Chapter 3: Wittgenstein vs. Surak

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Water. Clean, light blue, dappled with sunlight. A swimming pool. Laughing kids, bouncing up and down in the water, tossing a beach ball to each other.

He sits on the edge of the pool in the hot sun, with his feet dangling in the cool water. His little sister, four years old, complete with dripping brown pigtails and orange waterwings, waves at him excitedly from the deep end of the pool.

"Malcolm, come swim with me!"

He shakes his head mutely and looks away. When he looks back, his sister is gone. He can see a shadow beneath the surface, an irregular blob of orange and brown. Her waterwings.

"Maddie!!" he screams, but his voice is swallowed up by the splashing of the water. He leaps to his feet and runs along the side of the pool, screaming her name, screaming for help. The laughing kids ignore him. He finds his father and pulls on his sleeve, but he pushes him away. "Go play, Malcolm."

"But Sir. . ."

"I said, go!" his father repeats, more harshly, and pushes him between the shoulderblades, hard, toward the pool.

He scans the water desperately, but can no longer see the orange and brown shadow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later, Malcolm sat cross-legged on his bed, head in hands, Wittgenstein forgotten beside him, and thought back to what the captain had said. T'Pol had barely said one word to him since she had given him the news, and Malcolm was beginning to wonder if she ever intended to speak to him again. His every attempt to engage her in conversation had been met with polite rebuff, which Malcolm was finding increasingly painful.

The more Malcolm thought about the captain's words, the more he realized that he did indeed want a relationship with T'Pol. He was surprised to discover just how deep his feelings ran. Without her his life seemed empty and meaningless.

Finally he huffed in frustration and ran his hand through his messy hair, remembering as he did so that he had missed another haircut appointment yesterday. The hair hanging in his eyes was beginning to irritate him, and he made up his mind to schedule another appointment with Ensign Schneider for the next day.

It occurred to him that the missed appointments were another indicator of how distracted he was. Ordinarily he was obsessively detailed and punctual, one trait that his father had managed to pass on to him.

"This is ridiculous," he said out loud to the unhearing walls. "I'm sitting here pining away and doing nothing about it. What have I got to lose? She'll either say no, in which case my situation won't have changed, or she'll say yes, in which case my situation will improve." He stood up from his desk chair and straightened his collar, brushing the hair back from his eyes again. "I'll do it."

The insensate walls made no response.

++

Malcolm made a quick stop by the botany lab on his way to T'Pol's quarters, and managed to talk Lieutenant Wallis out of some of his precious flowers. The man had insisted on giving him a detailed lecture on how to care for the flowers, which Malcolm only half-listened to while he thought through what he was going to say to T'Pol. Fortunately, Wallis didn't ask him what he planned to do with the flowers.

Once he reached her door, he straightened his collar again and ran his fingers through his hair to try to arrange the overgrown locks into some semblance of neatness. Finally he pushed the doorchime.

There was a longer than usual pause before the door slid open. T'Pol, dressed in soft flowing pants and a tanktop, stared at him wordlessly.

"T'Pol, may I come in?"

"Why are you here?"

"I--we--we need to talk--about--about--" he stammered, words deserting him just when he needed them most.

"Come in," she said coolly, stepping back from the door and allowing him to enter.

"I brought these for you." He held out the flowers, stupidly.

She took them and inspected them as if she didn't know what they were. "Why?"

"Because--because I miss you." The words tumbled out without any forethought or organization. "When we were stranded, we spent every waking moment together. And now I never see you. I just wanted to see you and--"

She continued to hold the flowers and stare at him. "Yes? You wanted to see me and--what?"

Malcolm took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. "Look, I've done a lot of thinking, and I've tried to think logically, and here is how I see the situation: You are going to need help with the baby. I'm willing to do whatever you want me to. The only way we are going to be able to stay together and raise this child is for us to--to--be together. In a long-term relationship."

"You are suggesting an intimate relationship."

"Y--yes, that's right. It's only logical."

Without responding, T'Pol crossed to the head, filled a glass with water, and began to arrange the flowers. After a moment, Malcolm followed her.

"I--I don't expect an answer right away. You can think about it for a while."

She silently continued her task.

Malcolm bit his lip. "I'll--I'll go. We can talk about this later." He turned to leave, but her soft voice pulled him back.

"I am not capable of loving you, not the way that you deserve." She spoke to the flowers, and did not look at him.

"T'Pol, I don't care. I just want you to be with me."

"Your father did not show love to you. You were hurt by that. I do not wish to hurt you as well."

"It won't hurt me. I won't allow it to. What you just said proves that you care about me. Please, T'Pol--T'Pol, please look at me."

She slowly turned her body in his direction, and after a moment her eyes came up to meet his. He held his breath until, with a tiny smile, she reached up and stroked the lock of hair back from his forehead.

"Is that a yes?"

Instead of answering, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his in a slow, gentle kiss; her fingers came up to entwine in the curls at the back of his neck. Deepening the kiss, he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her in against him. Her lips were soft and responsive against his, and he could feel the firm outline of her slim waist under his hand. He realized, not for the first time, that they were exactly the same height, so that they fit perfectly together.

Almost timidly, Malcolm slipped his hand into her hair and ran his fingers up to the graceful pointed tip of her ear. She moaned softly against his mouth and pressed her body in closer to his, her fingers tightening in his hair. Wow, thought Malcolm in amazement, I should have tried that before.

After a moment, not nearly long enough to Malcolm's mind, she broke the kiss and, with her fingers still entwined in his hair and his arm wrapped around her waist, she leaned away from him just enough to look into his eyes.

"My answer is yes," she said so solemnly that Malcolm couldn't help but chuckle. The tiny smile quirked her lips again, just for an instant, and then it was gone.

"I had deduced that already," he said, grinning and releasing her. His grin faded when he realized he hadn't actually asked her a question, and he had no idea exactly what she was saying yes to. "Er--Yes, what? What are you agreeing to?"

She turned back to her task of preparing the flowers. "I agree to re-enter a personal relationship with you. Or rather, begin such a relationship, as none existed before. I will not attempt to disrupt the mating bond between us."

Malcolm folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "What about getting married?"

"That is a human custom."

"You must have something similar on Vulcan."

"Yes. I am--not ready to make that step." She inserted the final stem in the makeshift vase and stepped around him to carry it to the desk. He followed.

"Then--what? Would you like to share quarters?"

She placed the flowers in the corner of her desk and looked around. "My quarters are not large enough for us both. Your quarters are smaller. Therefore it is logical for us each to keep our own residence."

"Oh . . . all right."

"We must inform others soon of the pregnancy. It will become obvious to all within a few weeks."

"Were you thinking of a ship-wide announcement?"

"That would be a misuse of Starfleet equipment."

"I was joking."

"I am aware of that fact."

"Hmm. I suppose the best way to make sure everyone knows would be to simply tell Commander Tucker and ask him to keep it a secret."

T'Pol turned her full attention on him suddenly. He took an involuntary half-step back at the intense expression on her face. "That is an unfair assessment. Commander Tucker is capable of keeping a secret."

"You sound like you have personal knowledge of that fact," he responded playfully.

"I do." T'Pol returned to the head to wash her hands.

"Oh?" As Malcolm followed her, his grin morphed into a frown. "What secrets do you have with Trip?"

"He inadvertently read a letter containing news of my impending wedding. He did not share the contents of the letter with anyone."

"I didn't know you were going to get married," Malcolm said in confusion.

"Exactly. Commander Tucker kept the information private, as I requested."

"Tell me more about this wedding."

"There was no wedding, obviously. We were betrothed as children. I broke off the engagement, partly due to Commander Tucker's advice."

"Ah," Malcolm said when it was clear she wasn't going to elaborate. "Well, I'll have to tell him thanks."

"I do not believe he gave his advice with you in mind."

Malcolm's grin returned. "We still have the same problem. How are we going to let people know about this situation?"

"The captain is already aware of the pregnancy. You may inform him that we have decided to resume our relationship."

"And Trip. I think I should tell Trip. He already knows about us."

"Very well. As for the rest of the crew, perhaps we should simply answer any questions as they are asked. My condition will become obvious as time progresses."

"What about--the future? Have you decided where you want to live, what you want to do?"

"I have not. It may be necessary for me to leave Enterprise."

"Yes, I've thought of that."

"If I left, would you join me?"

Malcolm sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. "That's a difficult decision. Enterprise is the only place I've ever felt accepted. I feel like the crew here are my true family, and I don't know what I would do if I had to leave."

She sat next to him on the bed, close but not touching. "Whatever decision we make will be painful."

"I know that. But I also know that I want to be with you, and if that's not on Enterprise, so be it."

She gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment, then took a deep breath. "To come with me or not is your decision. I wish you to make a decision which will lead to your happiness."

He looked into her eyes. "What will make me happy is to be with you."

T'Pol continued to gaze at him with the same pensive expression. Finally she gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "I must meditate, to clear my mind in order to reason logically through all the options. Would you like to join me?"

"Meditate with you?"

"Yes."

"I thought it was a solitary thing."

"Bondmates often meditate together."

Malcolm's grin returned. "Bondmates. I like the sound of that."

"Is that a yes?"

His grin widened, despite his efforts to force his face into a solemn expression. "My answer is yes."

T'Pol nodded slightly in acknowledgement and retrieved two pillows from the top of her closet. Malcolm took the one she offered him and sat on the floor, feeling a little self-conscious. She began to light the candles which were scattered throughout her quarters, and as Malcolm watched her his nervousness faded away.

"How often do you meditate?"

"Every day, morning and evening." She used a candle from a low table to light one on her desk.

"Oh." He watched her in silence for a moment. "What do you think the baby will look like?"

"It is impossible to predict."

"Maybe she'll have blue eyes, like mine."

"That is highly unlikely. Vulcan infants always have brown eyes, even at birth."

"But she won't be fully Vulcan."

"The Vulcan genes are likely to predominate. That has been the case with other Vulcan-alien hybrids."

"You make it sound like a lab experiment."

T'Pol paused in her work and turned her head to look at him. "I apologize," she said simply, and returned to her work.

Malcolm grinned. "I hope it's a girl," he said. "Young T'Pol. She'd look just like you."

"It is illogical to hope for one gender over another. The gender is already decided."

Malcolm sighed. "You've never read, 'A Farewell to Arms,' have you?"

"I have not. Is the situation similar?"

"In some ways, but in the book, the mother and the baby both--well, never mind. It's not that similar."

T'Pol lit the last candle, a tall pillar, and set it on the floor between them. "Why do you hope for a girl?" she asked as she settled herself onto her cushion.

"Girls are simpler."

"I see no basis for that statement." Her tone was mild, not reproving.

"Boys are too complicated. There are too many expectations for a boy."

"You are speaking from your own experiences."

"I suppose so. I don't want to end up treating my son the way--the way my father treated me."

"Your father treated you poorly." It was not a question, but a statement of fact. Malcolm stared at his hands.

"Did he injure you?"

"He didn't strike me--very often. It was mostly--intimidation, belittling, manipulation, constantly trying to control me."

"That is why you left your parents' home, when you were seventeen?"

Malcolm shook his head. "It wasn't entirely my choice. My father said--he told me to either join the Navy or leave his house and never come back. When I declined to join the Navy, I had no choice but to leave."

"From what I have seen, you are very different from your father. There is no reason to expect that you will parent your child in the same way you were parented."

"They say. . ."

She raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.

He shook his head. "It's not important. Show me how to meditate."

She nodded. "Focus your attention on the flame."

Malcolm fixed his eyes on the flickering flame and tried to maintain his attention on her voice. "Clear your mind," she said, but his mind was full of his father's face, stony and indifferent, and her soothing words were drowned out by his father's harsh voice reciting his failings.

++

Early the next morning, T'Pol was just toweling off her hair when the doorchime sounded. "Come," she called with a slight frown. She rarely had visitors to her quarters, and almost never early in the morning, when most of the others on Alpha shift were still sleeping.

The door slid open and Malcolm stood in the entryway with a tray in both hands and a book under his arm. His hair, T'Pol noticed, had been returned to its usual military cut. He hesitated in the doorway. "May I come in?"

T'Pol blinked at him and then quickly suppressed her expression of surprise. "Yes."

"I've brought you breakfast," he said unnecessarily, as she could plainly see that the tray he carried was laden with food. "It's the most important meal of the day, you know." He set the tray down on the desk and beamed at her.

"I am aware of the importance of breakfast." Despite herself, T'Pol wandered over to the tray and scanned the contents. Fresh fruit. Muffins. (her mouth began to water as she realized that she was indeed quite hungry.) Pancakes, which she had never tried. Something brown and sticky in a small bowl. "What is that?"

"Peanut butter. Would you like to try some?"

"Does one eat it with a spoon?"

He chuckled. "I suppose you could, but I usually spread it on my pancakes."

"I see," she said dubiously.

"Here, sit down. I'll fix some for you. Would you like some fruit? How about a pear?"

"That is acceptable. I will also try pancakes with peanut butter."

"Coming right up."

T'Pol sat primly on the bed and watched Malcolm work. The back of his neck was clean-shaven, and the skin there was whiter than the surrounding area, an artifact of the suntan he had received while they were stranded. T'Pol suppressed a tiny sigh and admitted to herself that she missed the curls. She wondered if his hair would still be soft to the touch, but decided that it most likely would not be, as it appeared he had used some sort of product that made the top stand up stiffly.

When he turned toward her, holding a plate brimming with food, T'Pol reluctantly tore her eyes from his hair. He handed her first a napkin, and then the plate gingerly. "Here we are. I hope you like it," he said with an anxious smile.

T'Pol cut herself a neat bite of pancakes and put it in her mouth. It was delicious. The slightly salty taste of the peanut butter combined quite well with the pancakes. "It is quite enjoyable," she said when her mouth was empty.

"Good." He fixed a plate for himself and sat down at the desk. He had spread the peanut butter more thickly on his own pancakes, T'Pol noticed, and now he dug into them with relish.

"I believe it is missing something, however," she said as she cut another, slightly larger bite. "Perhaps something sweet."

"Mmm," he said as he swallowed a mouthful of pancakes. "Sweet? Like what? Syrup?"

"Perhaps chocolate."

"Hmm. Maybe we can try that tomorrow."

"Do you intend to bring me breakfast every morning?"

"If you want me to."

The corner of T'Pol's lips curled up into a tiny smile. "That would be acceptable."

"And I thought--I thought perhaps we could meditate together as well. I found it quite--helpful."

"Indeed? You appeared uncomfortable."

"Well, maybe a bit awkward. But with practice. . . And I thought it might help me with--"

T'Pol raised her eyebrows and waited. When he didn't finish the sentence, she said, "Your nightmares."

He dropped his eyes. "I've been having them almost every night. Ever since the shuttle crash."

"I am aware of that fact, although I have been able to erect mental barriers to avoid sharing them with you."

"Sorry about that. But I didn't have one last night, so I thought perhaps the meditation helped."

He returned to his meal, and T'Pol watched him in silence for a moment. His hands were strong, yet he used them in surprisingly tender ways. She closed her eyes and remembered how they felt when she touched them for the first time. How his hands had smelled, the softness of his skin and hair. She realized for the first time how much she had missed his gentle touch and reassuring presence. "I would like to meditate with you," she said softly.

He turned around in his chair and grinned at her. "Really? I wouldn't want to cause any inconvenience."

"It is not an inconvenience. I will give you a code for my door so that you may come and go as you please."

The smile widened. "I'd like that."

"Shall we begin now? I have finished my meal."

"Certainly. Oh," he said, picking up the book he had carried in with him. "I thought you might like this book. It's by Wittgenstein, a human philosopher. It's mostly about logical frameworks for rational discussion."

T'Pol took the book and read the title, "The Blue and Brown Books. You have read this book?"

"Yes. Some of it I had trouble understanding, but I think I got most of it."

"I would like to read it. Perhaps you would enjoy reading this book." She took a copy of Surak's Meditations from the shelf and handed it to him. "This is an English translation."

"Thanks. I'll try it."

She handed him a cushion, and he laid the book on the corner of the desk and settled himself on the floor without any further direction from her. She began to light the candles, and when she turned back to him she found that he was watching her with a small smile.

"Why are you smiling?"

"I was thinking how you're going to look when you're nine months pregnant. You'll probably be one of those women who look like they have a bowling ball under their clothes."

"I am not concerned about my appearance."

"I know. I just think you'll look . . . beautiful, that's all."

T'Pol lit the final candle and seated herself on her cushion. She noticed that his face had reddened slightly. "Focus your attention on the flame," she said. His eyes dropped to the meditation candle, and T'Pol could sense him slowly relaxing. The tension she had felt in him during their previous session was gone now. "Clear your mind."

As she intoned the familiar words of the meditation ritual, T'Pol could feel some of her own tension drain away as well. A slight, almost imperceptible ray of hope appeared in her mind. Hope for the future.

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A/N: If you've read "Castaways," you know my philosophy. "There are no happy endings." So of course I'm not going to end it there. Next chapter should be up soon.

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