Chapter Four

It wasn't often one saw a Vulcan out of sorts. Indeed, it was almost an oxymoron. Nevertheless, to Jonathan Archer's eyes T'Pol was positively beside herself. He could see now, the vein in her temple, twitching in rhythm to her heartbeat. He was sure that if she'd spoken, strain would surely have been evident. Her jaw clenched, the muscle rippling a tattoo on her cheek.

"I hope the Minister was not overly distressed at my absence during your 'tour'?" T'Pol asked blandly, her voice was tightly controlled and her face a picture of concentration.

"The hell with the minister," Jon said brusquely, "Are you ok?"

"I am well" she responded, avoiding his eyes.

"Bull" he took her by the elbow in a gentle, but firm, escort and began to make his way to the small, secluded waterfront café. First, however they had to negotiate the crowds of the market. He steered her as far away from the main square as possible, they walked swiftly, ignoring hawkers and other market goers.

"Sir, Madam Vulcan, we are honoured" the matre'd bowed very low as they entered the cosy building. "A table for two?"

"Yeah" Jon acknowledged, "somewhere quiet, if you can"

"Of course," he bowed again, "This way please"

They followed him to a balcony, with a commanding view of the harbour and almost completely isolated from the casual café traffic. The waiter came and offered him the drink card. He barely glanced at it.

"Juice?"

"We have many different fruit and vegetable…"

"Tlak berry," Jon asked, having discovered the name of her favourite fruit while browsing in the farmer's markets fresh produce.

"Frozen or on the rocks?"

"Rocks, two of them please, and a plate of fresh fruit"

"Yes, sir, at once"

Jon studied T'Pol carefully after the waiter left. She'd fixed her eyes somewhere over the harbour and was breathing deeply and rhythmically. She turned her head to meet his eyes and sighed, audibly.

"Thank you"

"Anytime" he leaned back in his chair, relieved that for the moment at least she had regained her equilibrium, "You want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly"

"Ok" he loosened the zipper of his jumpsuit, warm from their quick trot through the market at high noon. The waiter returned swiftly with their drinks and the plate of fruit. T'Pol took hers and slowly but steadily drained the glass in one long swallow. Jon took hers, the ice rattling slightly and replaced it with his own, full, glass.

"I don't suppose you carry inaprovoline Captain?" she said softly, her hand trembling slightly as she lifted his glass for a small sip.

"Sorry"

"It is I who should apologize, I believe if you had not come when you did I would have dishonoured myself in a very public fashion" her eyes lost their focus again, turning inwards, "I cannot thank you enough"

"Your dignity is safe with me" he said lightly, "I won't tell, I promise"

"I did not anticipate that…" he voice trailed off, and her brow furrowed, "The situation was harder on my control than I could have foreseen. I fear the symptoms are progressing."

"I think that you found yourself in a very stressful situation and handled it very well" he didn't think he could have faced off a crowd of doctors and maintained his façade. 

"I am a daughter of T'Khasi," she exclaimed, violently, angrily, "I have an obligation to myself, to my family, to my very blood to follow the t'an s'at. My behaviour is abhorrent, I disgrace my name." 

In a flurry of robes, she got up from the table and walked over to the balcony rail. Her robes today were familiar, the same robe she wore when he met her in San Francisco. She was breathing heavily, shoulders sagging.

Suddenly she straightened. A moment later, he heard the slight step of the waiter on the balcony stair.

"Are you ready to order?" he asked.

"Yes," T'Pol replied unexpectedly, turning to face the young man with a perfectly bland expression, "I will have the cold dukrit soup, might I suggest the seafood medley Captain, I'm sure you would enjoy it."

"Sounds delightful" Jon agreed blindly, willing to agree to anything at this point, "and some rolls, Hoshi mentioned that they were fantastic"

"Yes sir, ma'am, we'll bring that out to you straight away" he smiled a slightly wicked, knowing smile, at the Captain, obviously thinking that they wanted him gone quickly because of a romantic assignation. Jon could care less.

"T'Pol" this time when she looked at him, she was about ready to cry. Her eyes looked suspiciously moist and she'd bit her lip to keep it from trembling. "Hey, c'mere."

He stood and walked over to her. He placed his big hands on her slight shoulders and said calmly, "Breathe. In and out. Slowly. Remember c'thia. Concentrate. Think arie'mnu"

He inhaled and exhaled with her, silently thanking his lucky stars that the past afternoon had given him a working knowledge of Vulcan philosophy. C'thia was their all-consuming concept of logic, Arie'mnu the long process of emotion mastery. He wasn't quite sure what t'an s'at meant, but he got the jist of what she intended, she was ashamed of her weakness.    

It took a long while. She stood in front of him and breathed. Then unexpectedly, her hands came up. She placed hers over his and pulled them off her shoulders gently.

"I have no right to ask this of you…" she began.

"Ask"

"May I borrow your strength for a moment? I cannot maintain my shielding unaided any longer and…I do not desire the entire planet to know of this distress." from the look on her face it wasn't like she was talking about leaning on him physically. She meant to lean on his strength telepathically.

"Sure" he agreed before he thought to deeply about it. He trusted her. He had to. 

She placed her hand palm to palm with his and breathed deeply. He suddenly felt the slight prickling sensation that he felt when he thought someone was watching him. Then gradually it increased until it felt like someone was steadily pouring sand down his back. It increased again until he felt itchy all over, as if he'd run into the ocean and then rolled in the sand, letting it cling to his skin.

Slowly the feeling faded. Like someone was taking a cup of water and tossing it on him randomly until there was no more sand. She breathed more deeply and opened her eyes to look at him.

Nemaiyo 

She did not open her mouth be he felt the words reverberate in his head as though he was covering his ears and humming.

"You're welcome" he responded verbally. She let go of his hand.

They sat at the table again. T'Pol silently attacked the plate of fruit, giving her hands something to do but twist in the folds of her robe. Shortly, they heard the quick step of the waiter on the stair.

"Sir, Madam" he served the bowls of soup, T'Pol's looked very much like the Terran tomato soup, sprinkled with melted cheese, and Jon's resembled a thick rich, bouillabaisse. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Jon realized suddenly that she was probably mortified tremendously that he had been the one to witness her lapse.

"T'Pol?" he queried, at her slight flush of green and downcast eyes he realized he was right, "T'Pol, look at me." When she'd complied, he continued, "I'm not a Vulcan T'Pol.  I'm human. I don't think emotions are shameful. I'm not going to hold it against you that you're having problems controlling this. It's a disease. It's as impartial as logic. If anything I respect you more for the way you're handling it."

"It is not the Vulcan way to be this…open in front of outlanders." She looked at him with a brooding expression, "But I am a long way from Vulcan…and to be perfectly honest, I am something of a pariah."

"Because you've chosen Enterprise," Jon said with a bit of guilt, "I'm sorry."

"It was my choice to make" she defended, getting some of her old spirit back, "But it is…difficult to be disdained by my family and colleagues."

"You aren't distained," he said forcefully, "You have eighty three colleagues and family members who'd stand up for you in front of the High Command and Starfleet both. We might just be human, but once you got our loyalty, it's stubborn. I know you've given up a lot to stay here with me…and Enterprise;" he added hastily, "allow us a chance to give back. It's called friendship. I'd like to think we are."

"Friends?" she asked.

"Yeah, friends," he put his spoon down, trying to make her understand, "I know that you're Vulcan and I know that our definition of friendship isn't exactly the Vulcan way, but…T'Pol, at the risk of sounding like a pig, you're our Sub-Commander."

She frowned, he could tell she wasn't quite getting the message he was trying desperately to convey, "Just…try us, ok? I know that control is everything to you. I'm not asking you to compromise your principles, just…I don't know." He sounded, frustrated, "You can lean on us T'Pol. Trust us. Open up a bit. Help us help you."

"I will…I will consider it," she sounded serious, "Thank you Captain."

"Jon" he smiled, toasting her with his spoon.  He stirred his swiftly cooling soup, "So…what are we up to this afternoon?"

Hoping that she wouldn't notice his casual inclusion of her into his plan for the evening, he grinned and mimicked her usual arched eyebrow. She raised both of hers in evident surprise.

"I am to return to the Institute after lunch, I assume that we will be quite busy for the duration." She returned to her lunch as well, spearing a slice of a fleshy tropical fruit and chewing thoughtfully, "We've made admirable progress."

"You're going back?" he asked, somewhat shocked. After what had happened this morning, he did not think she would want to spend another hour near the place. 

"I am" she replied, squaring her shoulders defiantly, "I will not allow emotion interfere with my obligations. Moreover," she almost sounded playful, "I have friends to lean on, do I not?" 

He laughed incredulously, "Yeah, you do" shaking his head in amazement, "And you got more courage than any dozen grown men I could name. I sure as hell wouldn't go back in there."

"I am not the only one who is suffering from this," T'Pol reminded him, "If there is anything that I can do to find a cure I will do it. I have that obligation."

"So let me pick you up for dinner," he offered, "it won't be the Captain's mess, but I'm sure I could find something suitable."

"Are you flirting with me?" she asked.

He was completely stunned, but in a moment's retrospect, he realized that emotionless she might endeavour to be, but she was not lacking feeling. Caught unexpectedly he answered with the blunt truth.

"Yes"

She opened her mouth to answer then suddenly shut it with a snap. She held up her hand to quell his immediate reaction. Her eyes shuttered and for a moment, it looked like she'd dropped into silent meditation.

"What is it?" he asked, heedless of her desire for quiet.

"kae'at knal'lur" she murmured, "Eavesdropping"

She got up, and slowly followed what he assumed was some kind of mental ion trail. Down the stairs. Across the floor of the café. She paused at the waiter's station, but then continued out onto the decking, underneath the balcony they'd been eating on. Right over to the corner table, with two elderly looking Betazeds and the presumptuous waiter that had served them the soup. 

She tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around, shocked. She raised a brow, and then said in clear, ringing tone, "It takes a more subtle psyche then yours to slink into a Vulcan consciousness."

The flurry of activity after that statement would have been amusing if it hadn't been quite so serious. The poor manager seemed overcome with humiliation. Apologies were so profuse they'd been offered everything down to the kitchen sink as an appeal for forgiveness.

All T'Pol asked for was the privilege of returning later that night for dinner. They'd acquiesced so easily it was almost painful. Outwardly, nonplussed T'Pol didn't make a fuss of the incident, and begged off a formal report to the authorities en route for a return to the Institute.

"How much do you think he heard?" asked Jon worriedly, while he walked T'Pol back to the medical building.

"Nothing inappropriate, I assure you," she accepted his escort willingly this time, instead of him almost dragging her across the market square. "As I said, it would take a much more subtle mind than his to escape my notice. He was just curious, not very clever, but curious." 

Jon frowned, "I don't like the idea of eavesdropping like that. If you hadn't been there I would have never known anything was wrong."

"One of the normal hazards of dealing with a telepathic society," T'Pol observed, as they approached the Neurological laboratory, "You will pick me up for dinner?"

"Of course," he smiled, "Seven alright?"

"Perfectly" she left his side and squared her shoulders at the building. Without looking back, she walked purposefully up the stairs and out of sight.