.
"Ambassador T'Pol?" asked Vega.
The Vulcan carrying her – Skon – snapped immediately. "Do not touch her."
Immediately struggling against his restraints more, Archer lobbed threats at Skon where he promised to tear out organs with his bear hands if he didn't get his mitts off T'Pol. And as he did so, T'Pol clamored out of Skon's grasp and tried to head toward Archer.
"Doctor, I recommend you sedate the admiral minimally until we can drag them both to his cabin." As an afterthought the Vulcan turned to her. "I presume he has a cabin?"
"Yes," said Vega, already placing her hands on the restraints that bound Jon. "I think they'd have a great deal of privacy there. Its nestled in the bulkheads."
"Convenient." He then fixed his eyes on her. "Then shall we proceed?"
Mel nodded.
Hands worked feverishly to free Archer and when his restraints fell by the wayside, thanks to assistance from T'Var and Dr. Phlox, T'Pol's feet reached the ground. Jon stood and his eyes met T'Pol's; the ambassador's attention fell on him as if they were the only two in the room.
"I attempted to contact you," she said hoarsely. For some reason, it sounded like an apology.
Two fingers met – hers and his.
"Awww," said Mel. She may've had a thing for Archer, but she could recognize true love when she saw it, and this was it.
Suddenly, Jon's hand scooped behind T'Pol's hair and he brought her mouth roughly to his as if to swallow her lips and tongue.
Vega coughed politely.
Instead of either backing away, his hands roamed her back and small grunting noises, almost moans, left both their mouths.
"So, how do we get them to his cabin?" she asked.
Skon however seemed intent on watching the two kiss, an eyebrow poking up. "Fascinating."
A little embarrassing if you ask me.
"Doctor, I assume you have a sedative ready?" asked Skon.
The Denobulan watched, his eyes and head following the hands that now drifted over each other more unabashedly and his smile increasing at every grunt.
"Doctor?" asked the Vulcan again.
"Sorry, I would expect during mating that--" he said.
"Never mind that," said Vega. "The sedative."
Disappointment in his voice, he waddled off to his herbs. "Very well."
"Perhaps I can assist," said Skon.
Instantly, Skon's hand wrapped around T'Pol's shoulder and pinched until she slumped to the ground. Seemingly satisfied, he turned to Phlox.
"Perhaps we should--" he began to say.
A fist smashing into his mouth interrupted him and the blow was enough to fell the Vulcan. Archer stood over him, a sneer spreading over his lips and green blood on his knuckles.
"Don't touch her," he said. "I'll kill you."
Out of nowhere, T'Var's fingers wound around Archer's shoulder and squeezed until he tumbled to the ground as well. Skon dabbed at his lip and righted himself, his eyes on the admiral.
"That was unexpected," he said.
"It appears the human has similar mating instincts," said T'Var.
"Indeed," he said.
Vega knew better than to ask and snapped her head in Phlox's direction to stop that line of thinking from him. She then grabbed one of Archer's arms and hoisted him over her shoulder and she watched as Skon gathered T'Pol into his arms. Phlox grabbed a hypo and loaded it with two canisters, what Vega supposed was a stimulant.
"Follow me," said Vega.
The corridors were empty, making it easy for them to reach his room in only a few minutes. Vega instructed T'Var on how to open it, giving his passcode, and the door swished open. Gently, she rolled Archer onto his own bed, sighing, and watched as Skon did the same, propping her next to him.
Phlox intervened and placed a hypo to their necks and then the four quickly headed out the room and into the hallway. Vega swept a hand across her forehead and released a long breath.
"Should we lock the door from the outside?" asked Vega.
"No," said Skon. "Now, they have no reason to leave."
A thud in the room resounded – what Mel guessed was a body hitting a wall -- and objects sprayed onto the floor, echoing off the deck plating. Vega gave a small start and nudged a foot in the direction of Archer's quarters when she heard T'Var speak behind her.
"Opening the door now would be inadvisable."
Skon said, "Agreed. Everything is continuing as it should."
A frown cascaded over Mel's face at the news, wondering what the hell Vulcans did to procreate. But, before she could think on it further, she heard syncopated moaning.
"That was fast," she said with a wince.
"Perhaps we should allow them to continue in private," said Skon.
Vega nodded and she moved down the hallway with T'Var and Skon. As they reached the bend in the corridor, Mel realized Dr. Phlox was still behind and traced her steps to find him smiling at Archer's cabin door. Trying to ignore the furtive pleas from Jon's quarters, she waved two fingers and ordered Phlox to follow her down the hall. His head hung at his chest, defeated, and he complained quietly that humans were too embarrassed about their own mating rituals.
When they arrived in the Mess Hall, Vega contacted the Bridge to end the quarantine procedures and sheepishly indicated admiral Archer's quarters were off limits due to confidential Starfleet business. Levy sounded only marginally satisfied before asking about their dignitaries.
Vega said, "It turns out that Ambassador T'Pol is not ill. She's working with Admiral Archer."
T'Var and Skon raised their eyebrows in unison and Vega shrugged. Before Simon could ask anything else, Mel spoke into the intercom.
"Vega out," she said.
She grabbed a cup of coffee from the galley and offered Skon some mint tea, which he took. Together the four sat around a table.
"So, how long does this last?" she asked.
"Anywhere from three to seven days," answered Skon. "They should be left in their rooms. I doubt either would be hungry the first two days, but may welcome food on the third."
Mel sipped her coffee as she watched Skon. He was sweating too and his eyes seemed unfocused. Vega wondered if this Pon Farr thing was commutable like the flu. Just as she was about to ask, he pushed away from the table.
"I should rest. The journey here was harrowing," he said.
"Perhaps I can show him to his room?" asked T'Var.
Vega nodded and watched as T'Var touched his arm and spoke in Vulcan to him. Mel knew a few words, but couldn't quite make out exactly what was said. Whatever it was, somehow the sweat dripping from Skon's skin increased and Vega got the idea she should start making plans to find a replacement communications officer for the week.
She shook her head. No one advertised this kind of action in Starfleet: see the universe and get laid. Silently, Mel pondered the notion that they'd get more recruits that way though.
With that, she thanked the doctor and made her way back to the Bridge to order their vessel back to where she left the other two ships and tell Admiral Gardner she'd successfully picked up the two Vulcans.
Glancing at the chronometer above Levy's station, she sighed. It was only 1307 hours.
-----
Clarity came to Archer just when his body was too exhausted to move. Barely lifting his head from the pillow to gaze at the form next to him, he smiled.
T'Pol.
Her fingers mingled with his and instantly he could feel the fire build again. Closing his eyes he reveled in it, even if it took him away from duty – an obligation that was miles away in his thoughts, because he was with her again.
Pushing herself onto her side, she regarded him and the look she produced made him believe that perhaps she was thinking just as lucidly. A thought rumbled in her mind and it perplexed him; they'd already talked about this about a week ago. And she'd declined him, something he learned to accept.
"What?" he asked.
Lips connected, tongues following, and her eyes glistened.
"Marry me," she whispered when they separated.
"T'Pol--"
Images flooded him as if she opened to him utterly and completely, unveiling to him the most secret of her thoughts. Everything, every emotion, every thought was available to him – hurt, disappointment, upset, love, anger …. Everything. He experienced everything almost as if he were T'Pol -- her mother's death, Elizabeth's demise and the end of Trip's life. Her emotions became his own, causing his eyes to water under the pain of it all and a tear hung on his lashes.
Suddenly there was guilt as emotions about Trip surfaced.
"You loved him, T'Pol," he said. "It's okay. I did, too."
It was a different kind of love – he shared a bond of brotherhood. Trip had saved his father's reputation by fixing the intermix ratio, helped him reach the position of captain and even gave his life to save Jon.
And so she could see how he felt, he opened up completely to her, allowing her to peer inside his very soul.
"Marry me," she said again.
And then he saw the feelings she had for him. Comparatively, her emotions were less confusing and less painful than those wrapped up in Trip, possibly because he was her first love; the emotion back then still perplexing.
"You satisfy my katra," she said.
Closing his eyes, he recognized the love she felt for him wasn't restless, but peaceful, enveloping her like a blanket.
Their minds, emotions and souls synchronized like a Swiss watch, perfectly aligned and attuned to each other. They had been for a while, maybe even when she'd served under him as a science officer before he'd admitted his feelings. And yet, now, they knew this was the ultimate that could be attained in love: friendship, companionship, equality, the sharing and challenging of ideas, self-sacrifice, complete understanding, compatibility and enjoyment of sex. More than eros or agape, this was a perfect one that had held off Skon's advances and kept Jonathan from successfully wooing another.
Jon had known, because he had fell in and out of love many times, that the way he felt for T'Pol was something special, out of a novel – grandiose and overwhelming. It was nice to know that T'Pol had that emotion mirrored in her brain and soul, allowing it to roam free in his mind through their bond.
"Marry me," she said.
His lips took hers and the mating fever overcame them again.
"When this is over," he whispered to her.
Her hands touched his temples, dragging his mouth to hers. "Phlox has a degree in theology, he may be able to marry us."
"The captain of a vessel can, too," he said. And then he frowned. "I don't think I'd want to do that to her, though."
He felt a tinge of jealousy creep through her body and she shook her head. "Let us not talk of her."
And they kissed again.
TBC
A/N: Shran will be in the next chapter. And Asearcher, you are excellent at reading the details; I was a bit afraid I'd buried that information.