Episode 2.3 - Blood Fever

Galactic Date: 41157.2

NX-01 Enterprise Continuity Date: August 5, 2153

Earth Standard Date: February 27, 2364

Location: Medical Bay, Personal Reality

Tyson strove to project an air of normalcy as he approached the rousing Subcommander T'Pol. Keeping his tone balanced between concern and nonchalance, he inquired "Subcommander T'Pol, how are you feeling?" He hoped to ease any disorientation the Vulcan officer might feel upon waking in such unfamiliar surroundings.

T'Pol's voice was steady, betraying no hint of the strangeness of her situation. "I appear unharmed but confused. Can you tell me where I am?" Her dark eyes swept the medical bay, analyzing and assessing with cool calculation.

"I'm Recruit Tyson," he introduced himself. "Captain Archer tasked me with rescuing you from the Vulcan cruiser Seleya. You were on an away mission when the ship became stranded in an asteroid field saturated with Trellium-D. Dr. Phlox discovered the compound has adverse neurological effects on Vulcans." He gestured to the rows of biobeds stretching to the far wall, filled with the motionless forms of the Seleya's crew. "I brought you and the rest of the crew here, to the Medical Bay within my facility, for treatment."

T'Pol nodded almost imperceptibly as she processed this information, the faintest furrowing of her brow the only outward sign of her unease. "What is the status of the Seleya?" she inquired, her voice still admirably even.

Tyson let a hint of regret color his words. "I'm afraid its status likely remains unchanged since your arrival. I lack the skills to initiate any repairs on a Vulcan ship, and with my inability to read your language, I could not interpret the ship's interfaces well enough to verify her systems."

T'Pol's gaze swept back to study Tyson intently. "How did you manage to incapacitate and transport this many crew members?"

Tyson allowed the barest hint of a smile to touch his lips. “Mostly with a lot of dodging and a Particle Rifle,” he said lightly, though his joke elicited no reaction from T'Pol. “But to reiterate, exposure to Trellium-D causes neurodegeneration in Vulcans. Pardon the comparison, but battling the Seleya’s afflicted crew was akin to fighting wild animals. They engaged in no tactics or strategy, falling easily for simple tricks.” He dropped his light tone, shifting his priority to easing T’Pol's evident disorientation and providing her with the information she clearly needed. “If you are feeling recovered enough, I would be pleased for you to join me.”

T’Pol's gaze grew distant, her dark eyes taking on a faraway look as she processed new information that had somehow seeded itself into her thoughts. "It seems I possess knowledge that was not present before," she said at last. "This is your Personal Reality." She paused a moment longer, fitting the pieces together.

"You extended an invitation for me to join you as a Companion," T'Pol continued, her words heavy with the weight of decision.

When Tyson had asked T'Pol to accompany him, he had meant only literally; to join him in leaving the Medical Bay, returning to the Seleya, and then proceeding onward to the shuttle pod. But something in his offer had carried an unintended nuance, connecting it to the possibility of her becoming his Companion. He adapted to the circumstance and replied with simple sincerity, "I did."

Tyson made a mental note to be more thoughtful and precise with his words and intentions moving forward. Though the prospect of having T'Pol as a Companion interested him, he had not meant to broach that subject so directly or soon. For now, he set aside his inward chastisement and focused wholly on T'Pol, subtly studying her body language and analyzing what it might signify within Vulcan etiquette. Observing the way she held her posture and the cadence of her speech.

T'Pol considered his words carefully, her expression impassive. Though she was adept at concealing her emotions, Tyson thought he detected a hint of skepticism.

"While I appreciate you rescuing the Seleya crew and myself, I sense that I am not obligated to accept your offer," she finally replied, "Why should I leave the Enterprise behind and join you?"

Tyson knew he needed to tread carefully. Vulcans valued logic above all else. He chose his next words with care, hoping to appeal to her rational side. "I understand your hesitation," he began slowly. "Allow me to explain further. I am what you might consider a dimensional traveler. I come from a future several hundred years beyond your current timeframe."

"The Vulcan Science Directorate has determined that time travel is impossible," T'Pol stated evenly.

Tyson chuckled lightly, amused by the familiar words he recalled her stating on the television show. "In that case, perhaps it's simpler to say I come from a dimension running parallel to your own, though temporally shifted," he offered instead, sidestepping the issue of time altogether.

"In the version of events I'm familiar with, you were never stranded on the Seleya," he continued. "You escaped with Captain Archer. The ship was destroyed, though all other hands were lost. Without my intervention here, you likely would have perished along with the rest of her crew." He held up a hand, hoping to forestall any response. "Please don't misunderstand, I don't mean to hold your rescue over you or incur some perceived life debt. I know you are an intelligent, resourceful woman. I would be honored to have you as a Companion by my side, but the choice is entirely yours."

Tyson met her gaze earnestly, hoping she understood his sincerity. "I possess the ability to traverse between dimensions as needed. You could remain here, serving your duties on the Enterprise, and join me during your discretionary hours if you so choose. Perhaps I could even assist on your missions, should the need for my help arise again."

"I offer companionship, T'Pol, not servitude," he said gently. "I would be your Companion as much as you would be mine. The decision is yours alone; no obligations, only possibilities."

He fell silent then, watching her closely. T'Pol gazed back at him impassively, giving no indication of her thoughts. The moment stretched between them, tense and uncertain.

T'Pol considered the man's extraordinary proposition, her expression neutral as was characteristic of her Vulcan heritage. She weighed the variables at play.

"Your offer is...unprecedented," she finally replied, choosing her words carefully. Though the Vulcan Science Directorate did not currently recognize dimensional travel as feasible, the evidence of Tyson's timely intervention, the esoteric knowledge she had been granted, and the formidable capabilities he had demonstrated warranted thoughtful consideration.

"Your actions to assist us are duly noted, and it is only logical to extend gratitude for such efforts," she continued evenly. "However, the decision to join you as a Companion, as I understand it, is not one to be made lightly. There are many factors to analyze, including the potential impact on my current responsibilities aboard the Enterprise, and to the Vulcan High Command." Despite being noncommittal, T'Pol's keen analytical mind recognized the potential strategic advantages of Tyson's extraordinary offer. As she steepled her fingers thoughtfully, she added, "The ability to traverse dimensions could prove useful. Such an advantage would be beneficial in a crisis."

T'Pol was nothing if not pragmatic. She saw potential in this man's unusual talents that warranted judicious exploration. "Therefore, I propose a provisional period of collaboration," she continued in her signature monotone. "This would facilitate a more comprehensive evaluation of the practical applications of your dimensional travel capabilities, as well as the dynamics of this proposed companionship."

"I find that arrangement perfectly acceptable," Tyson responded amiably. "Perhaps our first joint mission can be returning to the Enterprise. Though we are currently within my Personal Reality, the gateway connecting it to your dimension is located aboard the Seleya, still adrift in the Trellium asteroid field the ship is stranded in." He furrowed his brow. "We won't be truly safe until we leave the region."

T'Pol considered the proposal. "Your suggestion is logical," she affirmed at last. "Returning to the Enterprise and ensuring we are safely clear of the asteroid field is a prudent course of action. I concur with your plan."

T'Pol followed Tyson briskly from the medical bay and through the dimensional doorway, returning once more to the ship's utilitarian bridge. When Tyson transformed the doorway back into its card form with a flick of his wrist, T'Pol's eyebrow arched ever so slightly in what passed for Vulcan intrigue. She was clearly fascinated by the implications and applications of such remarkable technology.

As they navigated the sparse halls toward the shuttle pod bay, an atmosphere of cautious collaboration settled between them. T'Pol remained alert for any signs of deception or danger, while Tyson exuded an air of hopeful optimism about their tentative alliance.

"Do you know how to pilot this shuttlepod?" Tyson asked as they entered the compact vessel.

"I do," T'Pol replied succinctly, her voice clipped and precise, leaving no room for doubt regarding her capabilities.

"I can fly any spacecraft," Tyson remarked earnestly, not exaggerating thanks to his Perk.

T'Pol interpreted his statement as human boasting, "Perhaps a volatile asteroid field strewn with treacherous debris is not the optimal location to prove your piloting skills," she pragmatically observed, highlighting the dangers surrounding them.

Tyson's face fell almost imperceptibly, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features at the logical advice. However, T'Pol continued diplomatically, "Once we have navigated beyond the hazardous asteroids, I can provide instruction on piloting the shuttlepod." Her concession acknowledged Tyson's evident interest in learning while proposing a safer setting for such education. Tyson's smile returned at the prospect.

T'Pol gestured toward the auxiliary chair with an elegant sweep of her hand. "Take your position here," she instructed. As Tyson settled gingerly into the seat, T'Pol began calmly explaining the fundamentals of the shuttle's sensor array systems.

"The sensors are crucial for navigation, especially in treacherous environments such as this asteroid field," she lectured patiently. Her slim fingers danced across the console, highlighting various functions and readings to illustrate her points. "They provide real-time data on spatial anomalies, debris, and celestial bodies. You must learn to accurately interpret this information to navigate safely."

T'Pol's focus shifted to the comm system, and she continued the lesson. She walked Tyson through the process of initializing a standard hailing frequency, demonstrating each step in crisp detail. "You simply enter the proper sequence here," she indicated the appropriate controls, "which opens the channel." Her slender fingers danced across the panel as she highlighted the various switches and inputs. "And these controls," she went on, indicating a separate bank of switches on the comm station, "allow you to filter out frequency interference." She explained that such interference was common in a dense asteroid field like the one that surrounded them. Throughout the tutorial on the shuttle's critical systems, T'Pol's instruction ensured Tyson grasped not only the technical steps but the reasons behind them.

When she was satisfied her pupil had absorbed the lesson, T'Pol settled into the pilot's seat and initiated the shuttle's pre-flight sequence. The engines rumbled to life, their thrumming power reverberating through the compact cabin. Tyson turned his attention to the comm station, keying the transmitter. "Shuttle Pod to Enterprise," he called out, announcing their impending departure. "This is Recruit Tyson. Sub-Commander T'Pol is with me, and we are preparing to leave the asteroid field now." Message sent, he swiveled in his chair to monitor the sensor readout, scrutinizing the data with newly discerning eyes. T'Pol's insights were still fresh in his mind, and he worked to interpret the information accurately.

Behind him, the rear hatch sealed with a decisive hiss, cocooning them within the shuttle's armored shell. With an expert touch, T'Pol nudged the small craft away from the crippled Seleya and turned it toward the ominous asteroid field looming beyond. As she guided their course into the perilous maze of tumbling rocks, Tyson kept a close watch on his sensor display. He tracked their trajectory through the field, calling out any dangers he spotted. "Asteroid at mark three-one-seven," he warned.

T'Pol's slim fingers danced across the shuttle's controls in response, adjusting their course with subtle maneuvers. "Compensating," she responded. They fell into an easy rhythm, Tyson tracking each threat while T'Pol reacted with feather-light touches on the controls, guiding them between the drifting rocks. "Large mass, mark two-two-four," Tyson cautioned, never taking his eyes from the sensor readout. Together, they piloted the shuttle through the treacherous field, slicing between tumbling asteroids on their journey back to the Enterprise.

T'Pol acknowledged Tyson's course correction. "Altering pitch fifteen degrees starboard."

Despite the looming asteroids surrounding them, Tyson felt himself relaxing, trusting in T'Pol's expert skill to pilot the shuttlepod through the treacherous field. Together they wove between the tumbling rocks, T'Pol reacting with feather-light touches on the controls while Tyson tracked each new threat on the sensor readout. They fell into an easy rhythm working in tandem.

With a final burst of speed, the shuttle pod broke free of the asteroid field into open space. The immediate danger passed, and T'Pol decided it was time to make good on her earlier promise to instruct Tyson in piloting the craft.

"Tyson, please join me," she said, motioning to the empty pilot's seat beside her. The urgency of their escape had faded, allowing her to shift focus to teaching. Tyson slid into the seat as T'Pol began patiently walking him through the fundamentals of controlling the shuttle.

"This is the helm control," she explained, her slender hands gliding gracefully over the console. "It directs the shuttle's heading."

She continued methodically detailing each control and its function, her tone cool and instructional. "The impulse drive throttle here controls our speed. You'll need a gentle touch. Shuttle pods are highly responsive to pilot input."

With the lessons now complete, it was time for Tyson to apply what T'Pol had taught him. "I will monitor your progress, but you must now set a course back to the Enterprise," T'Pol instructed.

Tyson turned his attention to the shuttle controls and focused intently on the task at hand. He had paid close attention during T'Pol's concise but thorough instructions, and now it was his turn to put those lessons into practice. T'Pol watched closely over his shoulder as Tyson's hands moved over the console, ready to offer guidance if needed.

But her new pupil showed promise, carefully configuring the shuttle's course toward the distant starship. T'Pol ordered, "Adjust the heading to 047 mark 115."

Tyson's hands moved swiftly over the console, aligning the shuttle onto the correct trajectory to rendezvous with the Enterprise's current position. With the course set, T'Pol shifted her focus to the next critical task. Docking procedures. "Approaching a starship requires precision and patience," she noted, her words steady and measured. "As we near the Enterprise, reduce speed and align the shuttle's docking port with the designated bay."

Tyson complied, keeping one eye on the viewscreen as the Enterprise grew larger, its vast bulk dwarfing the compact shuttle. Careful adjustments at the controls brought their speed down to a crawl. The shuttle glided smoothly into position, guided by T'Pol's instructions.

"Initiate docking sequence when within range," T'Pol continued, her gaze intent on the approaching starship. "The shuttle's systems will engage automatically, but you must be prepared to make manual adjustments if necessary."

Tyson's hand hovered over the docking controls. At T'Pol's nod, he initiated the sequence. There was a slight jolt as the shuttle pod connected with the Enterprise.

T'Pol allowed the barest hint of approval in her voice, to acknowledge his accomplishment. "Your piloting was adequate," she said. For a Vulcan, it was high praise indeed. "You have gained proficiency quickly." Though her words were understated, their significance was clear. T'Pol recognized Tyson's efforts and the potential she saw in his growing skills.

The decontamination room's door hissed open, and T'Pol and Tyson stepped through, the air carrying a faint scent of disinfectant. Ahead of them, shoulder-high partitions divided the space into separate stalls, resembling shower cubicles. Tyson's towering frame, enhanced by the Best of the Best and Augmented Perks, left his broad shoulders and muscular torso exposed above the barrier, granting him an unobstructed view into T'Pol's stall.

T'Pol's slender fingers worked at the fastenings of her uniform, peeling away the fabric layer by layer. Tyson watched, mesmerized, as more of her skin was revealed. He followed her lead, stripping off his own clothes.

"This is standard procedure," T'Pol explained, her voice devoid of discomfort or self-consciousness, purely factual and focused. "Decontamination requires the removal of all clothing to eliminate microbes or other contaminants." She turned her back to Tyson, her slender neck craned to peer at him over her shoulder. "Can you assist with my zipper?"

Tyson reached over the barrier between them, grasping the tiny metal tag of her uniform's hidden zipper. With a quick tug, he freed it from its mooring and drew it down the length of her back. The hiss of the separating teeth was the only sound within the small chamber. The uniform's fabric parted, sliding down T'Pol's lithe frame. Inch after inch of pale skin was revealed, lean muscles rippling subtly beneath as she shifted, elegantly stepping out of the pile of clothing pooled around her feet. When she reached up to remove her black undershirt, the movement stretched her bare shoulders taut. Tyson found himself transfixed, unable to tear his eyes away. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead, something uncommon for an Augment not engaging in heavy levels of physical activity.

T'Pol's slender fingers paused in their progress down the zipper on the back of her uniform, sensing Tyson's intense gaze upon her. She turned her head to glance back over her shoulder, one angled eyebrow raised in silent query as she met his eyes. "Is there something you require?" she asked evenly, though a hint of curiosity lurked beneath the neutral tone of her voice.

Tyson started, shaking himself out of his daze as a flush of embarrassment rose in his cheeks at having been caught staring. The Subcommander's lithe form had transfixed him, and he berated himself for losing focus. "No, my apologies, you're the first Vulcan I've seen up close," he muttered, turning his eyes away. "I didn't mean to stare."

T'Pol's fingers resumed their progress down the back of her uniform as she replied evenly, "You cleared an entire ship full of Vulcans, did you not?"

Tyson had no good response. She was right, of course. He had seen many Vulcans during the boarding, though none had affected him as she did now. "You're correct, Subcommander," he said simply, then turned hastily away, focusing his attention on removing his own uniform. He kept his eyes averted, concentrating on the task at hand in an effort to avoid any further awkward moments between them.

Out of the corner of his eye, as he changed, Tyson saw T'Pol select a plain set of Starfleet-issue undergarments from a shelf along the wall. "Clean garments are provided for use during decontamination," she informed him briskly, her movements efficient and economical as she slipped into the simple shorts and shirt designed for function over modesty.

Tyson located a pair of shorts in his size that would suffice and donned them quickly, studiously avoiding looking in T'Pol's direction again, not wanting to risk another uncomfortable incident. He felt a lingering embarrassment over having been so transfixed by her that she had noticed his stare.

T'Pol and Tyson sat side by side in pensive silence as the decontamination chamber's soothing azure lights bathed them. The low, rhythmic hum of the machinery permeated the small, sparse room, evoking an atmosphere of tranquility that belied the tumult raging within Tyson. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead as the decon cycle initiated, harsh cobalt beams sweeping over their forms. Yet try as he might, Tyson could not resist stealing furtive glances at the woman beside him.

T'Pol's snug-fitting garments clung to every contour and curve, highlighting her lithe, athletic frame. Tyson's pulse quickened as his eyes traced the elegant lines of her body. A disembodied voice sounded from beyond the chamber, instructing them to apply a viscous, translucent gel to their exposed skin. As they complied, T'Pol turned her back to Tyson once more, requesting assistance in spreading the substance across her shoulders.

Tyson reveled in the feel of her smooth skin beneath his palms as he gently massaged the gel into her flesh. Focusing intently on his ministrations, he lingered perhaps longer than necessary, his touch becoming more caress than perfunctory application.

"Massaging in the decontamination gel is unnecessary," T'Pol remarked evenly, turning to face him once more. "Simple superficial application will suffice."

Tyson felt the heat of embarrassment creep up his neck at her light admonishment. Wordlessly, she took the container of gel from him and gestured for him to present his back to her. As her fingers moved across his skin with brisk efficiency, Tyson tried and failed to ignore the pleasurable sensation.

The decontamination lights bathed them in an eerie blue glow as they sat together afterward. Tyson couldn't stop stealing glances at T'Pol, no matter how hard he tried. Something was wrong with him, seriously wrong. There was no logical reason for this sudden, overwhelming infatuation. Sure, she was beautiful, but this went way beyond that. Rivulets of gel trickled down her neck, pooling in the hollow of her collarbone. The gel left her skin glistening, portions of her clothing clinging in a way that made the fabric seem almost wet. Her hard nipples pressed unmistakably against the fabric of her top.

She turned, meeting his gaze head-on. "Are you well, Recruit Tyson?" 

"I'm fine," he gritted out, a wave of desire crashing over him. He squeezed his eyes shut, fingers curling into white-knuckled fists.

T'Pol stepped closer, studying him with those piercing eyes. "Your vital signs are abnormal. Pupil dilation, increased respiration, elevated heart rate." She paused, gaze drifting lower, she noticed, "You are experiencing arousal." As she moved nearer, her scent, warm and exotic, was nearly overwhelming his augmented senses.

A desperate laugh barked out of him before he could stop it. He really looked at her then, drinking her in. The flush of emerald on her cheeks was an effect of her green blood rising close to the surface of her skin. Her full lips parted slightly, as she glistened from a sheen of perspiration. God, she was beautiful.

"I'm in Pon Farr, T'Pol," he blurted out abruptly, unable to restrain himself any longer.

T'Pol raised one slanted eyebrow, the motion elegant and restrained. "You do show signs consistent with the early stages of the Pon Farr," she said, her voice as composed as ever. Her pink tongue darted out briefly to wet her lips and Tyson tracked the motion hungrily, desire coiling tight within him. "But you are human. You should not be aware of the Pon Farr. I do not think..."

"I'm not completely human," Tyson interrupted, his voice tight with urgency. His hand had been unconsciously squeezing the end of the metal bench they were seated on as they spoke. Under the strength of his grip, the bench let out an audible groan as the metal warped, the sound clearly heard within the confines of the small chamber.

T'Pol's gaze flicked downwards, taking in his casual display of strength. She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment as understanding dawned. Clearly, no ordinary human could bend steel with their bare hands, but perhaps one with Vulcan blood could. He did seem to be experiencing the Pon Farr after all. T'Pol was unaware of any Vulcan-Human hybrids, but Tyson had explained he was from a parallel dimension. It was the most logical explanation for his current condition. "Indeed," she said simply, soft and low. When she spoke again, her tone was clinical, detached, "The Pon Farr is a deeply private matter for Vulcans. It is not something we discuss with outsiders. Most Vulcans would never admit to experiencing the Pon Farr." She met his fevered gaze steadily, her expression unreadable. "But given your unique circumstances, it seems only logical to make an exception."

Tyson nodded tightly, struggling to focus on her words through the haze of need that gripped him. "I'm listening," he managed.

"Every seven years, Vulcan males enter a state of intense biological and psychological distress known as the Pon Farr," T'Pol began in a lecturing tone. "It is characterized by a surge of hormones, which leads to erratic behavior, emotional volatility, and a desperate drive to mate."

She paused, letting the information sink in. Tyson knew all this already from his meta knowledge, but ground out, "It's like going into heat."

"A crude analogy, but not inaccurate," T'Pol allowed, "During the Pon Farr, a Vulcan male must mate or engage in ritual combat in order to resolve the hormonal imbalance. If they do not, the effects will continue to intensify until they reach a critical point. Madness, and eventually death, will result."

Tyson's question hung in the air between them for a moment before he finally voiced it aloud. "Is the Pon Farr limited only to males?"

T'Pol considered her response carefully, "Typically, yes. The onset of menstruation in females provides a hormonal cycle that offsets the imbalance which triggers the Pon Farr. As such, it is far less common for females to experience it."

A lump formed in Tyson's throat as he forced himself to ask the next question, though he already knew the answer would not be what he hoped. "And once the Pon Farr begins, there's no other way to stop it? No cure or treatment?"

"There are certain meditative techniques that can be used to delay the onset of the Pon Farr, or to mitigate its effects to some degree," T'Pol explained, "But they require great mental discipline and control of one's emotions. In the later stages, such techniques are largely ineffective."

She looked at him pointedly, her dark eyes boring into his. "Based on your current state, I would estimate you are only in the early stages. Meditation may still be of some help to you. But the final stage of the Pon Farr is known as the plak tow, the blood fever."

Swallowing hard, Tyson grasped at this last thread of hope. The Blood Fever, his Drawback. "But if I start meditating now, during the early stages, maybe I can prevent it from progressing to that point?"

T'Pol's response was swift and blunt. "Unlikely. Once the plak tow sets in, meditation will be of little aid. You will have only two options at that point, as I said earlier. Mate or fight."

Tyson fell silent, turning over the implications in his mind. After a long moment, he met T'Pol's gaze again. "And if I choose neither?"

Her dark eyes were uncompromising. "Then the Pon Farr will consume you. You will lose all control, all rationality. The fever will rage unchecked, burning through your mind until there is nothing left of who you once were."

Tyson's eyes slid shut, his jaw clenched as he fought the raging fever scorching through his veins. Had he made a terrible mistake accepting this Drawback? The thought gnawed at him.

A gentle weight settled beside him. He cracked an eye open to find T'Pol perched there, studying him with concern etching her delicate features. As if sensing the turmoil roiling within him, she leaned fractionally closer.

"Recruit Tyson. I can assist you, as you assisted me on the Seleya. I will help you through this, in whatever way I can."

He stared at her, the offer dangling before him. The Pon Farr howled its demands. He knew precisely how she could sate the insatiable hunger devouring him from within, and it did not involve mortal combat. His gaze raked over the alluring curves of her body, taking in every tantalizing detail. Yet beneath the haze of lust, his augmented intellect rebelled at the notion of surrendering so completely to base instinct. Of relinquishing control in so absolute a manner.

Battling the warring impulses, he ground out at last, "Can you teach me the meditation? Please."

T'Pol inclined her head in acquiescence, stepping back to give him space. "Very well. Sit with me, and I will guide you."

She sank gracefully to the floor, folding her legs beneath her as she settled into a lotus position. After a brief hesitation, Tyson joined her on the floor, the hard deck plating unforgiving against his knees. He struggled to slow his racing heart and rein in the fever burning through his blood.

"Close your eyes," T'Pol instructed, her voice low and soothing. "Focus only on your breath. Let it fill your lungs, then center your awareness there as you exhale slowly."

Tyson obeyed, letting his eyes fall shut. He drew in a long, deep breath, held it for a five-count, and then released it in a slow, controlled exhale.

"Good," T'Pol murmured. "Now, reach out with your mind. Feel the energy within you. Acknowledge the presence of the turbulence, but do not let it control you. You are the master of your mind and body."

Tyson's brow furrowed with concentration as he struggled to follow her guidance. When he reached out with his mind, his empathic abilities flared to life unbidden. Like tendrils of smoke, he picked up faint sensations and emotions from the crew members nearby. Their feelings were a distraction, making it difficult to focus inward. "I can't do it," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

"You can," T'Pol corrected firmly. "You are stronger than your baser instincts. Your mind, your will, these are the weapons you must wield to conquer the fever."

Slowly, gradually, Tyson felt the raging fire of Pon Farr began to recede. Though not disappearing entirely, the white-hot need pulled back like a wave receding from the shore. It became a burning ember rather than an all-consuming conflagration. Something he could contend with.

"That's it," T'Pol encouraged, satisfaction warming her normally stoic tone. "Breathe. Focus. You are in control."

— Star Jumper —

The harsh hiss of decontamination ceased as T'Pol and Tyson exited the chamber. Their unanticipated return had not gone unnoticed by the crew. Captain Jonathan Archer approached, relief evident in the crinkles around his eyes and the broad smile on his lips.

"Welcome back, T'Pol," he greeted warmly, his affection for his crew clear in his tone. "And Recruit."

With her characteristic Vulcan composure, T'Pol responded, "Captain Archer, we successfully navigated the asteroid field. I would like to introduce Tyson. His assistance was instrumental in my successful return."

Captain Archer turned to Tyson, gratitude, and relief plain on his open features. "Thank you for bringing back one of my crew safely, Recruit."

Tyson ducked his head in acknowledgment of the praise. "Just doing my duty, sir," he murmured.

T'Pol inclined her head in agreement. "The recruit exhibited admirable resourcefulness and clear-headedness during a difficult situation," she confirmed.

Archer smiled, affection for his crew crinkling the skin around his eyes. "Good work, both of you. I'm glad to have you back safe and sound." He clapped a hand on Tyson's shoulder. "Looks like we might have a place for you here, after all, Recruit, if you're interested."

Tyson blinked in surprise. "Thank you, sir."

Turning his attention back to T'Pol, Captain Archer suggested in a concerned tone, "I'm sure you're tired after your ordeal on the Seleya. Why don't you head to your quarters to recuperate for as long as you need?"

T'Pol acknowledged the captain's suggestion with a slight dip of her chin, the Vulcan equivalent of a nod. "Thank you, Captain. However, Vulcans do not require as much recuperation as humans might under similar circumstances. I shall utilize the time to meditate and realign my focus."

Though her tone remained even, Archer detected the subtle undertones of weariness in her voice. He knew T'Pol well enough by now not to argue the point. Her Vulcan stoicism was an integral part of who she was, and though he couldn't fully understand it, he respected her needs.

"Of course," Archer replied, a look of understanding passing between them. "Let me know if you need anything."

Tyson followed T'Pol's slender frame as she glided silently through the corridors of the Enterprise. Their journey ended when they arrived at the entrance to her personal quarters. Though located on a human ship, T'Pol's private sanctuary remained distinctly Vulcan.

Stepping inside, Tyson glanced around at the orderly minimalism surrounding him. The decor reflected her people's preference for simplicity and efficiency over ornamentation. In one corner stood a small Vulcan 'shrine', just a simple, unadorned surface upon which rested carefully selected Vulcan artifacts, each holding personal or cultural significance for their owner. The sleeping area contained only a modest platform bed, straightforward in design without any excess. The bedding was selected for the functionality of providing restful sleep rather than luxury. A compact workstation equipped with a computer terminal provided T'Pol with the necessary tools to fulfill her duties and research.

In the center of the room, along the wall, was a low table with two cushions on either side - likely used for meditation, Tyson surmised. Throughout the quarters, there was an absence of clutter or extraneous items. Each piece of furniture served a specific purpose, contributing to an orderly environment that supported T'Pol's need for tranquility.

Tyson hesitated on the threshold of T'Pol's quarters, knowing the request he was about to ask infringed on the sanctity of her private space. The sparse Vulcan aesthetic surrounded him. Finally working up his nerve, Tyson spoke, choosing his words carefully. "I recognize this is your personal space, T'Pol. But I find myself in need of a secure location for my Personal Reality door. It's vital for my ability to travel between dimensions and for protecting what's inside the warehouse, including currently, the Vulcans from the Seleya."

He met her gaze evenly, his sincerity evident. "I need to keep the door safe. With everything we've been through, you're the only one on the Enterprise I trust for this." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Would you allow me to keep the door here? It won't disrupt your space more than necessary, I assure you."

T'Pol considered his request silently, her face impassive. In her eyes, the strange human hybrid had proven himself an ally, though his being affected by the Pon Farr was troubling. Weighing the implications, T'Pol saw the responsibility such trust entailed. After a moment of contemplation, she responded, "I understand the necessity of ensuring the security of your dimensional gateway. You have demonstrated a commitment to the well-being of the Vulcan crew. Therefore, I am willing to accommodate your request." She met his eyes steadily. "I will permit you to keep your doorway here. But I expect you to minimize any disruption to my quarters. I shall ensure its safekeeping and maintain the confidentiality of its existence."

Relief flickered across Tyson's face. "You have my word. Thank you, T'Pol," he said solemnly, gratitude ringing in his voice.

She inclined her head in acknowledgment. Though reluctant to relinquish any part of her personal space, T'Pol understood the importance of what she would be safeguarding.

Tyson approached the bare wall that separated her bed from her workspace. He eyed the empty space critically, judging its suitability.

"Would this location be acceptable?" he inquired, turning his gaze to T'Pol as he awaited her approval.

T'Pol's eyes swept over the proposed site. After a brief moment of consideration, she gave a single nod, granting her acquiescence to the placement.

With her consent granted, Tyson produced the dimensional doorway card and held it up. The air before him shimmered as the doorway materialized, melding seamlessly into the wall as if it had always been there. Tyson knew the Inter-Reality Connecting Door to his Personal Reality could not be locked. It was a fact he had fully considered when requesting this arrangement. If an emergency happened on Enterprise, or if boarding parties invaded, curious crew members or invaders could potentially enter his personal space completely unimpeded. But what other options did he have?

Tyson turned back to T'Pol, a flicker of unease in his eyes. Reluctantly he admitted, "The Personal Reality, as it stands, contains nothing irreplaceable. For the time being, I'll need to rely solely on the security your quarters provide and the trust I place in you to safeguard it. In time I may be able to purchase additional security features to prevent unwanted access."

T'Pol's expression remained impassive as she acknowledged Tyson's words with a slight nod. "I understand," she responded evenly, her tone reassuring. "You have my word that I will maintain the integrity of my quarters, and thus the security of your dimensional doorway, to the best of my ability."

The unexpected beep at T'Pol's door drew their attention for a moment, but Tyson recognized that the electronic tone didn't belong in the era of the NX-01 Enterprise. The sound was out of place, originating instead from the much later Enterprise-D. Rather than the sliding metal door to T'Pol's quarters opening, an archway shimmered into existence.

Tyson's senses tingled. His Cosmic Awareness Perk revealed the truth of his current location. He was in a holodeck, yes but T'Pol's quarters aboard the NX-01 Enterprise were far more at the moment. The holodeck was only a bridge masking the true nature of his location. Beyond the archway, he knew, lay the corridors and state-of-the-art technology of the Enterprise-D, centuries removed from T'Pol's time. Yet the Vulcan's quarters stood firmly rooted in the 22nd century. Two distinct realities, separated by centuries yet connected. Tyson dwelled simultaneously in both worlds, bound together temporarily when he added his Inter-Reality Connecting Door. After this moment, once he left the holodeck, the simulation would end as the program shut down. But through the Inter-Reality Connecting Door in his Personal Reality, Tyson would be able to return to T'Pol's quarters. And it wouldn't be a holographic simulation. It would be the NX-01 Enterprise's reality; this new timeline would be continuing parallel but removed from the Enterprise-D’s.

Counselor Deanna Troi stepped through the entrance, "Tyson, it's time to head to the bridge for the meeting," she announced.

Tyson acknowledged her with a slight nod. Before leaving, he turned back to T'Pol, offering a respectful farewell to the stoic woman. "It was a pleasure working with you, Subcommander. Live long and prosper," he said solemnly.

T'Pol responded in kind. "Peace and long life, Tyson," she replied evenly, her slender hand raised in the traditional Vulcan salute.

With that, Tyson followed Deanna through the archway. He paused at the threshold, his hand resting on the doorframe as T'Pol's voice called out to him. Turning back, he met her steady gaze, "Should your problem we discussed earlier progress to the point it becomes untenable..." She trailed off, allowing a pregnant pause for her words to sink in, her expression inscrutable.

After a moment, she continued, "Return here and we will remedy it... together."

For the briefest of instants, Tyson's augmented mind whirred, processing the implications of her statement with lightning speed. Had the stoic Vulcan just propositioned him? The thought sent a jolt through him, his enhanced senses picking up the faintest hints of a verdant flush creeping across her features. Possibilities and scenarios flickered through his mind, each more tantalizing than the last. Perhaps he would be walking through that Inter-Reality Connecting Door sooner than anticipated.

Yet outwardly, his expression remained impassive, betraying none of the tumultuous thoughts churning beneath the surface. With a slight nod, he acknowledged T'Pol's offer, his gaze lingering on her longer than necessary. Counselor Troi, oblivious to the undercurrents, saw only a brief hesitation and sensed excitement within his emotions before Tyson turned to follow her through the archway, leaving the spartan confines of T'Pol's quarters behind.

As Tyson exited, the control panel outside the holodeck emitted a series of beeps, drawing his attention. He paused, regarding the panel pensively before continuing on his way.

Episode: Star Trek Enterprise - Impulse Complete!

+100 RP

Reality Points: 500

"Good show saving the Vulcan crew. Since you did better than Archer did, enjoy some bonus points."

- Q

P.S. You should reconsider the Divine Voyeur Perk.

---

Tyson

Origins: Human, Humanoid, Drop-In, Space Pirate, Bad Guy

Race: Augment Human-Betazoid (Hybrid)

Character Points: 1550

Reality Points: 500

Credits: 0

Status Effects: (none)

Drawbacks:

Gauntlet (Locked)

Ensign Marty Stu

A Simple Re’Q’uest

Hybrid (Betazoid)

Amok Time/Blood Fever

Outlawed

Perks:

Cosmic Awareness

Out of Nowhere

Going Native

Live and Let Live

This is (Not?) Rocket Science

Kinda Bland

Determinator

Painted On

Snakeskin

Adaptable

Duelist

Master with your Hands

Best of the Best

Everything Is A Weapon

Augment

Items:

Laser Blade

Spacesuit

Agony Booth

Cloaking Minefield

Personal Reality:

Access Key

Security System

Inter-Reality Connecting Door (Star Trek Enterprise)

Medical Bay

Spaceships:

Tramp Freighter