Two Steps Back

by darrah

Twilight ends, Archer wakes up to his old reality, his memory intact but fractured, his life at a crossroads, his ship and world threatened, and his friendships strained

5. Chapter 5: Night of the Scorpion

TWO STEPS BACK - CHAPTER 5/5

AUTHOR: darrah

SPOILERS: Carpenter Street; Twilight; Anomaly; Similitude; The Expanse; Stigma; Impulse.

RECOMMENDATION: It might help if you read the first four chapters of this story.

SUMMARY: This is an experiment in speculation. After "Twilight" ends, Archer wakes up in Sickbay to his old reality, his memory fractured, his life at a crossroads, his ship and world threatened, and his friendships strained. As the weeks pass in the expanse, he realizes two things – his center of gravity has shifted from his self to another; and that the phrase "tomorrow is another day" is a sop for the weak. DISCLAIMER: Not mine, I only play with them.

ARCHIVE: Please keep headers intact and ask beforehand.

RATING: PG-13 for this chapter.

FEEDBACK: A/T'P, some T/T'P

A/N: The chapter title has been filched from Nissim Ezekiel's famous poem of the same name.

---

Chapter Five: Night of the Scorpion

---

You pick up a little dynamite

I'm gonna pick up a little gun

And together we're gonna go out tonight

and make that highway run...

Rosie you're the one...

From Rosalita (Come Out Tonight); Bruce Springsteen; the Wild, The Innocent, The E Street Shuffle.

---

Trip Tucker was jarred out of a restless sleep by an insistent buzzing in his ear. He felt a moment of extreme panic before checking the clock at the head of his bed.

0633 hours.

He wasn't due in Engineering before 0800. He scrambled out of bed and answered the comm., and was greeted by the Captain.

"Trip, sorry if I woke you."

Hmm. Something was up. There was a note of urgency in the Captain's voice, he thought.

"It's okay, sir. Is something wrong?"

"Nope. But I need you to meet me in my quarters as soon as you can. We'll talk when you get here."

For a few seconds, Trip thought he could hear a note of enthusiasm, maybe even excitement, in his old friend's voice. He found himself becoming curious. What was it all about? It had to be ship's business, of course. What else?

Ever since his accident, subsequent rehabilitation and well… the Sim situation, it seemed to him that the Captain had done his best to avoid his Chief Engineer's company. Well, more or less. They did exchange work-related information every day. Only, now, Trip went up to the Bridge for his daily report instead of the Captain coming down to Engineering. Gone were the days when they would meet for an impromptu coffee in the Galley or a quiet nightcap or have a rambunctious breakfast first thing in the morning. He didn't even remember when they'd had their last dinner together.

And it wasn't just them. Everybody else seemed to be in on it, too. Hoshi, Travis, even T'Pol. No one, but no one, mentioned Sim in front of him or the Captain. He could swear at times that this whole crew was slip-proof where that... that... clone of his was concerned. Oh there had been one or two slips. Amanda had blurted something out the other day. Something about Sim having exactly the same color eyes as him. When he'd asked her if she had liked Sim, she'd nodded and smiled but refused to say anything more. He'd felt incredibly frustrated. He hated mysteries. And this was much more than a mystery to him. He had so many questions, not the least of which was what had it really been like for this... this... man?

And he had a tank-full of questions for the Captain. Suffice it to say that those looked like they'd go unanswered, at least, in his lifetime.

Even Malcolm tiptoed around him. Well, him and the Captain. It was like everybody knew their dirty little secret, everybody was in on the stuff; they must all have talked about it ad nauseam while it was happening. He could understand why. It must have been a crazy situation. And people need to talk about crazy situations. Everyone needs an outlet: a way to let off steam, to air grievances with each other, about each other...

... Everyone except the Captain... and his Chief Engineer... his "old friend".

Sheesh.

There were days that Trip wanted dearly to barge into the Ready Room or maybe corner Jon in his quarters one night, get him stone drunk and in a headlock (like he did when the two of them used to wrestle in the gym – now it all seemed like a lifetime ago) and demand to know what the hell had the Captain been thinking when he did what he did to Sim.

But he never did.

Heck maybe he just didn't have the guts to confront the man who'd, at the expense of everything and everyone else, saved his sweet ass from oblivion. Maybe he was a coward. Maybe he just wasn't ready for that conversation yet.

And maybe the Captain wasn't either.

Of course, nowadays, Trip spent most of his days with either Malcolm or the MACO team. For one thing, they were definitely more fun to be around. And god only knew he needed some respite in his life right now. Things were definitely getting a bit weird. What with eighty-three people cooped up in the ship trying to figure out how to make the best of a bad situation, the Captain pretty much unavailable and the First Officer definitely not open to morale-boosting protocols...

Oh well, at least he and T'Pol seemed to have connected through the neuropressure sessions. Although they had not had a session since his recuperation, T'Pol had contacted him the day before and scheduled a session for the coming night. And he had to admit that he was looking forward to it. Sleep – true, restful sleep – still eluded him. And the sessions had gotten a little easier to handle, mostly because the awkwardness between them had lessened somewhat. Though T'Pol still seemed very matter-of-fact... maybe even aloof... he was sure that she was gradually warming up to their physical closeness during the sessions.

Well, he sure was "warmed up". There'd been times when he...

Anyway, it did help though that they talked about work and caught up on daily ship's business, as well. It took the edge off for him. But he was pretty sure that if it had been anybody else... anybody Human... things would have progressed to something a lot less professional by now...

Yeah it was a good thing she was a Vulcan.

Or was it?

Ah hell!

Trip raced through a military shower, dressed, and made a quick trip to the Galley to pick up two cups of coffee with cream, a cheese croissant and a blueberry muffin. Jon liked these croissants. Maybe they'd help break the ice.

Then again… maybe not.

As he walked along the corridor, he realized that this was the first time in a long time he was headed for Jon's quarters. The problem was, he had no idea whether this was a good thing, or bad.

He pressed the chime. It took a little while for the Captain to key open the door, and the sight that greeted Trip dropped his jaw. Jonathan Archer was wearing faded blue jeans, a gray-blue knit tee shirt and a heavy windbreaker.

"Nice duds, Cap'n..." Trip couldn't help but grin. But his smile faltered when it was met with the same dour face that he had gotten used to from around two weeks after they had entered the Expanse.

Of course, so what else is new, he thought. He decided to let it go, yet again. No point, right now.

Archer accepted the coffee with muttered thanks and took a long sip. Trip backed up and stood by the doorway, noticing little things. The room was a little... untidy. Not that Jon was a neat freak, but he wasn't messy either.

Hmm...

"So... what's up?" Trip held up the wrapped goodies. "I got you a croissant. Thought maybe we could have an impromptu breakfast right here. We haven't done that in a while..."

"Oh, thanks Trip, but T'Pol and I've already had breakfast."

T'Pol and...?

Together? Hmm...

"Trip, we're going to Detroit—"

"—We are?"

Archer held up his right hand.

"T'Pol and I... we're going to Detroit, Michigan."

Huh!

"I'll explain while we walk to the Command Center. Daniels paid me a visit last night."

"Oh... what for?"

Archer picked up something from his desk and pocketed it. It looked like some sort of handheld device. Trip was bursting with questions.

Why T'Pol? Why not him? Why not Malcolm?

"—Hold on! Just how in the heck are you getting there—oh time travel, I get it!" Boy he was a little slow today huh!

There was a little quirk at the side of Jon's mouth as he glanced at Trip while they stepped out of his quarters. But he didn't say anything. Before, Trip knew Jon would have never let the chance go to pull his leg. Things had changed, huh? They really had.

The hatch slid shut behind them and they started to walk.

"Daniels says that three Xindi life signs have been found in Detroit around 2004—"

"—Shit! Messin' around?"

Archer gave him a long, meaningful glance.

Trip nodded.

"Hmm. Okay so he wants you to go after them? But how! And why the heck doesn't he take care of it himself?"

Archer kept walking, not breaking stride.

"He thinks this is the only way. He's gotta have clearance to do everything. To contact me, even. For him to get clearance to do this would probably be next to impossible—"

"—uh huh, I'll bet."

Trip sneaked a glance sideways. No reaction.

Hmm... Jon had a serious blind spot where this Daniels guy was concerned. Trip knew T'Pol thought so too. Oh well, no time right now to pursue that. Maybe she would while they were there; though he doubted that.

He tried out another question.

"So... what happens in the Command Center?"

"I don't know, but he asked me to meet him there. It's probably some kind of meeting point for us. We'll have to wait and see. "

"Last time Daniels sent you to another century, you had one hell of a time getting back."

Archer had taken out the device and was holding it open.

"He gave me this. Said he'd return us whenever we signaled him. These are temporal tags. We can use them to bring back anything that doesn't belong there."

Uhhh… Okaaaay... right. Hey, maybe his Starship Chief Engineer's brain was too puny and sleep-befuddled to comprehend anything just yet.

They rounded the corner to the Command Center.

"If anybody asks where you went, what should I tell them? With both shuttle pods in the bay, it'll probably be hard to explain."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw T'Pol exit out of the elevator on the far side of the corridor and walk toward them. Trip did a double take.

Ooooh mama! Snazzy outfit!

Hmm... wait a sec... are we sure this isn't some kinda elaborate hot date these two've cooked up? Trip felt a snigger gurgling up his throat. She did look good in leather. Geez... she looked... mighty doggone hot!

Oh man! Was this top secret or could he go tell Malcolm about this?

Turning back, he saw Jon looking at T'Pol. Hmm... so he wasn't exactly immune to some things yet, huh! And it hadn't escaped Trip that T'Pol's eyes hadn't left the Captain's face since leaving the elevator.

Geez... you two... how 'bout gettin' a room in good ole Detroit—

Then the Captain looked back at Trip, his face as dour as always.

Uh huh. Yeah. Okaaaay.

Jon's voice was monotone. "I'm sure you'll think of something. Try to stay out of trouble."

Was that a little smile? Nah.

"You, too."

Trip sighed and stole a quick glance at T'Pol. He thought he'd seen her glance at him a second ago. But her face was now turned away and she was already inching toward the hatch of the Command Center.

Oh well.

He hoped she'd be okay. And that nothing happened to her... to either of them. This whole mission was turning out to be a laugh a minute. Seriously.

"Here's the duty roster."

Trip accepted the PADD and looked at it.

Sure thing, Cap'n... I'll mind the store for ya, he added silently.

Yeah. And boy, some people have all the fun around here! Wait a second... he berated himself. I think I need another cup of coffee. I'm delirious. Fun was probably the last thing on Jon's mind right now.

He wondered idly what Detroit must have been like back then. Dark and scary, probably – with crazy fuel prices and crazier gang wars everywhere. But great music. For the third time in the past half hour he wished Jon had taken him. T'Pol'd be like a babe in the woods in that place...

Oh well, too late, they'd already entered the Command Center. So what happens next?

Oh shit, he'd forgotten to ask T'Pol about tonight. But they were coming back tonight, right...?

Hmm... this duty roster was all screwed up...

Actually, despite everything, Archer found that he was enjoying himself. After all, he was on Earth, 21st century, with an attractive woman on his arm. Well, so to speak. Still, this was like a fantasy come true. He had always wondered about Earth during this time and he was damned if he was going to let his wonder be buried completely under his mission. So he did look around, albeit carefully, just enough not to broadcast his enthusiasm. A tiny, wayward voice deep in the manic parts of his brain kept saying, too bad the Xindi hadn't shown up in Las Vegas, or New Orleans. Heck, New York would have been nice. Truth be told, he'd sort of jumped at the chance to show T'Pol an American city during this era; but with people bustling about and the stores open.

The 21st century American Metropolis would be a sight to behold, he'd bet.

T'Pol, as always, was not easy to fool.

They were walking down a street looking for a vehicle to snag, and he was glancing around, his heart in his throat. He could barely contain his excitement.

His eyes probably gave him away.

"Captain, would you like to visit any specific locations or would you rather we complete our mission?"

Busted.

She had asked with her usual stoicism and he declined without fanfare. No time. And no cash either. Besides, this was serious business.

But he said, "T'Pol, did you know that Detroit is still known as Motor City or Motown? Aside from the fantastic music, they've got autos coming out of their ears around this time, almost two cars to each person. This is the original home of the American automobile!"

He couldn't help it. It was too damned heady.

"Then I assume that the vehicle we borrow will not be missed by its owner; he or she can simply drive the other vehicle until we are ready to return the one we use." He had to smirk at that. Her deadpan was the best yet. Did T'Pol know she did dry humor like no one else? And she was really getting a handle on Standard English slang. Must be the proximity to Trip, he figured.

The thought sobered him somehow.

They secured an automobile and some US currency from a cash machine. Then they fuelled up and drove around the city a bit, casing it.

At night, it looked like any other big city in his century. Archer marveled that things on the surface hadn't really changed. The transformation in his world had been more fundamental, less cosmetic.

Earth at this time was disaster-oriented, fractious, imploding unto itself. Earth during his time was united, at peace; besieged not from within, but without.

He felt the touch of ice particles on his back, again.

At some point during the night, they'd discussed and decided against getting a place to stay in Detroit. It was only going to be for one night anyway. They could spend it in the car, if necessary. Besides, it would save some of the... borrowed cash. T'Pol had almost made him smile in her desire to give it back. He decided he would ask her, if ever he got a chance, exactly how and where did she intend to place it in her quest to return it.

However, in case they needed another day, they'd checked out a seedy-looking motel – the less attention drawn to themselves the better. Although thanks to T'Pol's attire (a voice inside him wondered what she must have done to awaken Lt. Bellamy so early that morning to land such an outfit from the quartermaster's stash) and striking looks, he had already noticed a couple of men staring at her as they had walked into the foyer. T'Pol had actually stopped and looked back at them when they whistled. Archer had had to drag her away by her arm. Her body had stiffened and her eyes were shooting Vulcan daggers at the men. They were, of course, in hog heaven. Archer hadn't known whether to laugh or cry at their expressions as well as the look on his first officer's face.

Thankfully, they'd escaped the motel without incident.

They found Loomis around midnight.

T'Pol had found three Xindi bio signs in a dilapidated structure on Carpenter Street and they had driven to a corner of the building, gotten out and skulked around. They detected the neutronic power signature as well. Yup, this was the place. They were wondering about the easiest way to sneak in (there was an electronic locking mechanism at the gate) when a car approached the gate.

"Loomis," the man yelled into the microphone and the gate whirred open.

They ran back to their car and turned off the lights and waited for the man to come back out. The best way would be to intercept him.

"Do you think that this Human is aiding them in this endeavor?" Did he hear some concern in her voice?

"Could be," he said.

They waited about ten minutes. It was getting a bit nippy outside. Even inside. Archer thought about turning the heating system on in the car. He might have to start the engine to do that. He wasn't sure. He looked around at T'Pol. She was sitting with her hands folded, her shoulders a little hunched. She looked uncomfortable.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No, I am quite comfortable."

Hmm. I don't think so, he thought. She was a Vulcan, she ought to be feeling the nippiness of the Detroit night. He wondered if he should turn the engine back on. No, it was safer this way. Less chance of detection. Plus heaven only knew what sort of law was in place about engine emissions in this era. Probably not a lot.

Well, a few minutes couldn't hurt. He started the engine and turned on the heating. He'd wait until they both warmed up and then shut it off again.

"You know, I still cannot believe that Daniels actually found Xindi here, at this time, in this part of Earth."

T'Pol just looked at him. In silence.

"What?" He knew her face well enough by now to know when she was brimming with questions. And comments.

"What is it? Tell me. Ask me, T'Pol." He knew he had to coax her a little. When was the last time they had talked? Really talked... like old times?

Oh T'Pol, will we ever be able to go back? Do you even want to?

Aloud, he said. "So you think this is a wild goose chase, huh?"

"I do not think any such thing."

So she had been spending time with Trip. She got the goose reference.

He shook his head.

"So tell me what you really think about Daniels."

"I believe you are entirely too trusting of this man."

Hmm. Trust her to cut right to the chase.

"You may be right. You know, he told me that this whole thing with the Xindi is not yet known in the 30th century..."

At that, she turned and looked at him, the slanted lines of her eyebrows almost touching the fringe on her forehead. Her face was... she looked surprised, even startled.

Suddenly, he felt an irrational touch of protectiveness. Something about the set of her shoulders invited his arms to curl around them.

Careful there, you.

He shrugged. "Something about the ripples taking time to reach the future..." he finished, lamely. He felt like cringing at her expression. He shook his head. He should have known better than to say something like that to a scientist.

"I thought you said he was from the 31st century?" Her voice was low but sharp.

Huh?

"Oh sorry." He touched a finger to his temple and shook his head. "My mistake... 31st century. Right, he's from the 31st century."

Hmm. Poor Daniels seemed destined never to gain credence in his science officer's eyes.

"Well... I brought you here, didn't I? I mean," he amended. "Daniels did. Do you still believe this... this city..." he swept his hand outward toward the glass shielding them from the outside air at the front of the car, "...is some kind of an elaborate hoax on his part? A joke?"

She glanced, sideways, at his hand – now back on the steering wheel. Then she looked away.

"I am only cautioning you. We have no way of knowing whether this is actually Detroit in the 21st century or not. It could all be completely untrue."

Archer sighed and shut off the engine. They sat in silence for another few minutes. The car was cooling down again, but the interior was still nice and toasty. He felt a sense of home. Of course, his own home was several hundred miles and two centuries away. And yet...

Suddenly, the electronic gate whirred. The man was back. T'Pol looked up.

"Here he comes," Archer whispered.

They watched as Loomis drove off, then he started the car and backed out.

Yep. This was the only way. And he prayed that this would not be a wild goose chase after all.

The other car gained momentum as it cruised down a side street, then turned into the up ramp of a two-lane highway. Archer had by now pretty much mastered the art of driving this vehicle. It was pretty fast on the uptake and seemed solid. The steering mechanism was a little loose, almost as if somebody had abused it recently. His own personal vehicle back in 22nd century San Francisco was far more advanced than this, but he had to admit there was a certain devil-may-care attitude involved in driving these things. They were unpredictable and could 'act up", he could tell. But he loved the feel of it under his hands and feet.

He could get used to this. It was liberating… exhilarating, almost.

As to the unpredictability... he knew T'Pol had her eyes peeled on the board in front of them should it betray signs of any potential mishaps.

Turning into the highway, he quickly found the other car and stepped on the speed pedal. It was cruising at about seventy miles an hour. He glanced over at T'Pol.

"Want to drive?"

She looked at him sharply.

"Now?"

He shook his head.

"No. But... whenever." He shrugged. "If you want to, I'm game. Just ask."

She looked out the window at her side. "I don't believe so. You are doing an adequate job of it. I do not wish to drive this vehicle."

"Okay."

He wondered, idly, what sort of driver T'Pol would be. Would she be a speed demon? A road hog? Or cautious and careful?

Hmm... probably the latter.

"Think he is going home?" He asked.

"It's possible. One can't be sure. However, it is very late at night."

"Well, we'll just have to follow him wherever he goes and nab him at some point."

"Agreed."

By now, the road had widened out to three lanes on each side of the divider in the middle. Loomis (if that was his name) was in the left lane and Archer was in the middle, passing cars as necessary, in order to keep up. He didn't want to follow too closely in the same lane and get extra attention from the driver. God only knew if the guy was packing heat, as they said around these parts.

No, he had to be careful. Extra careful.

He looked over at T'Pol. She was watching the front board. At his glance, she looked back at him for a moment then looked away. He turned his attention back on the road, and cleared his throat.

"T'Pol..." he said.

Spit it out, man. There won't be any better time. At least, get it over with. He kept his eyes on the road. He could feel her eyes on his face. She was silent, waiting.

"I am sorry... for the other day..."

Silence reigned for a few seconds. He knew she was looking at him still.

Ah hell! This was too damned difficult.

He took a deep breath.

"...In my Ready Room... I... don't know what came over me... I—"

"—Captain..."

He glanced at her. Her eyes were on his face and her hands were clenched, not just folded, on her lap. He felt his breath catch a bit. He lifted his right hand for a moment to forestall her.

"No, please. Let me finish. I need to say some things to you, T'Pol. And god knows I can't say them on that ship."

She fell silent and looked out of her window to the darkness outside.

He looked at the road in front and took another breath.

Easy, Archer. Take it slowly.

At least she can't run out of the room after I dismiss her, he thought. A bubble of crazy laughter gurgled up from his stomach and got stuck in his throat. Somehow he didn't feel like laughing right now. Heck, he hadn't felt like laughing in a long time.

"I wanted to apologize for that day. I was tired, I was angry and I was not thinking straight. The whole procedure with... Sim... was driving me insane. I just... I don't know what came over me... I did not want you to think... that I was making a... an advance toward you... I didn't want to..." He shook his head. "I wanted to ask if I had hurt you in any way. Did I..." he swallowed. "Did I hurt you, T'Pol? Did I bruise your arm?"

"No." The word was said softly. So softly that he had to strain to hear it.

He looked back at her. She was staring straight ahead, through the front glass. Her face seemed pale. He thought he had seen her – out of the corner of his eye – bite her lip. But he couldn't be sure.

Hmm. This wasn't going well. Did she even understand what he was trying to tell her? What did she mean? "No"? What was she saying? Was he forgiven?

A small voice inside him kept saying: And what should she forgive you for? It wasn't as if you did kiss her, you idiot.

Another voice said: But you wanted to. And that's all that matters.

He frowned and looked back at the road. Loomis seemed to be slowing down a little. Suddenly, he changed lanes from the left to the middle, then further to the right. Archer slowed down as well and followed at a distance, concentrating on the maneuvers of the other car. They turned into the exit ramp and followed it as it winded to the right, then narrowed to a two lane street, one going their way, the other coming from the opposite direction. Archer had to concentrate, mostly because it was dark and unfamiliar and he didn't want to lose Loomis.

Loomis sped through two traffic lights that were still red, forcing Archer to do the same. Damn! Fortunately, the street was deserted, no law enforcement in sight. Then Loomis made a sharp right into a side lane and went up a short hill before pulling up by the side of a small truck and backing into the empty spot behind it. Archer turned as well, but slowed down and stayed at a distance, looking for some sort of area to park his vehicle. As the car rolled forward a few meters, he found an empty space between two cars and braked, wondering whether it was a good place. This didn't seem like the poshest neighborhood to him; far from it, in fact. The buildings looked old and ill-maintained, with yawning holes for windows and peeling paint.

"I believe we can insert the vehicle between these two cars," T'Pol's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Mmm..." he said and began to mimic the movements of the other driver, who, by now, was out of his car and headed across the street. Archer stopped the car in mid-turn and peered at the man. Should they let him out of their sight?

T'Pol opened her door a fraction.

"I will find out where he is going," she said.

Archer looked at her.

"Be careful. Don't do anything right now, all right? Come back and tell me whether all is clear. If it's his own place, let's give him some time to settle in. I'll watch this street and his car." Archer leaned forward. "Oh, and T'Pol...?"

"Yes?"

"His name is Loomis. L-O-O-M-I-S. Or maybe with a 'U'."

A slight pause, then the passenger door slammed shut.

Archer winced. She knew that, of course.

Great!

Great going, Jonathan!

Talk about messing up royally; Wonderful apology and downright condescension. Now she is pissed at you even more. Now she doesn't even want to look you in the eye, much less talk to you.

He felt awful. On top of everything else that wasn't going well, he had messed this relationship up, totally and irrevocably, it seemed.

Then again, maybe he was overreacting. Overreacting to everything and everyone seemed to have become a habit with him these days. For all he knew, she was perfectly fine. Maybe she was just being quiet. Maybe she wasn't upset with any of this. After all, she was T'Pol – a Vulcan. Bred to Peace, as they said.

Maybe he was needlessly concerned.

Maybe she didn't care.

He wished he could, like in the old days, get a hold of her shoulders and look her in the eye and ask her what was wrong. Was anything wrong? Because somewhere deep inside him, he knew something was not quite right between them. He couldn't pinpoint it, but the feeling remained.

Archer parked the car, turned off the external lights and sat back, fidgeting. Should he go after her? Nah. She'll probably think I don't trust her.

Heck she thinks I don't trust her anyway. He had no idea what she really thought. The most awful thing was how different she was in those dreams. There, she was tender, gentle, and she looked long and deep into his eyes. They... she... felt so real. But he didn't remember the details once he woke up, only snatches. More bits and pieces came to him during waking hours, especially when he was with her. T'Pol bending over him, her hands on his forehead, her face bathed in... tears? The two of them squatting together on fresh cut grass... laughing... hammering away at pinewood... T'Pol with an apron tied around her slim waist, making his favorite breakfast... Eggs Benedict, orange juice, coffee...

And then there were the rumors. He had no idea what to do with them. Was she... was she sleeping with Trip? He had no idea what in god's name was happening between them. And maybe he didn't wanna know. When they'd all met up in front of the Command Center a few hours ago, he hadn't detected anything out of the ordinary between them, but maybe it was just him; he was preoccupied anyway, these days. Maybe everybody else knew already.

A part of him wanted dearly to ask Phlox, or even Hoshi. He could not – would not – ask Trip, partly because he cringed at the thought of that conversation. And partly because he could tell that Trip blamed him somehow for Sim...

Didn't they all though? Didn't she?

But what else could he have done?

And now, after that scene in the Ready Room, it seemed he had lost her, as well. As a friend. As a confidante. As... T'Pol; and this after all that they had been through in the last few years.

It didn't matter though. It shouldn't matter. Nothing should matter to him now except... this planet.

He took a deep breath.

This planet. His planet. His beautiful, bountiful, much-abused Mother Earth. What had she done to deserve the devastation the Xindi caused? What had her people done to deserve being annihilated like this? The very thought made him shiver with revulsion and anger. Unmitigated anger. Anger that stiffened his spine with resolve and some sort of... sick vengeance. The feeling curdled all the faith he had mustered into some kind of a bitter, pungent concoction that left a sour taste in his mouth... faith that had become a hideous Mr. Hyde of itself... bent on destruction and redress.

Yes, that was what he had become: Mr. Hyde.

So why would she, Archer? Why would she want to be your friend... your... anything? You're letting everything, and everyone, get the better of you. You thought you were stronger than this. But now the weight of the world is crushing you and you are pretty damned much letting it!

It was too hard to fight back though. He could fight tangible, graspable foes. But he could not fight demons when they came to him at night, in stealth and darkness.

And now he felt weak and tired. Spent.

Just a few more miles before I sleep... okay now… just stop being so pathetically dramatic – he told himself.

He rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment, looking up from time to time at Loomis' car.

Have I really changed that much? Seriously, have I?

Yes, but maybe it is time I did change. Maybe I have no other recourse. This is the price I have to pay for getting what I have always wanted: the command of my father's engine and permission to explore the universe.

He heard himself laugh. A short, bitter, humorless bark of a sound.

As he sat there – listening to the hum of the crickets in the woods beyond, the distant whirring of highway traffic, the cool city night enveloping him in some sort of memory cocoon – Jonathan Archer allowed a single, insane idea to enter and leave his head for one mad, unbelievable moment:

What if they truly got away... got lost here? In this city, or in New York, or say... even Tibet, or Timbuktoo? Should they, could they? Just the two of them? Alone, lost without a trace – some place, somewhere no one could find them.

Then all his dreams could come true...

And for that one moment, imagining that life, he felt free. Emptied of all responsibility, all duties, all priorities. For that one moment, he felt happy, sane, complete.

Maybe he really was going crazy. Maybe it was high time for that physical with Phlox.

Besides, he seriously doubted if that would be how she felt. He thought not. Heck, she could not even look him in the eye anymore. He'd have to kidnap her to have her be with him!

Sheesh, he was getting to be the king of black humor these days!

No, there was no other way for them. Dreams are subconscious yearnings, not reality. No. The only way for them was to finish this mission and go their separate ways. Just as he had been prepared to do before she'd decided to come with them to the Expanse.

You need me, Captain.

He hadn't forgotten those words. When she'd uttered them, part of him had thought she was crazy to want to stay with the Enterprise, to want to follow him into the jaws of sure death. But then he'd realized it would be easier to say yes than no. He'd come to know just stubborn she could be. So they'd faced the Xindi together.

He banged his head on the top portion of the wheel, not hard, but enough to feel. Yes, feel the pain, Archer. Feel it. Maybe then you can stop torturing people until they give in to you.

Sure, Forrest had okayed any and all actions with regard to this mission. Sure, he'd received a sort of carte blanche. And he had grabbed it with both his hands. No surprise there.

But he was no longer Jonathan Archer. Instead he had become a hideously twisted version of the man he had once been. He'd become Jonathan Archer Redux – savior of the world. Yes, and, if necessary, he would go to hell and back.

The question remained – was coming back from hell an option?

He didn't think so.

Before he went wherever he had to go, he wished there was something he could do about... this... situation with T'Pol. It tormented him no end – especially the dreams he had of her... of them... every night... without fail.

And Daniels was clearly lying to him, but about what? What about this... this Federation? What if it was all a big hoax? Crucial role in history – that was some story, huh? What if it was all made up to yank his chain, stroke his ego? What was Daniels' true agenda? And was he using the Enterprise and himself to further it – whatever it was?

Archer felt the familiar throbbing again in the back of his head. Phlox had said that the anomaly had given him a doozy of a concussion and that the effects might last as long as a month or more. The strangest thing was that Archer felt the pain the most after he woke up, even after injecting himself with a higher than average dose of pain medication prior to sleep. It also came back at these times, that is, after he found himself thinking about the dreams. He wondered if he was developing some sort of disorder... maybe some sort of clinical depression?

Nah. It's just stress.

He rubbed his hands together and blew at them. It was cold. No way she wasn't cold too. Vulcans are used to a hotter climate. Though she'd been living on Earth and on Enterprise for a while...

So where the hell was she? She was just supposed to get the guy's house number or something. He found himself getting anxious. It'd been more than ten minutes.

As if on cue, the passenger door opened.

"Captain, the man has entered a small shop of some kind."

T'Pol leaned in, pointing to a building about a hundred feet from the car, "and he is still there. He hasn't come out yet."

Archer thought for a second, then opened his door.

"Let's walk over, we can follow him from there."

They trudged in silence, their shoes crunching fallen leaves underfoot. Archer shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. His head still throbbed.

"Captain?" T'Pol's voice was soft.

"Mmm?"

"Are you alright?"

He glanced around at her.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

T'Pol's face reflected something he couldn't decipher.

He saw her bite her lower lip.

He frowned a little, wondering if he had ever seen her do that before. It was an emotional reaction for Vulcans. He'd seen enough of them since he was a kid to know that they normally didn't do that kind of stuff.

And somewhere deep, deep inside him, there lay some sort of immediate, visceral reaction to the sight of her small white teeth sinking into moist, full lips. He drew in a short breath and forced himself to look away.

They came into the circle of light thrown by a single bulb hanging over the storefront. Archer looked up. "The Picker Upper" – the board read. Ah, a convenience store. They were still around in his century. They'd been a great idea – one that had stood the test of time.

He cranked opened the heavy door a tad and looked around. There he was – Loomis – skulking around, shoulders hunched, near something that looked like a glass-front closet; could be a refrigerator. There seemed to be cartons of what looked like milk on the first shelf. And bottles of water. He wondered whether either T'Pol or he should go in just to shadow the guy. He was getting a bit thirsty. He could use some water. So could T'Pol, he'd bet.

He gestured to her to stay where she was and let himself into the store and walked around, taking care to skirt Loomis. There were four people inside, including the storekeeper, but no one seemed to be in a hurry to leave. He wondered if there was a door at the back. It didn't look like it. The walls were all solid. There had to be a storeroom of some sort, and that had to have a back entrance. Oh well, he could do no more without attracting attention. Loomis was now reading the magazines and Archer caught the storekeeper looking over at him with a frown on his face.

Oh yeah, that's a good way to bring unwanted attention on yourself, Loomis, read the magazines for free!

He bought a small bottle of something called Dasani – some kind of spring water. It was sealed tight and looked clean enough. T'Pol should be able to drink this. He opened the door and came back to where she was standing, then moved to the side of the building so that the people coming out would not see them right away. The streetlight was farther down the road and a dark shadow threw its cloak around them from a tree behind. He felt its intertwined roots running underneath his boots.

He handed T'Pol the water and watched her squint at the label on the bottle. Then she held her scanner up to it. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"This seems to be the only entrance to the store. Let's wait a little. We can follow him from here," he said.

He looked up at the tree. It was huge. Maybe an Oak? He couldn't identify it in the darkness. It had thick, arching branches that looked pretty climbable.

Hmm... so... about how many paces to the storefront? If they needed to make a run for it, how fast would they have to move?

He looked back at T'Pol. She had moved with him and was standing just behind his right shoulder, still scanning the water.

"Captain, I understand," she said to him, suddenly.

Huh?

Archer bent his head and peered at her, his eyes adjusting gradually to the darkness. Her face was almost nestled at his shoulder. He moved a little to the side, then gestured for her to open the bottle cap.

"Drink the water, T'Pol. It should be okay. Aren't you thirsty? I am."

She twisted the cap off and offered him the water. He took it and drank a good bit and handed it back to her, watching, half-consciously, the long line of her throat as she threw her head back.

She handed the water back to him and he took another swig. The water was actually good. Cold and sweet. He handed it back again and motioned for her to finish it off.

"Okay," he said, keeping his voice low. "Now we just wait here until he comes out—"

"—Captain, I understand..."

He stopped speaking. ,She'd repeated herself. And there seemed to be an emphasis there, a certain… halting tone she rarely used. She was talking about something else, not Loomis.

"What do you understand, T'Pol? What Daniels' motive is?"

"I understand what you are going through... what is motivating you... I understand what happened in the... Ready Room."

Archer turned fully and faced her. His heart had started a fast tattoo all of a sudden.

"What... happened in the Ready Room, T'Pol?"

She looked down at the ground. He wanted to slide his hand under her chin and hold her face up to him so he could see her eyes. He clenched his hands to keep them from moving.

"I don't think you were... inappropriate in your behavior toward me. We... I... lost control."

"...You did?"

"Yes, and it will not happen again."

Archer closed his eyes for a moment.

"I...I... lost control too, T'Pol." He bent his head, his booted feet poking at a strange-looking pebble. Then he looked up and into her eyes. "I... wanted to kiss you," he whispered.

And I was out of line, I know.

They stared at each other. His heart was racing in his chest, like a toy train on a track. He could not believe he'd said that out loud, to her.

She held his gaze, her face reflective. Then she took a deep breath, and it was as if some floodgate had opened.

"Captain, it has been difficult for me. And I do know that it has been difficult for you, as well. But I don't believe that we can continue in this manner any longer—"

An ice-cold shiver ran down his spine to his toes.

"In this...?" What was she telling him? He felt as if the ground was undulating beneath him.

She moved closer to him, just an inch, perhaps. Her voice was low and he had to bend his head to hear her well.

"Captain, lately, you have been completely inaccessible to us... to me. We used to be able to argue and discuss many of our problems before. But ever since we entered the Expanse, I have not been able to say anything to you at all without feeling as if my words are simply an imposition. It is as if we have gone back to the days when I first came aboard. This is... painful to me. I came to the Expanse because I trusted you and I wanted to be with you... on this dangerous mission."

He opened his mouth but she silenced him with a look. He felt as if the moon in the sky had suddenly become the sun. He felt almost lightheaded.

"Captain, I was under the impression that you wanted me on this quest; that you needed me to be with you. But you have – ever since we entered the Expanse – rejected me and distanced me..."

He shook his head, intent on some sort of denial. But she held up a hand.

"No. Please allow me to continue. As you said earlier, we cannot seem to say these things to each other back on the Enterprise."

He nodded slowly, his eyes not daring to leave hers.

"I know that you have been under tremendous pressure. Captain... Lt. Reed told me about an incident you had with a prisoner..."

"...At the airlock?"

"Yes. And I know that I do not need to remind you of Sim. I understood, at the time, that the situation was unavoidable. But I wished that you had consulted with your first officer. I had hoped that we could have discussed the situation beforehand before you made your decision. That is the way the command structure in Starfleet functions, does it not?"

And that's why you came to me. I know... I know, T'Pol!

He looked down at the ground, waiting for her to continue. She was, indeed, his conscience. Somewhere deep in his gut he felt shame that knew no bounds. It stole his speech and made him cringe.

There was a slight pause, and she turned, presenting him with her back, her shoulders hunched.

"I have not been able to tell you this before but..."

He wanted to turn her around to face him, but didn't dare. He wanted to see her eyes, touch her face. All of a sudden, he craved her nearness. But something in the set of her shoulders forbade contact.

Her voice was low, a bit hoarse.

"Even before our experience on the Seleya... I had been having... dreams. Some of them do not make any sense. And some of them are of us... of some strange, barren world in some other time—"

"—Wait a second... dreams?"

"Yes, they come every night... sometimes all night."

What? Was he hearing her right?

"T'Pol, I thought you told me once that you didn't dream?"

"I don't... normally, no."

Archer felt as if he was hit by an automobile... no, an anomaly. She was having dreams as well? He drew in a shaky breath.

"You said... they were of... of us? Of you and me?"

He saw her nod. He felt a tiny burst of pure happiness germinate inside him somewhere. His voice sounded rough, a bit hoarse to his ears. "T'Pol... in what way? What are they like, these dreams?"

Her voice dropped an octave. He thought he saw the muscles in her shoulders contract.

"Fevered, strange... almost hallucinatory... carnal."

The last word was a whisper. He felt astonishment as well as fear. Fevered? Carnal? They were both dreaming similar dreams! Could it be that others on the ship were, as well? Could it be a result of the Expanse? It was possible. Was that how it had started for the Vulcans on the Seleya?

He moved a little closer to her, enough to be able to see her face.

"Do you think it could be the Expanse? When... exactly... did these dreams start?"

"I'm not sure. They have been increasing in intensity lately... but I have also been—"

She stopped short suddenly and looked across the street to some point in the distance. But he saw that her eyes were unfocused and vague. She was gazing within, he thought, in a sudden flash of understanding. And empathy.

"What, T'Pol? You've also been...what?" He asked with some urgency. He felt worried, almost panicky. This sort of behavior was unusual for her, to say the least.

She shook her head just a little. Her knuckles shone white around the neck of the blue-ish color of the now empty bottle. All of a sudden, he felt a strange sense of doom envelop him. His instincts were in overdrive, his palms turning clammy with some kind of irrational fear. He saw her take a deep breath and mimic the very human gesture of squaring her shoulders.

His forestalled her, his voice low. "T'Pol, I've been having the same dreams."

She looked up at him sharply, her eyes wide, her brows arching upwards.

"The same dreams?" Her voice betrayed a slight urgency.

"Yes, almost exactly what you've described."

They gazed at each other in the half-light as he felt her move a little closer to him. Archer forgot to breathe for a few seconds and realized, at some point, that she was speaking.

"I suppose it could be the result of the Expanse on all of us. It could be affecting us differently depending on our individual stress levels... exposing our latent fears, needs, even our desires..."

He looked around. The night was quiet, the wind moving stealthily through the trees.

Yes, that would make sense. He badly wanted to know exactly what she was dreaming about. Or did he? Maybe not. This was neither the time nor the place. Some day, he would ask her again.

But not now.

He sighed. Loomis had not come out yet.

He looked back down at her and caught her staring up at him, a strangely wistful expression on her face, and did a double take.

Then he thought back to what she had just said.

Fears, needs, even desires...

Oh god, was she thinking… was she talking about… Trip?

He felt winded all of a sudden, his stomach taut, his knees a bit wobbly.

"T'Pol?"

"Yes?" She was staring at him. She hadn't blinked in a while. He desperately searched in his mind for long-forgotten Vulcan body language information.

"T'Pol... what are you saying?"

She was silent. He waited a few seconds before he continued.

Just do it. Go ahead... make it easy for her. God knows she deserves to be happy, even if you don't.

"T'Pol... if you're trying to break some news to me gently, you don't have to." He tried to smile at her and ended up shrugging. "I already know."

That got her attention. He felt some kind of weird, dark amusement edging out of him.

Don't say it, Archer. Saying it makes it come true, don't you know that?

Her eyes seemed stuck on his face, wide and searching. Suddenly, he felt his age. She was... how old? Sure, he knew she was older than him in Vulcan years, but right now, she looked about twenty Earth years. She looked young, vulnerable, and unsure.

He shifted on his feet, scratched his cheek and stretched out his arms and shoulders. He could not, would not, meet her gaze. He looked at the ground and kicked the funny looking pebble out of the way.

"Look, if this has anything to do with… err… Trip, you two have my blessings. He is a good man. And I always knew that he was sweet on..." He drew in a shaky breath. "Just... whatever happens... this mission is more important to me than anything else right now... and I need you both to be..."

He squinted down at her in the darkness. He could not see her face very clearly. She was silent, still looking up at him. He could feel one of her shoulders touching his arm, and the fan of her breath on his throat.

Oh lord, not so close, woman!

Did she even know what her proximity did to him?

Come on, Loomis, come out! Now!

"Jonathan..."

He looked at her sharply.

'Jonathan...'

He felt a warmth slide up his spine to the back of his neck. She had never called him that before, except... in the dreams.

Then her hands were on the lapels of his jacket, pulling him toward her, gently yet firmly. He put both his hands on her arms to hold her away from him but he had forgotten that she was stronger than him. He tried to look at her, but there was a heat between them that took his breath away.

Then she stepped close, pressing herself to him.

'Jonathan... don't fight this...'

Wait a moment. Was that her voice? In his head... his mind? Somewhere deep inside, he felt astonishment, a deep awe.

And disbelief.

'No! T'Pol... not... not like this...'

But the softness of her mouth was already against his, moving and seeking. Her lips were moist, supple. He groaned, heat flooding his chest and stomach. She felt tiny against him, her body impossibly warm and slender, her hands sliding under his jacket and around his waist, pulling his entire frame flush against hers.

'No…" He heard himself mutter against her impossibly soft, impossibly luscious lips. Oh god... but it felt so right...

In a last, half-hearted attempt to stop the madness, he moved his left hand up her arm, her shoulder, to cup her head, his fingers mingling in the softness of the hair at her neck. But, then instead of pushing her away, he was kissing her back, with violence... almost, his lips nudging hers apart and his tongue invading her hot, sweet mouth. She arched against him, her hands skimming over his hips, and he felt the vibrato of her soft moan deep in his own body as they fused... forged together in molten lava...

At last...

The two words echoed, around and around, in his head. But he couldn't place the voice. Did he just say that? Or did she? Or did they both?

He felt disbelief, again. And reality beckoned.

'Oh dear god... we can't do this... T'Pol...it's not right...'

Had he really said that out loud? Or was it in his mind? He could not believe this was happening. But, for the life of him, he could not stop it... stop her...

'Jonathan, don't fight this anymore... don't fight us...'

He felt her hands slide, with an infinite gentleness, up his back, under his jacket, and groaned at the sheer tenderness of her touch. This was how they had embraced in his dreams... their dreams...

'Oh... T'Pol...'

A different, staccato sound penetrated the haze in his skull. A door opening and closing, then booted feet walking across the pavement. Someone whistled and sniggered as footsteps tattooed away.

He knew that voice.

He felt as if somebody had doused him with a bucket of ice water.

Loomis!

Jesus!

It was like being doused by a torrent of icy water.

Then he was pulling back, holding her – by the arms – away from him, tearing his lips from hers. She looked dazed and feverish, her hands still clinging to the lapels of his jacket, her mouth glistening… still seeking his, her eyes on his face, his lips.

Archer felt shaken to the core. My god! What had just happened?

"T'Pol!" He whispered, shaking her slightly. "Loomis! Come on... let's go!"

And he began to walk, barely looking back to see if she followed.

Loomis was a sleaze ball. If it had been any other woman, Archer would have had second thoughts about leaving the man alone with T'Pol, especially now. But he knew his first officer was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Funny that his first officer didn't seem to feel the same way about her captain.

They'd had a bit of an argument after they'd apprehended Loomis and Archer had made the decision to become Loomis' next "victim".

After the interrogation T'Pol had asked to speak to him alone and together they had pushed Loomis' chair (with Loomis tied up in it) into the bathroom and shut the door. Then they had gone into the far side of the room, near the bed, where T'Pol had accused him of reckless and impractical behavior. She'd thought it would have been far more feasible for him to sneak in with Loomis while he carried his next victim in, instead of submitting himself as one. What if Loomis was wrong? What if the Xindi didn't wait and sedated him right away? How was he going to deal with the rest of their mission if he was out cold?

She'd had a point.

Loomis had contradicted her right away, though, their voices obviously loud enough for him to hear. They'd never sedated anyone before administering the saline solution for at least an hour, he'd said. That seemed to be the procedure with them. For medical reasons, he'd assumed.

In the end it had turned out okay. T'Pol had had to stun Loomis into compliance and Archer had found and secured the bio-weapon.

Strangely, he'd felt glad in more ways than one to be leaving Detroit. The bioweapon was in Phlox's hands now. And the three Xindi were in Enterprise's lockup. That particular mission had been accomplished.

On to the next.

So... what now? As Archer entered his quarters, he wondered when, and if, Daniels would show.

But there were other things on his mind at the very moment: other, more troubling things.

Just what the hell had happened to him down there? To her? Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her... saw them...melting into each other... underneath that tree... her mind echoing in his mind... repeated words, ancient phrases… in dulcet tones of an alien tongue…

Oh god. This had to stop. They could not deal with this. He could not deal with this. Not right now.

This morning, after time-traveling back to the ship, they had not said a word to each other except the absolutely necessary. Trip had still been standing there, in front of the Command Center, as they had stepped out. He'd been shocked because to him they'd just left a minute ago.

After minimal explanation, Archer had left T'Pol there, taking the canister with him to Sickbay.

A bit later, he'd gone up to the Bridge. As he'd walked in, their eyes had met and he'd felt a yearning in his mind and in his body that threatened to burn completely out of control. At his approach, she'd turned and looked up – her eyes dark, unblinking, and her face flushed olive.

For a moment, they'd gazed at each other while everything and everyone else receded... for a moment, they were back in the darkness… under the shady oak... melting into each other...

Then she'd looked back down at her console, and after a beat, he'd made good his escape to the Ready Room.

He worked by himself all morning, composing a report on Detroit, signing off on routine ship-wide alerts as they came into his console, routed through T'Pol's. Around lunch time, she had sent her own report to his console. When he went out to the Bridge in the afternoon, Hoshi told him that she was in Engineering. In the evening, he'd had dinner with Trip and Phlox, listening with only half an ear to his CMO's barely suppressed excitement at the opportunity to examine the three dead Xindi.

Then, an hour ago, when he had called his first officer on her private comm-channel and asked her to meet him in his quarters at 2100, she'd accepted with her usual stoicism.

That had been the extent of their interaction for the past twelve hours.

Now, he felt a pervasive sense of shame that completely eclipsed every single emotion he'd felt in the last 48 hours. This had never happened to him before… this losing of control… this encroachment of his personal upon his professional. Every time it had begun to happen before, in his life before the Enterprise, he'd tamped it down ruthlessly. So what the hell was wrong with him... with them? It was as if things between them were gradually coming to a head and they were rushing headlong into... the Niagara!

He still could not believe the lack of decorum, of control… he had experienced, both in the Ready Room a few days ago, and in Detroit. For god's sakes... he was her superior officer! And what about her? Was there something wrong with her? Vulcans didn't act this way. What was she doing? Why was she doing this? This was not the T'Pol he knew.

She must be right, it must be the Expanse... it had to be... there was no other reasonable explanation. Whatever it was, it had to have affected him too, because they seemed to be slowly going nuts together.

Maybe they both needed to go see Phlox. But what would they tell him? That they were so hot for each other it was coming out of their ears?

He closed his eyes. Oh lord. It would be comical if it weren't so... terrible.

But the images haunted him. And he could tell from her face – during those few moments on the Bridge – that she too was going through her own brand of hell.

He was pacing now – burning a hole in the deck plating as he'd once overheard Travis remark to Malcolm. But it helped him focus. And he needed focus to figure this one out.

He sighed and shook his head.

Okay, think clearly – he admonished himself. Start at the beginning, but also the improbable.

Judging from her behavior, both in Detroit and earlier in the Ready Room, and if he didn't know his Vulcans... his T'Pol... better, he'd think she was in love with him.

But... was she? Could she be? Improbable as it was… oh lord, it was just too much to contemplate. Could Vulcans love Humans? Well, they were people weren't they? And knowing what had happened to his father once, a lifetime ago – it was entirely possible, if not probable.

Archer considered the possibility. Okay, if she did love him... why now...why after all this time, when he had accepted the inevitable between them, when his life was an inch away from damnation and ruin... had she chosen to take this huge step forward?

And this too after everything he had done to protect himself. He remembered, for the thousandth time, the moment when she had told him about Tolaris. She had, slowly and surely, driven a dagger into his heart that day. But he had accepted it. He had accepted her, just as she was. He had tended his wound in silence and become her friend, her confidante, her Captain – taking her into his life and opening himself to her essence, bit by tiny bit. But, that day, he had sworn to himself that that was where it would stay. That was where he would stay.

Thus far and no farther.

Oh, he'd recovered. At least, he'd hoped he had. After that, he had made up his mind that he would never let her hurt him again. Never again, not like that.

And, all this time he'd thought that she'd understood and agreed with his choice... their choice. She was Vulcan, after all, no matter what. And this was their mission.

So, no, it could not be. It cannot be! Not a chance in hell! It had to be the Expanse that was playing havoc with her... with him… with everybody's sense of self. Those Vulcans on the Vaankara and the Seleya... yes, it was obvious. It was imperative that he finish this mission and get her out of the Expanse. He could not risk having her stay in this particular area of space anymore. Especially after the last few weeks, he knew that every moment they spent here was a step closer to her possible destruction. And when – not if – this mission was over, he would take her back home to her planet and she would be back to her true self. He had to believe that. And he would make damned sure of it – even at the risk of his own life. She was his responsibility, come what may.

But until then, they were both accomplices in this crime. And whatever their mistake, it needed to be righted. This cannot go on. It simply could not. Fantasy and dreams were one thing, but he could not afford to give in to them. Not right now... and not with his first officer damn it! What would he tell Forrest? How would he answer for his actions? Soval, if he knew, would crucify him. Heck, he'd crucify Starfleet. And perhaps even T'Pol. Yes, she would bear the brunt of Soval's wrath. God only knew what Soval would do with her. Exile her? Disgrace her? True, she was no longer in the employ of the Vulcan High Command, but he knew from long experience that they had long arms. They would not let this magnitude of flagrancy go unpunished. Besides being the flag-bearers of sheer pettiness, didn't the High Command have even more stringent laws against fraternization than Starfleet?

Archer shivered at the thought of T'Pol dishonored, humiliated, and banished from her own kind. No, that could not happen. That would be the end for her. And he could not – would not – let that happen. He would never allow that, because he knew that would truly mark the end of their relationship… whatever it was.

And even if everything else fell by the wayside, he had to believe in one thing, if one thing only: they had time. They had the future. Someday... sometime... in the future... they just might… be together.

And if they did not, then it simply was not meant to be.

Archer sat down on the bed, his throat heavy, his eyes burning. He had always believed that he had the wherewithal to achieve the impossible, leap over the deepest chasms, and surmount any difficulty. But this... this Vulcan woman with her honesty, her innate intelligence and perception, her bone-deep beauty... had conquered him, right from the start, when he had promised to... literally... knock her on her ass. He knew that even then, while staring down at her stoic face filled with barely concealed enjoyment, he'd known that he'd met his match.

As the years had passed, he'd realized – bit by tiny bit and fighting it all the way – how essential she had become to his sanity, his balance, even his entire existence. And yet, he'd felt that very sanity – that very balance – slipping away when they touched... and when her voice had whispered across his mind.

No, this could not be. He would not let it be. It was too dangerous, too precarious a path – for him... for them both... right now.

The door chime rang, insistent, twice in a row. Archer looked around. Porthos was pretending to be asleep but his right ear had perked up.

Archer strode to the door and keyed it open. His first officer stood, at attention, just outside. He stepped back to let her in, avoiding her gaze.

"Stay, boy!" He threw over his shoulder at Porthos.

He moved to the sofa and cleared a stack of PADDs from it. He heard her enter, softly as always. The faintest trace of sandalwood and teak hovered in the air.

He kept his back to the hatch and gestured toward the sofa. "Sit down, T'Pol."

Half-turning, he walked to his desk and leaned against it, sneaking a glance at her. God, these days, he couldn't even look at her without something twisting in his stomach.

She stood in silence, her eyes on his, just a few feet from the hatch. The dim light in the cabin illuminated her face – tired and drawn, with dark half-moons etching her eyes. She looked... haunted, her face tense, watchful. And yet... there was something else...

He took a step toward her and looked at her closely.

Yes, there was something there, behind her sea-deep eyes... a subtle gleam; at the corners of that sensuous mouth… a tiny, delicate quirk. Archer knew he was staring. He blinked rapidly and looked away.

What was she thinking? What was she feeling? Because, yes, she did have feelings. He knew better than to doubt that any more. So what was it... apprehension? Anticipation? Eagerness?

Were they both on the same page?

A sigh gathered itself in his chest. At most times he could read her well, but tonight, he was too exhausted.

She remained standing. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. "You wished to speak with me... Jonathan?"

Jonathan.

He closed his eyes.

You're not making this any easier for me, T'Pol. But I have to do this. We have to do this. There is no other way. It's for your own good, your own safety.

He opened his eyes and saw that she had taken a few steps toward him as well. She was now standing barely an inch away from him, her shoulders almost touching his chest. Her face was upturned, her eyes searching his. He looked into them... they were so green, so... deep. He felt as if he was mesmerized. His pulse quickened. The blood rushed about in his veins. He could feel her sweet, cool breath... smell her woodsy perfume. His head reeled.

A little niggle of... doubt... tickled the back of his neck. Was this normal for a Vulcan? Was she all right? Should he have her talk to Phlox after all?

But oh lord. So close... she was standing so close. All he had to do was reach out and pull her to him and slide his hands around her back and touch his lips to hers...

He knew she would not protest, that she would kiss him back... eagerly, fervently... wrap her slender arms around him... like that cool, starry night back in Detroit.

Oh lord! Who knew that his cool, collected Vulcan had such passion inside of her? And that she would be so open... so naked... in her longing for him.

He felt a deep, hungry heat... a melting... within him. She was so close... and he was like a moth to her flame. As he felt his body's response to her, he knew another... twin... surge of need... of raw, pent up desire. It was as if there was a mirror image of his... yearning... buried inside. It came alive when he… when they, the two of them… came alive.

He tried to breathe normally but her presence in his quarters, within the intimate circle of his belongings, was wreaking havoc on his senses. This had never happened to him before. Things had indeed changed for him... for them... after Detroit. When it came to this woman, his head was no longer in control over his... over anything.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. Just what the hell was happening here... happening to him?

He breathed in a gulp of air and turned his back to her, fiddling with a PADD on his desk.

Control... I need control. I can't afford to lose this battle dammit, so just get on with it!

"T'Pol, I think we should talk about what happened in Detroit..."

He knew she was looking at him, something in her presence pulling at his gut, pulling him back to her, to at least face her. He turned around.

"I'd like to apologize for what happened. I don't know what came over me... both in the Ready Room and that night back in Detroit. I... I don't usually give in to weakness like that... "

She opened her mouth. He put up a hand.

"Let me finish."

She looked up at him. Her eyes were very dark. Her face shadowed. Maybe it was the light, or lack of it, in his cabin. He had dimmed it earlier.

He turned away, pacing a little.

"T'Pol... we can't have a repeat of..." he drew in a breath, he couldn't utter the words just yet. "I mean, you and I both know that it's... it's unethical for us to get involved... like... that. Starfleet and the High Command would have our heads on a plate. We both know that."

He knew he was repeating himself. He swallowed, his throat hurting with the effort.

Stop right there! There's still time. Time to make it up to her. You promised you would make it up to her. This is your last chance. Take it! Grab it!

He shook his head; he knew that if he stopped now he would never say it. It would be imexorable from here on. There was no way in hell he'd be able to stop what would happen next.

He had to keep going. He couldn't stop. He needed to say it; to have her understand. Surely, she would understand? And agree?

When the time came… and he was sure that it would come, someday – surely she would... wait for him... for them?

He didn't look back at her; he could not face her now. He needed to get this out now even if it killed him.

"This... this mission, T'Pol, it's a make or break thing for all of us. We can't get distracted. I can't get distracted. And neither can you. We need all of our faculties, all our energy, our focus..." he knew he was blabbering now. He took a deep breath.

"I can't... do this... we can't do this. We can't... be with each other right now. We... we need to take a step back." He finished, his voice a hoarse whisper.

He stopped, turned and looked at her. And something cold clutched at his chest, squeezing tight, forcing the breath from him.

Her hands were behind her back, her eyes dark and unreadable. Her face had hardened somehow. She looked almost exactly like when he had first met her; calm, collected, condescending.

Aloof.

Vulcan.

So very Vulcan.

His... T'Pol... had disappeared.

One step forward, two steps back.

He sat down, heavily, on top of his desk. His knees felt like jelly all of a sudden.

Her voice, when it came, was surprisingly gentle. But there was something in it that chilled him, estranged him.

He knew that he had lost her. Completely.

"Captain, I came on this mission because it was my responsibility to see you and your crew succeed in your endeavors. I believe that I have performed that task to the best of my ability. And I believe that is all you have ever needed from me."

Archer stared at her.

What's she talking about? Am I hearing this right? That is all I ever needed...? What the hell was she talking about? Did she hear anything at all of what I just said?

"So I apologize, as well. I am beginning to think it is the Expanse and its effect on me. I will need to be more careful from now on—"

As she spoke, she turned and walked toward the hatch of his cabin. He did not try to get up. But he had to speak.

"T'Pol... I do want this relationship. I am only asking that we wait until all this is over..."

She stopped and looked back. Not at him. At the floor somewhere near his feet. And, for the first time in their years together, he could not read her at all. She had closed herself to him.

"—T'Pol... please," he only half-heard his own voice. It sounded strained. "T'Pol, don't go."

Her silence was deafening.

He felt an immense pressure in his lungs, a low hum in his ears. "What... what about... Trip?"

She stared at him in silence, kept staring, her chin thrust out, her posture almost military. He knew she wouldn't answer the question. But he'd had his answer, on a late night comm. call, what seemed like a million nights ago.

Maybe it was just as well.

He felt bereft. Wasn't there any way he could make it up to her? Any way at all? Wasn't there any middle road for them? Why was it only extremes between them? Either make, or break?

... T'Pol, I didn't... I don't want to lose you...

"T'Pol, please understand..." He knew his voice had broken a bit. He felt as if he was going into shock. He shivered. The room was cold. She must be even more cold, he thought.

He felt his chest expand. Like an automaton, he stood up.

"I'm sorry... T'Pol. I didn't mean to pry. I didn't mean to hurt you. If... if you ever need to talk, I am here..."

His voice trailed off as she looked up at him and he felt something slam into his solar plexus. Her face was stiff but her hands were clenched and her eyes burned with an expression he could not define. He felt as if he had been punched in the gut.

"You have not hurt me, Captain. Vulcans do not hurt."

Yes, this was indeed the end. Almost three years and this is where it ends? Vulcans do not hurt? What about you? What about… us?

"Yes sir, and for that you have my gratitude. I know you are here if I need... to talk to you. You always have been."

Her voice was low, a bit hoarse.

And I always shall be, he added.

But for the life of him, he could not say the words aloud.

Then she was gone.

---

THE END