Redivivus - Ch 3

Redivivus

by HopefulRomantic

Date: 8-3-07
Rating: PG, for a touch of suggestive imagery
Genre: Romance, drama, T/T, ensemble, AU
Disclaimer: Star Trek: Enterprise is the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. All original material herein is the property of its author.
Series Summary: The Reconnecting series is a reinterpretation of Season 4 that went AU shortly after Home. It focuses on the relationships of Trip and T'Pol and their extended family, and features characters introduced in Season 3, as well as original characters.

A/N: My thanks to pookha for her always-intriguing musings, and to the Vulcan Language Dictionary (http://www.starbase-10.de/vld). Poem excerpt by Walt Whitman.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Three: Closer

Upon learning that Archer had a few more things to go over with Erika about the mission, Karyn proposed they have lunch aboard Columbia. Afterward, she brought her great-grandfather to her quarters, telling him only that she had a surprise for him.

Archer waited curiously as Karyn dug around in a battered old Starfleet-issue storage case she had pulled out of the closet of her quarters and set on the bed. At last she found what she was looking for: a book. Sitting Archer down on the bed beside her, she put the book in his hands.

With a start, he recognized his own The Cosmos: A to Z, the childhood astronomy book he’d kept with him on Enterprise since Day One, even after their own mapping of the Arachnid Nebula had rendered it quaintly obsolete. This version of the book was decades older, its binding cracked, its pages well-handled, its corners worn. Still, it was in amazingly good shape for being 150 years old.

Carefully, he opened it. There was the bookplate with his own neat printing, though the ink had faded with time: Admiral Jonny Archer.

Karyn was watching him with that same quiet smile she’d worn while she was giving him his first look at her Enterprise back in February. He realized he must have the same expression of amazement on his face as he did back then. “How did it last?” he asked. “Did you keep it in a vacuum-sealed display case?”

“Just the opposite,” Karyn replied. “Looking through that book was a rite of passage for every kid who grew up on the ship. I remember when I read it, after taking my first astronomy class. Very inspiring.”

“Three generations of kids read this?” Archer was pleased, for some reason he couldn’t explain. “Over a hundred years’ time? And it didn’t fall apart...”

“You had two rules,” Karyn explained. “‘Clean hands, careful hands.’ It was enough.”

Archer ran his hand over the smooth cover of the book, held it up and smelled it. It even had that faint keepsake-whiff of old pages and binding glue that its younger counterpart, back in his cabin on Enterprise, hadn’t yet acquired. With care, he set the book aside and turned back to the pockmarked storage case beside Karyn. “What else is in that treasure chest of yours?”

They spent the next hour poring over the keepsakes of the Archer family of Karyn’s past. He recognized some of the items—a shot glass from the 602 Club, a dog’s rubber play ball, complete with Porthos’ teeth marks. Others were new to him, like the U’tani earrings.

Then there were the pictures. They gave Archer more of a sense of history, and the passage of time on the E², than the captain’s logs, or the medical records, or anything else he’d seen before. There were the other Jon’s wedding pictures, with Esilia looking as dreamlike and ethereal as the stunning ice-blue Ikaaran gown she wore. Jon and Trip grew older and grayer in the photos, but stayed fit, and as close as brothers. There was Trip with his family: T’Pol, serenely beautiful, and a slender tow-headed boy with pointed ears—Lorian, Jon’s godson. Jon and Esilia’s son Henry was tall like his father, but slender and delicately featured, with his mother’s pale eyes and hair, and her forehead ridge.

Then Trip vanished from the pictures, and everyone appeared suddenly older and more somber, Jon most of all.

Henry’s son Charlie looked more like an Archer—blond, strong-jawed and broad-shouldered, though Esilia’s forehead ridge was there. A dominant trait, evidently. His wife Olivia bore a striking resemblance to Karyn. They made a handsome couple, relaxed in each other’s company, comfortably happy. And there was a baby picture of Karyn. Even as a child, she had the same sunny smile...

Archer was still sifting through the album and framed photos when Karyn produced one final treasure from her treasure chest. “I gave Lorian the ring my mother gave to my father. This is the ring he gave to her.” From a small velvet pouch, she pulled out a delicate wedding band of gold filigree. “Before that, Henry gave it to Madisen, and Jonathan gave it to Esilia.”

She handed the ring to Archer. He held it up, watching the play of light on the intricately designed filigree. “It’s beautiful.” How did the other Jon get hold of workmanship like this in the Expanse?

As if reading his mind, Karyn said, “The gold wiring was engineering circuitry, originally. The ring was handmade by Crewman Schloss, whose father was a jewelry designer. Schloss had begun learning the family trade before he joined Starfleet.”

Archer nodded absently, still looking at the ring. “Schloss... stellar cartography.”

“I thought it might make a good choice for you,” Karyn went on. “In case you’ll be needing one soon, for your own bride.”

Her words took a few seconds to penetrate, before he did a head-snap. “My what?”

“Your Esilia.” Karyn folded her arms in pointed admonishment. “About whom I am still waiting to hear details, incidentally.”

Archer held up a hand. “Hold on. Where’d you get the idea that she’s my... that I’m...”

“From you and Trip yesterday at Starfleet. He was teasing you about her, and jazz...?”

Archer gave the ring back to Karyn. “Slow down there, missy. I’m not planning on proposing to anyone just yet.”

She tucked the ring back in its velvet bag. “Whatever you say. But you will. I saw you.”

“What do you mean?” he asked warily.

“The look on your face.” She smiled. “It was all...goofy.”

He squinted at her. “Goofy.” Karyn nodded. “And ‘goofy’ means I’m shopping for a ring?”

“I have been down this path myself,” she said placidly. “Goofy is pretty serious, especially for someone like you.” She settled herself more comfortably on the bed. “So I take it you met her at the reception?”

Archer laughed. “You’re nosy.”

She batted her eyes coyly. “I take after my great-grandfather that way. C’mon, spill.”

“Okay, okay. I met her before then. And so did you.”

Karyn’s eyes widened with curiosity. “When? Who?”

“When I arranged for the reception with Callahan; Kyle Macmillan, his bartender.” Archer waited, wondering what the reaction would be.

Karyn nodded, intrigued. “I like her—she’s pragmatic. Always has sensible advice for people.”

“She ought to,” Archer said wryly. “Did you know she’s a psychologist?”

Karyn laughed. “Perfect!”

“I beg your pardon. Are you implying that I need counseling?”

Karyn patted his hand solicitously. “Silly Papa. I meant that Kyle will have the wisdom to understand your higher calling—the responsibilities and pressures of your work.”

“There you go again. My optimist.”

“Always.” She held up the velvet pouch. “The ring will be here when you’re ready.”

Archer’s eyes strayed again to one of the framed pictures...Charlie and Olivia cooing over their baby daughter. “What was Charlie like?”

Karyn picked up the photo, smiling fondly at it. “Terrific pilot. Wonderful father. Loved my mother to the depths of his soul. He laughed a lot—he had a big, booming laugh. I can still hear it in my head sometimes, when I think about him.”

Archer studied the picture, conjuring it to life in his imagination...Charlie Archer and his Olivia with their beautiful Karyn-child. “And Henry... did you know him? Do you remember him?”

“A little. He died when I was very young.” Karyn moved closer, opening the photo album up again, flipping through it to find a picture of Henry. “I mostly remember him through Daddy’s stories. He was quiet—he took after Esilia that way. Also a great pilot. It was in the blood, of course...”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As Soval watched Lorian shut his eyes and take a deep, measured breath in preparation for initiating his first mind-meld, the ambassador marveled at how far the younger man had progressed. In just a few hours, Soval had been able to teach the commander the rudimentary techniques necessary to establish a meld, while T’Pol had required several days to accomplish the same task.

Of course, Lorian was likely a quicker study because of what he lacked: he did not share his mother’s harrowing introduction to melding, which had inhibited her training for a time. Nor had his parents subjected him to the typical Vulcan training regimen for the suppression of emotion. As a result, Lorian found the emotional vulnerability required of melding to be more tolerable than T’Pol ever had.

Lorian carefully positioned his fingers on the katra points of Soval’s face. “My mind to your mind,” he murmured softly.

Soval felt a faint presence nudging at the edge of his consciousness. Lorian’s eyes slid shut in concentration. “Our minds are merging...”

Soval sensed a vague hesitation. He spoke to Lorian, mind to mind. << Can you hear me? >>

Lorian was aware of Soval’s mental presence close by, but for some reason, he could not see or hear the ambassador. With his mind’s eye, he could only discern colors and shapes, shifting and indistinct. He reached out, the way Soval had taught him, trying to clarify the images—and suddenly he was plunged into a maelstrom of emotions. They were everywhere, a relentless, colliding cacophony that nearly paralyzed him with their intensity. He felt them as vividly as if they were his own...amusement, pride, affection, anguish, joy.

Some emotions were so strong that they took form as recognizable images, though they seemed stylized, as if created by instinct rather than intellect. Grief was Soval cradling a bleeding, broken Admiral Forrest in his arms. Terror became an Andorian commander, his gaze intense, demanding, implacable. The madness of pon farr took shape as a naked male and female, writhing in a frenzied sexual embrace. Lorian recognized them as Soval and—was that the Vulcan woman they had all met at Starfleet today? T’Shara?—

With a quiet gasp, Lorian lowered his hand from Soval’s face, taking a step back. The ambassador regarded him with puzzlement. “Lorian? Did you complete the link?”

“I...I’m not sure.” Lorian kept his gaze averted. He could still feel the vestiges of Soval’s emotions coursing through his own body.

“I spoke to you,” Soval said. “Were you able to hear me?”

Try as he might, Lorian could not banish the most vivid image, that of Soval and the woman T’Shara, their bodies intertwined in ecstasy...

“You’re shaking,” the ambassador observed.

Lorian struggled to regain control. “I didn’t hear your thoughts,” he said at last. “But I felt...I saw your emotions.”

Soval appeared quite taken aback. “Indeed? Explain.”

Lorian shut his eyes, allowing the feelings to wash over him again. “Anguish was Admiral Forrest, dying. Fear was the face of an Andorian as he stripped your control away from you...”

“Shran,” Soval breathed. For a moment he looked self-conscious; then he composed himself, adopting the demeanor of a lecturing professor. “This first experiment may indicate that your melding ability is limited to sensing emotions, rather than achieving actual thought projection. But you seem unusually well-attuned, to the point of gaining access to visual manifestations of emotions associated with certain memories...” He appeared uncomfortable again. “Did you see anything else?”

Lorian chose to sidestep the question. “Perhaps I was employing the melding technique incorrectly.”

“That is always a possibility, but unlikely in your case,” the ambassador replied. “The most obvious explanation is that you are an empath.”

Lorian stared at him. “I? An emotional sensitive?” He had no idea how to react. Astonishment? Embarrassment?

“It is a logical hypothesis, considering your hybrid origin.”

Lorian hesitated. “I’m not certain how to proceed. Columbia launches in two days. I feel as if I have only barely begun to grasp the mental disciplines you have taught me. And now to learn of this oddity—”

“Heed the words of Surak, Lorian,” Soval said calmly. “Master it, so it does not master you. Once you have learned to control your ability, you will have the confidence to utilize it, perhaps in service to others.” With a touch of reassurance, he added, “We will work together to improve your skills until Columbia leaves. But do not underestimate your human instincts, Commander. They will serve you well in this matter.”

Lorian nodded, hoping that he would, in time, feel as sanguine as Soval. Vulcan empath... Now he could add another oxymoron to the already colorful list of terms being used on Columbia to describe him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Phlox stood by as the guard opened an audio channel into the cell. “Visitor, Dr. Soong.”

Through the reinforced glassteel, Phlox saw Arik Soong fairly leap to his feet, clapping his wrist restraints together without prompting so the guard could secure them. He turned to the door—but as soon as he saw Phlox, his expression of soaring expectation abruptly crashed and burned. Obviously, he had been hoping to see someone else.

Phlox greeted him pleasantly nonetheless. “Hello, Doctor.”

Soong managed a thin smile. “Phlox.”

The guard opened the security doors and Phlox stepped inside the cell. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said good-naturedly. “You were expecting...?”

“What makes you think I would prefer anyone else’s company?” Soong said caustically. His wrist restraints broke apart with a snap, startling Phlox, who still wasn’t used to the routine. Soong merely squared his shoulders and turned away from the door. “Actually, I thought you might be Lieutenant Archer. She left word that she would be coming by today.”

“Did she?” Phlox said, with interest.

“Oh, don’t go trying to read me, you old gossip,” Soong snapped. “She’s been kind enough to visit me every few days and tell me tales about the Expanse. She happens to be a marvelous raconteur.”

“She is indeed.”

“It’s been a whole week since she’s been here,” the geneticist said grumpily. “She’s obviously had more important things to attend to.” Under his breath, he added, “Such as getting married out of the blue.”

Phlox raised an eyebrow. “You sound jealous.”

“Nonsense,” Soong scoffed. “Wouldn’t do me any good anyway. She only has eyes for the Vulcan Who Smiles.” He hmmphed. “There seems to be something irresistible about those Tucker men. Can’t imagine what.”

“Their sterling character, perhaps,” Phlox suggested.

Soong snorted. “In my experience, scoundrels are far more attractive.” He heaved a melancholy sigh. “In another day, she’ll be gone, and so will you. No more visits from anyone.” He plopped dejectedly into his desk chair. “I’ll probably rot away in here, completely forgotten.”

Phlox eyed him without much sympathy. “Somehow, I doubt that.” He pulled a padd from his pocket. And so we begin. “I brought along my research today. You mentioned you’d be interested in following my progress.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, the human/Vulcan hybrid project.” Soong held out a hand. “How is that coming along?”

Phlox handed over the padd. “I’m exploring several new avenues in use on Denobula that might improve on my counterpart’s techniques and avoid the problems that resulted in the mother’s miscarriages, and in the life-threatening complications to her and her son during childbirth.”

Soong scanned rapidly through the padd’s contents, more quickly than any speed-reader. “Promising.” He set the padd down, one hand resting idly on it as he turned to Phlox. “This reminds me—I’ve been doing a little light reading on cloning. Nothing that you can use in your current research, but I came across some information regarding the Lyssarian mimetic cloning technology that you might find mildly interesting.”

At once, Phlox was all ears. Sim had been a Lyssarian mimetic clone.

“I found a comprehensive analysis of the Velandran Circle’s claims regarding the effectiveness of that enzyme that supposedly extends the life of a clone beyond fifteen days,” Soong went on.

“And?” Phlox prompted.

“I studied the data,” Soong said off-handedly. “Highly unstable, the enzyme. Unreliable.”

Phlox didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath. “Is that so?”

Soong nodded, his finger absently tracing patterns on the screen of the padd. “Used on a human cloned from a Lyssarian larva, for example—virtually no chance of life extension, in my assessment. The enzyme is too vulnerable to inhibitors that would slow its catalytic function and prevent the metabolism necessary to alter the clone’s genetic structure.”

It wouldn’t have worked. It wouldn’t have saved him... “Are you certain?” Phlox asked softly.

“Pie in the sky,” Soong said dismissively. “Smoke and mirrors to deflect the controversy over the cloning process itself. The actual field testing of the enzyme has gotten nowhere.” He met the physician’s gaze steadily. “If you had ever been in a position to use it, Doctor...” He gave a little shake of his head. “It would have come to nothing.”

Phlox swallowed hard, looking down as he struggled to keep his composure. Soong’s words were validation, in a way, for the difficult choice made last year to save Commander Tucker’s life. In the end, Sim had made the final decision himself... but more than ever now, Phlox wished he could have put his surrogate son’s mind to rest about the Velandran enzyme. “Hindsight... it can be as maddening as it is reassuring.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “How did you learn of this?”

“I hear things.” Soong’s voice was surprisingly gentle.

Phlox smiled faintly as he put it together. “Karyn told you about Sim, didn’t she? One of her tales of the Expanse?”

Soong nodded. “She said they would tell the story to the children as an example of nobility and sacrifice.”

Phlox felt privileged, though he didn’t have the words to express it. “It’s good that Sim wasn’t forgotten.”

“Terrible to lose a child,” Soong murmured. There was a melancholy in his eyes that Phlox recognized all too well.

The geneticist was still doodling with his finger on the padd... and Phlox suddenly realized that he wasn’t doodling at all. He was writing, using his fingertip as a stylus. He must have been writing all this time. So he did think of a way for us to communicate secretly whenever we meet.

Soong handed the padd back to Phlox. “I’m glad you’re spearheading this research, Doctor—for the sake of the children.” He pointed to the screen. “Consider approaching this data from a different perspective. I think you might see a few breakthroughs that will be as plain as day.”

Phlox glanced at the padd’s controls. They were set for stylus writing, and the font color had been changed to match the screen’s background, making whatever Soong had finger-written in the margin effectively invisible. “Thank you,” he said. “I agree—a closer look can be quite illuminating.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Despite the Board of Inquiry’s recommendation that Trip and T’Pol keep their relationship low-key, they succeeded in treating Catherine and Chuck to a sight-seeing tour of San Francisco by groundcar. The group alighted occasionally to shop, with Trip and his parents accompanied at all times by a petite female “security escort” in Starfleet blue, her regulation cap pulled down low to cover her ears and upswept eyebrows, keeping her features conveniently in shadow. Trip, being a recognizable war hero, was naturally the focus of bystanders’ attention, while the “escort” melted into the nondescript background as she stood fast by his side, keeping the autograph hounds and picture-takers at bay. Chuck thought the whole charade was ridiculous, but Catherine got a kick out of watching T’Pol in “spy mode.”

Tonight was the Tucker clan’s last evening together. Catherine and Chuck were boarding the transport back to Mississippi in a couple of hours, and soon after, Trip and T’Pol would be reporting to Enterprise, and Lorian and Karyn to Columbia. Catherine’s farewell present for everyone was a home-cooked dinner, whipped up in the kitchenette of the newlyweds’ VIP suite at Starfleet. The menu was a mix of both human and Vulcan dishes, made with ingredients Catherine had picked up at the international marketplace, and served with a liberal dose of family stories on the side.

“...And upon my completion of the kahs-wan,” T’Pol was saying, as Karyn and Lorian cleared the dinner dishes from the table, “my parents presented me with my first pet: a sehlat.”

Chuck and Catherine traded a look. “Okay, I’ll bite,” Chuck said. “What’s a sehlat?”

T’Pol considered the question. “The domesticated strain is a companion animal, somewhat reminiscent of your Terran ursine species...”

“Saber-toothed bear,” Trip summarized. “About the size of a grizzly—eight feet high, six hundred kilos.”

His parents both gaped at T’Pol. “You were seven?” Catherine sputtered.

T’Pol nodded matter-of-factly. “That is quite old enough to take on the duty of caring for a pet.”

Chuck still looked doubtful. “And they gave you this thing for a good reason.”

“I survived the ritual,” she acknowledged.

“Uh-huh.” Chuck scratched his chin, not looking at all convinced. “This growin’ up on Vulcan just sounds better and better.”

T’Pol seemed vaguely puzzled by his reaction. “I understand that having pets teaches human children responsibility as well.”

Catherine laughed. “Not usually by threat of death or dismemberment.”

Snickering, Trip turned to Lorian as he and Karyn brought the desserts and fresh plates to the table. “How’re you and Soval doing with Vulcan Training School, Embassy Branch?”

“We have made an interesting discovery,” Lorian said. “It appears I am not a conventional melder.”

Chuck helped himself to a slice of pecan pie. “‘Conventional’ and ‘melder’ don’t go together in the first place.”

Catherine shushed him. “Then what are you?” she asked Lorian.

“An empath,” he replied, with some bemusement. “I access emotions alone, rather than thoughts, when I initiate a mind-meld.”

T’Pol’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Indeed?”

“He can even ‘see’ emotions,” Karyn added, as she dished out helpings of the Vulcan dessert Catherine had made.

“More precisely, images of events associated with strong emotion,” Lorian clarified.

“I’ll be damned,” Trip said.

Chuck looked up from his wary examination of the Vulcan dish. “What the hell good is bein’ able to read somebody’s emotions?”

Lorian sighed softly. “We are still attempting to determine that,” he admitted. “Bringing hidden emotion to light can reveal truths and expose deceptions. They are illustrative of psychological states. Perhaps as an investigative or therapeutic tool...”

“Do you feel the emotions you are sensing?” T’Pol asked quietly.

Lorian marveled at her perception, a match for his birth mother’s intuitive insight. She had always understood his emotions, better than he did himself at times. “Yes,” he confessed. “I am still unaccustomed to the power of emotions encountered directly in a meld. They can be somewhat draining.”

T’Pol sat forward, unable to conceal her concern. “You must protect yourself, Lorian.”

“Rest easy, Mother,” he reassured her. “The ambassador is instructing me in the intricacies of mental shielding. Once Columbia is underway, I will focus on refining the melding ability itself. What I require most is practice.”

T’Pol relaxed a little. “Very well.” Beside her, Trip gave Lorian a nod of confidence.

Chuck was cautiously tasting his Vulcan dessert. His face soured at once. “Gaaaaah.”

Catherine rolled her eyes. “Yes, Chuck...?”

He pushed the dish well away. “You don’t have to climb into my head to read my emotions. What is that stuff?”

“It’s called—wait, I have it here.” Catherine checked her recipe notes, pronouncing the words carefully. “Krei’la yon-savas boshak-tor. A cobbler made with a Vulcan fruit. It’s a classic there. You tasted it in the kitchen, remember?”

“Oh. I thought it wasn’t all the way cooked yet.” Chuck grimaced as Lorian spooned a generous glop of the stuff onto his pecan pie and dug in.

“That’s the point of taste-testing, hon,” Catherine said dryly. “To see how the food tastes.” She turned to T’Pol, who was sampling the cobbler. “I’m more interested in the Vulcan opinion anyway.”

T’Pol nodded her approval. “You have, indeed, captured the traditional tartness. It is a difficult task for a cook unaccustomed to handling yon-savas.”

“I find it agreeable as well,” Lorian put in.

“What’d I tell you?” Trip beamed. “Mom has the gift.”

“Oh, stop it,” Catherine said with a blush. She watched Chuck guzzle half a glass of tea to wash the yon-savas taste out of his mouth. “I guess we’ll have to bring our own food with us when we get to Vulcan.”

“Unnecessary,” T’Pol replied. “The influx of humans to Vulcan for work and study has resulted in plentiful sources of Terran-style cuisine.”

Chuck was staring at his wife in horror. “‘When we get to Vulcan’...?”

“He’s losing color,” Trip observed. “Quick, more pie.”

Ignoring her husband, Catherine turned to Karyn. “You weren’t baby-sitting grizzly bears when you were seven. What were you up to?”

“I was pretty shy back then,” Karyn recalled. “Most likely I was hiding behind my mother, peeking around her to see what was happening. I did a lot of hiding and watching.”

Trip regarded Lorian with mock surprise. “You married a voyeur.”

Lorian paused between bites of his cobbler-and-pie. “It has its advantages,” he remarked. Catherine burst into laughter.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The band had certainly not wasted any time. First there was the poem excerpt Kyle found taped to the door of the mini-freezer under the bar when she came in to the club the day after Jon’s surprise visit.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring.

Then there was the collage of Captain Archer pictures, culled from the news sites and gossip rags, that mysteriously showed up on the bar’s computer terminal in place of the Callahan’s logo screen. And the songs the band played while Kyle was on duty sounded suspiciously tailored to her status as Jon’s new girlfriend: “Stairway to the Stars,” “Moonlight Becomes You,” “I Concentrate On You.” Callahan didn’t actively participate in the teasing campaign, but he didn’t do anything to stop it. In fact, he seemed to be having far too good a time watching from the sidelines.

At least the boys didn’t spend all their time being jokesters. A few minutes ago, Kyle had gone to the stockroom for a couple of bottles of José Cuervo, and she’d found a small package waiting for her at the bar on her return. Naturally, the wrapping paper was a page from a glossy magazine article about Archer. She unwrapped it to find a jewelry box containing an elegant gold pin in the shape of a bow and arrow. It was subtle and beautiful, and she loved it immediately. Bunch of mushball romantics, that’s what they are, she thought as she fastened the pin to her vest.

It was early; a few customers had trickled in, none as far as the bar. Kyle watched idly as the band guys showed up onstage, one by one, and began tuning up. Gene saw the pin on her vest and began an impromptu riff from the “William Tell Overture” on his sax, which made her smile.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kyle saw someone slip into a seat at the far end of the bar. She turned to greet her new customer—and was startled to see that it was Jon. Right here, in front of God and man. He was out of uniform this time, looking well-rested and casually gorgeous in a form-fitting long-sleeved tee and jeans.

Kyle approached, smiling pleasantly, careful to keep a professional distance between them. “Hello, Captain.”

Jon’s answering smile was equally pleasant. “Hi.” He nodded to the bow-and-arrow pin she was wearing. “Nice.”

“A gift from the boys in the band.”

“Oh.” Jon glanced curiously in the band’s direction. A couple of the guys gave him a wave. “Did you, ah...”

“Didn’t say a thing,” Kyle assured him. “They’re just really nosy.”

Jon nodded. “I have one of those, too.”

“So what can I get you, Captain?”

He surveyed the array of potables on display behind her. “I’d like a picture, please.”

Kyle blinked. “Excuse me?”

“A picture of you,” he repeated. “To bring with me on my long, long journey.”

Kyle felt an idiotic smile beginning to take possession of her face. “You’re serious.”

“Of course,” he said.

Then Kyle’s face fell. “Um, my apologies, sir, but I’m notorious for not liking my picture taken. Just ask Callahan.”

“But... you must help me.” Jon leaned closer, his voice an earnest entreaty. “You see, the only face I have now to gaze at as I fall asleep is... my dog’s.”

Kyle laughed. “I appreciate the sentiment, Captain, but honestly, I don’t have—”

He pointed past her shoulder. “I was thinking, that one.”

She looked where he indicated. Amid the liquor bottles lined up behind the bar, there were a few stray snaps tacked up here and there. She’d completely forgotten about them. She took down the picture Jon had pointed out: a shot of her in Golden Gate Park from the staff picnic last year. She had a wildflower tucked into her hair. “This?”

He nodded. “I noticed it during the reception.”

He had seen little things like this back then? Kyle liked the sound of that. She took a closer look at the picture. “This is a year old, y’know.” She frowned. “It has beer stains on it.”

“I like it.” He tilted his head around to look at the photo too. “Whoever put that flower in your hair had an eye for beauty.”

She knew he was fishing, but it didn’t make the compliment any less pleasing. “I did that,” she said. “It was an employee picnic. I went solo.”

At once, he ducked his head a little, looking both self-conscious and relieved. Kyle shrugged wryly. “Callahan’s been worried sick that I’d die an old maid.”

“He shouldn’t worry,” Jon said with a smile.

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Kyle replied. “That I’ve just been waiting for the right person.” She put the picture on the bar and slid it casually across to him. “So where’s my picture?”

He looked surprised. “You’re kidding. Aren’t you sick of looking at my picture? I’m sick of looking at my picture.”

“I don’t mean a ‘Captain Archer, Savior of the Universe’ picture. I mean a Jon picture.”

“Oh,” he answered. She saw that sweet shyness flitting across his handsome face, the same way it had on the first day he had come to Callahan’s.

She leaned on the bar, gazing directly into his eyes. What the hell. “Preferably in green. You looked mighty fine in that green outfit the other day.”

To her delight, Jon appeared to forget how to talk under her focused gaze. Finally he cleared his throat. “Uh, I don’t make a habit of carrying photos of myself around with me—”

“We’ll see about that.” She held out her hand. “Wallet, please.”

Curious, he pulled out his wallet. Kyle motioned for him to open it. He did so, flipping through the card holders as she watched. Starfleet photo ID, driver’s license—jeez, he even looked good in that photo? There was no justice—until she found what she was looking for. It was a picture of Jon holding the cutest little beagle, and smiling that heart-stopping smile that turned Kyle’s insides all warm and tingly. He was even wearing a forest-green turtleneck.

She pointed. “That one.”

He looked at it. “That’s a picture of my dog.”

“You’re in it, aren’t you? That’s green you’re wearing, isn’t it? I’ll take it.”

He seemed totally nonplussed. “Okay.”

As he worked the photo out, she saw a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “When was the last time you did this?” she asked.

“Courted a lady? It’s been a while.” He smiled faintly, looking disarmingly vulnerable. “Felt this way about a lady? In so short a time? Never.”

He set the photo on the bar, sliding it across to her. Kyle saw that his hand was trembling, ever so slightly. She longed to take his hand and hold it—but not here, in the public eye. She took the photo, her fingertips brushing against his. “Hey,” she said. “I’ve waited a long time to fall in love. Now that it’s finally happening—”

She stopped as Jon’s eyes flew up to meet hers. He seemed astonished. Kyle put a hand to her mouth, feeling both exhilarated and frightened. “Did I say that?” What now? Kiss him? Crawl under the bar?

Jon’s surprise gave way to something that looked exquisitely happy. “I won’t tell.”

Now it was Kyle’s turn to blush. Her gaze dropped to the photo clutched in her hand. “So when do I get to meet Porthos?”

With an enigmatic smile, Jon stood and beckoned, heading toward the stairway alcove. She watched him in bafflement. What does he expect me to do, walk off the job?

Then she noticed Enrique emerging from the alcove. He gave Jon a respectful nod as they passed, then made a beeline for the bar. “What’re you doing here, K?” he asked Kyle brightly. “You have someplace else to be.”

Kyle threw up her hands. “Does everyone know what’s going on except me?”

“Probably,” Enrique chuckled.

~~~

Kyle peeked into Callahan’s office. “Boss? What are you doing here?”

Callahan, seated behind his spacious, messy desk, replied with exaggerated dignity. “This happens to be my office, Kyle.” Archer, sitting across from him, hid a smile.

Kyle rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. You never—” She stopped as a four-footed tricolor missile launched out of Archer’s lap, headed straight for her. She knelt to intercept it, but was defenseless against its bright brown eyes and vigorously wagging tail.

Archer stood, making formal introductions. “Kyle Macmillan, this is Porthos.”

Kyle stroked the beagle’s silken head in greeting. “Pleased to meet you, Porthos.” She received an enthusiastically slurpy kiss in return.

“Better hello than I got,” Callahan observed.

“She’s prettier than you are,” Archer shot back good-naturedly.

Callahan shook his head. “Now I got the both of ya stealin’ away my best bartender.”

“Don’t worry, Callahan,” Archer said. “In a few minutes, we’ll be out of your hair, and she’ll be all yours.”

“You kiddin’?” The big man headed for the exit. “After you’re gone, it’ll be worse. She’ll be moonin’ over your letters, gettin’ the drink orders all wrong...” He stopped, giving the captain a look of warning. “You are gonna write her, aren’t ya? I mean, after all this buildup...”

Kyle was still fussing over Porthos, but Archer saw her sneak a hopeful glance at him. He smiled at her. “I guess I’d better.”

“Damn straight, you better,” Callahan declared. “I been waitin’ forever for her to settle down.” With that, he departed.

Archer knelt on the floor beside Kyle, watching in silence as she continued to pet Porthos. “So,” she said, “I guess this is it.” Her light tone sounded a little strained.

“I’m due back on Enterprise in an hour,” he replied. “We launch at 0600.”

More silence, more petting. Porthos whined softly, sensing disquiet in the room. Kyle asked the next question quickly, as if in a rush to get it over with. “How long will you be gone?”

“Three months,” he said quietly. “Maybe longer.”

She looked up at him, her eyes huge and stricken. “Three months?”

He took her hands in his. “It’s a special assignment...” He faltered and stopped, restricted from saying any more.

Kyle seemed to understand; she nodded, resolutely regaining most of her practical demeanor. “Okay. All right. Starfleet gets you now.” She fixed her gaze on his, gripping his hands more tightly for emphasis. “But when you get back, it’s our turn.”

“You got it.” Archer felt himself admiring the hell out of her—

I’m falling in love with her.

Before he arrived here tonight, he wondered whether he’d been jumping to conclusions because he’d lost Erika, because he wanted so desperately to believe Karyn. It had all happened impossibly quickly. But now, everything felt right.

“So,” he said, trying to sound casual, “where do I write you while I’m gone?”

Kyle looked charmed. “You really want to write me?”

He nodded. With a grin, Kyle grabbed a notepad and pen off Callahan’s desk and wrote down her Worldnet address. She tore off the paper, handed it to him, then held the pad out. “Now you.”

“Me?” Archer was surprised by how pleased her request made him feel.

She hesitated. “Unless your location is classified or something.”

“No, no. You’ll be rerouted a few times, but it’ll get to me.” He wrote down Enterprise’s comm signature and handed the pad back.

She looked at the string of numbers with a touch of giddiness; evidently she realized only a handful of people were in possession of it. “Will what I send be...private?”

“Completely.” Archer raised an eyebrow. “What exactly were you planning on sending?”

Kyle let loose a full-throated laugh. “Nothing like that!” She eyed him speculatively. “But now that you bring it up...what’d you have in mind?”

He felt a pleasantly carnal flush. “Careful. A question like that could get a man’s imagination working overtime.”

Her tone grew playfully sultry. “That’s the general idea.”

They were drawing closer to each other, like magnets. “You’re driving me crazy, you know,” Archer murmured. “I have to leave in a couple of minutes.”

Kyle’s low voice beckoned him even nearer. “Just making sure you come back.”

“I’ll be back.” He reached up and caressed her cheek, allowing himself to fall into the deep blue of her eyes...and then he was kissing her, twining his fingers in her hair, losing himself in her. She returned his kiss urgently, her hands moving over his back, sliding further down, pulling him close. He grabbed her hips and pressed himself against her, groaning into her mouth as a rush of desire shuddered through him.

Finally they broke apart, laughing, trying to catch their breath. “My God, what are you doing to me?” he asked.

“Giving you something to think about when you look at that picture,” she replied.

“You’ve certainly done that.” Reluctantly, he pulled away from her. They smiled wistfully at each other, still holding hands. Words suddenly seemed hopelessly inadequate.

“Be safe,” Kyle said softly.

“You, too.” Archer gave her one more quick, thorough kiss before scooping Porthos up and leaving. It took all the will power he had not to look back.

Chapter 4

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