Practically since the moment I met the man, Jonathan Archer has been an intrusion.

From the beginning, he intruded into the realm of my professional responsibilities. Ignoring the most basic security precautions, this exasperating man put himself into one dangerous situation after another. To his credit, he did permit me to make significant weapons system and security alert upgrades on Enterprise, and occasionally allowed me to accompany him on his away missions—for all the good it did.

Early on, he invaded my privacy, questioning my sister, my parents, and my friends on Earth and onboard Enterprise in an attempt to ascertain—of all things—my food preferences. It's a good thing I actually do like pineapple; I'll never see the end of the bloody stuff on my plate.

The next intrusion was into my off-duty time—scheduling breakfast get-togethers with no apparent purpose other than to discuss my extra-curricular interests. I was extremely uncomfortable with these forays into my personal life. I was his subordinate after all, and fraternization regulations are quite explicit.

I'd almost come to expect his intrusive behaviour by the time he starting trying to prevent me from dying to protect my ship and crewmates, to protect him. Though I did come to appreciate it—I was never as suicidal as he seemed to fear I was. But he often seemed willing to consider options that I would have discounted as too risky to himself.

It's practically unnecessary to say that he has always encroached on my personal space. The man touched me at every opportunity—to provide encouragement, reassurance, camaraderie, to convey things he knew I wouldn't let him say. Whatever the motivation, his touch always registered with me, because no one else ever has done. At least not more than once.

The most serious intrusion of all began simply. Our first kiss. I don't know how it happened, or even which of us initiated it. All I can remember is the odd sensation of fire and tenderness that I felt when our lips first touched. One moment we were talking, maybe even arguing; in the next moment our mouths were otherwise occupied. And yes, my lips were parting, inviting the intrusion of his tongue…and of his hands into my hair, under my uniform, on my arse.

One thing led to another, and finally to that most intimate of intrusions. Though in this case, it didn't happen until after I'd made a few rather intimate incursions of my own, and heard him moan my name or shout it to the heavens as his orgasm washed over him, by my hand, even as I found my own release deep within him.

I've never before felt the level of trust I needed to nod my agreement that night when he tentatively explored me with a fingertip. The hesitation was unusual for him, but we were both on unfamiliar ground at that moment. He knew this was an intrusion into my cherished and tightly-guarded control, and he needed me to offer freely. And god help me, I did. That was my acknowledgement of his most subtle and persistent intrusion. Jonathan Archer was in my heart and soul. Which brings us to today. From far away, someone is asking me, "Do you take this man…"

I don't need to take him; he's been there all along.