Disclaimer: I don't own "Star Trek Enterprise" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: I'm not exactly sure where this came from, but I thought it would be interesting to write something from Soval's point of view and bam- here we are. This is basically where I write what I wish had happened during the course of the show.
Warnings: fix-it, time-travel, Q is Q, and yeah- apparently there is a girl involved.
Epoch
Chapter One
To the surprise of many, Ambassador Soval died on Vulcan. Despite having long found a home on Earth, he'd returned to Vulcan to confer with the High Council when his advanced age finally caught up with him. Collapsing on the steps of the Temple of Amonak as Andrea, Admiral Archer's youngest great grandchild, caught him before he felt the impact.
Out of them all, she was the one that most resembled his likeness. And indeed, his temperament. Perhaps that was why he'd accepted her request to be part of his security detail on Earth. A human child who'd grown up calling him sa'mekh'al. Reaching for him immediately whenever he visited with small, grubby fingers and indignant shrills that had pulled at something in his chest he still didn't have a name for.
The years had passed swiftly since.
For she was that child no longer.
He considered the matter at length as she hovered by his side when the doctor made his dispassionate prognosis. Not bothering to hide the salt of her tears as they welled up in the corners of her eyes. Wondering in the quietly manner that was his way, if she knew the weight of what he could not say.
A Vulcan was not supposed to regret.
Yet he did.
In fact, he regretted a great deal.
Perhaps human traits were contagious after all.
Still, when it was time, his hand clutched gently in hers as his eyes eased closed, like most logical beings, he did not expect to open them again.
But he did.
"Well, that was fun, wasn't it? I'll admit, I had no idea a Vulcan could be so bendy when it came all their little rules. Especially during this time period. You were ahead of the grade curve my, friend. Spock would have probably- well, maybe not. Depends on the- oh, never mind that's ahead of your time anyway. And don't worry, your little human protege pulls herself together and ends up making a name for herself in something or other. Has three kids, all of them in Starfleet. Two of them nearly cause an interstellar war, must run in the family. Do you know she told me to go to hell when I told her - thirty-four years from now, give or take - that I sent you back? That entire family is so feisty. Reminds me of Picard and Janeway- mostly Janeway. Humans are truly one of a kind in this universe. Believe me, I would know. Though, I think Andrea Archer got that particular stubbornness from you, didn't she? She told me. You practically raised her. Anyway, enough nattering on! So, what do you say? Want to do it again?"
He woke up in his old quarters in the Vulcan embassy on Earth on the eve of the Klingon courier's crash-landing on Earth, and the catalysis to everything that followed, exceedingly unamused.
In truth, he changed as little as possible.
Some things, like the attack of the Xindi probe, was beyond his ability to alter. The loss of seven million lives was a heavy weight to bear. But ultimately, he couldn't justify the risk when the outcome led to a lasting peace and a coalition between close to a half-dozen planetary systems.
Other occurrences, smaller ones, he was able to change - if only slightly.
While he was certain his younger self would have been loath to admit it, his lifelong experience with humanity had forged a better understanding of the species themselves. Primarily, how they saw the world and their place in it. His years working with Admiral Forrest and Archer in close quarters had only sharpened that understanding. And it was with that experience he was able to adjust his actions and words in far more beneficial ways the second time around. Doing his best to make up for past failings and misunderstandings in order to find safer ways for Captain Archer and his crew to flourish.
Humanity could not be contained, nor coddled.
But it could be helped along the way.
It was a difference that was minute in the larger picture, but keenly important nonetheless.
The answer had never been to hold humanity back.
That was a mistake he understood all too well now.
What they needed was a guide.
He believed he'd managed to confuse Admiral- no, Captain Archer rather soundly on more than one occasion when he'd offered a course of action that was between their two extremes rather than pushing for the Vulcan way. With the man often looking at him like he wished to say something, but never did.
Was it that so-called sixth sense, humans so often referenced?
The concept was illogical of course.
It was merely a term humanity had used in its primitive to understand a sensitivity they could not explain.
And yet, he'd seen it in practice on more than one occasion.
At the very least Archer believed he'd misjudged him.
And unfortunately that was a falsehood that would have to remain.
For despite his ability to alter the past and change the course of events, he remained uncertain of exactly what the Q had sent him back to do. If anything. The being seemed pleased by the concept of chaos, apparently uncaring of the damage that could be done to their time-line by sending him back. He was uncertain if it was merely hubris on the being's part, or some sort of greater strategy.
He could admit to himself, if no one else, that it was nothing more than selfish desire on his part when he chose to save Admiral Forrest in the Embassy bombing. Sending the human to the wrong exit rather than entering with him. Putting him safely outside the worst of the blast as he counted down the seconds between the moment he remembered the sound of the explosion start rolling and when the Admiral had moved to cover him. Finding himself back in that suffocating pocket between pillars, fire and dust, this time thankfully alone.
It was the Admiral himself who pulled him out of the rubble. Seeing double as the man caught his hand through a gap in the fallen facade. Forgetting to mask his feelings as he gripped it back with fierce gratitude. Allowing the connection, if only briefly, as the man's relief and open pleasure at him being safe flowed through him like a calming balm. Soothing the anguish of the man's absence like water to flame when he'd woken up the first time to the Admiral's body weighing him down. Broken and seeping red into his robes. Protective in that uniquely human way, even in death.
He endured the years that spanned out afterwards with barely an arched brow. Getting a data communication humans would have called teasing every so often about his 'mistake of directions.' Wondering every so often what the man would say if he knew the truth. Witnessing the entire range of human emotion in all it's brash, colorful loudness and openness of heart as his friend aged and got to know his children's children. Watching how the man's wife flourished with him by her side as their clan grew. Rather then diminishing into months long silences and a type of emotional darkness he had no wish to experience emanating from anyone – friend or foe – again.
He'd considered warning the humans about the treasonous plot at the embassy for many months before finally allowing it to happen. Unable to justify altering such a pivotal turning point for Earth, Vulcan and indeed Andoria. Admiral Forrest survival ended up changing remarkably little. He made sure of it. Ensuring everything continued on as it did the first time, only this time without the man's absence.
It wasn't until the incident regarding the Kir'Shara and infiltration of the High Command a few cycles later that he was forced to employ a different tactic when it came to how he dealt with current events.
"Welcome aboard, Ambassador."
He'd considered the matter at length, long before he materialized in the Andorian's vessel, how to tackle the issue of trust between their two people. And perhaps more immediately, how best to get the desired result - getting Shran to reposition the Andorian fleet – while not suffering further harm to his suppression system. But it wasn't until he looked up at Shran, blue skin made brighter against the interior lights, that he realized the answer had been there all along.
Indeed, if the rawness of the emotions he'd been forced to feel hadn't been so severe the first time he would have realized it and adjusted his response accordingly. This had never been Shran's choice. He was taking orders from his superiors. Much the same way as he'd taken orders from the High Council until he'd been dismissed from his position. Further, in a strange and very Andorian way, Shran was showing his feelings, his personal loyalty, by being right here, right now. Not trusting anyone else to carry out the interrogation. Wanting to be there. Perhaps even for his sake.
All he had to do was take a chance on how deep Shran's unwillingness to damage him went.
And for that, it was simply a matter of timing.
"Commander, I- the Vulcan's suppression system- it's already been damaged," the Andorian at the console interrupted. Audibly taken aback and with good reason as the chair he was strapped to shuddered through the beginning of the interrogation program.
"What? How is that possible?" Shran charged, antenna jerking forward. Angry and on edge as he stalked over to the console and pushed the other aside so he could see for himself.
"I can't explain it," the other Andorian answered, console beeping frantically now. "But the signature, it- it matches this terminal- Commander-"
He exhaled quietly. Calming. Knowing it wouldn't be long before Commander Tucker and the Enterprise discovered him missing. Even this now, it would seem as though time was the most precious resource.
"I can," he offered bluntly. Quietly serene as Shran's antennas splayed wide in suspicion. "Because I've been here before, Commander. And last time, you decided to trust me. Not at any small cost, but you chose it all the same. The question is, will you do that now?"
The recycled air seemed heavy in the stunned silence.
"That's not possible," Shran barked, eyes narrowing into violently suspicious slits. "You expect me to believe that? You? Any of this? You'd say anything! Any Vulcan would! If you think I'd risk the lives of every Andorian in this sector - our entire fleet- just to ensure your safety, you're mistaken, Ambassador. I don't care if your suppression system is permanently damaged! Tell me the location of the Vulcan fleet! What are their orders?!"
It was a lie.
Shran did care.
Fascinating.
"And nor would I expect you to normally. But you know me. I'm not lying. This is a matter of prejudice. You refuse to believe I would betray my people. I'm not. I'm saving them. Yours and mine, Vulcan and Andorian. The corruption on the High Command has not reached beyond the Council, not yet. My people don't know. Some members of the High Command even do not," he answered, speaking strongly, calmly, but with an urgency he knew had Shran's attention. To any other Andorian it might have appeared as though he was trying to spare his emotional controls. But he and Shran had spent months in close quarters negotiating the ceasefire on P'Gem. And he was aware Shran knew the difference.
"Commander, you've trusted me before, so trust me now. I have never lied to you and I don't intend to start now. Do what you must, but move your fleet. Or the loss of life on both sides will be catastrophic and likely irreparable."
As Archer would have said, the ball was in Shran's court now.
He'd become distinctly better at understanding human euphemisms over the years and considered that one a personal favourite.
And surprisingly, Shran listened.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be one more chapter.
Reference:
- Epoch: a particular period of time in history or a person's life.
- The Temple of Amonak was one of the most sacred temples on Vulcan.
- sa'mekh'al: the Vulcan word for 'grandfather'.