"Andorian Summer By Distracted Genre: Sincerest Form of Flattery Challenge, drama Rating: PG-13 Summary: And now for something completely different. It’s set in Season 4 after Terra Prime, and is AU, for reasons which will soon become obvious. “It’s strange…” he said in a distracted tone of voice. “There’s no pain anymore unless I move.” “Then perhaps you should refrain from moving.” “Heh!” he chuckled, and then grimaced. “Don’t make me laugh!” he protested. She raised a brow. “That was not my intention,” she replied, and then reached forward to tuck the reflective emergency blanket closer around his shoulders. The man lay on a makeshift pallet on the rocky floor of the cave, in a hollow scraped free of ice and snow. He stared out past the circle of heat reddened rocks that served as the substitute for a campfire and through the jagged opening in the rocks at the mouth of the cave. It was sleeting now. It had been raining before. “I think I prefer Andoria in the winter. It might be fifty below, but at least it’s a dry cold.” “You must be quiet, Captain. Conserve your strength.” There was silence for a moment. “Which faction shot us down, do you think?” The woman sighed. “I have insufficient information to speculate on that, Jon. Now please try to rest.” “Sorry. I was just talking. It gets my mind off things. How long has it been?” “Seven hours and forty three minutes,” she replied patiently. “Seems like Trip should have found the homing beacon by now.” “The weather may be interfering with the search… that and the fact that the Andorian authorities would most likely prefer that we not be found. He may also be waiting for a break in the storm. The weather at this time of year in this area is warm, relatively speaking. He wouldn’t be aware of your injury, and thus would not feel the need for excessive haste which might risk the lives of a landing party,” she replied with flawless logic. “Heh. Somehow I doubt he’s just sitting on his hands doing nothing, T’Pol. He’s probably frantic by now.” “Commander Tucker is perfectly capable of command. I sincerely doubt that being without your assistance for a few hours is distressing him.” “I never said it was me he’d be frantic about,” he said. She shot him a look, but said nothing. He shifted on his pallet and tried to sit up. The effort wrenched a groan from his lips, and he flopped back down again, breathing heavily. She rose from her place opposite him across the rapidly cooling stones and knelt near his head, placing a hand on his sweat-drenched forehead and gazing with concern at his distended abdomen. “Feels good,” he murmured. “Your hands are so cool.” “Your temperature is dangerously high. I will get a fever reducer from the medical kit.” “I’d rather have the flask from the emergency rations,” he said weakly. “If the worms have penetrated your esophageal or gastric mucosa, the consumption of alcohol could cause considerable pain,” she warned. He smiled bleakly. “That’s my girl… always a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.” She raised a brow. He chuckled briefly, and then grimaced. “But then, you aren’t my girl are you? Never have been.” She inclined her head in concession. “No… but I am your friend,” she admitted. “Then get me the damned bourbon.” He turned his head away to watch the sleet bounce haphazardly off the rocks. His lips twisted wryly. “I guess there’s one good thing to come of all this… Ever since we met the Aenar, I’ve been wondering where the hell those ice borers were swarming to. Now I know.” She handed him the flask. “Stop it, Jon. Please.” He grasped the screw cap and twisted it off without looking at her. “Here’s to you and Trip! I wish both of you a happy life together!” Then he took a stiff dose of it into his mouth and swallowed with a defiant scowl. His face turned white. “It’s not so bad,” he wheezed painfully. Then he screwed the top back on and handed the flask back to her. She took it from him and sighed. “There’s morphine in the field kit. Do you want some now?” He nodded. She went to prepare the hypospray. The sleet was slowing down. He caught occasional glimpses of the gleaming white peaks of the distant mountains through the haze. She came back and pressed the hypospray into his neck, and within minutes he was sleeping with her fingers interlaced with his. He woke to the distant rumble of attitude jets. Through the cave entrance, he saw a figure in Starfleet uniform approaching. He watched as T’Pol rose to meet Trip, and was happy when she allowed Trip to embrace her. Over their shoulders the Andorian sun broke out of cloud cover, illuminating the great, wide mountain peaks in unbelievable whiteness. It was time to go home. T’Pol woke lying by the circle of stones, now cooled to ambient temperature. Something had awakened her. At first, she couldn’t put her finger on it. Then it hit her. He wasn’t breathing. End

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