Two Things Are Certain

(Change of Hearts II)

Life was almost settling down into what Archer had coined 'near-normal.' The crew was busy and seemed for the most part happy. Well, Trip Tucker may not exactly fit into that category, but that was to be expected. He and the captain were trying to pick up the pieces of a broken friendship with some difficulty, but for some reason the engineer and T'Pol managed to work together as if they had always been friends.

Maybe her foray with the man actually improved relations between the two. Before they became an item, they fought like cats and dogs. 'Funny,' thought Archer. 'Ending up in bed with someone usually makes things more difficult.'

His thoughts turned to the ship. It was running at unbelievable efficiency, including Lt. Reed's unyielding quest to press his team for better results. When they were in the Expanse, Archer had noticed the security team hunkered down and almost seemed depressed. Maybe it was because the MACOs were gone that they were able to comply with every order. Malcolm seemed to breathe easier and let his hair down … well … for Malcolm. It could've been watching so many of them die … perhaps it gave him renewed sense of purpose, as if he had to somehow make it up to them.

And other than his friendship with Trip, which was slowly recovering, the captain was thrilled: his love life was meaningful and rich, he was exploring the stars again, his dog was pleased with T'Pol … life, all in all, wasn't too shabby.

He entered his quarters and gave a small jump, startled that T'Pol was waiting there for him. Her long figure was sitting cross-legged on his bed reading a PADD, allowing Porthos to hang devotedly at her feet. As he took in the scene, he heaved a sigh. Heaven. And when the door slid shut, Jon leaned over and kissed her.

"This mean you can stay for a while?" he asked, seeing that she was dressed casually with her shoes off.

She looked up, quizzically.

He said, "Well, let's see. You've had the science teams working on your guess about how to improve the scanners …."

"The hypothesis has thus far proven correct. And, I do believe you are the one who re-instituted breakfast and dinner meetings with the crew."

He frowned. That gave him very little personal time with T'Pol, but reacquainted him with everyone else. Through T'Pol's mind, he could see what people thought about him in the Expanse – "airlock Archer." Ever since he'd been back, he'd been hoping to dispel that nickname. Well, for once, he was glad just to have some time with his … girlfriend. He sat down heavily and took his shoes off, leaning back against the pillows.

"Well, regardless, I'm glad you're here," he said, placing his hands behind his head. After taking in a few breaths, he watched her continued to read and shifted to rub the small of her back in even strokes while musing over the events of the day. In response, she put her PADD down and leaned back, placing her head next to his.

"We have seen little of each other for … more personal moments," she whispered. Brushing her nose against his, her lips wandered over to his mouth and enveloped it.

He deepened the kiss and then pulled back, whispering, "It's been a while."

With a sly smile, his finger caught a curl in her hair as his foot gently nudged Porthos off the bed. The dog snorted and hopped down as Jon rolled on top of her and pressed his mouth and teeth on her neck.

"It's been four days," she said.

"Actually, it's been five," he countered, taking her earlobe in his mouth. "I've been thinking about you …."

As if by pure instinct, T'Pol's flattened hand traveled down his chest and past his waist; his body leapt at a single touch. Moaning in her ear, he felt his hormones rev and zing through his body and demand immediate satisfaction. Without his usual finesse, he clumsily grabbed at her zipper and began to yank.

Suddenly the two began a flurry of movements -- twisting and turning, attacking each other with their mouths. T'Pol slipped her fingers to the side of his head and began to penetrate his mind.

She dove into a vast ocean that rumbled, spraying foam onto the shore. As she splashed into the water she noticed the waves were more tumultuous than normal; he was passionate and urgent. The undercurrent was strong and before long she realized she was being carried out … and quickly. She tried to tame his mind.

'Think calming thoughts,' she encouraged.

His mouth devoured hers as she felt a wave of desire pummel her.

'Jonathan,' she called. 'Your impatience ….'

Rushing onto the desert, he brought a strong, cool breeze with him. His feet kicked up sand as he ran down a dune, stumbling and tumbling down in anxiousness. Letting his frame cascade down the side, he picked himself up and continued to run at full speed.

She noticed his presence felt larger and more overwhelming than it usually did. Typically, she slipped into his mind with ease, but this time he came pounding into hers, breaking down barriers she believed could not be overtaken, particularly by a human. The man was completely out of control.

'Relax,' she whispered through the recesses of his mind.

Ignoring the soothing tone and hushed patterns, his fingertips tapped against her temple and his thoughts plundered hers with resounding force. As his emotions unleashed, she became disoriented and woozy. She barely felt his right hand splay open the back of her garment as his mind threw erotic images at her rapidly and chaotically.

She moaned hoarsely, "Aisha."

Practically tearing at her clothing, he nearly screamed into her mind, "Surrender."

As his tongue plunged into her mouth and he'd begun to peel her arm out of the catsuit, the comm squawked.

"Bridge to Captain Archer."

T'Pol barely heard the noise and noticed right away Jonathan had not retreated, instead his fingers had snaked against her skin and his hips slowly rocked against hers. Unable to get his attention, she pried her fingers away from his temple -- leaving him foggy-headed. One moment he was rolling down a sand dune restlessly seeking out T'Pol, the next he was in his quarters staring at her slightly exposed shoulder. He panted glancing around his room, trying to figure out where he was and why.

"Ensign Sato to Captain Archer."

Shaking the cobwebs out of his brain, he sprang off the bed and tripped attempting to reach the box. Working to his feet, he found the box at the end of the room.

"Archer here," he panted.

Ensign Sato said, "Sir, I have a communication from Admiral Forrest."

Trying to jolt himself to life, he ran his hand over his face. He must've waited too long to respond, because Hoshi's voice answered, "Uhm, want me to transfer him to your room?"

It was a miracle that there wasn't a visual connection between the two – his hair was tousled, his face was flushed, his lips were slightly swollen and he was having trouble steadying his breath. Taking a deep breath he smoothed his hand over his hair, coaxing his cowlicks down.

"Yeah, transfer it here," he agreed.

"You okay, sir?" she asked.

"Uhm, yeah," he answered back.

Slipping behind his desk, he watched Admiral Forrest appear on screen. Unlike his typical calls, the admiral was wearing a long face.

"Jon," began his commander.

This definitely wasn't good news. "Sir, I take it this isn't a friendly call?" Jon asked.

"No. Soval tried to contact T'Pol, but has been unable to for the past few hours. I needed to let you know something. It's bad news. Ambassador V'Lar died this morning."

Forrest paused as a frown worked itself onto Archer's face and then continued.

"I'm pretty sure it was natural causes, although no one's really said anything. Soval has made a personal request that you take Sub-commander T'Pol to Vulcan for the ceremony," he said.

Archer's heart sank. V'Lar was one of T'Pol's childhood heroes … and he was pretty fond of the woman, himself. He desperately wanted to look over his shoulder and comfort his girlfriend, but realized he'd have to deal with the rest of the conversation first. Forrest didn't know about their relationship … well, he knew a little something from their last visit to Earth, but didn't understand the relationship had only grown exponentially.

"Yes, sir," Jon said with regret.

"When you see the sub-commander, give her my condolences," Forrest said and then the screen went black.

Archer turned around and saw T'Pol had retreated into herself, leaning against the bed, staring at the covers. After climbing out of his chair and over to the bed, he put his hand on her leg. She was obviously hurting.

"Sweetheart, you okay?" he asked.

She stared into space and said absently, "That was unexpected."

Archer hung his head to his chest, rubbing her leg in sympathy. "How old was she?"

"I don't know," responded T'Pol. "One hundred and sixty, perhaps …."

Out of pure instinct, Archer cupped the back of her head and drew her into a hug. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" she asked with confusion, fighting the movement.

He let his hand flop down on the bed. "I know how much she meant to you."

"Death is inevitable."

Strange hearing her sound so Vulcan. "Of course it is, but it doesn't make it any easier when people we admire die. Does it?"

"No," she admitted.

Archer sighed. He petted her hair for a few moments, glided his fingers through her hair lovingly as her eyes remained glued to the bed.

Trying to figure out what she was thinking or feeling, he kept his gaze on her.

"You are continuing to stare at me," she commented.

"Well, when humans hear someone has died, they become … upset."

"I am not human, but I am … unsettled," she whispered. "She was a mentor. I admired the woman greatly. Her loss will not only be felt by me, but many other Vulcans. V'Lar was greatly respected for her dealings with the Andorians at the battle of T'Mar. The ambassador was one of the most knowledgeable cultural …."

He tuned out the rest of the ambassador's accomplishments. Jon liked the Vulcan, but was more concerned about T'Pol. Rather than focus on her words, he noticed all her nuances: her voice gave tiny tremors and there was something else … something he didn't quite expect – her eyes were glassy. In fact, he could see a tiny water droplet collecting in one of them, threatening to spill down her face.

Greatly moved, his thumb stroked her cheek.

"Sweetheart, it's okay to cry," he whispered. Maybe she needed permission or encouragement. Whatever it was, he didn't want her to bottle it up, and on some level he'd envisioned one day holding her to him as she let a few tears fall. As his throat tightened at her beauty and the unchecked emotion, the water droplet dried up and evaporated.

She raised her eyebrow, smashing out any trace of emotion.

Vulcans do not cry.

Allowing this emotion to bubble to the surface would be a disservice to V'Lar; it would dishonor her memory. But, being around humans for so long, she couldn't help but feel life was precious. V'Lar of course had a katra which would be collected and stored in the Great Hall -- the place where Vulcans could draw on her wisdom for decades to come. Death was inevitable … logical. And still … Jonathan was correct; she was upset.

Straightening her spine with resolve, she stuffed her arm back into her clothing and righted her zipper.

"No, Jonathan, it is not 'okay' to cry."

She climbed out of the bed and put her shoes on, determined to leave.

Jon, although the epitome of confusion, on some level recognized that Vulcans dealt with things differently … and T'Pol was Vulcan despite being around humans for so long.

"You need some privacy?" he asked.

"Yes. I wish to meditate. Also, there is a ritual I must perform to keep V'Lar's memory in my thoughts." It was imperative she remove herself from humans; her mind needed to feel clean and free of impediments.

"If you need some bereavement time …."

"That is unnecessary," she claimed. She walked stiffly to the door.

"I'll be here if you need to talk about anything," he said, offering a warm smile.

"I understand," she responded. And with that, strode out the door and down the hall.

More than a little baffled at her behavior, he stared at the door. He couldn't really fault her; it was undoubtedly a shock: her childhood hero was dead. Maybe he'd check up on her in the morning and make sure she was okay.

Archer's lips curled down further as he sauntered over to the comm. "Archer to the Bridge."

"Parsons here," a young male voice said.

"Plot a course to Vulcan," Archer said. "Warp 4."

"Aye, sir."

"Thanks. Archer out."

Taking a few moments to reflect, he wondered why V'Lar had died at such a young age. It seemed … improbable. Forrest was right, though; it'd take an act of congress to get the Vulcans to release any details or explanations. Usually when people withheld information it was because they had something to hide. In the case of the Vulcans, they withheld everything equally and with the same determination, at least that was the captain's supposition.

Maybe to take his mind off things, he'd go see what Trip was up to. He knew the engineer had just gotten off duty and could use a little time trying to mend their friendship. With that firmly decided, he shuffled down the hall toward Trip's cabin.

Chapter Two

By the time T'Pol reached her room, she felt the ever-present human emotions floating around the ship weighing on her. Even as Jonathan had comforted her, she could feel miniscule waves of desire; buried deep within his mind she noted he was keyed up from their romantic interlude and she realized he wondered if Soval was hiding more important information. This troubled her. Yes, she felt overwhelming love, tenderness, compassion, understanding, sadness, concern and grief from him, but the fact she could feel the traces of these other things bothered her.

Perhaps it wasn't just this – it was all his emotions. Each of them were overwhelming, wanting and waiting to ease her suffering and protect her, aching to kiss her and longing in some strange way to see her emit some semblance of feeling. In her mind, it was disturbing that he wanted to encourage her to cry.

Slinking into her cabin, she left the lights off and immediately began illuminating her meditation candles. The flames flickered and she felt a few tears bring themselves unexplainably to her eyes. She blinked them away.

'Illogical,' she thought.

In T'Pol's mind, Surak was the father of logic, and as such should be revered above all others. But, V'Lar wasn't too far behind. The woman was more than a mentor; she'd led T'Pol to understand and accept humans for what they were. If she hadn't met her, undoubtedly she never would have consummated a relationship with any human, much less with Jonathan Archer.

She sat cross-legged on the floor and began to chant one of the first songs she learned on Vulcan when her mother's forefather died. The song was simple, but sweet – it was remembrance: "Keep their thoughts and wisdom with us so that we may better ourselves."

Her eyes slipped shut and her body followed the song into meditation. Crawling outside her body, she flung her mind into the stars and floated eventually to the temple at Shi'Kar on Vulcan. The large stone doors skidded open, as she forced her way inside the Great Hall to view the katras of diplomats, farmers, old warriors and teachers. A line of somber Vulcans wearing cloaks hanging around their shoulders like shrouds, gathered to pay respect and leave a single thought.

'Which thought would she leave? Which memory?' she asked herself.

As she stepped into the gray mausoleum, she felt the presence of hundreds of cold, calm minds murmuring – their voices echoing. The smell was musty and stale – like old weathered papyrus and rotting flesh. Vulcans swirled like shadows hovering near V'Lar's still body and their bony fingers reached out to touch her temple. It was the essence of death and these ghosts seemed to prey on V'Lar's mind: they were taking memories like they were feasting on her corpse and the thoughts they left behind stank. T'Pol gathered her cloak around her and shuddered involuntarily.

'Blasphemy,' she thought. It reverberated in her mind, whispered by the line of Vulcans. 'Showing emotion inside this sanctuary.'

And her journey came to an end; her mind was propelled back onto the ship, into her cramped quarters and onto the mat where she meditated. Frustration leaked out of every pore; it was impossible not to feel. Maybe it was the humans and their emotions slithering down the corridor, enveloping her. Maybe it was Jonathan, after all, she still had his smell on her, and her lips still stung from his from his caressed and scratchy chin.

No, undoubtedly she was to blame -- she had given herself the luxury of dabbling with and confessing to emotions. Perhaps when she was on Vulcan, she would participate in the Kolinahr – the purging ritual.

Wearily, she dragged herself up and blew out her meditation candles. In the darkness, she found her way to her bed, and crawled into it. With a slight frown, she closed her eyes and rested her body.

Chapter Three

Jon scuttled onto the bridge the next morning, trying to act like the captain, not the boyfriend. Glancing around everything seemed to be in its place, including T'Pol; she looked like the embodiment of self-restraint – not at all the vulnerable woman in his quarters last night.

T'Pol robotically called out, "We are one week away from Vulcan, Captain."

He noticed she sat ramrod straight and her face was completely devoid of … anything. The usual twinkle in her eye had been extinguished and her lips held perfectly still, rather than give a slight tremble at his presence. Archer sucked in a deep breath and acknowledged her statement with a slight nod.

"Thanks," he said. He looked around the bridge – everyone seemed to be hard at work. Good. After debating whether to sit in his command chair or talk with T'Pol he headed for the science station and asked, "May I speak with you in my ready room?"

He'd convinced himself he had a couple of things to discuss … work-related things of course. During that discussion, he might bring up how concerned he was that she didn't return any of his communiqués from this morning.

She glided behind him, following at his heels, strolled into his office and stared at him as he perched himself on the desk and leaned forward. Her mouth and eyebrow remained flat.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes."

Maybe he'd get the non-work-related things out of the way. "I was worried about you. You didn't contact me this morning. "

"Should I have?"

Confusion riddled his face.

"You seemed to be contacting me on a personal level, rather than in an official capacity. Did I misinterpret it?" she asked.

He folded his arms across his chest and sighed. "Well, no. I didn't contact you as the captain, but as your boyfriend. But, I guess even if I were … just the captain … I'd want to make sure you were okay."

"I see. So you are speaking to me now in an unofficial capacity," she said.

What? "I guess."

"Very well. Then I will address you as such. I have become lax in my emotional restraint. Rather than contact you, I wanted to meditate all morning. In fact, I wish to meditate when I am not on duty until we reach the planet."

"Huh?"

"I wish only to meditate while not at my post," she said.

He glanced over her; something about her countenance reminded him of when she'd first reported for duty after being assigned to him. She was taut, formal and absolutely unreadable. This wasn't exactly the T'Pol he was used to, but she seemed to be stewing in logic over V'Lar's death. He decided he'd be supportive. After all, if he'd been around when Zephram Cochran died, he was sure he'd react in the same way. Well, maybe not the same way; he'd most likely brood about it.

"Okay," he said, puzzled.

"Good. I will require more seclusion than normal, although I would like to continue with my duties," she said.

The teachings of Surak raced through her mind as she spoke. She needed to remain focused, logical and determined; it was impossible to keep from breathing in Jonathan's scent and pressing her lips to his. Logic. It is the beginning and the end.

"All right. When's the funeral?"

"The day after we arrive on Vulcan. Although it is not a funeral as you understand it."

"Maybe you can debrief me on it before we arrive. All the same I should probably arrange for Trip to work extra duty and …."

"This tradition is a solemn occasion -- without the hysterics humans devote themselves to at someone's passing. It has never been seen by off-worlders."

"Hysterics?"

"Exactly so. You are not invited."

"I'm not?"

"No," she replied.

After pausing a few seconds, he asked, "How long are you going stay on Vulcan?"

"Approximately one week."

"Wait a second, it'll take us one week to get to there."

"Yes."

"Are you saying you don't want to see me for two weeks?"

"Essentially accurate. I also require time once I have returned from Vulcan. That amount of time has not yet been determined."

"So, you're putting our relationship on hold for two weeks … maybe longer?"

She didn't respond; she thought the question to be rhetorical, especially since she already outlined her need to be away for longer than two weeks.

"I mean, hell, I haven't seen you at all this week," he added.

"Not all week -- five days," she corrected.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he glared at her. "Whatever. When we agreed to this relationship … I thought …."

"Please do not overreact, I merely wish to be alone."

"Overreact?" Trying to calm himself down, he took a deep breath. "Look, I just don't understand why you're putting our relationship on hiatus for any length of time … it feels …."

"I have already explained it. I am trying to control my emotions. Because you, and all humans, emote, I need to limit my contact with you."

Archer scowled. "I know you need more space than usual, but …." No, this wasn't going to work at all.

Interrupting him again, she asked, "Are you more concerned about our lack of physical or mental intimacy?" she questioned.

Flustered at the question, he decided to answer it truthfully, "Both. We just haven't had a lot of time together and …."

"What is it then you require from our relationship so that I may have my privacy?" she asked, mechanically. Perhaps she would have sex with him and he would ease up his emotional onslaught. She was trying her level best to remain as unemotional as possible. Her mind's voice repeated, 'Logic. Logic is the foundation of all Vulcan principles. Emotion is the chaotic vibration that crumbles reason.'

"Require?! I don't require anything …. I'd think you'd want to be with me." He felt his fuse begin to shorten.

"As I have stated, that is currently not the case."

He guffawed.

Emotions were radiating off of him, invading her mind. "I merely requested understanding. May I or may I not have two weeks of privacy?" she asked. "It seems like a small thing to ask."

"You don't understand," he said, standing up. "I don't expect you to act like a human, but I don't expect you to treat me like a leper either!"

"You know my thoughts about you," she began. "What is the basis of your insecurity?"

"I'm not insecure. You're just not acting like yourself. It's confusing to me; I'm not really sure how to respond," he said honestly. "I guess I was expecting more compassion from you, you know a little …."

"How can one treat you with compassion when they are devoid of emotion?" she asked.

"You treated me with compassion before yesterday evening," he said. He gave a sigh. "I don't know what's going on with you, but whatever it is … you don't have to be so nasty about it, I mean …."

"I have remained unemotional. You on the other hand," she began, letting her voice trail off. Logic. Logic is the basis from which reason flows. It is like water, quenching the thirst of an active and peaceful mind.

He widened his stance and puffed up his chest. "Stop interrupting me!" he yelled, flaring his nostrils.

She remained quiet, watching his face redden. As if embarrassed at his outburst, he hung his head to his chest. Watching his mind quiet, she decided to say something.

"If you have finished speaking to me in an unofficial capacity then I would like to …." T'Pol wanted to leave this discussion. No good could come of it.

He grabbed her arm. "I want to talk this thing out so it doesn't end up on the bridge."

His hand on her arm was eating at her self-control. She eyed him with a darkness that reminded him of when they'd been trapped on the Seleya together. He instinctively released her arm and recoiled.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he said, baffled.

"I am Vulcan, Jonathan. There is nothing … wrong with me. I would simply like to sequester myself from all emotion. I don't know how many more times I have to explain that. I must be completely devoid of it when I come into contact with other Vulcans," she said, raising her voice just a notch. "And going through the ceremony to commemorate V'Lar's death requires more mental resolve … much more."

"T'Pol, I can understand your need to reconnect with other Vulcans. I just don't think that should come between us."

"It is not coming 'between us,' it is the foundation of who I am."

This was going nowhere fast. He leaned back onto his desk with defeat. "All right. Fine. Seclude yourself for how ever long you need to." He rubbed his hand over his face and thought it was going to be a long week.

"Thank you." She didn't want to touch him. Giving into that luxury would bring an onslaught of feelings she wished to bury. But, if she knew the man, he would need that comfort. Indeed after a few seconds, he held out two fingers. She stared at them wondering what to do.

Hesitantly, she whispered, "Embracing you would wither my emotional control."

He sighed and put his hands down to his side. This was going to be even tougher than he thought. He nodded and slipped behind his desk. He picked up a PADD and glanced over it.

"Are we finished speaking in an unofficial capacity?" asked T'Pol.

"Oh yeah," he said with irritation, staring at the PADD in front of him.

She studied him, wanting to stay and continue this conversation. But, she instead withdrew, climbing out of his office and dragging her feet back to her station. As she peered into the scanner, she thought about the trials and tribulations of being involved with a human. She was thankful to be away from the thoughts dripping from his mind. A piece of her would of course miss him. As soon as that thought came to the surface, T'Pol used her logic to beat it back down. To miss someone was an act of emotion.

The day resumed as normal. Archer walked out of his room about lunchtime and headed for the turbolift. She was used to tagging along with him during the mid-day meal, but neither wanted to spend time with the other. As he whizzed by her, she gathered he was still fuming about their last encounter.

With one step in the turbolift, he called out with particular coolness, "You have the Bridge, Sub-commander."

She looked at the door, sauntered over to the captain's chair and dipped into it wearing a mask of complete and utter non-emotion.

'Vulcan is only a week away,' she thought. And her brain chanted, 'Logic. It is the beginning and the end ….'