Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed.
Lll (and other people who reviewed solely to beg for an update), I don't have enough money in my bank account to pay the student loan bill that will come mid-month, but I have been lucky enough to land a job. It's draining and stressful and I haven't been feeling very creative lately. That's why I haven't been able to work on this.
Also, don't I get to have Christmas and New Year's off?
To my dismay, the recent article spawned countless follow-up pieces discussing the ambassador and myself from every angle possible. Someone did some digging and figured out where I went to school, and I decided to take public transit every morning so they wouldn't recognize my bright red motorcycle on campus. Calls to the Consulate increased exponentially, every caller a reporter begging to interview the ambassador and his new girlfriend. I stopped running around the block and instead took the bus to the local parks, making sure to switch parks every week. It amazed me how long the gossip feeds kept old news feeling fresh, and the momentum of the press' excitement blustered on into late October, nearly a week before Halloween.
And then some rock star was discovered to be using drugs, and all the gossip columns railed against him, leaving me and Soval by the wayside. By the time my mother started putting up Halloween decorations, I figured it was safe to take a jog along my usual route again.
My main concern turned out not to be the paparazzi; in my haste to get on with my run on the Friday before Halloween, I didn't stretch as much as I should have, and it became apparent in my third lap that something was wrong. My thighs began to cramp up, and they ached when I went in for my longer strides. I slowed my pace and assessed the pain, and it lessened somewhat. I decided that was enough for today, ending my workout session early. Depending on the severity of my injury, I could be on leave from running for a month or more.
I limped back to the Consulate and stuffed myself into a turbolift, feeling angry at myself for injuring myself. I enjoyed the time I spent running – it gave me time to think and plan – but I didn't think I could stand not having an outlet for when Soval got too unbearable. I guess I could switch to walking or lifting weights or something, but there was nothing that flushed out bad feelings like a good run. I cursed under my breath, rubbing my sore legs, and my mood was not improved when the turbolift (which I had all to myself) stopped on the third floor and opened to reveal a Vulcan I had never met before.
He looked surprised to see me there, and I briefly wondered if Soval's staff knew my routine well enough so that I never had to come in contact with them, but that thought was interrupted by a stab of pain from the back of my thigh. I couldn't suppress a hiss of displeasure.
Whoever this Vulcan was, he quickly entered the turbolift, towering over me as I massaged away the soreness (or tried to).
He opened his mouth to speak, perhaps even to ask if I needed help, but then he frowned and flared his nostrils. The man looked so much like Soval in that moment, and I didn't really want to think about why; the pain took all my attention.
"I thought you were instructed not to wear perfume in this Consulate, Ms. Forrest."
His tone of voice combined with the pain in my leg in just the right way to make me even angrier than I was when I got in the turbolift.
"I'm not wearing perfume, idiot," I growled, dispensing with the pleasantries. I was practically rolling on the floor in pain and this good-for-nothing Vulcan was concerned about what I smelled like? "That horrid stench is coming from my sweat, thank you very much. That's what happens when humans exercise, or has that not occurred to you?"
He blinked, his lips parting (maybe in shock at my language and audacity), and then he stepped further inside the turbolift, his expression hardening.
"Well?" he asked briskly. "What is the matter, then?"
I glanced up at the floor readout again and sighed. I could just get off here and go ask Soval for help...it seemed a more appealing option than being stuck with this Vulcan.
"The problem is," I said, limping out of the turbolift and turning towards Soval's office at the end of the hall, "I was going to take a shower to relieve your poor nose of my stench, but now I can't, because I have to go sit down for twenty minutes and put ice on my leg. It's your lucky day, good sir: we both lose."
As if the heavens had heard my grousing, Timok strode out of an office just then and noticed me limping pitifully down the hall, the annoying Vulcan bouncing at my shoulder as if completely lost on how to help me (at this point, it was in his best interest to just leave me be).
"Ms. Forrest!" He rushed towards me and offered his shoulder for me to hold on to instead of the wall, and for a man his age, he was still surprisingly strong. "What happened?"
"Probably pulled a hamstring. The problem's in the back of my thigh, so that's my educated guess, anyway. I need to put some ice on it, and I need to sit as soon as possible."
He pulled me into the office he had just exited, which was not, in fact, his office. Another Vulcan I had never met was sitting at the desk, concern flitting across his face at the sight of me. I winced as I sat down in the visitor's chair, and the man who owned the office rushed out and soon returned with another chair for Timok.
"Varis, go get a bag of ice for the T'Sai. The kitchens have an oft-unused icemaker, do they not?"
Varis nodded, and I leaned back in the chair, rubbing gently at my sore legs.
"I didn't think the Vulcan Consulate would have an icemaker," I wondered aloud.
"It was a gift to Solkar from the Earth Senate. It's very efficient, if a bit outdated, but we usually do not use it unless humans are visiting for some function. Our biology is not conducive to having very cold liquids inside it on a regular basis."
I nodded in understanding. "The more you know," I muttered under my breath, and though Timok raised his eyebrow at me, I didn't explain the phrase. "So how is work going? How's the family back home?"
The old man blinked several times, then seemed to shrug. "Work is...slower than usual, to be honest. My family, the last I heard, were all well. In fact, my son received a promotion within the Ministry of Security where he works."
"Oh, that's wonderful!" I said with a genuine smile. "Tell him I said congratulations."
He bowed his head, then twisted around when Varis came back with my ice.
"Thank you very much, good sir," I said, my previous annoyance at the tactless Vulcan evaporating slowly; Timok and Varis seemed sincere in their concern for my well-being. I turned sideways in the chair, and with my windbreaker over my hands, I pressed the ice to my leg (I had learned early on that putting ice directly on my skin wouldn't be a good idea).
The relief wasn't instantaneous, but I knew I was doing the correct thing. A soft tapping noise reached my ears, and Timok looked up from typing on his PADD when I looked at him.
"You do want the ambassador informed of your injury, do you not?"
I blinked. "I suppose...it's not like I'm dying or anything...though I don't know how bad this injury is. Good thing you have turbolifts, or I'd be up a creek without a paddle, so to speak."
As I told him this, Varis was speaking in Vulcan over his personal comm, and I gave him an expectant stare when he caught my eye again.
"The doctor is on his way," he explained. "He will be here momentarily."
I thanked him for thinking ahead and leaned into the chair, sighing as I readjusted the ice.
"Just out of curiosity, where is the ambassador?" I asked Timok.
"He was invited to a luncheon with several Starfleet admirals."
I was about to reply when the doctor arrived, setting down his black medkit and pulling out a scanner.
This Vulcan looked to be in his fifties, with graying hair and light lines on his face, and he didn't look particularly pleased to see me. Or perhaps it was just that my injury was in a bit of an intimate place, and he wasn't looking forward to touching my thighs. Not that I blamed him; I wasn't eager to be poked and prodded today, but I sighed and obeyed him when he told me to lift my leg up so he could have a look.
He straightened my leg (clasping tightly to my shoe, I noted) then bent it back towards my body as far as it could go.
"Stop!" I cried after about 50 degrees. "That hurts!"
The doctor made a notation on his PADD and carefully put my leg back down, turning to his scanner. "Describe the events leading up to your injury," he asked me, and I told him about the pain in my thighs during my run.
He scanned my leg as I told him this, and he raised an eyebrow at my story. "I suppose you forgot to stretch your muscles before exercising?"
"This isn't my first rodeo, doctor," I said testily, glaring at him. "I obviously didn't stretch enough. I learned my lesson. Now could you please just tell me what's wrong and how to fix it?"
"You have strained your biceps femoris and the tendons surrounding it. I may have to immobilize your leg, and I suppose you will want pain medication. Also, physical therapy will be key in treating this injury. Do you have any questions?"
"Yes, what in God's name is the biceps femoris?"
He looked like he was frowning. "It is a muscle in the posterior portion of your thigh. I believe your people refer to it as a 'hamstring'?"
"Ha!" I snorted. "I was right!" Then I frowned and cursed under my breath, rubbing the bridge of my nose; this news and the thought of treatment was making a migraine pulse behind my eyes.
Varis and Timok exchanged a glance (perhaps they didn't notice that I could see them), but the doctor stared at me, and I wondered if he was shocked at my cursing, or simply offended in a more general way at my oh-so-human behavior.
"You express victory and frustration in one single breath," he muttered, so softly that I almost didn't hear him. "I would call it repugnant if it wasn't so fascinating."
It took me a moment to realize he had dealt me an insult, and I blinked rapidly in confusion. I didn't expect every staff member in the Consulate to like me, but I by no means expected any of them to find me 'repugnant' or as offensive as that other Vulcan thought me to be; the way he phrased it indicated that he saw me as nothing more than a curiosity, not as someone to take seriously. I immediately wanted to be alone, but I thought of Varis' kindness, which was one of the only reasons I didn't start yelling obscenities at the doctor to show him how repugnant a human could get if provoked.
I stood up, blatantly ignoring the doctor's protests. "Varis," I said gently, looking the man in the eye. He blinked and opened his mouth as if he wanted to speak, but I cut him off. "Thank you so much for getting that ice for me. And for letting me use your office. I really appreciate it."
He bowed his head, and before he could think of a response, I turned to Timok. "Get back to work," I groused, limping towards the door. "I've taken up enough of your time already. And made things worse with my unbearable stench. Now if you'll excuse me, I think the sonic shower is calling my name."
My thighs screamed in protest as I limped towards the door, and by the time I was out in the hallway, all three men were following behind me, urging me to stop and sit back down. I picked up my pace, walking outright despite the pain, and I thought it was odd that none of them were attempting to physically apprehend me. They probably were disgusted by the sheen of sweat on my skin and didn't want to go too close to my stench, or else it was some Vulcan thing I didn't know about. Either way, I shoved past them (they outstripped me on the race to the turbolift) and pushed my way into the elevator, slamming the button for the top floor, my face set as I stood as still as I could even though my legs were wobbling ever so slightly with the effort.
Finally the blasted thing closed its doors and started moving, and I was sorely tempted to just slide down to the floor and stay there for a while. But no doubt this turbolift was used often, and if I wanted to escape to my room and stop offending Soval's staff with my stench, I had to stay strong until I could collapse on the couch, or better yet, my bed. I was too tired to think about standing in a shower for ten minutes, and I decided it wasn't worth the effort just yet. I would lay down and elevate my leg, and maybe in half an hour I would feel up to taking a shower.
In the meantime, I ignored Varis' urging (he had raced the turbolift and beaten me up the stairs) and slipped into my shared quarters, and I finally collapsed onto my bed and relaxed into the soft blankets. Perhaps my stench would seep into the sheets and I would be sleeping in a soiled bed tonight, but at the moment I didn't care. It was good enough to be lying down, and I told myself I had to elevate my leg before I could fully relax.
I slipped out of my shoes and shoved a pillow under my leg, then allowed myself to sink into the mattress, sighing in mixed relief and frustration. I would certainly be forbidden to run for a month or more, and I wasn't even certain what they would put on my leg to make at least a limp possible and bearable.
The ice seeped through my clothing and cut into my skin, almost burning like fire, but my eyelids were drooping. The last sensation that registered in my brain before I drifted off was the sound of distant voices out in the hallway, or maybe it was just my imagination...
It felt like I was only asleep for a few moments before I felt a hand shaking me awake, and I groaned and rolled over.
"Genevieve," a soft, masculine voice murmured in my ear. "You have to get up."
"Five more minutes," I said into my pillow, and when I tried to shift my leg, a stab of pain shot up my thigh. I gasped and rolled onto my back, and I had never sat up as quickly as I did when I reached for the ice bag. It was half melted, but I put it on my thigh anyway and looked up at Soval, who was frowning down at me.
"Judging by your expression," he began, his voice still gentle, "you are in pain, perhaps more than before you slept. We need to rectify the problem before you inflict further injury on your...hamstring?"
"Hamstring," I repeated with a nod.
He echoed my motions, his eyes raking over my body, and before I could say another word, he handed me the shoes I had kicked off before my nap. "You have an appointment with your primary care physician in an hour. Do you feel comfortable wearing those clothes, or would you like something else?"
"These are the clothes I ran in." I sighed and pulled on my shoes. "I probably smell like garbage...could you find me another t-shirt?"
He immediately walked over to my dresser and was about to pull out the top drawer before I stopped him.
"Wrong drawer!" I warned, shifting to the edge of my bed. I may have had a crush on the man, but that didn't mean I wanted him rifling through my underwear. "Try the one below it."
He pulled out a light purple tee and handed it to me, and when I made to strip off my jacket, he abruptly turned around and stared at the wall; I thanked him for giving me a little bit of privacy.
"It is not appropriate for a man to watch a woman disrobe unless he is her mate," he said stiffly. "I would leave, but you will need my help to stand, and in any case, I would feel more agreeable with the situation if you would allow me to carry you."
"You can look," I said, pulling the shirt down over my stomach. "And what about carrying me?"
"It would be faster." He reached for me, hovering his hands over my shoulders. "Please, Genevieve, allow me this. It pains me to see you in pain, and we have traffic to negotiate. If I carry you, we will be early."
About ten seconds passed before his statement sunk into my brain and I formulated a response. "Um...how old are you?"
His nostrils flared. "I may be an older Vulcan, but I am still a Vulcan. If you are questioning my ability, do you think I would have offered to carry you if I was not confident in my ability to bear your weight?"
He reached for me, but I put up a hand. "I haven't showered."
Another few seconds ticked by before he replied. "Since you are making excuses, I assume you do not wish me to touch you. I will find another means of–"
"Hey, hey, I didn't say that!" I said quickly before he could walk away. "I just didn't want you to get hurt or gag on my stench. If you really want to carry me, carry away, I'm all yours."
I flushed when I realized the full meaning of what I had just said, but I didn't have any time to correct myself. He worked his arms under me and lifted me up, cradling me against his chest. Sturdy, muscular arms kept me in place, but his grip was gentle, his steps quick and smooth as he walked me out the door.
A hundred thoughts raced through my head as we walked out the door, one of which was that I had forgotten my credit stick. I told Soval, and he simply shook his head.
"I will pay," he said. "Do not worry yourself over something so trivial. Did I not tell you I would provide for you?"
"Well, I didn't expect room and board to include visits to my doctor...if you insist on paying..."
"I do insist."
I thought surely his voice had dropped at least half an octave as he said that, and I was suddenly very aware of his arms holding me in place, his strong biceps and powerful chest. The broadness of his shoulders caught my eye, and I followed the line of his neck up to his lovely pointed ears, and then to his eyes, which were focused on the floor ahead of us; his gaze suddenly turned to meet mine, and a tingling sensation broke out on my lower back. I bit my lip and looked up at the ceiling, becoming very interested in the shape of the light fixtures. My heart was pounding in my chest, perhaps loud enough for him to hear.
"Do you think I will drop you?" he asked quietly.
"No, I think you've got a handle on things." On more than one thing, really...
He leaned down, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Then why has your pulse quickened?"
I stared mutely at him for a moment, my brain racing for an answer. His voice had dropped into a low, almost seductive timbre, but finally I came across an acceptable answer and sighed.
"Ok, I'm a bit nervous. I've never been carried like this."
I lurched forward as he pressed the button for the turbolift, and instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck.
"Sorry," I said, my arms slipping back down to rest at my sides again. "I didn't mean to...you scared me there for a second, and–"
"Genevieve." He cut me off, his voice a low rumble, and I could hear it vibrate in his chest. "Please put your arms back where they were. You will be more secure that way."
A shock of excitement zipped down my spine, and warmth spilled into my belly. I slowly wrapped my arms back around his neck, giving him time to stop me if he wished. But he simply raised an eyebrow at me and leaned forward for the button, lurching me forward again, which forced me to tighten my grip.
I swallowed thickly before speaking again. "Now, I know your nose is sensitive to perfumes and such, but can Vulcans tell the difference between perfume and body odor?"
"Yes," he said with a frown. "Why do you ask?"
"Because the first Vulcan I came across after I hurt myself saw fit to give me a lecture on me supposedly wearing perfume in this Consulate. And the doctor probably didn't enjoy my stench either, but I wonder why that first one's mind jumped immediately to perfume and not 'she just hasn't showered'."
Soval blinked just as the turbolift doors opened. He strode out into the hallway, and unlike up on the fifth floor, we weren't alone in the corridor. Several Vulcans were walking from office to office, some huddled in small groups, and everyone seemed busy. Soft chatter reached my ears, but a hush fell over the workers as Soval pushed through them.
We were barely a third of the way down the hall before the whispers started, and I could have sworn I heard sniffling from some of them. I sat up a little and looked at a group of three Vulcans, and all three had their eyes trained on me, their nostrils flared and their brows furrowed in apparent confusion.
"Are you all right, T'Sai?" a voice asked behind me, and I twisted my head around to address the man's question. I saw the librarian in the crowd, but he wasn't the one who had asked. I had seen his face before, and I racked my brains until I came up with the answer: he was one of the maintenance men who had installed the A/C unit my room.
"Pulled hamstring, nothing too serious," I replied politely, and although he didn't seem perturbed by my presence, all I could see in front and behind me were Vulcans, breathing deeply and staring at me as if I were a particularly fascinating installment in a science museum.
The maintenance man, in the meantime, had followed after Soval and caught up with me. "What caused your injury?" He walked with purpose beside us, his strides long, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.
I was about to answer when Soval raised his voice enough for the entire hallway to hear. I didn't understand what he said, but after he gave his announcement, the corridor quickly cleared out as the Vulcans slipped into their offices and closed the doors.
"I hope you are healed soon, Ms. Forrest," the maintenance man said gently, and then he was gone, leaving me alone in the corridor with Soval.
"What just happened? What did you say to them?"
"I told them to clear the hallway, because they were making you uncomfortable."
I frowned. "Were they...sniffing me? Or am I imagining things?"
It became quickly apparent that I had made him uneasy. "Perhaps this will answer your earlier question. Yes, they were sniffing you, and as for the Vulcan you mentioned, he was confused by your scent. He has not grown accustomed to your smell as I have." I could have been wrong, but it seemed like he was slowing his pace to prolong our conversation. "And so, due to his lack of data, he assumed you were breaking protocol."
"But even still," I protested, "I smell nothing like perfume!"
"His logic is flawed. He knows perfume smells appealing to your males, and perhaps he was too overwhelmed by your scent to think clearly."
"Great." I shook my head and sighed. "I smell so bad I'm making Vulcans stupid. That's a grand achievement right there. Do I get an award?"
Soval tightened his grip, maybe in warning, and his gaze was reproachful as he glared down at me. "You only smell so strong as to make them forget their duties...and their priorities."
"What becomes their new priority?" I was apprehensive of the answer, but curiosity won out. Though whether or not I would get an answer remained to be seen.
He stared down at me, tilting his head, but instead of respond to my question, he shoved through the door to the parking garage and walked quickly to a waiting aircar. A chauffeur was standing at attention by the door, but Soval dismissed him with a quiet word.
When he finally got me settled and slid into the driver's seat, I repeated my question. He didn't answer.
"Ambassador?"
He sighed. "I have already arranged a meeting with the Vulcan who treated you, Dr. Sovok. He will be dismissed."
"Why?" My voice came out sharper than I intended. "He's entitled to his opinion."
"He is not fit for diplomacy if he cannot treat a human patient without insulting her first. Calling you repugnant..." Did I detect a growl in his voice? "No part of you is repulsive – not your emotions or your scent or your manner of interacting with others."
He paused before continuing. "Your cursing, however, was a bit off-color. Would you please refrain from using such language around my staff?"
I blinked. "I'm very sorry for offending you, and them – not the doctor so much, but Timok and Varis..." I whispered, my cheeks flushing in shame. "I was wrong to do that. I won't do it again."
"Apology accepted," he said gently. "Did Timok or Varis see this other Vulcan so I might discipline him as well?"
"Yeah, Timok saw him." I sighed. "You know, the reprimands aren't all that necessary. You don't have to do this–"
"Oh, but I do."
I looked over at him, taken aback at the intensity of his expression, and I felt it would be prudent to proceed with caution. But before I could speak, he continued.
"You find my measures extreme, perhaps, but my staff is held to an exacting standard. If they do not or cannot meet the requirements of this job, I can find someone more suitable to replace them. Dr. Sovok's replacement has already agreed to the position. Dr. Avarak was one of the loudest voices in support of the IME, and under him, Shi'Kahr has seen a recruitment increase of eleven percent. I believe he will do well on Earth."
"We'll see, won't we?" I countered, and he nodded solemnly, his eyes fixed on the space in front of the car. We soared over the city, my leg still twinging a little in pain, but I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, comforted by the fact that my doctor wouldn't find my emotions at all repulsive.
"All will be well, Genevieve," he said, his voice low and rumbling again. "As you say, we will see."
I smiled to myself and nodded, and the rest of the ride passed in contented silence.
…
I collapsed onto the couch; if I was careful, I could scratch under the device my doctor had strapped to my thigh and not dislodge it, and when Soval's back was turned, I worked a few fingers under the material and scraped my nails along my sweaty skin. Soval was unfortunately stuck with my odor until tomorrow morning, when I would be able to take a shower (the device emitted some pulse that quickened the healing process, and it would be best to leave it on for twelve hours before removing it). I considered escaping into my room to relieve his nose, but he sat down next to me and looked at me with a warning gaze, as if he could tell what I was thinking and wished me to reconsider.
I cast around for something to say, and suddenly I remembered a question that had been pushed to the back of my mind about a month ago. I turned to him and opened my mouth.
"I know this is kind of apropos of nothing, but...are your robes washed separately from other clothes? Maybe in a special detergent or something?"
He frowned. "No...why do you ask?"
"Because they always smell so nice, like they've been washed in some really good detergent. How are your clothes washed?"
He still looked confused. "Genevieve...you do realize Vulcans use unscented detergents, do you not?"
"Ok, then it's not that," I grumbled, tapping my foot (the one not attached to an injured leg) impatiently. "And I know it's not cologne, because you don't do perfume...maybe it's your incense I'm smelling?"
Soval furrowed his brow and stood up, disappearing behind the screen he had set up in the corner for his meditation spot. I heard him shuffling things around, and he reappeared bearing a wooden box with loose incense inside it. I carefully took it from him and smelled it, then smelled it again. It was too sweet to be the earthy, smoky scent I had once detected on him, and I shook my head. Maybe he had gotten too close to someone wearing that scent, and I would never find it again.
"That's not it," I sighed. "Nevermind, then."
He took the box back and closed it, disappearing into the corner again to put it away. He emerged with a thoughtful expression, and asked to be excused for just a moment.
"I'm not going anywhere," I assured him, and he slipped into his room and closed the door with a smart click.
A few moments later, he came out bearing a yellow shirt with a high collar and long sleeves, and I suddenly realized it must have been his undershirt that he wore beneath his robes. Indeed, his ensemble looked lacking without that little pop of yellow at his neck, but I took his shirt in my hands, looking up at him expectantly.
"You say you smelled this particular scent in my clothes?"
"In your clothes or on you or something..." I trailed off and pressed my nose to the collar, and I gripped it tight, breathing in deeply.
"Right there, that's it!" I exclaimed, burying my nose into the collar. "But what did you do to it? It's not cologne or incense or detergent, so what is this?"
He raised an eyebrow. "If it is not detergent or incense or cologne, there is only one logical explanation."
It took me a moment to realize that I was smelling his smell, his natural scent. I dropped the shirt into my lap and stared at him, unconsciously shaking my head a little at him. This isn't fair, I thought. This isn't fair at all. He smells like heaven and I'm sitting over here reeking like an undead orc. Just perfect.
"Not what you were expecting?" he asked, his voice low again. "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."
"Did you just quote Sir Arthur Conan Doyle at me?"
"His words are logically sound," Soval retorted, and I handed him back his shirt. "I was surprised that I enjoyed his works as much as I did. I would even go as far as to say Sherlock Holmes is a thoroughly engrossing series."
I blinked, shaking my head again. "What are you doing next Friday?"
"I do not have plans. Why do you ask?"
Maybe it wasn't the best plan, but my mother did hint heavily last year that some help on Halloween would be a wonderful favor for her. She liked to decorate and give out candy, but this year she had promised to be at an event with Dad and couldn't fulfill her neighborhood duties. Our street often got heavy traffic on Halloween night, and we often stocked up with ten pounds of candy or more to give to the children. Where Soval fit into my plan to help Mom this year remained to be seen.
"Because I have a crazy plan, and you'd be the centerpiece of it all. So tell me, ambassador...what do you know about All Hallow's Eve?"