Saving Mar

10 HAND

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I didn't mean to sound so ungrateful. I appreciate all you've done for us and all you're still doing."

She pleaded with wet eyes, her grip silently begging him to stay. Jon slowly eased himself back onto the chair, but his mind raced: should he shake her off, or keep holding onto her? Would she interpret either move negatively?

While his brain was occupied with what-ifs, his instinct acted for him; his fingers wrapped around her pale knuckles and squeezed lightly, enjoying the texture of her skin and the way she relaxed into him. He realized that as long as she let him, he wanted to hold her.

"I'm just..." she attempted to continue, but seemed to struggle with finding the words. "I'm scared. And... I'm pissed. And I'm hurting... And I can come off as a dick when I'm under pressure. It means... means a lot that you're willing to hunt them down and save my friends. I just don't want you getting hurt, too."

"We're just trying to track them at the moment," Jon shook his head. "We can always call for backup if we need to go in with guns blazing. The Federation is set against slavery, Mar – we're not alone here."

She still didn't pull her hand out of his grip, like he expected, so he chanced it and covered it with the other one as well, to deliver his point across: that he was there for her. She visibly swallowed and tightened her fingers in response, as if holding onto him for emotional support. Her eyes still glittered with tears, but she was no longer crying.

Something strange was happening around his stomach. He felt warmth spread through his insides, followed by a slight vibration, as if his guts were quietly humming in contentment. A funny image crossed his mind when he analyzed the sensation: him as a cat, purring at the smallest signs of Mar's affection. His conscious mind wanted to feel embarrassed about it, but the humming inside him dissolved any discomfort.

Whatever was happening, he wanted it to happen.

"We don't have much time," Mar whispered, drawing his focus back to the pressing matters. Jon frowned.

"How much?"

"Not more than a day after they land at one of their processing centers – and we can only guess which one they choose. They have to prep the captives before the sale, but with the help of those nasty electric collars it usually doesn't take them too long to make people behave long enough to be sold. Many buyers actually prefer their sex slaves a little stubborn – it gives them a nice rush, when they can break their spirits themselves," she grimaced in disgust and helpless rage.

Just hearing her speak about it was making Jon sick to his stomach, the pleasant silky comfort of her touch unable to keep the darkness away. He couldn't help but imagine her going through it and he could feel his lungs burn. He did all he could to not squeeze her hand too hard and focused on his breathing for a moment, to regain composure.

"We'll do our best to get them before they're sold," he rasped.

"I know you will," Mar exhaled.

Jon's throat tightened at the sight of trust and faith radiating from her face.

He couldn't let her down.

.

He returned to the bridge with mixed feelings, still thinking back to the feel of her warmth in his palms. He needed to focus, though. After a brief visit to the ready room and washing his face in ice cold water, he felt ready-ish to get to work.

"Get me whatever intel the Federation has on Orions, including Vulcan reports, however 'classified' they might be," he cast T'Pol a look and she nodded silently. "We need to figure out where they went and how to stop them. We're not letting them have all those souls to do with as they please."

"Aye-aye, Captain," Malcolm grumbled, eyes trained on his console, likely warming up every piece of arsenal they had at their disposal.

"I appreciate it, Malcolm, but let's see if we can get it done without getting into a firefight," Jon sighed.

"I'm just keeping us ready, is all, Captain," he received an innocent smile and had to smile back.

He knew he could count on his crew for this. Not all of them were so touchy about slavery as he was, but they were all firmly against it. And anyone in need of help to escape it would receive any assistance they were able to render.

He only wondered who else was out there, close enough and willing to lend a hand to a worthy cause.

.

Their call for assistance didn't go unanswered for long. Within the hour, three captains offered to help, and within another two hours they met with the Enterprise for a quick debriefing.

"Well, well." Blue lips magnified on the viewscreen stretched into a smirk. "If it isn't the pinkskins' flagship. What pickle have you gotten yourself into this time, Archer?"

"Hello, Shran," Jon smiled. "Good to see you. How's Jhamel?"

"She's great, thank you for asking. We're looking to expand the family," he beamed happily. "What's your issue, then? Got lost on your way home? This stretch of space is very close to the Orion Syndicate's turf."

"That's actually our problem. But would you mind joining us on the Enterprise? I'd hate having to explain three times."

"Ooh, sounds exciting. Let me beam right over."