EIGHT: Damsel In Distress

Wherever she was, it was bloody cold.

Dagmar had never been the sort to wake up disoriented. When she awoke, with one or two rare exceptions, she always knew exactly where she was and how she had gotten there.

This time, however, her sluggish mind floundered, because there was an extra set of limbs or two where there should be none but her own. Cracking open an eyelid hesitantly, she sighed in relief. It was just Shral and Thelen... and possibly every other Andorian on the planet.

In patches and fragments, she remembered dropping the pair off in the communal sleeping area –typical of any Andorian outpost or station- only to realize it was four in the morning. Low crime levels or not, she wasn't wandering around San Francisco in the middle of the night by herself. She'd been about to ask to stay –possibly on a couch somewhere- when Shral had pre-empted her request with an offer of his own.

Mystery solved, she supposed. But that left another matter.

Shral had thrown an arm over her sometime in the night, and her knee had managed to settle over his hip. His free arm was slung around the front of another Andorian, who, via a cushion, was using his exposed side as a pillow. Behind her, she felt Thelen lying close by, warm breath ghosting slow and even over the back of her neck. The top of his thigh was pressed against the back of hers and, amusingly, entangled with Shral's. Thelen's hand, not as warm as a Human's but warm enough, rested on her hip.

Problem is, her hip was not supposed to be bare.

Solving the mystery of her location did not at all explain where some of her clothing had gone. She'd been wearing jeans, a strappy shirt, a leather jacket, and a pair of heels before. Currently, she was down to her shirt and underwear; fortunately, not one of the more interesting pairs in her wardrobe. That could have been embarrassing –not that she wasn't a little embarrassed already, but it could be worse. Still, that explained why she was so cold.

Not that she was particularly concerned –Andorians had a strict honour code. While they encouraged their equivalent of teenagers to experiment (and, indeed, some of the adults continued to do so until married) they regarded the idea of doing such things without all partners' consent as repulsive and low. Still, she was rather fond of those jeans, not to mention her shoes and jacket. Tentatively raising her head from a brightly coloured cushion and trying not to jostle any of her surprise bedfellows, Dagmar looked around. The room was dark still, but she spied her belongings neatly folded (can't have been her doing; she rarely folded anything) on a nearby chair, the shoes tucked underneath.

Satisfied, and still sleepy, Dagmar resettled herself with a faint shiver. It wasn't intolerably cold in the large, dark room, but it was enough to make her uncomfortable.

...And nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand –Thelen's- pat her hip lightly.

"You didn't sleep long." He murmured, voice soft and sibilant even in a whisper. "What's wrong?"

"Cold." Dagmar mumbled.

Andorians ran about ten degrees cooler than Humans did, having an average core temperature of twenty-nine degrees Celsius. Because of their unique semi-osmotic circulatory system, however, they weren't much affected by temperature shifts; the cold affected them to a much lesser degree than Human unless it was beyond ridiculously cold, and the heat (despite their complaints) wasn't as bad for them as Humans, either. In fact, they could survive about a week on a planet with an ambient temperature of the boiling point of water, if they absolutely had to.

Of course, they'd spend a good four months or so in recovery afterwards, but they could do it.

In short, she was freezing and her blue bedfellows were probably quite comfortable.

Thelen shifted closer, until his front was flush against her back. It didn't ease her shivering entirely, but the extra heat certainly helped. Ten degrees below her or not, he was certainly warmer than the ambient temperature, which felt like it was only just above zero-degrees. Before she could protest, Thelen reached over and swiped at Shral's arm –startling the Andorian awake.

"I told you she'd be cold." Thelen groused in explanation, voice little more than a quiet hiss. "Humans are different."

That was apparently all the explanation that the aide needed, because suddenly the Canadian was in a very strange cuddle sandwich. Good thing she wasn't claustrophobic... or prudish, for that matter, because she suddenly realized that the Andorians –not just the two beside her, but all of them- were completely unclothed. The light level in the room was very dim –bordering on nearly black- but her eyes had adjusted to the dark and the evidence presented itself quite clearly.

Embarrassment warred with the thought that at least Andorian genitalia were retractable or otherwise internal. Thank god for that obligatory basic xenobiology class –otherwise, she'd be halfway out the compound by now.

It also helped that she was fairly certain that Humans and Andorians weren't compatible (at least, so far as she knew; that class had been very basic) and, therefore, there was nothing to really worry about.

She hoped.

***
"Ah! Good morning, Miss Gunnarssen!" An entirely too cheerful –and familiar- reedy voice greeted loudly. "How nice of you to join us! Fascinating, how when I tell you to go away, you move right in!"

Dagmar opened her eyes to a pair of bowed antennae, a mouthful of sharp teeth pulled into a vaguely strained smile, and the entirely too gleeful leer of her boss.

"This isn't happening." Dagmar's brain stalled. She was in the middle of a cuddle sandwich with two of her coworkers, in the Andorian compound (where she probably wasn't supposed to be), in less than appropriate clothing –at least, by Human standards- and the first thing she woke up to was her boss. Mortification didn't even come close to the mental paralysis she was stuck in.

Behind her, Thelen snorted. In front of her, Shral nodded politely to the Ambassador but otherwise did nothing. The pair pulled away from her only fractionally –enough to turn and greet Thoris with the appropriate amount of respect. Or, at least, as much as possibly, given that Thelen was partially buried under two sleeping Andorian females and wrapped around Dagmar while Shral played pillow to no less than four younger Andorians (all four of whom were arranged sort of like a jigsaw, to Dagmar's amusement) and –once again- Dagmar.

"I'm afraid it is, Miss Gunnarssen!" Was it her, or was Thoris having entirely too much fun at her expense? "But as much as I would love to continue this conversation, there's a Vulcan asking for you over the comm. system."

She only knew two Vulcans well enough that they would consider calling her –especially in the morning, if the number of rousing Andorians was any indication of the time; Varek or Kov. Curiously, neither had any reason to call her that she could think of, though.

"Old or young?" Dagmar asked with a puzzled frown, disentangling herself about to prop her upper body up with an elbow. From across the room, the Andorian woman from the previous evening did a double-take upon seeing her and wiggled her antennae at the Canadian in confusion. The lights were still dim, but light enough so Dagmar to be able to see clearly across the room; she hadn't noticed the intricate tapestries and the multitude of colour cushions and silk drapes before. Maybe if she was allowed to come back, she'd get a chance to examine the tapestries more closely.

Big if, though. She probably wasn't supposed to have even set foot in the compound. God only knows why the security guards let her pass –they probably hadn't thought she'd stay.

"Young, green and tetchy," The Andorian male answered nonchalantly, looking strangely at ease in full Ambassadorial regalia –sleek, dark grey and black robes of Andorian silk over a more functional suit not unlike that of the Imperial Guard uniform. Dagmar would have thought that the outfit would have been cumbersome and uncomfortable. "Go answer the comm. before he gets it into his pointy-eared head to walk over from the Vulcan compound and make a nuisance of himself."

Oh. Kov, then.

What the devil was Kov calling her for?

Disentangling herself completely from Shral and Thelen turned out to be extremely complicated as Shral was largely unable to move without waking the four younger Andorians, and Thelen was still half-asleep. Still, Dagmar managed it and, almost belatedly remembering to throw on her shirt and pants lest she traumatize Kov for life, the Canadian wandered over to a small en-suite office and activated the console. In the moments it took for the comm. to connect, she tried to straighten out her mussed hair a bit and hoped her makeup from the previous night wasn't smudged all over her face.

"Good morning, Kov." She greeted, hoping she wasn't too dishevelled-looking. "How are you?"

"I am... functioning within normal parameters." Kov answered slowly, fingers forming a steeply just barely visible at the bottom of the screen. There was a sort of tenseness around his eyes that she didn't like; Dagmar wondered if the young man was struggling with his emotions. Apparently, young Vulcans often had issues with discipline in that respect. "It is most agreeable to learn that your actions have not led to your dismissal from the Embassy."

Lips quirking slightly upwards, Dagmar inclined her head and thanked the Vulcan. "Thank you, Kov. Apparently, I keep calm in tense situations, and the Ambassador thinks that may be useful in the future."

"A sound observation." Kov agreed.

Silence crept in, with Kov not saying anything and Dagmar unsure if it would be considered rude for her to ask the young man what the devil he called her for. In the background, she heard shuffling and mumbled greetings –a few, surprisingly, directed towards her. She turned and returned the greeting politely, but quickly, lest she give the impression that she wasn't paying attention.

"My apologies, Miss Gunnarssen." Kov said suddenly, and Dagmar's eyes flitted back to the screen. Kov seemed to be growing less and less calm as the seconds ticked by. When the green-skinned alien swayed, ever-so-slightly, the Canadian immediately grew very concerned. "I am... having difficulties suppressing my emotions."

"Would you like to resume this conversation another time?" Dagmar asked sympathetically. What little she knew of Vulcans told her to treat the confession as delicately as possible.

"No," The young Vulcan male answered slowly –too slowly. He seemed strangely lethargic. "That is why I have called you, Miss Gunnarssen. I wish to ask..." –here, he seemed to struggle with the words- "...for your counsel. There is a matter which requires insight greater than my own."

The redhead blinked. Then why call her? She wasn't much older than he –in fact, Dagmar was fairly certain that Kov was the elder of the pair of them. What insight could she offer that an older Vulcan couldn't? If anything, she had less experience than the young man on the screen.

Except...

Suddenly, Dagmar had an inkling as to the problem. "Is your integration into Human society the problem?"

Almost as if it pained him, Kov reluctantly nodded. Worrying –Dagmar shouldn't have been able to assign any emotion to the movement whatsoever. "I confess some... difficulties. I wish to know how you coped."

This conversation should be held in private, Dagmar thought, not in an Andorian compound with open doorways and too-keen hearing. "I think we should continue this elsewhere."

In the background, someone who sounded suspiciously familiar shouted, "Spoilsport!"

Dagmar sighed.

"That would be... appreciated." Kov inclined his head. "What is a suitable time and location?"

Public places were out of the question, given the nature of the request. While Dagmar openly admitted that Vulcans were largely a mystery to her, in terms of why they needed such extreme privacy and such, she understood that both a completely public place and a completely private location were unsuitable. One was not exclusive enough and the other was too exclusive. Better to find a balance –preferably somewhere that was open to the public but not in use, and also somewhere the Vulcan was familiar with.

"Are there any free study rooms on campus?"

"There are four such rooms in the eastern wing of the main building."

Perfect. Dagmar nodded and ordered, "Pick one and I'll be there in two hours."

The connection terminated.