A/N: I keep repeating myself, but I can't help it. The reviews have been wonderful. Thanks!

CHAPTER 12

Archer wasn't happy as he strode down the corridor to his cabin. He hadn't seen Sato since that morning, when he'd left her with Tucker and T'Pol, but he'd kept track of her whereabouts until about an hour and a half ago, when she'd been translating that information for Reed. Now he had no idea where she was. He could issue a shipwide alert to find her, which certainly was his privilege as captain but demeaning because the crew would think he'd lost his woman -- even if she wasn't his woman in that sense -- but what the crew didn't know wouldn't hurt him. He was going to have to track her down himself.

But first, he had to feed Dart. He'd stop by his cabin, feed the dog, then take the canine along when he went looking for his missing translator. Dart wasn't much of a tracker, but when they found Sato, the ferocious doberman would be enough to give her a good scare.

Once her exceptional language skills had become known, Archer had realized that Sato provided him with a unique opportunity that he wasn't about to waste. Her skill with languages could only boost his career. He could imagine walking into a tense confrontation with aliens, and Sato being able to tell him what they were talking about amongst themselves.

Adding to her uniqueness was that she was from a different universe. She had no ties here, and therefore, no loyalties to anyone. He intended to exploit that by making her loyal to him. For now, she needed to be kept in line, or he could have problems with her later.

Her disappearance had started innocuously enough. T'Pol had showed up at about twelve-hundred hours on the bridge to write up the report of the debriefing. She'd informed him that Tucker had taken Sato to the mess hall. He'd been about to tell T'Pol to have Tucker bring Sato to the bridge when Reed, who'd been listening to their conversation from the tactical station, had asked permission to have Sato look at that piece of space debris that he was so sure was a weapon.

"It has writing on it that our UT can't decipher," Reed had said. "She might be able to tell us what it says."

Archer had agreed, thinking that it would be a good first test of Sato's abilities. He also remembered thinking, as Reed had left the bridge, that it might get the tactical officer off his back about running test after futile test on the cylinder.

Sato had indeed been able to translate the writing, he had found out later, and had figured out that the object was a worthless souvenir from a dead civilization. Archer almost wished he could have been there to see Reed's face when she'd told him. But any humor in the situation was negated by the knowledge that Reed, in his anger that the so-called weapon was nothing more than a cheap knick-knack, had ordered Sato out of the armory. Archer had found that out when he'd called down to the armory to see how the translation was progressing. It was little consolation that a suddenly contrite Reed, realizing that he'd angered the captain, had offered to hunt her down. Archer had turned down the offer, but had put Reed on report for a week.

What was really bothering Archer, though, was that he hadn't thought she'd wander off on her own. He'd expected her to be too timid to do anything but come find him. He'd deliberately let the crew believe she was "the captain's woman," which afforded her a certain amount of protection, but as far as he knew, she wasn't aware of that.

Archer entered his cabin. His irritation grew when he didn't see his dog. "Dart!" he called out. "Where are you?"

A bark came from the adjoining living quarters. Archer halted, staring at the open doorway between the two cabins. He was sure the door had been closed when he and Sato had left for her debriefing that morning. He slid his pistol out of its holster on his hip and cautiously approached the doorway.

The clicking of nails on deck plating was followed by Dart trotting through the doorway from Sato's cabin. At a hand signal from Archer, the dog obediently sat at his feet. "Who's in there, boy?" he whispered.

The dog, obviously, couldn't answer. Instead, it leaped to its feet and ran back through the doorway, after which there was a startled feminine shriek from the other room.

"You big buffoon!" he heard Sato yell. "Get off me! Stop it!"

A vision of Reed attacking Sato flashed through Archer's mind. The tactical officer had been embarrassed twice, first by finding out that the object he'd thought was a weapon wasn't, and then by angering his captain when he let Sato go off by herself. Archer wouldn't put it past Reed to blame Sato for his embarrassment. As a precaution, because Reed could lose his head sometimes, Archer had his pistol ready to fire as he burst through the open doorway.

And skidded to a halt. He slowly lowered his pistol as he took in the scene. Sato was reclining on the couch, Dart's upper body draped across her chest. She was ineffectually pushing at the dog, trying to get it off her, as it licked her face.

"Dart!" Archer thundered.

The dog, startled, jumped away and cowered off to the side. Sato looked like she was cowering too, even though she quickly sat up on the couch. He watched, his visage stern, as she wiped her wet face with her hand.

Archer was so mad he didn't trust himself to speak. That was another thing he'd learned during his rise in the fleet: Don't act or say anything on impulse. Rather, think things out, and come out ahead of the competition which might act more recklessly. Right now, however, he was so angry about a number of things that he was having trouble thinking straight. He'd already been out of sorts that he hadn't been able to keep track of her. Then, he finds her here, in their shared quarters -- and he hadn't given her the code to open the doors! How the hell did she get in? And finally, when he does find her, his fierce guard dog is slobbering all over her like a lovesick puppy.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, the muscles of his face taut as he tried to keep from shouting.

Sato looked confused. "You told me this was my cabin."

"I know that!" he did shout as his temper frayed. "Do you take everything literally? How did you get in?"

"Oh." Sato ducked her head. "I saw Cunningham in the corridor. I asked him to let me in."

Archer's anger cooled somewhat. His personal steward was the only person on board besides himself and T'Pol who knew the code to the door lock on his cabin. But he wasn't yet mollified. He glanced at Dart, who whined. He'd never seen the dog act like this around anyone, himself included. "How did you make friends with Dart so fast?"

A blush stained Sato's cheeks. "I...uh...talked to him in German. He seems to like it, especially when..."

"When what?" Archer prodded, and saw her blush deepen. A part of him had to admit it was rather endearing, but only a small part. He had to get to the bottom of her hold on Dart, if only to retain control over the dog. "What does he like?" he demanded.

Sato closed her eyes. "When I talk to him in German...in baby talk."

Archer glared at the dog, which looked back at him with soulful eyes. This ferocious canine that responded only to his commands had been reduced to puppy-like behavior by baby talk? "What exactly did you say to him?"

Sato opened her eyes but wouldn't look at him. "Wer ist ein grober, schlechter Hund?" she said softly.

Archer frowned, trying to translate the words with his meager knowledge of German. "'Who's a big, bad dog?'" Then, incredulously, "In baby talk?"

Sato nodded and shrugged at the same time. "You know, kind of high pitched and...and kind of...mushy sounding."

He considered what she'd told him. A human male might be won over by a pretty face spouting nonsense, but a dog? "Say that to him again the way you did before I came in."

She looked puzzled. "Why?"

Because he didn't believe her, but he wasn't going to tell her that. "Just do it," he ordered.

She took a deep breath and uttered the magic words in a sickly sweet tone. Dart leaned toward her, whining, before swinging his head back to look at Archer as if begging permission to go to her.

Archer sighed and gestured toward Sato. Dart bounded over to the couch, knocked Sato backward, and vigorously licked at her face. Sato did her best to hold him off, but even as she tried to push the dog away, she was laughing.

It was a sound Archer didn't often hear, especially happy laughter.

"Dart," he said in his command voice, "hergekommen."

The dog immediately stopped pestering Sato and came to his side. "You tell anyone Dart likes baby talk in German," he told Sato, shoving the pistol back in his holster, "and I will shoot you." It was only then that he noticed something different about her. "Stand up," he ordered her. "Where did you get those clothes?"

Sato got to her feet and glanced down at herself self-consciously. "I went to the quartermaster's store after I left the armory."

Archer gazed appraisingly at her. "It suits you," he said at last, "even if you aren't entitled to wear it."

"There wasn't anything else available!" she said, a stubborn glint in her eyes. "If I have to go out among the crew, I'm going to wear something decent. I can't wear my uniform day in and day out, and I'm not about to wear those skimpy bedroom outfits in public."

He didn't want her traipsing around, escorted or not, in revealing clothing, although Imperial uniforms for women did tend to emphasize their best assets. He noted there was no rank insignia on the outfit she wore, which was the standard blue form-fitting tank top that bared the stomach, and low-rise trousers which hugged the hips.

Her trip to the quartermaster's store explained what she been doing during the time he hadn't known where she was. He felt the last of his anger slip away as he realized that she had a valid point, and that he should have thought of it first. She needed something to wear other than what was in the closet. Almost all the women who'd occupied this cabin before Sato had had their own clothing, and he'd had those articles removed after they'd left. All that was left were the more intimate items that he'd provided for them.

"I also got a few personal things I needed, like a hair brush," she said.

Instead of falling down to her shoulders, her hair was in a pony tail anchored high on the back of her head, allowing it to swing free as she moved. It was a much more sedate, professional look, although he personally didn't prefer it.

He shook his head. His personal preferences didn't matter, because he wasn't interested in her that way, he told himself. He didn't allow himself to have that type of relationship with someone with whom he had to work closely. She was going to be his translator, that's all.

"That's fine," he said, and turned away, intending to go back to his cabin. Dart still needed to be fed. But then he had another thought, and he turned back to her. "How did you pay for everything?"

Her blush, which had been fading, rose in her cheeks again. "I, uh, told the quartermaster to put it on your account."